⤷ ゛The tik tok trends escalates literally, when the batboys have a partner that's their complete opposite ˎˊ˗
COMPLETE OPPOSITES OF THEIR PARTNER (you'll see if it fits you), fem!reader, fluffy
ℳ: just an idea that popped into my mind. YES I AM AWARE THIS MIGHT NOT BE THEIR CANNON TYPE. Sue me this is fanfiction. I hope you guys like it <3
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Bruce Wayne ᯓ
The boyfriend of the brightest girl you know.
It's not like Batman himself is a bad person, everyone knows he isn't. But he isn't exactly...sunshine and rainbows either, is he?
The dark colours he puts, the sharp features laying on his face and the manners and first coldness do not scream outgoing.
Well, unlike his partner.
The immediate smile and bright eyes shine way stronger than Bruce's darker attitude and it lights up the whole room.
It's a contrast that fits and looks perfectly together. It doesn't cancel out the other, it compliments. And that's what makes it so special.
Because it's not even about your features or colours, but about the luminosity being carried around at your every step.
And the most important? Is how the detective's sharp eyes also seem to enter that state every time he only even thinks of you.
It translates out of the public too. When you bring a little bit of mess to the neat, a little bit of shine in the dark and a little sun to his moon.
Yeah, his sun. That really does sound right in his head. Not only does his everything revolve around you, but it also fits you.
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Dick Grayson ᯓ
The boyfriend of the quietest girl you know.
Nightwing is a lot of things. In a good way, of course. He has the charismatic energy that everyone seeks in a moment of loss and he carries it around with pride.
Everyone knows when he is in the room, because it shows - in his loudness, or something just by presence when he's not feeling it otherwise.
Most of the time it isn't even intentional by him, it just happens. That's how you noticed him the first time after all. And a big part of what made you fall in love with him.
Because after the repeat quietness you had calmly stayed in for such a long time, someone pushed you out of it - made you comfortable enough to show a different side.
That doesn't mean you changed - not at all. To others you still were Dick's quiet girlfriend. You still had your own comfort when you needed it, just with a reminder on the back of your mind that if you needed to get out of it, you could.
That also brought him comfort. Because after all the time he had to be on his 200% so everyone could feel okay, calm time with you felt better than anything.
Nothing could compare to two people who get each better than anyone else.
────୨ৎ────
Jason Todd ᯓ
The boyfriend of the softest girl you know.
It's no secret that Jason doesn't live in a very...easy way. In all meanings of it.
He lacks the kind of gentle moments in his life simply because he never knows how to react or what to say to it. And more importantly - how does he even get it?
That was one of his unsolvable riddles until you showed up in his life and showed him that softness doesn't equal weakness.
Will he be showing that side of him around? No, don't get your hopes up, but in private (even after all the effort it took you to reach this) it feels so in place.
While he might not outright show how the dynamic between you two works, it simply slips out sometimes.
Like the one time he was talking to Dick about a situation with his girlfriend and Jason pulled out the most domestic words to ever come out of his mouth in a way of help.
His older brother did not let that slide.
Not back then and not ever, if he's honest. You laughed it off a bit when you heard, while Jason was right next to you denying it a bit, but deep down it made you happy.
He was finally getting comfortable not only feeling his real emotions, but expressing them too. Maybe not in the way he or you intended, but it still works, doesn't it?
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Tim Drake ᯓ
The boyfriend of the most chaotic girl you know
It's no lie that Tim is very sharp with his mind. He's quick to think when needed...and when not and isn't afraid to ask or say what he wants.
He is fully aware of what is expected of him, especially with the fact that he chose (demanded) this path for himself.
And he isn't complaining about it.
The problem is...he doesn't like that with his skills comes a certain kind of expectation? Assuming of him?
Sure, he might be able to do this and that in the span of a second, but that doesn't mean everything he does will always be on point. He's still human after all, even though he forgets it sometimes.
That is when you come in.
Tim wouldn't want to admit it, but he does need reassurance for things like that. He wouldn't ask for it though so his favourite part is living through it with your chaotic personality.
When you make a sudden plan or randomly make a decision based on nothing. Does it make sense to him? Like 90% of the time - no. The other ten are lucky guesses. But does he need it?
Hell yeah.
When he's alone with you there isn't anyone putting pressure on him to do everything he's "supposed to". He can be a bit more free than he usually is.
And that's what makes him love you so much.
────୨ৎ────
Damian Al-Ghul Wayne ᯓ
The boyfriend of the sweetest girl you know.
Damian is often described with various adjectives like scary, ruthless, dangerous. And if he's honest, that's pretty fair. Everyone knows who raised him and imagination itself is enough to assume how.
For obvious (in his opinion) reasons, the babybat doesn't allow people in his personal space. He doesn't trust easily and likes being private. One of the many reasons for his relationship with you to stay private.
Especially from his family.
No one except Jon knew, which he found out accidentally, and Damian loved it like that. It was your guys' thing and there wasn't anything that could ruin it between you two.
Until Dick started noticing how different he could be sometimes.
Not snapping when something that clearly annoyed him happens, being a tiny bit more careful with his choice of words and even talking about his feelings- wait, that wasn't Damian. It couldn't be.
Walking behind Damian's sitting figure on the couch, Dick looked at his phone, or more like the contact he was texting. Was that-
"There's no way you have a girlfriend, right?"
The younger jumped from his seat and before he could even explain himself before half of his family was there bombing him with questions.
"Are you actually with someone?" Jason immediately jumped.
"There's no way! I would have figured it out by now!" Steph chimed in.
"I already knew." "No, you didn't." Tim and Cass argued.
Damian placed both of his hands on his face, before everyone shut up at Dick's words.
"That's why you've been so soft. Maybe her personality is rubbing off on you.
In which… your creepy coworker won't take the hint, so your friend pretends to be your boyfriend.
Contents: Dick Grayson x gen!reader, fake dating, friends to lovers, creepy coworker, unwanted advances toward reader, workplace harassment (brief), fluff
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Jasons & Tims version
You text him one afternoon, asking if he´s free tonight to pick you up.
You're on closing shift with the creepy new hire who won't stop flirting with you, no matter how many times you've told him to back off.
Your friends joked about getting a fake boyfriend to pick you up and desperate times sometimes meant desperate solutions.
When Dick texts back, it was almost time to close the store. You wash the last couple of mugs and glasses while your coworker took out the trash. When he comes back through the door, a second person steps in.
"Sorry, we´re closed." Your coworker says.
"Oh, no that´s my boyfriend." You look at Dick. You may or may not have forgotten to tell him.
He looks confused for a second, then, his usual confident grin takes over. "Babe, when can we go? I´m hungry."
"I´m finished in a second you can wait inside." You say, relief washing over you.
Dick pulls out his phone and sits down by a window.
Your coworker eyes him, annoyance visible on his face.
As you step into behind the counter again, collecting the cloths laying around by the sink to hang them up, your coworker suddenly gets very close.
"Didn´t think that was your type." His voice is condescending and sour. "All this time, leading me on when you got someone waiting at home. Does he know?" He was quiet enough that you didn't think Dick could hear.
You scoff. "I never gave you any reason to even think that way." You don´t bother to keep your voice low. "And if you don´t leave me alone soon, you can explain yourself to my boyfriend yourself." Dick´s head snaps up at that. Eyes focused on the guy staying way to close too you.
He gets up and walks over to the counter and leans against it. "Problem?"
You smile at him. "Not anymore. I think." You look back at the other man, having taken a step back by now.
"When are you finally finished? I was being serious, I´m starving."
Ten minutes later, you two walk to Dick´s car.
"So, what was that about? Thrilled to be your boyfriend, just wished I knew sooner." His tone was teasing. You elbow him and he mockingly gasps.
"I´ll buy you dinner. As a thank you."
"So we´re going on a real date now?" You stop walking and look up to him, expecting to find a grin or some other unserious expression, but his face had an unusual, unconfident smile on it.
You hesitate. "Would you want it to be a real one?"
He looks straight ahead, then back to you. "I kinda wanted to ask you out at some point anyways," he admits.
You did not expect that. "I mean, you can ask me out now."
"Okay, okay." He clears his throat dramatically. "Do you want to go out on a date with me?"
It takes you a minute to answer. Dick raises a brow.
"So creative," you laugh.
Dick rolls his eyes. "Oh wow, way to make a guy feel confident. Yes or no?"
"Yes, obviously."
"You're still paying though, right?" The offended look on your face makes him laugh. "As a thanks, remember? I saved you. I´m your hero."
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake & Wally West
Summary: he accidentally comes home in full superhero garb and now he has to think of a clever way to explain himself without revealing his identity
Word Count: abt 500/part
Content/CW -> gn! reader, mild injury (wally's), mention of voltron (tim's), mostly silly, technically they commit a Crime
froggi yaps -> was on a roll writing this, this idea was so silly and fun >.< thank you to the nonnie who sent it in
Dick:
Moving in with Dick Grayson has had its hiccups.
He has the oddest sleep schedule known to man, for one, and every time he tries to cook anything beyond what a 13 year old can, it seems to end in smoke and sheepish apologies.
Collectively, you now have more coffee mugs than you do forks, which speaks more to the amount of cutlery you’ve curated than it does to decorative mugs.
Nothing however, in the two weeks you’ve been living together, could have prepared you for this.
Nightwing stands in your bedroom, frozen in shock after having climbed through your window. You stand on the opposite side of your bedroom, the baseball bat Dick keeps by his bed clutched in your hands.
“Woah, woah, I’m Nightwing, I’m one of the good—“
Nightwing is real?
“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”
And where the hell is Dick when you need him?
Nightwing raises his hands in surrender, a slightly-familiar sheepish grin on his face. “You’re not gonna hit me with that, are you?” He pulls out one of his own escrima sticks and tosses it on the bed, “at least use that, it’ll hurt more.”
You blink, unimpressed. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“Dead serious.”
Despite your trepidation, you lean forward and snatch the stick off the middle of the bed. You turn it over in your hands, examining it.
Dick breathes a sigh of relief, happy his distraction worked. He’s dead tired, and he’d gotten sloppy on the way home when all he could think about was getting out of his suit and into bed with you.
He didn’t even think about what he was doing until he’d slipped his second leg through the window only to be met with the sound of you shouting. He’d by lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little proud at how quick you were to get out of bed and start threatening the fully grown vigilante in your room.
“If you’re done yelling,” he says cautiously, “I’ll just be going, I’m clearly in the wrong apartment.”
“The wrong—“ You laugh incredulously, “you don’t double check before breaking and entering?”
“Hey, you try doing this in the dark in the middle of the night.”
Your eyes roll. Dick’s never wished more that he could reach out and kiss you.
“I’ll be taking that,” he says, reaching over the bed and grabbing his escrima stick from your hand. “Uh, maybe don’t tell anyone about this.”
“Embarrassed?”
“Something like that.”
And before you can say anything else, he’s maneuvering back through your window and disappearing into the night. You latch it tightly behind him before crawling back into bed, your heart still racing.
Grabbing your phone, you start typing out a message to Dick. You’ll never believe what just happened to me.
Jason:
You thought he was a myth. Some silly tale passed around from criminal to criminal like parents warning their children of the bogeyman. But if he’s a myth, then why is he standing in your living room?
It was hard enough to come to terms with Batman being real, but seeing Red Hood in person is almost as absurd as if Santa Claus himself had broken into your house.
You hold your breath, pressed against the wall, the glass of water you’d snuck out of bed to grab clutched tightly in your hand. Your hands are shaking, your knees are shaking—fear wracks your whole body. And then the glass slips, shattering across the floor and spreading glass and water everywhere.
Any hope Jason had that you didn’t see him dies in his chest. Fuck.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, and for once, he wishes his voice was just a little softer under the mask.
“T-then why—“ You take a breath, trying to quell your fear. “Why are you in my boyfriend’s house?”
Jason wishes he had a better answer, something beyond ‘I’m a fucking idiot who didn’t think before I broke into my own house in full costume while you were there.’ He comes up empty.
“Jason is…” His own name sounds foreign on his tongue, “he left something here for me. He didn’t say anything about you being here.”
At the sound of your boyfriend’s name, you suddenly remember the glass of his you just broke and the water seeping into his nice floors. You drop to your knees, cupping your hands and trying to stop the spread of the water.
