▐ someone hits on dad!sukuna!? :: wife!reader, a wee bit of angst for like a second, fluff, sfw
You push the stroller through the food court, softly settling Yugi into Sukuna's arms. After getting their food, you walk through the food court, two trays balanced carefully in your hands, one with the kids’ meal Yugi had pointed at with sticky fingers before he abruptly dozed off, the other with the spicy takeout Sukuna always insisted on. Your own little boy is finally calm, dozing against the soft blanket you tucked around him after an hour of trying on uniforms and arguing over which dinosaur lunchbox was “the coolest.”
Sukuna is waiting at the table you’d claimed earlier, long legs stretched out, one large hand gently wrapped around Yugi as he slept comfortably. From across the open space you can see the soft expression he only ever wears for the two of you, something almost gentle in the usual sharp lines of his face as he leans in and murmurs something that makes Yugi’s tiny fist curl in his sleep.
You’re almost there when a woman in a tight blouse slides into the empty chair across from him without asking.
You slow without meaning to.
She laughs too brightly, tilting her head, body angled toward him like she’s already decided she belongs there. “Wow, raising a kid all by yourself? That’s impressive. Single dads are so rare these days…” Her eyes drag over him in a way that makes your stomach tighten. “You don’t look like you’re struggling at all.”
The change in Sukuna is instant.
The soft curve of his mouth vanishes. His eyes go cold, the same flat, dangerous stillness he used to wear before everything changed, before you, before the little boy now sleeping between him. He doesn’t even glance at her properly. Just looks past her, toward the direction you’re coming from, as if she’s nothing more than background noise.
She keeps talking, voice dropping into something lower, more intimate. “I mean, if you ever need help… or company that isn’t the toddler kind—”
“I have a wife,” Sukuna says, voice low and final. “And this is our child.” He rests his other arm lightly around Yugi. “You don’t interest me.”
You reach the table just as the last words leave his mouth. The woman finally notices you standing there with the trays, and for a second her expression flickers, surprise, then something sharper, almost offended. She opens her mouth like she might say more, but Sukuna doesn’t give her the chance. He simply turns fully toward you, the cold mask melting the moment his eyes meet yours.
You set the food down a little harder than necessary, heart still thudding from the brief, stupid hurt of watching someone look at your husband like that. But the way he doesn’t even spare her another glance settles something warm and solid in your chest.
The woman mutters something under her breath and leaves.
“Hm.” You mummer.
Sukuna’s hand finds the small of your back the second she’s gone, thumb stroking once in quiet reassurance. “Sit,” he murmurs. “Food’s getting cold.”
You do. Yugi stirs at the sound of your voice, tiny face scrunching before his eyes open. The second he sees you, he reaches out with both arms, making the soft, demanding little noise that means he wants to be held.
Sukuna lifts him easily, settling the boy against your chest so Yugi can grab at your soft sweater with both fists. You lean in, pressing a kiss to the soft crown of your son’s head, then one to the corner of Sukuna’s mouth.
“I saw,” you say quietly.
“I know. But it doesn’t matter. You’re the only one I look at.”
Yugi babbles something that sounds suspiciously like agreement, then tries to shove a fistful of fries into Sukuna’s mouth from across the table. Your husband lets him, expression softening all over again into something private and unbearably fond. Saved only for the two of you.
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lowk may make a separate masterlist just for jjk, especially if i start making smaus 😅
secretly dating ryomen sukuna is easy until your ultra religious parents decide to surprise you at 8 am
the knocking has been going on for at least three minutes.
you’re still half-asleep, curled beneath the blankets with your face pressed against the pillow, while sukuna lies beside you. morning light slips through the curtains, painting pale stripes across the room. neither of you has any intention of getting out of bed anytime soon.
then comes another knock, three sharp raps against the front door. you groan and bury yourself deeper beneath the blankets.
“probably a delivery.”
sukuna cracks one eye open. “at this hour?”
“maybe.”
the knocking, unfortunately, persists. sharp raps that make you blindly reach for your phone to check the time—barely eight in the morning.
sukuna sighs, pushing himself upright. his hair is a complete mess, and he’s entirely shirtless.
“persistent bastard.”
you peek at him from beneath the covers. “just tell them to leave it.”
“what if they need a signature?”
“then they can come back.”
“you’re incredibly helpful,” he says, and you stick your tongue out at him.
he leans over to press a lazy kiss to your forehead before climbing out of bed. you watch him disappear down the hallway, still too sleepy to care about anything beyond getting back under the blankets.
you hear the lock click, then the door opens.
“morning,” sukuna says, his voice rough with sleep.
dead silence. you frown. then comes a voice you haven’t heard in person for months.
“excuse me?”
your entire body goes rigid. your mother’s voice, followed immediately by your father’s. “who are you?”
your stomach drops and you shoot upright so quickly that the blankets tangle around your legs. “oh my god.”
from the hallway comes sukuna’s unmistakably calm voice. “uh…”
your father sounds furious. “where is our daughter?”
there’s a pause. “inside.”
“ryomen!” you scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you grab the nearest oversized shirt and pull it on. your heart pounds so violently that you can practically hear it.
your parents have never approved of sukuna. matter of fact, they didn’t even know you had a boyfriend. they’ve barely approved of you talking to anyone they don’t know, let alone dating someone they consider completely unsuitable. they called your first boyfriend reckless, immoral and disrespectful (needless to say that relationship didn’t last very long).
so naturally, this is how they have to find out that you’re seeing someone.
you reach the hallway just in time to see the scene. your mother stands frozen on the doorstep and your father stands beside her, staring at sukuna. sukuna stands there shirtless, hair disheveled, looking like he has absolutely no idea how catastrophic the situation is.
his eyes flick toward you, then back to your parents. “oh,” he says.
your mother slowly between the two of you. “y/n, you have got to be kidding me.”
“mom—”
“you said you were living alone.”
“i am!”
your father points accusingly at sukuna. “then why is he here?”
sukuna raises an eyebrow and scoffs. “because she invited me.”
you stare at him in horror. “not helping,” you whisper.
“what?” he runs a hand through his hair and sighs, and you don’t miss how your father’s eyes flick disapprovingly over the inked lines across sukuna’s chest and arms.
your mother looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm. “how long has this been going on?”
you open your mouth, but nothing comes out. sukuna, who clearly isn’t fully awake yet, answers for you. “almost a year.”
your father’s expression darkens.
“sukuna,” you mumble, looking away from the door.
“what?” he asks, genuinely confused.
you grab his wrist and pull him farther away from the door. “go put a shirt on.”
he glances down at himself, then at your parents. “right.”
“now,” you whisper-shout, and he disappears back toward the bedroom.
your mother stares after him. “a year?”
you swallow. “yeah.”
“a year,” she repeats, almost to herself. “and you didn’t tell us.”
“because i knew you wouldn’t approve.”
your father folds his arms. “we don’t.”
the silence that follows is brutal. sukuna returns, now wearing a shirt, looking considerably less incriminating but still far too comfortable for the situation. he stops beside you and your mother looks between the two of you. her eyes settle on your hand, still loosely wrapped around sukuna's wrist, then they move to sukuna's face. "what’s your name?"
sukuna blinks once. "ryomen sukuna."
your mother repeats it under her breath, like she's committing it to memory. "ryomen sukuna."
"yes."
"and what do you do?"
there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of sukuna’s mouth. "i work."
your father's jaw tightens. "doing what?"
"various things."
"sukuna,” you mutter, pinching the back of his arm.
he looks down at you, amused. "what?" he murmurs.
"please," you whisper, lips breaking into a small smile, and he grins right back.
your mother looks between you again, visibly appalled by the familiarity. "this isn't a joke."
sukuna's expression settles."i know."
"then answer the question."
he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “dunno. various things. depends on the day.”
your father looks skeptical. "and you make enough to support yourself?"
"more than enough."
your mother stiffens at the answer. "support yourself," she repeats. "and what exactly are your intentions with our daughter?"
you nearly choke. "mom."
sukuna, however, seems far too entertained by the question. he crosses his arms. “my intentions?”
"yes," your father bites, jutting his chin up.
sukuna looks at you with that infuriating little smirk. "i had a few ideas this morning, actually."
your mother's face drains of color. your father's expression turns thunderous.
"ryomen."
"what?" sukuna asks innocently. "you asked."
"you will not speak about my daughter that way."
the amusement disappears from sukuna's face. "then don't ask questions you don't want answered."
"sukuna," you whisper sharply.
your father steps forward. "you think this is funny?"
"no."
"because you seem awfully comfortable."
"i am."
your mother makes a strangled sound beside him. "comfortable?"
she looks at you as though you've personally betrayed every principle she's ever tried to teach you. “so you're really together?”
you swallow. “yeah.”
your father gives you a look that makes you wish the floor would open up.
sukuna wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you closer to him. “she's an adult.”
your father's attention snaps toward him. “i wasn't speaking to you.”
“seems like you were.”
you close your eyes. “ryomen.”
“what?” his grip tightens slightly around you. “i love her.”
your mother's mouth parts slightly and you feel your face heat. your father however, looks unconvinced. “love isn't enough.”