Red Hood is crossing the room in the instant, footsteps heavy so as not to startle you. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning, I—I can’t believe I broke that.”
“You’re going to cut yourself,” he sighs, going to the kitchen and grabbing the roll of paper towel he keeps on the counter. He’s semi-grateful for your panicked state keeping you from questioning how he knew where that was. “Here, let me.”
And before you can argue against it, Red Hood starts soaking up the water with paper towel. When he’s satisfied the floors are dry, he gets to work on the glass, gloved hands carefully picking up every last shard and wrapping them in another piece of paper towel.
You can only stare in utter disbelief as Red Hood—the notorious anti-hero, this broad man who’d broken into Jason’s house—cleans up your mess as if it’s the must mundane thing in the world.
“T-thanks,” you stutter out, rising to your feet as the masked man discards the used paper towel in the trash.
“Was my fault you dropped it anyways,” he mumbles out. “Tell Jason I’ll come back a different time.”
With that, he’s disappearing back into the shadows of the room, leaving back through the window he came from. You stand there, still shaking slightly, utterly shocked by what just happened.
You’re still standing there twenty minutes later when Jason runs through the door, having ditched his gear off with Bruce. He’s frazzled, a hand running through his messy hair.
“Fuck, sweetheart, what are you still doing up?”
“Your—“ You swallow, looking at your boyfriend with equal amounts of excitement and fear. “Your friend stopped by.”
Tim:
You’re watching Netflix when you hear the distinct scraping of your window opening. Illuminated by the light of your tv screen, you can just barely make out the face of Red Robin, sleepily sliding a leg through your window.
You blink, almost entirely unphased by the sudden appearance of the vigilante. “Um, are you here for me?”
His head snaps up, mouth falling open. Shit. Tim had been so tired, so out of it, he hadn’t even realized his brain was on auto-pilot to your apartment until you’d said that. Shit.
He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or not by how unphased you are by a vigilante breaking into your house in the middle of the night.
He scratches the back of his neck. “No..?”
You hum, your own tired brain working to interpret this information. “Okay,” you say simply.
“Okay?”
You nod, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Tim fully commits, letting himself drop into your room and lean against your windowframe.
“You’re not gonna ask why I’m here, or..?”
“Are you here for something nefarious?”
“Well, no—“
You yawn, “then I don’t care. Do what you need to do.”
He mentally makes a note to talk to you tomorrow about stranger danger and what to do if someone breaks into your house in the middle of the night. For now, though, he’s slightly grateful for your nonchalance. He glances around your room, taking in the plushies you keep on your bed and the tv playing at half-volume, displaying a show a little too familiar to him.
“Shit, are you watching Voltron?”
“Rewatching,” you admit tiredly, finally sitting up in bed. “Are you a fan?”
And Tim suddenly wonders how this has never come up in all of your conversations with him. How is he just finding this out as Red Robin of all things?
“You could say that,” he laughs slightly.
Then you’re patting the bed, inviting him further into your room. Tim knows he shouldn’t, knows he has a dozen other things to look into tonight and yet, he finds himself settling in on the side of your bed he usually sleeps on to watch Voltron.
“What are you doing up so late, anyway?”
You shrug, “was waiting for my boyfriend to text me but…”
Guilt pangs in his chest. He hadn’t realized he forgot to text you back until right now, his phone feeling heavy in the pocket he’d tucked it into. Tim kicks off his boots and fully leans against your bedframe.
He really shouldn’t be doing this. He knows it’ll only lead to more trouble for himself both as Robin and Tim Drake and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.
“There’s snacks on my kitchen counter if you’re hungry. Soda in the fridge.”
“You’re feeding me after I broke into your house?”
“Figured you work up an appetite running around the city,” you slide back down into bed, lazily splaying your limbs across the mattress. “Could probably use the extra fuel.”
Tim can only smile, “I guess I never thought of it like that.”
Wally:
Wally doesn’t realize his error until he’s skidding to a stop in his own living room only to be met with you, mid handful of popcorn, looking utterly shocked. Well, fuck.
He’s exhausted, lungs burning from all the running he’s done tonight, and the blood trickling down his side is definitely staining the carpet Iris and Barry had gifted in when he moved in. Double fuck.
“Are you—“ You tentatively rise to your feet, looking around as if you’re the one that’s in the wrong place. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” No.
Your eyes scan him, from the big logo on the middle of his suit to the hand he has clutched over the tear on his side that is definitely dripping blood all over Wally’s floors. You start towards him, equally concerned as you are flabbergasted.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’m—“ He takes a breath, a weak puff of air leaving his lips, “clearly in the wrong house.”
“You’re bleeding,” you repeat, and you’re so close now you can very visibly see the cut on his side. Nothing too deep or serious, but painful looking nonetheless. “Do you—I think my boyfriend has a first aid kit around here somewhere.”
Under the sink, Wally thinks. But he wouldn’t dare let you get too close to him right now, not when he’s sure you’ll be able to sniff out it’s him every moment. His heart pangs as he thinks of how awkward a conversation that’ll be.
Before he can say anything, you’re disappearing down the hall, coming back with the first aid kit lifted above your head like a trophy. Wally can’t help but smile a bit. You’re so damn cute.
You order him to sit on the couch, laying down a towel you’d stolen from his bathroom to keep him from making a mess. “I’ll try and be quick,” you promise. “But not all of us have super speed.”
“As long as it means you won’t maim me.”
You’re careful as you patch him up, gentle touches along his skin as you clean and disinfect the wound. Wally sits there, resisting the urge to pet your head and kiss your forehead.
It’s a few minutes of oddly comfortable silence before you’re pulling away with a grin, gently patting the wound. “There,” you proclaim. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll feel a little better, at least until you can leave.”
“Thank you,” he says, rising to his feet and twisting his core. “It feels way better already.”
“Um, before you go,” you smile sheepishly. “Do you think—could I grab a picture with you?”
He raises a brow under his cowl.
“It’s just, my boyfriend is the Flash’s biggest fan, and I think he’d just really love to see proof of you in his apartment.” Your eyes widen slightly at the look on his face, “but if you’re too busy, I totally get that too. This is silly, actually, sorry for even—“
The Flash grabs your phone out of your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. He’s quick to snap the picture, throwing up a peace sign before handing your phone back to you.
“Um, be careful out there.”
He laughs, “always am.”
He offers you a two fingered salute before he’s disappearing from your living room, leaving nothing but a trail of lightning in his wake. You smile at the picture on your phone, Wally is gonna freak.
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Feeling insecure while dating Dick Grayson never lasts long.
It doesn't matter if you feel insecure about your looks, your body, your intelligence - whatever it is. He is going to do everything to disprove your insecurities and make you feel better about yourself.
You don't like how your body looks? Well, he's getting “caught” watching thirst edits of people with your body type an hour later.
You have a bad hair day? Guess who is suddenly obsessed with running his fingers through your hair, insisting it's the best your hair has ever looked.
You feel stupid because you don't get a topic at uni? He spends the next week asking you the dumbest questions imaginable just so you can explain them to him. Eventually, he asks something so unbelievably dumb that you can't help but laugh.
“See? You're so smart.” He says, looking at you with so much admiration that it's hard not to believe him.
Dick never wants you to feel like you have to become someone else to deserve being loved.
So if you can't see what he sees, he'll simply make sure you do.
thinking about giving neighbor!peter the best head of his life all because he helped you lift a few heavy boxes. he thought he was just being a good, nice neighbor when he offered to help you. you were clearly struggling and he was spider-man, so obviously he was going to help, right?
he brushed off the persistant thoughts in my mind about how gorgeous you were because he wasn’t trying to be creepy, he was just being nice. and he was being neighborly when he accepted your invite to come inside for a little. and when you offered him a drink. and another... the conversation was just flowing so well, and he hadn’t had a normal, good conversation with someone in way too long.
and he wasn’t crazy, so when you started batting your eyelashes a little extra and closing the already pretty small gap between you, he wasn’t going to reject you. there was no surprise when your lips met his in a bruising kiss, and he knew he was gone when he felt your hand slowly go from brushing his upper thigh to full on palming his bulge.
and when you slid off the couch, on your knees in front of him while you forced his legs open? he knew he was going to be completely wrecked by the end of the night. he was already this heavily affected by your simple touches, what was going to happen when you actually wrapped your warm mouth around him? when you licked a stripe up the bulging vein on the bottom of his dripping cock?
it didn’t take long to find out because you were already there, teasing his overly sensitive tip, watching the precum drip down to his balls before licking it up. his arms flew behind his head, not wanting to overstep with a woman he just met but needing something to do with his hands. your mouth was taking him perfectly, warm and wet and with just enough pressure that he wasn’t sure how he’d even lasted these last few seconds.
he could already feel himself coming closer and closer to the edge, and somehow you knew too, because you reached up to grab his arms, guiding his hands to your head. hesitantly, he gripped your hair, getting a hum of approval that almost made him cum. “fuck, i’m—holy shit. i’m coming, i’m—” he moaned while giving a weak attempt at pulling your head away. you worked him through it, swallowing as much as you could while disregarding the extra cum dripping down your chin.
when you were finally done, you wiped it off with your thumb, subtly biting your bottom lip. peter was panting heavy breaths, feeling his already spent cock twitch with the need for more, the sight in front of him not helping. you sucked the cum-covered thumb in your mouth, not breaking eye contact with peter. “so, peter... are you free tonight?”
bf!peter who truly does feel bad when he leaves you sore and achey . . . but who also can't help but get so, so turned on by it!
it's like fighting against himself, because peter absolutely loathes the idea of ever causing you pain—and the almost sick surge of satisfaction he feels when he catches you wincing and massaging your inner thighs the next day and the subsequent chubby he usually pops from it makes him want to recoil. (or at least, makes him feel like he should want to recoil.)
but he just can't help it. there's just something about it—something about knowing that he had fucked you so deep and thoroughly that your body literally aches from it—that drives him up the wall. makes him feel almost animalistic. feral.
and there's something equally as mind-spiraling about making it up to you. about using his hands and mouth and tongue to soothe the aches he caused, to pull the soft sounds of relief and pleasure from your pretty lips.
maybe that's the best part, when he's got you like this—achey thighs split open by his shoulders, trembling softly, clit so puffy and pretty under his tongue, and your gummy walls massaging and drooling around his fingers as he steadily (and gently, of course) fingerfucks you to an orgasm.
and, fuck, he's so sick for the way his cock twitches when you wince or sigh out in pain despite him being so gentle with you—but, to his pleasure, you aren't running.
no, you're pushing back into him, softly humping your cunt against his tongue, clenching around his fingers and suckling them like you can't get enough.
"feel's'good, peter," you mewl, slurred, whiny, pussy constricting when he presses his pads into the sweet spot at the top. "mmm—ah, fuck—please—a-ah, wait, careful—hurts a little—"
your body seems to be contradicting itself, tensing up when he strokes a particularly sore spot but yet releasing the most delicious sounds of pleasure, with whines for him to slow down peppered in between cries for more.
"i know, baby, i know. i know she's sore." he cuts off your next whimper softly, massaging gentle circles into your thigh with his free hand, fingers still sinking knuckle deep inside you rhythmically. "'m gonna go slow, okay? fuck, i'll make it up t'you... 'm'gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, hmm? y'want that?"
"yes, yes, please," you rush out on a breath, one that catches on a small whine and a jerk of your hips when his shoulder rubs against the sensitive flesh of your thigh. "wan-wanna feel better, pete, please—"
fuck, he's hard enough to cut steel right now. his boxers are tight and sticky, pools of pre spilling from his swollen tip. he aches so badly to simply bury himself inside your sweet cunt, replace his thick fingers with something even thicker and longer—but he knows he has to wait.
there's no way your poor, achy pussy could handle his cock right now. that would be far too much. she needs his tongue and fingers to bring her to orgasm first.
"fuck—a-ah—peter, i-i think 'm gonna cum."
oh, speak of the devil. peter suppresses a small smirk and starts to pump his fingers just a little harder—not faster, not higher, just harder. he flicks his tongue over your clit in tandem, and fuck, now your pussy is clenching so tight. your chest heaves and your moans are loud enough to shake the walls.