“never said it was.”
“then what are your intentions?”
sukuna's thumb brushes across your side. “to keep her happy.”
your mother shakes her head. “this isn't a joke. you don’t understand,” she says, voice rising. “we leave early this morning to make a four hour trip to visit our daughter—i knew something was wrong, too, with how long it takes you to answer your phone when i call—and this is what i see. your father and i had the understanding that you’d save yourself for marriage, not—not be seeing some oaf we haven’t approved of.”
“mom, please don’t.”
“we're allowed to be concerned!”
your father points toward sukuna. “look at him!”
sukuna raises an eyebrow. “i'm looking at me.”
you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.
your mother looks like she might actually combust. “the tattoos, the attitude, the way you speak—”
“what about the tattoos?” sukuna asks.
“they're inappropriate!”
“they're just tattoos.”
“and you clearly have no respect for boundaries.”
sukuna glances at you. “i respect hers.”
the room goes quiet and your father sighs. “and what exactly are you planning to do with her?”
sukuna leans slightly closer to you. “well, this morning we were—”
you slap a hand over his mouth. “no.”
his eyes crinkle with amusement. your father looks appalled. “what were you two doing this morning?”
“nothing!” you squeak.
sukuna pulls your hand away from his mouth. “she was—”
“ryomen!”
you smack his arm and he laughs, finally losing the battle against his amusement.
your mother stares at you both like she's witnessing the collapse of civilization. “this is exactly what i was afraid of.”
your face burns. “mom, please.”
sukuna looks at you, then at your parents, and that mischievous grin returns. “if it helps, your daughter was very—”
you slap his chest. “shut up!”
“what?” he laughs. “i was going to say affectionate.”
your father looks ready to throw him out and your mother looks up to the ceiling, as if seeking divine intervention..
and then sukuna, apparently determined to make the situation irreparable, adds casually, “although, considering how sore she was this morning, i suppose you could say she really did—”
you smack him again, absolutely mortified and he catches your wrist, laughing.
your mother makes a tiny, strangled noise. “oh, dear lord.”
and then she faints.
your father catches her halfway down. “honey!”
you stare in complete horror. sukuna looks at your mother, then at you. “...should i have stopped at affectionate?”
IN WHICH — your boyfriend, keiji akaashi, manages to catch you off guard each time
EXTRA — crack, established relationship, fluff, slight ooc (he’s supposed to be a lil weird), based on these two requests (1 & 2)
A/N — no harm was caused to any fictional bird in this smau. molting is a thing and birds do drop their feathers naturally. any complaints should be directed to @lovedlorned, my vet wife 🙈 also, im still working on the suna obsession au, this is me clearing out my drafts !
click here for more works ♡
TAGLIST (comment or fill out this form to be added) — @lovedlorned @kagstobioisthelightofmylife @imallamaninjaistg @suoyato @iwillnoteatdogs @jiacheriee @huhyeni @radioactivefarts @ollysbeard @telepatiiaaa @sunnyl1ght @catgvrl
synopsis. in an attempt to get closer to your boyfriend, you try to guess his favorite color.
—✧ content. fluff and sap and warmth and all the happiness peter parker deserves and self-indulgence to the peak. reader plays sports casually and gets hurt sometimes doing them! this was originally posted as a gojo fic sue me !! also based off of a tiktok sound
—✧ notes. 1.3k words, i wanted brand new day to kill me and then it killed me . #superheroshill #inthisshit4life
“Hm... yellow?”
A breeze flutters against your eyelashes as you lie next to him, the cool toughness of the concrete against your cheek. His eyes narrow jokingly, a gloved finger jutting out to poke your face.
"Did you just say that because the sun is setting right now?" He teases, "C'mon, where's your creativity?"
It's a quiet day today, as quiet as New York City can get, anyways. You find yourselves on the roof of his apartment, just at that transition period when day shifts to night and the sky loses its sky blue to bright yellows and oranges — when parents usher their kids from memories and dreams made from woodchips in the park below you, as teenagers and the elderly alike ride the metro back to their homes in the real world.
Luckily for you, you don't need to go back to reality when you're next to Peter.
It's just the two of you up here — no supervillains to traumatize him, no stuck-up professors to traumatize you — just two bodies soaking up the weather of the city you grew up in.
Peter’s still in his suit, the practical turtleneck bobbing with his Adam’s apple as he swallows, his eyes curved into crescent moons as he peers at you. His irises are the color of roasted coffee — flecks of warm honey highlighted under the setting sun, something akin to love with a hazy warmth in his gaze.
(It's unfair, you think, for someone to look so beautiful.)
"Whatever." You huff, rolling your eyes as the two of you slump back onto your shoulder blades, a satisfied grin playing on his face.
“Hah.”
"Okay, what is it then?" You flop back around immediately, nudging against his shoulder. "Your favorite color?"
For a moment, he doesn't answer.
Between him and the spare leaf he twiddles with his fingers, he's never had one.
Red and blue are Spider-Man's colors, but he'd be lying if he called them his favorite. Green is nice, pink is cute for sure, orange was the color of his favorite Pokémon; his childhood was about as normal as most were, save for the radioactive spider that led him to becoming a superhero.
…
Okay, so now that he’s thinking about it, it makes sense that he’s maybe never gotten the chance to think about one.
It’s certainly possible that he had one growing up, but after becoming Spider-Man, his mind became too busy with equations and his body occupied with dodging alien attacks outside his window. Peter’s never had time to care about something as silly as a favorite color, but—
You were smiling when you guessed yellow.
Your eyes glazed with an excited shine he'd only seen in his dreams, your lips parting to show a smile he's sure he'll try to get you to recreate for the rest of his life — does yellow fit him that much? What's your reasoning?
Even now, as you take small glances at him, your gaze is filled with that lovestruck nosiness that he’s loved since high school (although if anyone's stricken, it's him). He doesn’t mind yellow being his favorite color if you can stay like this forever.
"You were right." He resigns, a nonchalant grin playing on his face, his eyes closed to soak in the last moments of sunshine, “Yellow's the best."
The next few moments are silent, other than a soft breeze that brushes through his bangs. The beginnings of the night chill nips at the bare bit of skin under his neck; he peeks an eye open, turning slightly to look at you and—
Ah.
Your lips are happily curved upwards, unable to hide your giddiness from him.
Before he can even comprehend what's going on, your arms push your body off the grass, trapping his back to the Earth, your face mere inches away from his.
“You’re not lying, right? You’re telling the truth?”
Peter gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, that astounding color of yellow shining against your silhouette. There’s a bit in your eyes, he can almost imagine, fire shining against your iris that he wants to stay lost in forever.
(Was the sun always this pretty? Or is it just you?)
“… Yeah, it’s cute.” He smiles simply, “I like it a lot.”
His gloved hand pulls you down towards him, pressing your chest to his as he presses small kisses against your skin.
“Peter—” You whine, pulling your face away as the kisses travel down your neck (he laughs as he pulls your head down again, hugging your body close), “Peter, you’re being annoying.”
“Aww, you like me anyways.”
He can feel your heat against his shoulder, behind your mumble, “Ugh, I guess.”
“Why yellow?” His grin is boyish as his hands palm at your hips, “Why'd you think of yellow for me?”
You bite the inside of your cheek as you bury your face into his clavicle, nose against nylon and muscle, “It's ‘cause …” The words that leave your lips get lost, the fabric of his shirt trapping them from his ears.
“Sorry?”
“I said—” your cheeks heat up in embarrassment, tilting your head towards his neck, “— It’s because you’re bright. Whenever I see you, you just … shine. Like the sun.”
Every New Yorker could attribute Spider-Man to the sun. It's the warmth he brings, the kindness he shows to the little man — everything Spider-Man does can associate him with the brightness of New York City.
No one knows Peter Parker, though. Certainly not like you know him. No one else knows the words that fuss over you every time you get hurt, fingers that painstakingly bandage your knees every time you fall on the court, the mind that stays up with you to help you study even after exhaustion creeps up his throat.
No one knows that Peter loves harder than anyone you’ve ever known, evident in chapped lips and small lulls of domesticity in the morning, evident in low moans and warm hands at night.
(No one knows his favorite color, except you.
You've never felt more special.)
“Will you kiss me?”
The words come out more vulnerable than you expect; sap dripped from your tongue, the feeling of wanting to stay like this pushed through your tongue.
Peter obliges, though — his hand tilts your chin towards him, the other at your scalp, pulling you close enough to feel his breath steady on your skin. His lips find yours immediately, soft against the wind that brushes against your body, warm fingers ghosting your neck contrasted with the cool stone at your palms.
You’re in love with him. God, you love him, the boy that rivals the sun — the boy whose natural state is to give more than he takes, and still accepts you anyways.
You pull away slowly as the sun falls further, the heat on your cheeks matching the dusty pink on his. The apartment lights across the street are lighting up, deep reds and violets lined against the horizon, and still, time feels far away from you. Peter looks a little lost when he looks at you, his head in some faraway place in his mind.