"that's it, pretty baby," peter murmurs, breath hot and fanning over your slopped up pussy. "c'mon, let it go. mmhmm, jus' like that. let go f'me, cum on my fingers—oh, yes, that's a goooood girl—"
peter can't really tell if the whine that escapes your throat is one of pain or pleasure; maybe it's a bit of both. but what he can tell is that you are coming on his fingers, slick gushing and clit pulsing, so swollen and cute and sensitive when he sucks on it gently.
and now that you have cum, maybe you'd be willing to let him make you just a little more sore...
note. so acc idk entirely how i feel abt this one bcs i'm expirementing a lil with a more dominant peter, so pls lmk how you guys feel about it or if i did a decent job of it or if u like it yeah u get it lol. anyway luv yas xoxo!! ♡
it takes almost an hour of foreplay just to accommodate your pussy for it to fit. he enjoys himself knowing that, and wont waste time to tease you about it.
but one thing he absolutely loves about it is receiving head.
the fact that you cant wrap your whole hand around it makes him harder than he already is at this moment.
“fuck- hah slow down there princess” he breaths out, holding your hair gently back as you bob your head back and forth on his length.
he isnt the longest ever, above average for sure but what got to you was his thickness. having to stretch your lips wide to accommodate him in your mouth made your own arousal pool in your panties.
gripping a second hand on his base, you squeeze it and twist around as you suck on the length all the way to the tip, making him groan and fist your hair a little too tight.
“im close baby, you do so well f’ me, such a good fucking girl”
that makes you moan on his dick. feeling your jaw already sore, you quicken up the pace slightly that makes him grunt, spilling into your mouth full.
gagging on it as you let it go from your mouth, you swallow his cum and look up at him with a furrowed eyebrow, rubbing your jaw with your hand.
“youre too fucking thick, my jaw hurts now”
dick looks at you with a raised eyebrow and a snort, tilting his head and looking you at eye level.
“is that so? let me make it up to you”
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“gotta spread these lips reallll nice yeah? too tight f’ me” he hums teasingly, scissoring his fingers into you, curling at the spot he knows makes you arch — which you did and whine out his name
“dick- im close please” you tug on his wrist while looking at him with hooded eyes. you so badly wanted him to stick it in already but you knew you couldn’t handle it yet…
“seriously princess? second time already and i havent even put my dick in ya…” he tsks, rubbing his thumb on your clit to put you on your edge, white fluid gushing out on his rough hands.
sticking his fingers in his mouth with a groan and an eye roll, looking at you like your his prey.
“gonna get what you want, but dont go complaining.”
everytime you regret not having more foreplay but the dick is too good to wait. by holding your hips, he sinks into you slowly, inch by inch filling your plush walls, his thick member stuck on the moist of your cunt.
“oh fuck! too much” you babble and he laughs at the reaction, to your head lolling back and gripping his shoulder while the other grips the sheets
“i told you baby, but youre such an impatient thing.. want to put in something so thick in something so tight?”
dick muses. hes a romantic sure but he loves to tease you like this in bed. gripping on your hips better, he starts to slam his hips into yours, the gushy sounds filling the bedroom along with yours (and his) moans.
“god how i love this pussy yeah? so so so responsive, youre doing great sweetheart, knew you could.”
its not long after you come again for the third time tonight with a moan of his name and his own groan, spurting inside your hole.
when he pulls out, you audibly whine at the loss of him, feeling rather empty and not stuffed like you normally feel.
looking up at him, you giggle a bit, stretching your arms above your head. “you wore me out.”
he smirks, flopping on top of your naked body and burying himself in your chest.
“way to boost my ego baby, think im hard again” he jokes receiving a playful smack from you.
⟢ 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: i bought a nightwing comic today so this is for my dick grayson girlies, i hope i made u guys happy.
A/N: im not even joking i saw bnd and immediately opened tumblr bc it is that serious. expect more from me...
WARNINGS: NSFW, mdni, drunk f!reader, drunk hookup (all is consensual), no BND spoilers included! (js talks a little about his heightened abilities), p in v, unprotected rough sex, arachnid sensory overload... him using his senses to fuck you 🤤
WC: 2.4k
SUMMARY: Meeting a stranger at your friend's party, you decided to go out on a limb and do something you never do: casually hookup. Peter's amidst discovering his new abilities, and dealing with these bodily changes– he's searching for his own relief outside of Advil.
You never go home with strangers. People who go to clubs or parties purely for spontaneous hookups with no real meaning are stupid. You vowed to never be one of those people. After an unexpected invite to MJ and Ned's housewarming party, you find yourself pacing past huddled bodies, head overwhelmed by the mix of chatter and soft music. There should be a limit to how many people can be in an apartment, this is ridiculous. The drinks are fun, there should be less people, more drinks.
You raise a blue plastic cup to your lips when you see a random guy stumble past a group of people ranting and raving about something you can't make out. They're talking too fast anyway. He rubs his head as though a headache is seriously taking over his brain, and he huddles into a corner for protection from the chaos.
You're bored and drunk, what's the harm?
Everyone says you need to get back out there anyway, and he's cute... In an abandoned-puppy-at-a-shelter kind of way. He smiled weakly at passerbys, clutched his cup too tightly, like he's expecting someone to snatch it from him at any given moment. You straighten your posture, fix a dress you stole from your roommate, and muster up the courage to go over and speak to him. He looks distracted, and he is.
Peter's life is so scrambled, he doesn't know who or what he is anymore. He only came here to try and recollect what he'd lost four years ago. His best friends. Now he's not so sure, it's too crowded, and he feels everything too deeply now.
Then you came up.
His breath hitched, his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, backed up as if there was no more space behind him. "Hi." You simply stated.
"H-Hi?"
You give him your hand to shake, telling him your name. He just stands there. Stares at you blankly before his lips stutter out: "Peter." Wow, he hadn't told anyone his name in so long, it felt wrong. No one was supposed to know him, Peter's just another face in the crowd, a nobody to everybody.
"Nice to meet you, Peter." You smile.
"Y-You too." He hides his flush behind the cup as he practically chugs the rest.
"You okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine, I just came to give N-Ned and MJ a housewarming gift, I- I was gonna leave... I have a headache so..."
"Ohh, I see. Migraine?"
"Something like that." He murmurs. He shifts on his feet quietly, Peter's restless where he stands, his hands trembling at his sides. His head was pounding so hard, he could feel his brain shaking around and ricocheting against his skull. He can hear your heart beating, and he's not sure if he likes that or not.
You tilt your head, the alcohol's fogging your brain, and you just let loose. "Look, I think you're really cute." You say slowly, slightly slurred. "You want to get out of here?"
Peter stands as still as a statue. Get out of here. Go where? He didn't know you, couldn't take you home with him, his place isn't... 'Guest material.' That and the fact all of his tech is there, including clues that would reveal his identity as Spider-Man to you. Would a drunk girl go blabbering to J. Jonah Jameson like Mysterio had those years ago? He certainly hoped not! He couldn't afford to do that again. Not that he could, Strange wouldn't remember Peter anyways. "Sure." He shrugs.
The two of you make your way out of the apartment, to the elevator, then down. You loop your arm around Peter's which you notice is pretty muscular. He guides you quietly and calmly through the streets, he wasn't too sure on what you guys were doing, where you were going, but you were going. You don't think much of it, too giddy and tipsy for your own good. Most of the time you knew better than this, but hey! It's cool to get out of your comfort zone.
Hopefully this guy wasn't a killer.
Worse! He's a masked vigilante who saves the neighborhood.
Thankfully Peter's a good guy, he makes sure you cross the street safely, he keeps you close by to ensure your safety. Despite his inner battles that it was a bad idea, he brought you to his apartment complex. You hang patiently by his side as the elevator descends up.
He creaks the door open; his apartment is kind of sad. You pay no mind to the monitors or any of his technological stuff across the room. Instead? You skip over to the couch and flop down, letting out a content sigh. Peter watches you curiously. "Can I get you anything?" Not that he had much to offer, you shake your head.
"I'm okay. Thanks, Pete!" You smile. A smile. Something sweet and genuine that he hasn't seen in a while. A smile that isn't fake or laced with the sinking weight of guilt and pain and trauma of the past nine or ten years beating your ass every day. Peter gently sinks onto the couch next to your feet, he glances over as the skirt of your dress rides up your thighs, and he bites his inner lip. Genuinely, the second he sat down, you popped up and leaned near him. The alcohol is catching up slowly but surely as you inspect Peter. closely. He is cute.
"How old're you anyway?" You question.
"Um, 22. You?"
Not too young, not too old, is he just perfect? "Same: 22. What do you do for work?"
Ah shit. "Uh, I'm.. a student?"
"Where?"
"ESU..." He clears his throat, praying you'll believe his fib.
"Oh cool!" You exclaim, not interested enough to continue prying on his supposed education. "You single?"
He stops, just stares at his shoes. Is he? Technically, yes, mentally? He's not so sure. "Sort of."
"What does 'sort of' mean?" You chuckle.
"I had someone."
"Oh, nasty break up or something?"
"Or something."
"You know," you sigh, pressing against his side, "you're too cute to be alone like this. Do you even have friends?"
"No, I don't need them."
"Everyone needs friends! Hmm, okay, I'll be your new best friend!"
"You're drunk, you don't know what you're saying."
"Um, I know exactly what I'm saying. Or I wouldn't be saying it."
Can't argue with that logic.
"Do you ever get drunk?"
"I try not to." Bummer.
So he's cute, non-alcoholic and single. Win win, you move over, gently straddling his lap with your legs. Peter freezes, he hasn't had this kind of contact in who knows how long. Maybe never. He doesn't stop you when you lean in halfway, and he closes the distance by allowing your lips to meet and melt into a kiss, slowly deepening as the seconds pass. One of his hands rests at your waist, the other comes up to your cheek steadying himself as the two of you make out. It's passionate, heated, needy, and a bit sloppy as tongues intercept and teeth accidentally click against each other. Peter lets out a shaky exhale through his nose as you move against his lap, maybe it's just his newfound senses but he swore he could hear your heart thumping in your chest, he can practically feel your need in his own body.
His hand slides back into your hair, gently fisting it. Dammit, he was so screwed.
One thing seemed to lead to another, he found himself carrying you to his small bedroom, gently laying you on his bed as he tossed his coat on the floor with his shirt. You would've never guessed this shy guy was beautifully ripped. Your heart skips a beat. Peter senses the shift in your body, how your breath hitches, the flutter of your eyes, he's been able to feel things on a deeper level recently. Apparently he's developed heightened arachnid hormones. For him, it's been a struggle, but right now? It's an advantage over you. He assists you in taking off your dress, he kicks off his pants and tugs you to the edge of the bed, his boner pressing against your heat as he leans down to capture your lips once again. He'd hoped to get his mind stress-free, it seemed to be working because all of his duties as Spider-Man, the spell, the guilt, it all disappeared for the time being. His head fogged with desperation to get inside of you.
His mouth moves against yours as he snakes his hands under your back to get to your bra, unclasping and yanking it off. His eyes glisten, he licks his lips and bends down to press a kiss on both of your breasts. You left out a soft hum, toying with his curls around your finger as he sucks your tit, massaging the other with his large hand. He loses himself in your soft moans, enjoying the way your fingers thread through his hair. Only then does his head move across to the other, then trails down your tummy, stopping right above the waistband of your panties.
You huff, “C’mon… Please don’t stop.”
“What’s next is better. You trust me?” He bats his lashes.
"Only because I'm drunk." Peter cannot help but laugh. He sits up and pulls your panties down. He lets out a shaky breath when he sees your wetness. His index and middle finger lightly trace your pussy lips, making you shiver. Peter straightens himself, gently pushing his boxers down and lifting your legs on his hips. His eyes search yours, you look so beautiful like this, he almost forgets MJ completely.
He gently slides his tip along your wetness, making you whimper. He hated these new arachnid senses, everything was twice as intense. Jerking off was a fucking chore, he can’t believe he’s having sex when he’s like this, he's a monster. A monster who can absolutely ruin you sexually.
With one long, deep breath, he pushes himself inside you carefully, just the tip, for now. Peter's jaw clenches, the feeling is overwhelmingly euphoric. Your tightness is like heaven on Earth, he swallows. Gently he pulls out, then pushes back in- but only the tip, he wants to tease you.