“What are you thinking about?” You ask, your pointer finger tracing his cheek.
He hums, a carefree smile on his face as he stares with that same lovesick look, as if his love could ever make you sick.
“Let’s just lay here for a while.” He closes his eyes, relaxing fully, “Until it gets dark.”
(Yeah, if he’s being totally honest, he doesn’t give a shit about the color yellow.
It may not be his favorite color, but you’re certainly his favorite person.)
every time nyc was typed out or mentioned i felt an inexplicable rage and jealousy to all new yorkers 💔💔 happy for yall 💔💔 mamdani please save my state 💔💔
★ summary: when spider-man comes to yelena for help, he doesn’t expect you to be there. you don’t expect for him to be so hot
★ pairing: spider-man x widow!reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, public sex, accidental vouyerism, web kink, web play?, enhanced!sperm, cum play, cream pie, mask stays on during sex (but reader is into it)
★ word count: 5.7k words
★ notes: putting myself in horny jail for this one idk i feel like i can’t write anymore this prob sucks
The steam curling on top of the water was thick enough to blur the edges of the room, hot enough that every inhale burned pleasantly at the back of your throat. It clung to your skin in a permanent sheen, damp strands of hair sticking stubbornly to your temples while eucalyptus hung heavy in the air. Next to you, Yelena dissolved into another fit of laughter, the movement of her shoulders sending a wave across the pool that splashed directly into your face and soaked the hair you’d spent the last ten minutes trying to keep dry.
“Сестра,” you hissed through a laugh of your own, swatting uselessly at the water before shoving her shoulder. “I told you to stop doing that.”
“Your hair,” She droned on, eyes rolling dangerously hard. “You look fine, hair will be fine there’s good essential oils in the water.”
“I find that very hard to believe.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very untrusting?” She raises a brow playfully.
Your eyes narrowed, already preparing another comeback when the heavy grated iron door groaned open from the other side of the room. Years of training settled over you before you even realized it had happened, your gaze snapping toward the entrance before flicking immediately to Yelena.
“Were you expecting company?”
She made an exaggerated show of thinking about it, lips pursed and finger tapping thoughtfully against her chin before her expression broke into an impossibly smug grin.
“Oh. Right.”
A figure in bright red stepped hesitantly through the haze, stopping just inside the doorway as though he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d walked into the correct room. Spider-Man looked between the two of you, then back toward the hallway as if debating on running. As if seeing two naked widows was the biggest threat he’d seen all day.
Yelena didn’t give him the chance. “Take off your clothes.”
“W-what?”
“You don't wear clothes in the banya, ditch the leotard.” She ordered.
“This is not a leotard.” He shuffled awkwardly, his arms moving around his sides aimlessly. “Uh, your tech told me this was your office?”
Yelena’s arms went up, “This is my office. Get in.”
His entire body tenses, “I’m fine thanks-“
“Waa, waa.” Yelena laughs, “My office, my rules.”
He’s not biting, which makes you stifle a laugh. The silence stretched just long enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Yelena leaned forward conspiratorially, as though she were making him the deal of a lifetime.“You get to enjoy a very nice, relaxing soak..“
You finally took pity on him, and picked up where she intentionally left off. “And we get confirmation you aren’t carrying any weapons. Everybody wins.”
His masked head turned toward you, the eyes on his suit getting animatedly larger.
“…Seriously?”
You smiled sweetly. “Seriously. I’ve learned to stop fighting her on it, it’s very nice in here.”
His shoulders sagged in the unmistakable posture of someone realizing resistance was entirely pointless. With a defeated sigh, he shuffled toward one of the wooden stalls. The stall door clicked shut behind him, and almost immediately the muffled rustle of fabric echoed through the room. At the same time, Yelena lazily stirred the water with one hand, looking altogether too pleased with herself.
“He said it was some small potato problem,” she murmured, effortlessly slipping into Russian. “Figured two Avengers could help him with intel.”
You hum, “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming by?”
“I forgot.”
“I don’t believe you.” You rolled your eyes, earning another satisfied grin from her just as the wooden stall creaked open. Spider-Man stepped out clutching a white towel around his waist with both hands like it was a lifeline. His shoulders were tense enough to rival a man walking into an execution, his face hidden behind the mask he’d somehow insisted on keeping despite surrendering the rest of the suit.
You had expected him to be lean, scrawny almost.
Instead, you found yourself staring for half a second longer than intended.
The suit had done him absolutely no favors. Beneath it were years of relentless training, packed onto a frame that looked carved from stone, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, every muscle defined by years of keeping the city safe. His arms alone looked capable of lifting a car without much effort, his biceps so absurdly large you were fairly certain one of them rivaled the size of his own head.
You caught Yelena watching your expression from the corner of your eye. The smug little smile spreading across her face told you she had noticed your momentary lapse immediately.
Yelena burst into laughter, which stopped abruptly when she realized he was in fact not actually going to take the mask off.
“Wait, you’re serious? You’re not going to take it off?”
He slips into the water, “It would defeat the whole anonymous thing.”
“Even for your girlfriend, or boyfriend, or whatever.” She trails off, “You know there’s fanart-“
You tuned her out almost immediately, letting the words fade into meaningless background noise while she enthusiastically listed the bizarre piece of online fan art she’d stumbled across. You had long ago accepted that Yelena somehow found herself on the strangest corners of the internet imaginable, usually against her own will and yet somehow always with enough curiosity to constantly send links to the group chat. Bucky had blocked her long ago.
The first night she downloaded Twitter, she had run into the common room, her tablet clutched in her hand her eyes searching for Bucky as he very innocently was eating his popcorn. “Barnes, have you ever heard of Sambucky? Or a website called AO3?”
You’re pulled out of the memory when Spider-Man speaks up again.
“- Look, I don’t have anyone. I kinda keep to myself.”
“All by yourself? All the time?” Her voice falls. “No wonder you’re so sad.”
“I’m not so sad.” He lies, his voice rising a pitch.
“A little bit.” She mumbles, then her shoulders straighten as if she just got the idea of a lifetime. “You know, my sister here is very lonely too. She says she is not, but yet every weekend she is with me or eating ice cream pretending we cannot hear her watching those horrible American movies through the walls.”
You turn your head to her, expression blank. “Yelena.”
“Can we talk about what I came here to talk about? The attack on Damage Control. ” Spider-Man buts in, making you nod in agreement.
“Yes, can we?”
“Right,” The shit-eating grin is still wide on her face, “So that is more your area. Like small potato, whereas the New Avengers are focusing on big potato stuff.”
“Right, there’s more to it than that.” He adds. Going on about what he had learned the past day and giving details of the incident that had not been made public yet.
The warmth of the water settled around you as you absentmindedly dragged your fingers across its surface, watching small ripples spread between the three of you while you pieced together everything he was saying. After a long moment, you glanced toward Yelena.
“So you think it’s something like what they used on us?” you asked quietly. “The conditioning. Whatever they did to the other widows.”
“That was my first thought,” Spider-Man admitted, looking toward Yelena.
“It’s not,” She replied without a second’s hesitation.
Spider-Man frowned beneath the mask. “You’re sure?”
”It is more like possession."
You hum, your hands still moving the water around in front of you as they talk, letting Yelena fill the two of you in on what she knew. Unfortunately, every road ended exactly where it had begun. The New Avengers had no additional intelligence, no active investigation, and no plans to divert resources toward Damage Control while larger threats occupied their attention.
Spider-Man didn’t argue, but disappointment settled visibly across his shoulders all the same. The hopeful energy he’d arrived with slowly disappeared beneath the weight of another dead end, and after sitting quietly for a moment, he let out a long sigh before pushing himself up from the water.
“Fine,” he muttered, reaching for the towel he’d left folded on the bench. “I’ll just go ask Damage Control myself.”
You very intentionally kept your eyes fixed somewhere above his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the beads of water slowly tracing paths over abs that the suit had done an excellent job of concealing. Or the way the veins in his muscles flexed when he pulled himself up. Or the way his boxers clung to his thick thighs.
“You know,” Yelena said with far too much innocence to be trusted, “you’re not completely anonymous anymore.”
Spider-Man paused in the middle of grabbing his clothes. “What?”
“I’ve seen your belly button.”
All you could do was sigh, letting your body sink further into the water until your chin was covered.
“…Uh,” Spider-Man finally managed after several painfully long silent seconds, “okay.”
“Goodbye, Yelena,” he said, already halfway through the doorway before remembering to glance toward you. “And… goodbye, Y/N.”
The heavy iron door barely had time to swing shut behind him before he was gone, leaving a trail of wet footprints stretching down the hallway outside. You waited until the echo of his footsteps disappeared before leaning over and bumping your shoulder against Yelena’s.
”You’ve scared him off.”
“Hmm, something is telling me you’ll see him again.” She smirks.
Before you had the chance to ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, Yelena slipped beneath the surface without another word, disappearing completely beneath the rippling water while you were left staring after her, equal parts amused and unconvinced.
News of the attacks seemed impossible to escape days later. Every television hanging in an airport terminal, every radio crackling through military transports, every phone notification carried another version of the same story, each one somehow more unbelievable than the last.