Your moans escape, shaky and breathless and Peter extends this torture of teasing. He watches the way your pussy grips onto him as he pulls out; as if trying to keep him in and pull him deeper. It's oddly satisfying. At some point something snapped in Peter and he buried himself in you without warning, he wasn't sure what came over him but oh God did it practically kill him to have you like this, around him, squeezing him, making him see stars. He almost stopped entirely, it was so overwhelming to his entire nervous-system that he thought he might cry, not because it hurt– no, it felt fucking amazing. Because it felt too good. It's the best thing he's felt in four long years.
"You're okay?" He asks softly, leaning beside your ear as he finds his confidence in actual thrusts. You nod.
"I'm great." A smile spreads over your lips, as well as a small blush. Peter can't help but smile back, it's cute seeing your nose scrunch as you force a smile while he's ruining you. His hips continue to meet yours every other second, intently watching your expressions, trying to understand what makes you arch, what makes you moan louder, what truly pleases you. He's trying to ignore his senses, the way every movement feels like a tank running over every individual nerve in his body, how your sounds echo in his mind like someone is whacking his head with a metal bat. He isn't complaining, it's sexy knowing he has total control to make you have the best orgasm of your life because he senses what's good to you and what isn't.
When you don't whine or tighten on his cock, he angles differently, his body is on autopilot with the arachnid hormones, he's on a new level of weirdness. "Fuck," he whispers breathlessly near your ear before softly nipping it, making you gasp. "Sorry." He quickly murmurs, pressing completely against you as though he's trying to melt your bodies together. He starts fucking faster, it's diabolical.
"Fuck, fuck." He repeats it like a mantra trying to ground himself in the words as he physically cannot control himself anymore. It's like someone has him on puppet strings and is controlling his hips. Your hands come to his shoulders, brows knitted together with a sad puppyish expression that makes his cock twitch inside you. Finally, he hikes your legs a bit higher and breathing in, he starts fucking faster. Your brain fogs with pleasure, "Tell me if it's too much," he says softly, reminding you: he will stop if you want. He doesn't want to hurt you.
"Oh, my god, Pete, that's it." You moaned.
Something in Peter's brain lagged, like a broken computer. He smelt it, he could feel it under his fingertips, and around his dick, it's precious and it's dirty. You're close. Right now, his hips pistoned quicker, no one else could achieve this, only him. Because of what he is. You don't need to know that, he hopes you think he has really good stamina. Peter's fingers dig into your thighs as he grips them for balance, a sharp thrill runs up his spine because fuck he's close too. And with all of that: he blanks for a moment.
Your eyes had squished close when he started thrusting at this new pace, you almost tapped out. It's too much, but it's too good to give up. This is a train you can't get off of. Amidst the very moment you find yourself gasping for more, pleading Peter that he doesn't stop, your eyes open. His head is hung, sweat dotted on his forehead as his curls stick to his skin. His muscles flexed and abs tensed.
"Peter..." You whispered in a whiny tone.
"M-mhm??" His eyes flicker up to you.
"I'm gonna..." You trail off, with a moan because it's already happening before you can forewarn him. And holy shit, he wasn't expecting it- he groans as your cunt tightens impossibly around him. Every breath catches in his throat, and his stomach knots. "Oh my God." He pants.
You're overstimulated by the feelings, him pounding you through your orgasm, then... His face scrunches, he moans out, eyes snapping shut, his hip thrusts go sloppy and he whines when his own orgasm hits him. When his eyes open as he's thrusting his cum into you, you find yourself staring into pure black eyes, like his body had been possessed by something other-worldly, he doesn't even realize it. "P-Pete... Your eyes!"
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."
Summary: What happens Fwb!Peter with spiking arachnid hormones sees you with another man
Warnings: Smut(18+) mdni, possessive behavior, drinking, mentions of fights, manhandling, degradation, reader is drunk.
Fwb!Peter who had disappeared after your fight. It wasn’t your intension to bring up his letter. You had accidentally found it in his drawer inside a coffee cup while looking for your missing earring.
You knew you had no right to be upset. He didn’t have any emotional obligations to you, wasn’t that how it was supposed to be anyways?
You weren’t his responsibility, you weren’t someone he owed an explanation to; you were supposed to be the one place he could use to escape without having to worry about anything.
No matter how long you had paced circles in the living room, biting nails, cleaning the same spot over and over again trying to get rid of the hurt, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
At the end, you had decided never to speak a word about it. Telling him you had read his deeply personal letter to the love of his life wasn’t an option. Besides the fact that he still had the letter was a good sign. It meant that he hadn’t given it to her. It meant that he was not in contact with MJ and that was all you needed.
But watching him walk in that evening with two cups of coffee from the same café, from mj’s café had destroyed all resolve you had spent all day building.
“Do you still love her?” the words rolled off your lips before you could stop them.
Peter knew who you were talking about. It also wasn’t difficult to figure out how you found out. Knuckles whitening around the cups he slowly turned to face you.
He had looked at you with utter disgust and disbelief. He couldn’t believe you would betray his trust like that; how could you intrude on the very last piece of MJ he was allowed to keep?
What followed was an ugly fight full of bitter accusations and shouts over tears until he decided he has had enough of you and stormed out shutting the door behind him in a loud rattling bang.
Fwb!Peter who wouldn’t pick up your calls, who didn’t read your texts. No matter how hard you tried to apologize he just wouldn’t let you; it was like he had suddenly decided that you were not worth his time, like he was done with you for good.
Guilt and regret were mixing venomously inside you. You never should have found that letter. You never should have said anything to Peter. Memories of that night haunted you, soiling every thought you had, following you everywhere you went.
Deciding to drown in alcohol induced amnesia you walked in the first frat party you could spot.
The music was so loud it rolled off the walls. The beats pulsed down your spine in their rhythm as you stood leaning against the corner you picked the moment you entered. Red cups were scattered in every hand. The crowd laughed and danced as if relaxing more and more with every passing second.
You couldn’t have felt more out of place if you tried
The guy who approached you had spent the last twenty minutes talking about the recent updates in his favorite video game.
Maybe under different circumstances you would have actually been interested in what he had to say. Maybe he wouldn’t be a faceless man hurling words like higher pixels and better ping and you wouldn’t be having a hard time remembering his name or how he ended up here.
A decent person would have politely excused themselves from the one sided conversation and left. But you couldn’t do that. Not when you could still picture the look of disgust on Peter’s face.
You desperately needed the distraction. Without thinking much, in the deafening crowd you leaned in to whisper in the guy’s ear, asking him to bring a refill. Before you could finish the sentence cold fingers snaked around your elbow and jerked you off your spot.
When you turned and saw Peter’s face, you thought you were hallucinating. Had the drinks finally caught up to you? Was this just your life now? Pathetically thinking of Peter even when you were wasted?
With every passing second that he didn’t vanish you assured it really was him. You tried to release your arm but he wouldn't budge, an irritable glare etched on his face, as if the situation was so obviously beyond him he couldn't even bring himself to say anything.
Peter was here, standing right next to you refusing to let go of your arm. Everything instantly dissolved in an unfocused blur around you. You wanted to reach up and trace a finger along his eyebrow. You had spent the last two weeks wishing for a chance to see his pretty face again. There was so much you wanted to say.
Before you could start your apologies, you were being pulled away from the scene towards the stairs.
Fwb!Peter who couldn’t understand what was happening to him. It was like something was taking control over him. He couldn’t even remember why he was walking in this party when there was so much he had to do.
But when he saw you corned along with some guy, making no efforts to push him off, it was like something had snapped.
Watching you lean into his ear, he could feel the anger pulsating and boiling his blood. He didn’t think twice before crossing over and snatching you physically off of that man who clearly wanted nothing more than to get inside your pants.
Fwb!Peter who pushed you inside the first empty room he could find. You knew this was your chance to say everything you had in your mind before he decided to shut you out of his life again.
“I really shouldn’t have read your letter, I should have left it alone. I’m so sorry Peter” You blurted out. When he stayed silent you continued.
“You were right; we shouldn’t care about what the other person does. What you do with other people is none of my business, it was wrong of me interrupt.”
His nose flared. “Is that what was happening out there?” the words spat out like the taste of it nauseated him.
Confused you shook your head “No what?”
He started slowly walking towards you “Did I interrupt you guys? Would you be here with him instead of me if I hadn’t walked in and stopped you?”
Animosity waved off with every livid step he took. Alarmed by his sudden behavior, you started pacing back in defense till you hit the wall. “Peter I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He smiled when had you positively cornered he asked in mock whisper “Now you want to play dumb. Is that how you got his attention by playing the lost little whore?”
Heat flooded your cheeks. Gone was the sunny warmth radiating Peter who had helped you with your jammed car door the first time you met him. Heart hammering in your ribs, you placed a hesitant palm on his chest half hoping it would stop him.
“Two weeks and you’re running off with the first man that talks to you. I mean I knew you were needy but acting like this?” His breath fanned the shell of your ear, hoarse voice shooting straight down your spine.
Impatience colored his eyes black when you didn’t respond. He bent down till his teeth grazed the smooth skin of you neck and sucked on the familiar spot. Hovering there with his lips brushing near your collarbone he murmured a quiet I missed you so much.
Fwb!Peter who clawed the base of your skull, pushing your face as deep as he could into his face like he could finally breathe.
Fwb!Peter who frantically lifts you on his hips against the wall. “I know you want someone to catch us like this.”
Fwb!Peter who clamps your mouth with his hand, every thrust making it difficult to be quiet. “I missed this”
Fwb!Peter who takes his sweet time as if wanting to memorize every micro second with you.
Fwb!Peter who kisses your forehead when he is done and makes a mental promise to never let you go again. He won’t make that mistake ever again; even if you get on your knees and start begging.
AN: Let me know what you think!? Part 2 is posted!
Jason Todd, who cannot stand to have you mad at him. You give him the silent treatment? Oh, it is over for that man. He wouldn’t last two minutes of you ignoring him and avoiding his eyes before he is dropped to his knees before you. He will beg and plead for you to forgive him without an ounce of shame or embarrassment. He would take multiple bullet wounds to the chest before allowing an argument to fester between the two of you. Still on his knees before you, his hands would be shaking at his side, fingers twitching as he had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch you before you were ready. But, when you caved- because you always did whenever you looked into those wide, pleading eyes- he would all but fall forwards. His head would rest on your stomach and his arms would latch around your waist in a firm, protective hold. Jason would continue to mumble muffled apologies into your shirt while you ran your fingers through his hair and it would take everything in him to hold back a shutter as he leaned further into your touch. If there is one thing Jason hates more than anything, it is making you upset, so he would go through any means necessary to keep you from being angry at him for long. Seven minutes is his personal record before groveling to you.
Description: You’re spider-man’s closest thing to a friend since the world forgot his name. Helping him with gadgets, cleaning his wounds…all without him ever taking the mask off. His true identity has always been a barrier between you two, but what happens when he gets hit with the pollen, and not only him, but the creature lurking inside him fixates on the only person he gets to call home?
Tags/warnings: sex pollen smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, whiny desperate peter >>>, dry humping, piv, riding, oral fem!rec, fingering, dark!peter taking over for a bit, orgasm denial, prone bone, so much yearning, mask stays on…or does it?
Note: You have no idea how giddy it makes me to write him again. He had NO business looking that good in the movie so I had to get this out of my system. Enjoy 🤍
Masterlist
You've seen spiderman hurt many times. When you signed the lease of the first apartment you could afford as a recent graduate, you never thought that would become your new normal.
The first time it happened was completely accidental. He’d arrived at the building in the middle of the night, bruised, bleeding and too disoriented to realize that the window he’d come through was not his.
That night, the noise of a heavy body collapsing onto the floor woke you up. For one terrifying moment, you believed someone had broken into your apartment, only to switch on the lamp and find the city’s superhero groaning and pressing his hands to his side. His suit was torn there, and blood soaked through the ruined fabric onto your rug.
He barely lifted his head when he heard you gasp, the lens of his mask focusing on your figure standing there with wide eyes, wearing only an oversized shirt.
“Wrong window,” he choked, then tried to hold himself up but immediately collapsed again. “Dammit,” he cursed, waiting for you to freak out any second now.
You could have, but instead you rushed to him and knelt beside him.
“Oh my god, are you okay?” Your hands hovered helplessly over his body, trying to see how bad the damage was in the dark. “You need a hospital–”
“No!” He snapped, trying to turn away but failing miserably. “I’ll be fine, I heal quickly.”