The majority of your updates came from Yelena, whose texts arrived at all hours of the day with the urgency of someone who had remembered a detail halfway through another conversation. It was a lot of, “Just talked to Spider-Man;)))))) u wish this was u huh?????”
You and Bucky had spent the better part of the week chasing leads that dissolved into nothing before you could ever get close enough to investigate. Reconnaissance, surveillance, more reconnaissance, another anonymous tip that turned into an abandoned warehouse with little more than stale coffee cups and dust to show for it. By the time your transport finally touched back down stateside, you felt like you’d spent more time staring through binoculars than actually accomplishing anything.
“Remind me why people still choose to live in New York,” you muttered as you dropped a thick stack of mission reports onto Val’s desk with enough force to make the folders slide apart. “
“I’ve stopped wondering.” Bucky admitted, “It was nicer in the 40s.”
You sighed, rubbing absentmindedly at the side of your neck where the edge of your Kevlar vest had spent the last several days digging relentlessly into your skin. The movement earned an immediate wince as the irritated patch protested beneath your fingertips.
“You should put ice on that,” Bucky said, noticing before you’d even finished reaching for it. He shrugged off his own tactical vest with considerably more irritation than necessary before tossing it onto the chair beside him. “Couple more days in these things and it’s going to rub you raw. These vests are garbage.”
“They’re definitely not sized correctly.”
“They’re not sized correctly because procurement buys whatever’s cheapest.”
A tired laugh escaped you. “I think Val just hates us.”
“I’ll have her order us different sizes,” he continued, already looking toward her office despite knowing she was deliberately never here. “These are shit.”
You smiled despite yourself, unfastening the last strap before setting your own vest aside. “Thanks, Bucky.”
“So what’s next?”
“I think…” You stretched your shoulders until your back gave a satisfying pop. “I might stop by Yelena’s office.”
He raised an eyebrow knowingly. “Checking on your sister?”
“And Spider-Man.” You said casually, “Heard he got shot, she’d know how he’s doing”
“Oh? That’s it huh?”
“I just want to know how his Damage Control adventure went.” You defended yourself, despite there being no reason to.
Bucky laughed quietly through his nose. “Good luck with that.”
“Yelena?” you called as you nudged the heavy iron door open with your shoulder, expecting to be greeted by either an insult or something thrown in your general direction.
Instead, silence answered you.
The bath sat empty, steam lazily drifting through the room while the familiar scent of cedar, herbs, and eucalyptus lingered in the warm air. The water rippled softly beneath the lantern light, untouched except for the occasional drip falling from the ceiling into the pool below. You still wondered how this building managed to keep up with the humidity.
You frowned, pulling your phone from your pocket.
I’m at your office. Where are you?
The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.
running 2 get food
Another notification popped up before you could even lock your screen.
do u want blini
wait no dumplings
there's an ice cream cart do u want
of course u want why do i ask
Then another.
I'll get them all brb
there's new vodka stashed under the third bench, landlady got a new bottle from home country
You couldn’t help smiling.
thanks. I’ll warm the bath for you. bring me a tea
Her reply came so quickly you wondered if she’d been holding the phone the entire time.
yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy girly time
Chuckling to yourself, you slipped your phone onto one of the dry benches before slipping your clothes off in an untidy pile until all that remained was the comforting humidity wrapping around your skin.
You eased yourself carefully down the stone steps until the water climbed past your ankles, your knees, your waist, every aching muscle loosening a little more with each inch. The heat seeped deep into your bones, unraveling tension you hadn’t even realized you’d been carrying since boarding the quinjet days earlier.
By the time the water reached your shoulders, the exhaustion finally caught up with you.
A quiet, involuntary moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back against the smooth stone edge of the bath, your eyes slipping closed while the warmth wrapped around every sore joint and bruised muscle. For the first time in what felt like days, your breathing slowed, your shoulders finally relaxed.
So completely, in fact, that you never heard the heavy iron door slowly creak open behind you.
”Uh, Ms. Y/n?” A timid voice spoke, making the tension rise back in your shoulders as you jumped. The bright red suit made your heart race out of shock and a weird sense of nervousness at being here alone with him.
“G-God, I’m so sorry,” he blurted, spinning around so quickly he nearly lost his footing on the damp stone. His back was to you before you’d even managed to respond, his hands raised awkwardly as if surrendering. “I didn’t mean to walk in on you. Yelena said she’d be here today and I just… I thought…” He groaned quietly to himself.
You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you.