“You still need to stop the bleeding,” you countered, folding your knees under your body so you could rest on your calves. “Listen, I can help you. I took some medical courses last year and I have a kit somewhere.”
You looked at him with pleading eyes. He’d saved the city so many times, the fucking world, it was the least you could do to give something back.
He considered his options for a second, and to be honest he didn’t have many. His body was betraying him, and he couldn’t even get up to fix it himself like usual.
The blood loss made him nod, and you wasted no time in getting up and finding said kit. The blood loss also made him drift in and out of consciousness as you tended to the wounds on his ribs as much as you could.
It did not make him less cautious of you though. When you noticed the rip on his mask over a nasty gash on his neck and reached for it, his hand closed around your wrist and even half conscious, his grip was strong.
“Please,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Keep it on.”
The fear in his voice made you promise you would. Even if you couldn’t get to that gash properly. Even when he fell asleep on your floor and didn’t wake up for six whole hours.
The next morning, he opened his eyes and found you sitting on your bed, still staring at him.
His hands patted his chest, and confirmed his arachnid powers had done its job and healed him mostly. But most importantly, his mask was still in place. With no warning from E.V of it being removed. He learned that you’d spent the night making sure he was still breathing without seeing his face.
That had been one year ago.
After thanking you profoundly for helping him, he’d repaired your window, apologized several times, and disappeared into the apartment next door. He then considered moving into another building, but the thought was brushed away very quickly when he remembered the balance in his bank account.
So he acted more careful instead. For a while, he only turned back home when your curtains were already closed, or he only left the apartment when you had already left for your job (because yes, he absolutely researched the hell out of you after that night.)
Then he moved to the attic of the building. Bigger space, no neighbors, no risks. No you. Or at least he thought.
Because some nights…some delirious nights he still found your window a few stories down, and the accidental visits became less accidental. When he was too badly injured to care for himself, he came to you, even after you confessed your degree had nothing to do with medicine.
When he noticed you understood about his equipment malfunctioning, he’d bring it for you to inspect. When he became too reckless with himself you talked his ear off about how being difficult to kill did not make him immortal.
Somewhere along the way, you became spiderman’s friend.
Spiderman was safer. With you, spiderman was the only part of him he could let you see. Because that was the thing, you only knew the masked superhero.
He’d spent so much time blocking away his identity, making peace with the fact that there was no longer anyone in the world who would call him Peter and know exactly who that person was. That name only belonged to the people that once knew him, and no longer existed, so he never gave it to you.
Never showed you more than a sliver of skin when his mask rode up or glimpses of his abdomen when you tended to his wounds. He always kept that barrier and you respected it, even on those nights he was too weak to stop you. Even if sometimes not knowing the color of his eyes kept you up at night.
A promise was a promise.
Maybe that’s why he kept coming. Why he trusted you with a certainty he couldn’t understand. Why he eventually showed you his new living quarters in the attic and let you spend time with him. Why half a year ago, he added another chair next to his desk so you could work together, or help him when he was out patrolling and needed an extra set of eyes.
“I’m officially the girl in the chair, spidey,” you joked that time as you sat next to him, spinning around in your chair.
He’d gone quiet immediately, his body tensing up enough to make you frown, but then managed a small smile and said you were. You pretended you didn’t notice him being too quiet as he worked on his inhibitor after that.
He was wearing a hoodie, sweatpants and the mask. Always the mask that didn’t quite let you see through him. After a moment of quiet, you rolled your chair closer to his and nudged his arm playfully.
“You know I can’t keep calling you spidey forever, right?”
He snapped out of his trance, and the chuckle that came from under the fabric was unmistakable.
“Why not?” He nudged your arm back, but still focused on the device he was hunched over. “I like spidey.”
You put your elbow on the desk, resting your cheek on your hand so you could lean a little closer.
“I like it too, but it feels ridiculous after having my hands all over your body almost every night.”
The moment the words left your lips, you realized how bad that sounded. He straightened up, turning toward you.
“Wow.” Even if you couldn’t see the smile on his face, the lenses of his mask were quite expressive sometimes. He was amused.
“That came out very wrong,” you said immediately, before he bursted into laughter. He had been laughing more since you entered his life. “You know what I meant,” you whined, laughing too with heat flooding your cheeks.
“I think I know,” he chuckled, making you roll your eyes.
“I’m being serious though,” you added, a little more quietly. “You don’t have to say your real name. Just give me something.”
“Mmm…” he acted like has considering it, going back to tinkering with the piece of metal between his fingers, but then his eyes drifted to the flowers he’d bought that morning, and the name came out of his lips before he could think twice about it. “You can call me Maynard.”
“Maynard?” You repeated, suppressing a chuckle. “You don’t sound like a Maynard. That’s like an 80 year old man’s name.”
“That’s all I can give you,” he shrugged playfully.
You had a feeling it went deeper than that, but you’d also learned not to push it with him.
“Alright. Maynard,” you nodded, “but don’t expect me to use that name unless you’re dying. Guess I’ll stick to spidey for now,” you chuckled, going back to your own work as he hummed in agreement.
The conversation ended there. With him trying not to think about your hands all over his body in…different conditions.
Peter didn’t know exactly when his gratitude became longing. He could not identify the moment the friendship, the closeness, or just your smile, shifted into something he craved everyday.
Despite the mask and the fake name, he knew that after years of being no one to everyone, he had become someone to you. And you had become everything to him. Even if it was behind walls he’d built, you were the person who knew him better than anyone alive.
Which is why, the night he lost control of himself after an unknown dust was thrown at him in a fight, he chose not to crash land into your room.
Peter hit the floor of the dark attic with a loud thud, as his senses went overboard. His suit was sticking to his body uncomfortably due to the sweat coating his feverish skin. The fabric was intact, with no visible wounds in his body, just that burning sensation of something running through his veins.
And that dark part of him he’d managed to lock down with the inhibitor, trying to claw its way out.
“What the…what the fuck is going on,” he cursed, clutching his heaving chest as he panted against the worn wood floors. “I can’t–I can’t breathe…”
The computer’s monotone voice broke through the silence.
“You have arrived injured. I’m letting her know–”
“NO!” He cut the AI off, “EV, don’t tell her–”
“Message already sent.”
He glanced up at the digital clock on his desk. 2:18 am.
He groaned, grabbing his head when a wave of migraine hit him. He knew what came after that. The black eyes. The desire to break. To take. But this time something felt different. It was like a pull, looking for something or someone…for…for you?
Oh fuck.
You were going to come in and you were going to see him like this. No, no–
“Spidey?” You asked from behind the door, knocking exactly twice before opening it anyways.
The air changed the exact moment you walked in, and that something inside him shifted too. It became aware that the only thing it craved to survive was in the room now.
He needed to get to you. He needed to pin you down and–
“Don’t!” He managed to scream, holding his hand up weakly when you scrambled toward him.
You stopped right in your tracks, eyes wide and running all over him, searching for torn fabric, blood, or anything that would explain why he looked like every breath was painful.
“What happened?” You frowned, when you couldn’t find any source. “Did you get hurt?”
You instinctively stepped forward, but he waved his hand in front of him again.
“Stop, stop, stop,” he said quickly, “don’t come any closer.”
The harshness in his voice caught you off guard, but what sealed the deal was him dragging himself further away from you. It was barely more than a clumsy, desperate crawl, but he managed to put a decent distance between you before collapsing against the side of his thrifted couch.
He avoided looking at you. The oversized shirt covering your body, the comfy shorts you were probably wearing, the way your hair looked messy from rolling out of bed as soon as you got EV’s warning even if you had work the next morning.
You stayed right where you were, watching him. His suit had always fit him like it was painted on his skin, but every pant made his chest rise and fall beneath the fabric so violently that you wouldn’t be surprised if it ripped at the seams.
This reminded you too much of the changes that happened in him months ago.
It started with a sharpened temper, then the heightened sensitivity to everything, the black covering his eyes, and moments during patrol when his reactions became simply frightening for someone who had as much strength as he did. But you were supposed to have stopped it.
“Is it the inhibitor?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, “is it failing?”
“I–I don’t know…I was hit with some dust out there,” he breathed. “I think it’s tampering with it…my head is killing me. Everything is too much.”
You nodded, turning toward the workstation.
“I will check the programming. Just hold on.” Not your best attempt at reassuring him, but he groaned in acknowledgment.
“EV?”
The computer woke when you touched the keyboard, illuminating the dark attic in a wash of blue light.
“Online.”
“Please run a diagnostic on the inhibitor and any possible interference.”
“Beginning diagnostic.”
You waited impatiently for the results, tapping your fingers on the desk while you watched him from the corner of your eye.
Over there, he…he was doing his best trying to breathe.
This obviously wasn't his first time having sensory overload. When the animal tried to take over the human part of him, everything in the city became impossible to escape. Not a single movement, or sound, or simple existence within miles was unnoticed by him.
But this time? The rest of the city had disappeared. There were no sirens in the distance, or voices coming through the walls, or every heartbeat in the building pounding in his head.
There was only you.
Your rapid heartbeat echoing inside him. He felt every tap of your fingers against the wood, every slight catch in your breathing each time he made another involuntary and pathetic sound from his spot on the floor.
Your scent…God, your scent filled the entire apartment.
The scent he found himself coming back to so often that it scared him. He didn’t want the attachment. The possibility of having someone again only to risk losing them again.
That same scent was making every muscle in his body react in a way he didn’t understand. It made him, and the other him, wanna do things to you he had only dreamed of in his wildest fantasies. Things he wasn’t proud of, things he wouldn’t dare to say out loud, even if he looked at you through the lenses of his mask and you couldn’t see the black in his eyes.
He pressed the back of his head against the couch harshly.
This was wrong. So wrong.
His senses were supposed to consume everything when the change came. Instead, they had fixed themselves entirely on you.
He could feel the heat of your body from across the room as though you were still in front of him. Could remember with sickening detail how soft your hands looked when they reached for him. Could almost feel the burn of the touch that had never landed because he stopped you.
What if he’d let you? What if he’d felt the way your hands ran all over his body? What if you’d moved them lower, and lower, as your mouth–
“Diagnostic complete.”
Your heads snapped toward the screen.
“There’s no external damage affecting the integrity of the device. I detected a foreign biotoxin in the bloodstream that may be bypassing the inhibitor, activating the suppressed arachnid hormones.”
“What biotoxin?” You frowned.
“Unknown. No matches found in available databases.”
Great. He thought. He had no time to take a bath with Yelena Belova to find out what the stupid dust was.
Tiny, microscopic potato, she would say.
The screen changed, displaying a model of his nervous system. There were yellow bright lines pulsing quickly, running all the way from the base of his brain down the length of his spine. Something unknown was moving through his blood, altering the part of him he had spent months forcing into submission.
He sucked in a breath as he watched you read the screen. Your eyes were focused, and a bead of sweat made its way down the side of your forehead.
He suddenly felt the need to lick it off.
Wanted to run his tongue from the base of your neck to the back of your ear. Wanted to fist your hair and make your heart beat out of your chest from how good he knew he could make you feel–
“The effects remain within his enhanced tolerance. However, prolonged exposure to certain hormones can cause extreme distress without relief.”
“What hormones?” Your voice, worried and unknowing of his thoughts only made him feel guiltier.
It took him a second to realize what you asked, but EV threw him under the bus before he could say anything.
“There’s a significant rise in reproductive hormones. The unknown toxin is inducing a strong mating response in him.”
Mating response. He stopped breathing.
Your eyes slowly moved from the monitor to him, and he saw the moment your attention dropped lower to the tent of his pants.
That suit concealed nothing on a good day. On one like this? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck–
He shifted almost immediately, but the movement only worsened the pressure, pulling a helpless groan from his throat that made your pulse jump. You looked away at once, turning back to the computer.
“Is there a way we can…umm…stop it?” You asked hesitantly.
“The subject is experiencing severe sexual arousal with a fixation on a nearby individual,” she explained, because fuck him if he wasn’t the unluckiest individual on earth. “Acting upon it can be a positive option to relieve sexual tension.”
He wished the floor would open beneath him, swallow him, and never ever EVER spit him back out again.
Your pulse was absolutely hammering after that. He caught the sudden change in your scent. There was a sharp spark of surprise, nervousness, and something else beneath it that his altered senses fed on immediately.
You kept your eyes fixed on the monitor, although the data had stopped meaning anything the moment you heard fixation on a nearby individual.
“Is that what you really feel?” You asked softly after a moment.
His head fell forward, catching it between his gloved hands. He didn’t know how to answer without making everything worse.
Although, after what EV said, could it really be worse?
“…Yes.” The word came out rougher than he expected. Yet still not enough for what was happening inside him. “It’s like…I can only feel you. All of you.”
Heat rose to your face once again.
“What does that mean?”
Don’t say anything, don’t–
“I can smell you.” Great start, idiot. He cleared his dry throat before continuing. “I can smell your shampoo…the lotion you use…the ink on your hands from your favorite pen.”
He chose not to mention he could also smell the adrenaline on you. The heat gathering slowly beneath your skin.
Your eyes dropped to your hands, and under the dim light of the computer, you caught the ink stains in them from your journaling session before bed.
“I can hear your heartbeat changing every time I speak,” he added. Okay, that one slipped out.
You swallowed. And god, he felt that in his own throat.
The suit was suffocating him at this point. He wanted to rip it off as much as he wanted to rip off the fabric covering the goosebumps on your skin.
“Is it only because I’m nearby?” You asked, gathering the courage to turn your chair to him.
White lenses met you across the room. He dragged in another shaky breath of oxygen made of you as he thought about his next words. He could’ve lied. He should’ve lied. But instead, chemically overwhelmed and stripped of every defense he possessed, he gave you the truth.
“No.”
His voice was firmer this time. No hesitation in it despite the thousand red alarms pounding in his head telling him to shut up.
“It picked you–no, I picked you for a reason,” he added. “And it’s not just me. The other…the other me wants you too.”
His voice went lower on the last part, that told you how much it cost him to admit that.
The silence following his confession was heavy. For a moment he wished he could read your mind. For all he could feel of you, your thoughts were unreachable.
His own mind was a mess. The impulses didn’t feel like thoughts anymore, just his body feeding him instructions.
Get up. Cross the room. Touch her. Breathe her in.
His palms shook with the urge to close around you. His teeth ached with the need to graze your skin. His eyes burned with the desire to see beyond fabric.
Every part of him seemed convinced that the small distance between you was a mistake he needed to correct. That he needed to breathe you in until his lungs burned. Drag his mouth along the inside of your wrist and taste the pulse there.
He hated it.
He hated that something inside him could look at the person he cared for the most and reduce her to an answer for his pain.
“EV, how long is this state going to last?” He asked the computer, followed by a weak cough as he clutched his side.
“Your enhanced physiology is struggling to break down the toxin’s structure. I estimate a time between ten to twelve hours before it’s metabolized. However, neurological collapse is expected before that timeframe.”
“What?” You looked at him. “There’s no way we’re letting that happen. Maybe I can–”
“Don’t even start,” he cut you off, shaking his head profusely.
“So what? I’m supposed to sit here betting on whether your body collapses on hour three or hour six?”
“I’ll just pass out, big deal. I’m not putting you in danger because of this. I can handle it.”
“You’re barely handling it now. There’s no danger in trying–”
“You don’t understand what’s happening inside me right now,” he argued, raising his voice. “This other thing, the one the inhibitor controls it’s…awake. That part of me doesn’t think like I do. It doesn’t care if you're scared, or hurting–”
“You wouldn’t hurt me–”
“You don’t know that!” He snapped, his fist struck the floor next to him, hard enough to make the worn wood crack beneath his knuckles.
The sudden noise made you flinch. He smelled the flash of fear moving through your body for only a second.
One second enough.
“Fuck–that is what I mean,” he cursed, covering his lenses with his hands. “I don’t…I don’t know if I’d be gentle. I can’t risk this, I can't…shit, I can’t risk you.”
The words, said with so much pain, and honesty, seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest.
“Okay,” you nodded, settling deeper in your chair. “But I’m not leaving you like this. I can’t risk you either.”
He shuddered a painful exhale. His head dropped to the couch again, shutting his eyes in preparation of what the next hours of torture would be.
Except…he didn’t even last ten minutes.
The suit was killing him, so he decided he’d be better without it. He reached desperately behind his back, clumsily undoing the zippers that tied the suit together.
He could feel your wide eyes on him as he tugged the fabric off his shoulders, peeling it off his sweaty arms. He groaned when he lifted his hips and the suit grazed his swollen crotch. In a matter of seconds that felt like eternity he managed to break free from the spandex, and threw it away somewhere in the room. He’d undressed down to his dark boxers, mask still in place, revealing the marble sculpture of his body.
You let out a shaky breath from your spot, eyes raking over a body you’d only seen partially. He was covered in wounds most of the time, but this time, he only had faint bruises from the night before decorating his chiseled abs.
His tight muscles flexed with every rise of his chest, his bulge straining harder the more you devoured him, pressing against his pants, making him curse quietly.
You noticed, and returned your eyes to the screen to track his vitals.
He felt grateful that you’d given him that grace, but just you being in that room made it very hard for him to think of anything other than your existence.
Too hard.
Before he knew his hand drifted down the growing ache in his crotch, trying to feel some relief, but every rub he made over the fabric of his boxers sent a jolt of pain through his body instead of pleasure.
It only made it worse when he realized you were tense at the desk, trying very hard to keep your focus on the screen and not on the whines he was letting out.
“…I’m sorry,” he apologized instantly, breathlessly, moving his hand away. “I didn’t–”
“Don’t apologize,” you shook your head quickly, eyes still on the screen. “You…you can do whatever you need.”
He didn’t say anything, just whined in pain again, so you took it as a chance to say it before you regretted it.
“But my offer still stands, spidey.”
What a polite way of saying ‘I’d let you fuck me into next week so you can control your horny arachnid hormones, spidey.’
Fucking hell.
“I’m okay I just–God I didn’t–I didn’t think it would feel this way…” He laughed humorlessly, staring at the ceiling. “But I–I got this. Yes.”
You kept quiet, hearing him mumble to himself about a hundred times about how he had this.
“I’m okay…I’m good…it’s fine…”
He wasn’t.
“Fuck I don’t…I’m going to die…”
For God’s sake.
“I think I can help.”
By the time he registered the words and looked back at you, you had already moved from your chair and shortened the distance between you, kneeling in front of him.
His senses went from one thousand to one million. He forced his hands behind his back, trying to keep the animal from grabbing you and getting it over with.
“What–what are you doing?” He stammered nervously, the lenses of his mask going wide.
“Maynard,” you said quietly, ignoring the way his body tensed up at that name. “Would it make you feel better if I put my hand here?”
You placed your hand right in the center of his chest, and your cold palm met his overheated skin. He gasped, feeling every individual fingerprint on his skin. He wanted them marked on him. Tattooed.
His back arched from the couch, with a strangled gasp breaking from beneath the mask. The relief hit him all at once, through a simple contact that felt like salvation.
Your hand steadied him for only a glorious second, but now that you had touched him, his body knew precisely what it had been denied.
It wanted more.
His own hand closed around yours so suddenly that you almost pulled back, but he loosened his grip the instant he realized how tightly he was holding you.
“Sorry–”
“Don’t apologize.” You pressed harder.
He was burning.
The heat beneath your palm scared you, but what scared you more was the violent pounding of his heart beating against your hand so so quickly.
“Better?” You asked quietly, trying not to bite your bottom lip at the image of him crumbling under your palm.
“So fucking better,” he said breathlessly, pressing your hand tighter against his chest. “I…dammit–”
“Breathe,” you reminded.
His head fell back against the couch. Chest rising up and down, up and down, up and down.
Just take her, man, she’s right there–
Your free hand accidentally brushed his neck, right where the border of the mask started, snapping him right back. He grabbed your hand, not harshly, but firm enough to make your breath hitch.
“Please.” Was all he said.
Leave it on.
It brought you back to that first night he’d crashed into your life.
“I wasn’t planning on removing it,” you whispered, leaning closer. “You can keep it on. But let me help you…I really want to.”
See? She wants it. She needs it so bad.
He hated that the other guy was right. He knew you meant what you said because he could smell the proof pooling between your thighs.
Fuck it.
In a sudden movement he reached for your waist, dragging you forward so you were straddling his lap. The bulge you landed on made you gasp, hands instinctively grabbing onto his sweaty biceps for balance when he let out a broken groan that vibrated against your core.
His hand cupped your jaw, bringing it closer to his face, and your dilated pupils reflected on the white of his lenses.
“I can feel that you want this,” he mumbled, tilting his head to the side. “Please, say it again…”
You shifted your hips, barely, so minimal yet he felt it travel through his whole body. He hissed, tightening the grip on your jaw.
“I want this,” you repeated firmly, moving your head closer to his ear. “You can take whatever you need…”
You moved your hips again, more deliberate this time, pulling a broken whine from him. The toxin made every contact feel like electricity racing down his spine, straight to the heavy, aching weight of his cock under you.
“Yes…yeah just like that…” he panted. “Just let me…”
His hands landed on your waist, moving you back and forth at a quicker pace over his bulge. You gasped at the friction, fingers digging into his shoulders, while he let out a collection of muffled words you could barely understand.
“...M–more…” he whined, throwing his head back against the couch. “I can’t–I need…”
“What do you need? More what?”
“More contact.”
His hands left your waist to grab the hem of your shirt.
“Can I?” He whispered.
You nodded eagerly, gasping when his hands shifted to the collar of your shirt instead, ripping it off your body with a sharp pull.
“Oh fuck,” he cursed when he realized there was nothing under that shirt, and saw your nipples hardening instantly under the cold air.
He resisted the urge to bite them through the mask.
His hands, however, wasted no time to cup your breasts with a broken whine. His thumbs played with your nipples, tugging at them as hard as he could allow himself to without hurting you.
“Fuck you’re perfect…you’re so perfect…” he whispered, more to himself than you, pulling some soft whimpers out of you when he tugged a little harder. His hands drifted to your lower half, to the hem of the last piece keeping your body from his greedy eyes. “These too,” he said, “please, can I? I want to feel you.”
“Yes,” you nodded, already out of air.
You didn’t even know why you tried to get off his lap to take the shorts off properly, when he just did the same as the shirt: ripped it in half where it rested on your hips, yanked it off from your body and threw the ruined pieces far away.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“I can smell you. God, I can smell you. You’re so–oh God…”
Now he could feel your wetness drenching his boxers, dripping onto the fabric. He could almost taste it in his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to drown in it for hours.
“Can–can I–?”
You didn’t even let him finish, you grabbed his hand and placed it right between your legs.
Water. He found water in the middle of the dessert.
His hand moved carefully through your wet folds once, twice, delighting in your warmth, the way you felt, the way you let out the prettiest sound he had ever heard in his miserable life.
“Fuck…” you cursed softly, moving your hips eagerly when he kept stroking slow. Too slow. “Touch me, please.”
He obliged, fingers finding your clit in movements that had you gripping his shoulders tighter, eyes fluttering shut so beautifully he had to bite his lip to not let out a pathetic sound.
“Been wanting this,” he mumbled. “Longer than today. Longer than tonight.”
His finger slid inside of you, making you moan when he curled it just right.
“There were…there were nights I thought about you riding my hand,” he kept going, voice cracking as he added a second finger, stretching you more. “I’ve wanted you for so long–not just because of this shit in my blood. Because it’s you.”
Every word made you clench around his fingers. Every admission pulled another shaky moan out of your throat. You were a mess already, breathless, hips rolling down to meet the thrust of his fingers.
“Oh my God–don’t stop, please don’t stop–”
“Not stopping, baby.”
He kept working you open, the white lenses of the mask never leaving your face. His free hand slid up your chest, settling between your breasts.
“I’m–I’m close,” you managed. “I’m so close–”
“Come on…you’re perfect. You’re so fucking perfect like this.”
The heel of his palm lifted to press against your clit. You were right there, right on the edge, about to come on his hand and drip down his boxers–
“Please,” he begged, unable to keep it in. “Let me fuck you after this…please. I need to be inside you. I’ve needed it for so long–just let me, after you come, please, please–”
The plea undid you.
You came with a broken cry, stopping your movements as your walls pulsed around him. The sound you made against his shoulder nearly finished him right there.
It took you a second to just breathe again, your chest synching up with his in the search of oxygen. He kept rocking his hand slowly, not just to work you through the aftershocks, but because the friction of your pussy in his hand brought the tiniest relief to him.
You just stayed there as the last soft waves rolled through you.
Once you were able to see clearly again, you let out a breathless chuckle and straightened back up.
He needed you. He needed you so badly you really thought he was going to die if you didn’t help him.
You placed one hand on his chest as the other reached under you, slipping inside the fabric of his boxers without breaking eye contact.
The second your bare fingers brushed him, his hips jerked hard under you.
“You said please,” you whispered breathlessly.
You wrapped your fingers around him and pulled him free.
His cock sprang out, heavy and flushed between your bodies, so thick and hard and painful. The head was red and shiny, with precum dripping down the vein that ran along his length. The tip brushed the skin of your stomach, leaving a warm, wet patch that made the hair on your arms go up. He could smell the small flicker of intimidation sparking inside you, but the want that followed was stronger.
You stroked him a few times, slowly just as he’d touched you at first.
“Oh my God, your hand–your hand–”
Another thick bead of precum welled up and spilled over your fingers. Whether it was the toxin or just his enhanced physiology, he was dripping for you.
Flustered wasn’t enough of a word when you had his leaking cock in your hand.
His hands slid down to your hips, gripping tighter, guiding you up as if he was about to lift you then pulling you back down immediately.
Fuck her. Fuck her right now.
“Please, I need–I need to feel you…” he cried out. “Let me…let me…”
You nodded just as desperately, lifting yourself up as he helped, steadying you with shaking hands until the thick head of his cock nudged against your entrance. You both exhaled hard at the same time when you started to sink down, taking him inch by inch.
He was big. Almost too much. The burn of it made your breath hitch, but the way he cursed under his breath multiple times, completely at your mercy, made you keep going until he was buried balls deep.
You sat there for a moment, breathing heavily, and so full of him.
When the initial sting faded away, you started moving. He let you set the pace as you adjusted, holding back his need of thrusting up. His fingers dug on your skin, not lifting just holding you, but the more that you moved, the more that control started to waver.
He could feel it coming. The change.
You kept moaning, bouncing on top of him, completely unaware of his self restraint crumbling away.
His grip slowly tightened when his eyes began turning completely black under his mask. That careful, pathetic boy who’d been begging disappeared beneath something more…primal.
Fuck. Whatever had been holding him back finally snapped.
The next thing he knew, his hands slid under your thighs with sudden strength. He lifted you up in one motion until only the thick head of him remained inside you, held you there for a second as the last part of him tried to remember how to be gentle–then snapped his hips up hard.
That first thrust pulled a sharp moan out of you, but there was no chance to adjust this time. He set a relentless pace almost immediately, using pure strength to bounce you on his cock while he drove up to meet every drop of your body, buried so deep it stole your breath every time he bottomed out.
“Oh my–May…Maynard–” the name you barely used on him slipped out in the middle of the frenzy, but his hand reached behind your head to pull your hair back slightly as he kept thrusting up.
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice so different from just minutes earlier. “It’s Peter. Call me Peter when I’m inside you.”
He didn’t even give you time to process, still lifting and dropping you onto his cock at the exact hard rhythm he wanted. The only one that satisfied the need inside of him. Your hands instinctively reached for the edge of the arm of the couch he was leaning against, fingers digging into the worn fabric as he hit that spot inside you over and over again.
“Of fuck…Peter–fuck…yes…”
“That’s better,” he approved. “I was right, you’re so so perfect…taking every inch like you need it as bad as I do…”
A desperate sound slipped out of you at the praise, he could feel your walls clenching tight around him as your body went for that second orgasm, your eyes were fluttering shut, almost there–
“Nuh–uh,” he denied immediately, stopping mid thrust, holding you pressed against him as you gasped, surprised and confused.
“What–what happened? I was about to–”
“I want you to hold it for me. I know you can.”
That twisted part of him enjoyed the slow realization on your face.
Even if you couldn’t see his eyes, you knew the same spiderman he’d been without the inhibitor, was the one with your body at his mercy now.
Good.
He stayed buried to the hilt for a moment, breathing hard behind the mask. When your breathing finally slowed down and accepted that the high never came, he stood up. Still inside you, he walked you to the bed in the corner of the room.
His bed.
He pulled out with a wet sound that made both of you groan, then laid you down roughly near the edge of the mattress. He kneeled down, strong hands hooking behind your knees and dragging your legs over his shoulders, folding you open for him completely.
“Look at the ceiling,” he ordered. “Don’t look at me.”
You obeyed, staring up at the wood beams high above you while he tugged the bottom of the mask just high enough to free his mouth.
Peter leaned down and pressed a few soft kisses to your swollen folds. He wasn’t necessarily eating you out, just giving a few loud smooches that felt good enough to make you grip the sheets.
“M’sorry, you were so perfect there…” he mumbled condescendingly against your most sensitive spots. “But I need you to hold on a little longer. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”
You nodded, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. Maybe too eager. Maybe too pathetic. Just like he’d been. Had he pumped that toxin into you?
Either way, you didn’t care. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this version of him.
He laughed right over your clit when you moaned loudly, after he moved his tongue in a slow, torturous swipe over it.
“Was back there too much?” He cooed. “Maybe I just need to stretch you more...”
Two fingers slid inside you, so easily, but the sudden stretch still dragged a whine out of your throat. He curled them immediately, finding the spot that made your hips jerk.
“Peter…”
“Huh?” He acted coy, pumping his fingers with a rhythm that kept you right on the edge without letting you tip over. He added a third finger, making your back arch from the mattress. “Keep holding it in.”
Every shake of your body fed the stupid toxin inside him. Having you like this…really trying to keep your body from coming apart because he said so.
God. He was never going back.
“You just took my cock. I think you can take three fingers with no problem.”
He kept the same relentless pace, chuckling when your body started twitching again.
“Shhh, you’re perfect, absolutely perfect…”
“Peter…” you called out again, hand dropping the sheet to find his shoulder instead. “I need…need…”
“Need what?”
“Need you inside me…please I won’t–I won’t hold for much longer just–fuck me.”
He stopped altogether, a smirk you couldn’t see stretching the corner of his mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, licking them clean before tugging his mask back in place and standing up.
“Yeah?”
Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed for a moment before his hands gripped your hips and turned you over. He moved you higher up the bed, grabbing one of the pillows, and shoving it under your hips, tilting your lower body up for him.
He then climbed onto the bed behind you and knelt between your spread thighs, the mattress dipping under his weight as one hand stroked down the length of your spine.
But something made him stop.
“This fucking mask–” he cursed under his breath. “It’s suffocating me.”
The sweat on his forehead had pooled under the mask, making it so sticky over his eyebrows that it was affecting the lenses he was trying to see you through.
“I need you to be a good girl for me,” he added breathlessly, yet still commanding enough. “Keep your head on the mattress. Ass up. Don’t turn around.”
You nodded. Too eagerly again. Couldn’t care any less again.
He didn’t think twice, just yanked the mask off and tossed it aside. It landed near you, making you bury half your face on the sheets as if staring at the mask alone would be disobeying his commands.
The sound he made when the cool air hit his face was pure relief. He swiped the sweat off with his forearm, finally seeing you clearly. Face down. Eyes squeezed shut. Already clutching the sheets.
“You look so pretty like this,” he mumbled. “All spread out for me…waiting.”
“Peter…” you whined, lifting your ass slightly from the pillow.
“I know, I know. You’re okay.” He couldn’t keep the smirk away when he added, “you said please.”
He reached between you, guiding the thick head of his cock between your thighs until it nudged against your entrance. You were still soft and ready and perfect.
Peter pushed in slowly, letting you feel every inch as he sank deep and deep and deeper.
He braced one hand beside your head and kept the other on your hip, pushing you into the mattress as his thighs hit the back of yours. Slap. Slap. Slap. The position left almost no space between your bodies, with Peter pressing his chest against your back.
“Fuck…you feel so good like this…so pretty taking me.”
He kept going, making the mattress creak and the base of the bed hit the brick wall repeatedly. Your desperate moans ran through his body like electricity, making something inside him crack open again.
What? What is–
The moment his rhythm stuttered, he shook his head, trying to clear it. Beads of sweat flew from his hair to your back.
“God–you…you’re making me–” The roughness of his thrusts slowed down immediately, inhaling a sharp intake of air as he felt the change again. “I can’t, I can’t…”
He lifted his gaze to the window behind the bed and noticed his eyes had turned back to its original color.
“Oh my god,” he gasped, stopping altogether. He straightened up, still kneeling and inside you, but panicking. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened I–“
“Peter!” You cut him off, pushing yourself back, closer to him, without turning around. “Shut up and fuck me.”
The order left your mouth breathless, pushing back against him even more to make the point clear. His hands twitched when they gripped your hips again.
“Okay, okay…” he panted, groaning when you dropped back on the bed and his cock almost left the warmth of your pussy. “I’m sorry–if I was too rough, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
He picked up the pace again, but the words tumbling out of him now were pure pleading Peter again.
“Don’t turn around–don’t turn around–fuck, fuck…” slap, slap, slap. “You can come now. Please. Please, I want to feel it–you’d come apart so pretty on me, I know you would…pleasepleaseplease–”
His final permission and the desperate way he said it made you crash harder than the first time, crying out into the mattress. The second he felt you coming around him, he knew he couldn’t last much longer either.
“Can I–inside…please, can I??…let me fill you up–”
“Yes–inside, Peter, do it inside me…”
He buried himself to the hilt with a strained groan and finally came. The orgasm tearing out of him was harder and longer than anything he’d ever felt, holding you there, filling you up.
You gasped against the sheets, breathless, as the waves of cum seemed to go on forever, flooding you with warm and thick ropes in every spurt as he emptied himself inside you.
“Thank you…thank you…” His forehead dropped between your shoulder blades, sending broken gasps against your skin as he kept coming. “You are so perfect–fuck…so perfect…thank you…”
The pollen wrung him dry until he could barely breathe, and even then he kept rolling his hips weakly, chasing the last of it while he slowly softened inside you.
When it finally eased, the pain, the need, the hunger…he pulled out slowly with a whine, and half collapsed over you. His arms held most of his weight as he planked above you, but you could feel every ridge of his muscles brushing your sweaty skin.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, feeling exhausted and aching in the best way, almost lulled by the sounds of your agitated breaths.
You both felt the warm trail of liquid leaking out between your bodies and neither of you moved or said anything for a while. He could’ve stayed like that forever, really. With your naked body under him, no masks, no barriers, just your swollen pussy leaking out his seed–
“Successful ejaculation brought down the arachnid hormone levels immediately. Inhibitor working within regular parameters now. Congratulations, Peter.”
EV’s monotone voice cut through the silence.
It took two seconds of shock before you both broke into breathless laughter. His teeth grazed your back as your bodies vibrated in sync from the amusement and overall flustering after everything that happened.
“Thank you, EV,” Peter muttered.
“You’re welcome. I gathered data and the released semen volume exceeds standard parameters by two hundred and twenty six percent due to the high hormonal concentration. Hydration, clean up and rest are advised.”
“For fucks sake…” Peter cursed under his breath.
“Oh god…” you mumbled against the sheets.
That was your call back to reality.
Peter felt you move under him, reaching blindly to the side until your hand found the mask. You lifted it over your shoulder, offering it to him without looking.
“I don’t want to,” he said, too quickly, then cleared his throat. “I…I don’t want to put it back on.”
“Then I’ll close my eyes,” you offered instead.
“No–I mean…you don’t have to. I don’t want to wear it around you anymore. Not after…all of this,” he admitted sheepishly.
“But you told me to not turn around,” you reminded him, dropping the mask on the mattress again. “And that was you, not the darker you.”
He chuckled, nodding even if you couldn’t see him yet.
“Yeah, because if I saw your face while I was balls deep inside you I would’ve busted before you came.”
There it was. He said it. No turning back now.
At least it got a chuckle from you too.
“Listen I…I meant everything I said. Everything. The wanting, the nights I thought about you,” he confessed. “I don’t want you to feel like I just used you when…when there was always a reason why I needed you like oxygen tonight.”
Your breath hitched, and his hand found your waist, pulling you closer to him, and when you didn’t push away…he exhaled in relief behind you.
“So maybe…you can turn around now. If–if you want to. Know the real me.”
“I would really like that,” you whispered without hesitation.
You tried lifting yourself up to turn around, but he did most of the job, moving away the pillow he had placed under you and helping you roll onto your back. You closed your eyes, at least until you were facing him completely, and took a deep breath. Holding onto his biceps for moral support, you finally opened them again.
Seeing his face for the first time felt so intimate, even after everything you just did.
There he was. The same guy who just fucked you into next week, looking more shy and boyish than you could’ve ever imagined.
Brown eyes. Dark, curly hair sticking to his forehead. A nervous smile tugging at the corner of his gorgeous mouth.
So young. So earnest. So yours.
Not spidey anymore. Just Peter.
Your Peter.
Thank you so much for reading 🤍 I used to write Peter so much back in the day (shoutout to my starktonyx era) and I’ve missed him dearly.
WALLY WEST eating you out and moaning like he's the one receiving head.
he's blabbering muffled praises as he practically makes out with your pussy, "taste s'good babe", "fuck- all mine, huh?", "could do this all day". he just can't shut the fuck up when you're moaning his name and squirming under his tongue, he feels like the luckiest man in the world.
his tongue vibrates at an inhuman pace against your puffy, swollen clit, making your hand fly to his auburn hair to tug on his mullet.
he feels his dick twitch at that, "feels good?" he teases, and you can feel that shit-eating grin against your cunt. any remark you had died in your throat when you caught the sight of him, looking up at you with lovesick eyes, blown-out pupils, pink swollen lips, and slick running down his chin obscenely. he was having the time of his fucking life.
he dove back into your pussy, sucking on your sensitive clit before letting go of it with a soft 'pop' and moving to tongue-fuck your sopping hole.
and, in the midst of moaning his name, you notice the bedframe shaking from just how hard he's humping the plush mattress underneath him.
his tongue never falters, he even inserts two fingers into your velvet heat, grinding against the bed speeding up when he feels how you flutter around his digits deliciously. you like it, he's making you feel good. that turns him on more than anything.
when you cum on his fingers and tongue with a cry, he cums right along with you, splurting warm release into his boxers and lapping at your heat like it's liquid gold.
you end up having to pull his head away from your heat, because he obviously couldn't care less about overstimulation, as long as he gets to eat you out for longer, not caring one bit about the sticky mess in his boxers either.
he looks up at you with those big puppy-like eyes, and that expression of pure admiration. his tongue darts out to lick his lips, collecting your release. his voice is raspy when he speaks,
── (18+) in which big strong redhood makes you choke him during sex! ꨄ︎ ; unprotected p in v, breathplay, cowgirl position, praise, pet names (baby)
JASON TODD who insists you choke him during sex.
it happened accidentally— your hand resting against his throat while riding him, pressing down a little too hard against the hot, flushed skin, and not noticing until he suddenly spoke up.
"you fuckin' choking me?" he makes a noise between a scoff and a groan, voice low and gravely, breaking you out of your pleasure induced trance. your hand flies away like you've been burned, your hips faltering in their desperate bouncing movement on his cock. "ohgod–" your eyes widen, "jay- m'so sorry baby" you rake your eyes over his body for any sign of discomfort, did you hurt him? is he okay? did he--
"i didn't say stop."
it catches you off-guard, that gruff voice telling you to do something to him rather than the other way around. his large, calloused palms meet the fat of your hips, directing your movements so that his cock starts plunging in and out of your sopping cunt once again. he's amused, watching your brows furrow softly in confusion and pleasure, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.
"cmon, baby" he gives your ass a slap, enough to have your velvet heat fluttering around him. "you're not dumb, are you?" he speaks so casually, taking entertainment in the way you can't decide what to do. you shake your head hesistantly, earning a low, soft chuckle from him. "yeah, you're a smart girl..." he trails off, taking your hands in his and bringing them to rest against his neck. "just press down, s'all you gotta do" he reassures you, practically cooing at you to strangle him.
and what can you do when he's looking at you like that-- eyes half-lidded, lips kiss-swollen and bitten, his face tinted a pretty pink, expression one of pure hunger, except for wrap your fingers around his throat and squeeze.
the smirk on his face falters, his face twisting in pleasure when you start bouncing on his dick again, lewd plap plap plap! sounds filling the room, your hands around his neck an added stimulation. you tighten your fingers where they rest around his throat, feeling the muscle and tendons underneath his skin. the hitch of his breath as that pressure increases.
"there ya' go" he wheezes out a string of praises, what's left of his breath fanning over your hot skin. his cock is practically impaling you, your orgasm building unusually quick low in in your tummy at the sight of him. the veins are popping on his forehead, skin a deep, beet red from the blood flooding his head.
his eyes are half-lidded, like he's about to pass out. his hips bucking up into your heat speak for him though, he's right where he wants to be.
you could laugh at this if he wasn't so deep that you could feel him in your throat, your big, burly boyfriend being choked by someone nearly half his size. you're barely scratching the surface of "hurting him".
his mind is clouded with arousal, he's so dizzy that all he can focus on is you-- how beautiful you look cutting off his air, and how good you feel wrapped around his shaft, a creamy white base of slick forming at the base of his cock from just how long the two of you have been fucking. how did he get so lucky with a girl like you?
he chokes out a raspy groan when your thumb presses down harder on his airway, the exact thing that sends him over the edge. you cum together, because god, it's hot knowing jason todd is a masochist, that you abusing him is enough for him to cum quicker than he ever has.
"oh fuck--! baby--" his name comes out in a cry, tearing from your throat as your pussy clenches around him, leading you to forget that you're still controlling your boyfriends air intake.
as for jason, he simply cannot make any noise, because of the two hands not allowing him to, except for a low, wheezing groan, while his load inside of you-- hot and sticky pulsing into your womb. he never signals for you to let up though, he wouldn't dare to tap out.
when you finally pull away, you watch him sputter at the sudden abundance of air, clearing his throat and letting that cocky smile take its place back on his face.
there's remnants of your hands— dark purple fingerprints blooming beautifully on the sides of his neck. you wish he could see, because you know he would get hard all over again from the prospect of his girl marking him up.
the bruises almost look like hickeys, something far more vanilla than what he just had you do to him.
he doesn't pull out, simply coaxes you down to rest against his broad chest, pressing soft kisses to your hairline like he's the one who should apologize.
"fuck-- we gotta start doin' that more" he's still catching his breath, chest heaving up and down. you can't exactly tell what he means by "more", if he'll make you choke him, or if he'll choke you.
Jason Todd is a sweetheart when you're drunk, but a complete mess when he is.
Whenever you decide to let loose a bit, whether to only get tipsy or just get smashed drunk, because the drinks were fruity and tasty--Jason is there. He will pick you up from wherever you went out to, or just help you back home if you attended a party together. He carries your heels for you and has you draped over his shoulder. You never have to worry about waking up with your makeup smudged all over the pillows, because he learned how to take it off for you. He puts you to bed, changes you into the most comfortable pyjamas you own and sits on the edge of the bed with makeup wipes or cotton pads soaked with micellar water. He even puts on some of that moisturiser you love so much.
Then he prepares the nightstand for the morning after: fills up your water bottle and adds ice, has painkillers on the go, a big bowl just in case you need it. And then he joins you in bed and cuddles you until you pass out, listening to your mumbles about how perfect he is and how much everything is spinning, and how you're never drinking again. He's absolutely holding your hair back in the bathroom, rubbing your back and carries you around if you're dead on your feet.
Drunk Jason however...
Oh that boy is a mess. He doesn't get drunk often, mind you. He needs to be alert all the time and it's just hard to let go. But if you reassure him hundreds of times that it's okay to have some fun once in a while, you make a mental note to never do it again. Drunk Jason is clingy, messy and absolutely adorable. You can barely bring the big guy home, but once you do, he's sprawled on the bed like a starfish. Groaning about his head, whining that he loves you so much. If you manage to get him ready for bed, which takes much longer than you'd like to admit, he's all over you. His hands are caressing you, his face is smushed between your breasts.
Can't forget about the drunken sex.
You try to explain to your endearing boyfriend that he's out of it and sex can wait, but he will just whine more. You can't help, but chuckle, before his lips are messily moving against yours and his hips are rutting into you clumsily. For half of it, Jason doesn't even realise he's not inside you. He's just grinding his cock against you like a needy puppy, but you let him. He's a whimpering mess, mumbling I love you's and you're so perfect all the time, until the pressure is too much. He cums so quickly when drunk and it's messy, adding another fifteen minutes to clean him and yourself up. You watch over him when he's passed out, already preparing for his hangover tomorrow morning.
⠀ ⠀⠀ — fem!reader, fluff + suggestive on jasons, batboys + clark, established relationships
bruce wayne — 5/10
it really depends on the day for him. the whole world knows youre his so why fuss over someone who doesnt know their place? hes the one who lays in your arms at the end of day. but some days he can get really sulky, and i mean really sulky. hes gonna act all dismissive about it at first, then leave subtle hints about a guy who lingered too long at the gala and then full on sulk in your arms. those are the three stages.
stage three might be your favorite because bruce lays on top of you, massaging your hip with soft strokes of his thumb while asking if you still loved him, wanted to be with him and if you liked his features. your man might be a billionaire but inside he is just a guy who loves his wife very much and never wants to be apart from her.
dick grayson — 8/10
now this one is a doozy. hes a very territorial type of guy... not in a toxic way god no! he loves his girlfriend so much so it physically pains him to see a guy trying to talk to you. he immediately acts up upon it, snaking an arm around your waist or shoulders and up fronting talking to the guy. zero shame in being jealous.
and obviously he would be begging for your attention afterwards, just to ease down his nerves, not like youre going anywhere but he wants to feel grounded with his girl!
jason todd — 6/10
the dude is scarred, we all know this, so i dont think he would overly be jealous but more protective. he knows you love him so dearly, so why be jealous of weak men who try to hit on you? a nice threat gets them going on their way.. normally.
when a guy is really being persistent with you, at a party for example, he would be nasty with you, full on animalistic. grabbing you by the ass and pulling you into a make out until the guy gets the idea to leave. and if you confront him about being jealous? he will just huff and say its no big deal, yeah right!
tim drake — 1/10
he has bigger things to worry about. most of the times you want him to get a little jealous because of how chill he is! of course he will always protect you from guys wanting your number but why be jealous of some guy who will never reach the level of intimacy that he has with you? youre his girlfriend, the love of your life!! he wont be jealous over a guy who doesnt even have youre number.
sometimes, he will have his weaker moments. where he doesnt feel certain of himself but you are always there to comfort him and reassure him that he is, and youre gonna love him either way.
damian wayne — 10/10
he is a bit of a mess. when it comes to jealousy, hes not really… vocal about it. the scars from his past made him feel heavily unwanted and used, so if another guy hit on you per say, he would feel heartbroken. the problem would be he wouldnt tell you! damian thinks being cold and distant would help himself and you — spoiler alert: it doesnt.
it takes a lot of talking with him for him to open up and be more vocal of his insecurities. hes not perfect and is getting better with telling his feelings to you every single day! at the end tho he knows you love him so much — putting up with shit and all reminds him how everything in the end will be to his liking.
clark kent — 3/10
by popularity, people think hes a big puppy who gets jealous when his owner is playing with another dog but truth be told — he isnt! he knows how amazing his wife is and he doesnt blame who would want to try a shot. most people know about the marriage anyways, so why he should bother? he knows you can take care of yourself and if you needed, he would be there in an instant.
tho there are times where it gets to him if a guy is being really persistent on you. hes a soft boy after all and would make small comments if he himself needed to do anything better. it all ends tho with you kissing his sweet face saying there is nothing to worry about — and he believes it with all his heart.
⟢ 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: this is rushed im sorry im trying to post daily but its taking a toll on me!! i might start posting once every two or three days idk… thank u guys so much tho for all the support!!! im incredibly happy will all ur nice comments u guys are so freaking cute <3
💭 𓈒⠀𓈒ㅤㅤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moans—feeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, he’d let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.
panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didn’t have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.
his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.
the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shock…whispering shared and desperate ‘I love yous’
Ი𐑼 yeah so it’s short , just a little thought and concept but I will definitely write a longer fic about this <3 I’m not prepared for the person I’m going to become when the movie is out … I’m already freaking out from the trailer 🤓