“It’s okay,” you said, your voice softer now as the adrenaline finally ebbed away. “Really. She’s just getting food. She should be back any minute.”
“I’ll just wait here.”
“Spidey,” You pout playfully, splashing the water to beckon him in, “Join me.”
“Are you sure?”
”Yes.”
“I was actually…” He hesitated, sounding almost embarrassed to admit it. “I was kind of looking forward to the soak.”
That pulled a genuine laugh from you. “Right?”
He glanced over his shoulder just enough that you caught the sheepish grin tugging beneath the edge of the mask.
“I wasn’t sure if it was weird that I was, I’ll just change.”
“It took me a while too,” you admitted, as he disappeared into the stall, “The first time Yelena dragged me down here I thought she’d finally lost her mind. Now I’m her after almost every mission.”
”Man,” He says through muffled fabric, equipment dropping on the wood bench, “I’d love to come and soak after a long day.”
“I’m sure Yelena would allow it, as long as you don’t throw a party in here or tell anyone or make a mess.” You drag on, smiling as he came into view. This time with no towel wrapped around him, just his boxers clinging expertly to him as he stepped inside the water.
He leaned back against the stone edge with a contented sigh, finally allowing his shoulders to drop. For the first time since you’d met him, he looked… peaceful.
It was then your eyes caught the scar.
Angry red tissue stretched across his side just beneath his ribs, the wound still fresh despite already being sealed shut. The edges remained inflamed, the skin surrounding it slightly pink from rapid healing that no ordinary body should have been capable of.
He followed your gaze and instinctively looked down at himself. “Oh, that.”
One hand brushed lightly across the mark before he flexed experimentally, watching the skin pull without discomfort.
”I was going to ask, how you were doing. Yelena was giving me updates.”
“Doctor’s said it will leave a nasty scar, but I heal faster than most.” His voice is quieter now, reflective as you stare at him. “I can barely feel it.”
“This was a gunshot that almost killed you, just days ago?”
He nodded, sensing your hesitation. “You can touch it.”
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d offered. Maybe because it didn’t hurt anymore, or maybe because the concern written so plainly across your pretty face made something warm settle in his chest. There was something strangely comforting about it, enough that he found himself hoping you would say yes before he’d even realized he’d been hoping at all.
You held his gaze through the mask for a brief moment, silently asking if he was certain, and when he gave another small nod you pushed gently through the water until barely a foot separated the two of you. The movement sent soft ripples across the surface, brushing against his shoulders as you lifted your hand. Instead of pressing your palm directly against the wound, the backs of your knuckles grazed lightly across the newly healed skin, careful enough that it almost wasn’t a touch at all.
“I heal faster due to a diluted version of the serum they give us widows, but nothing like this.” Your fingertips traced lightly around the edge of the injury without putting pressure on it, fascinated by how smooth the tissue already felt. “But nothing like this. This shouldn’t even be closed yet.”
“Y-Yeah…”
The word caught somewhere in his throat.
A visible shiver rolled across his shoulders, one that had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature of the water. It was the realization that you were standing impossibly close now, naked underneath the murky water, and close enough that he could count the droplets of water clinging to your shoulders, close enough that every sensible thought he’d had moments earlier evaporated into steam.
His eyes betrayed him.
For only the briefest second, they dipped downward before he caught himself, snapping immediately back to your face with an expression that could only be described as horrified with himself.
“I’ve…” He cleared his throat a little too forcefully. “I’ve been having some issues with my DNA and the spider thing.”
“The spider thing.” You echo, urging him to continue.
He rubbed the back of his neck, grateful for the excuse to look anywhere but directly at you.
“It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but my arachnoid DNA started climbing way higher than it’s supposed to. I was acting… not exactly like myself for a while.” He gestured vaguely with one hand, struggling to summarize weeks of bizarre mutations. “I’ve started shooting webs out of my actual wrists instead of using web shooters, and apparently that’s only one of the side effects. Everything is stabilizing now, though. I’m… mostly normal again.”
Your expression shifted from amusement to fascination almost instantly. “Out of your wrists?”
Before he could answer, your hand had already slipped from his side to his forearm. Your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist, turning it over in the warm water until the small opening nestled against his skin came into view.
“I used to make web fluid, but now it’s all homegrown.” He jokes, but goes silent when you don’t laugh instead you’re too fascinated.
“Do you shoot webs from other places?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. No, no.” He shook his head so quickly a few damp curls escaped the edge of the mask. “Just… just the wrists. I’m very normal everywhere else.”
A small hum escaped you, thoughtful more than anything else.“That’s a shame.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“I said that’s a shame.”
“No, I heard you. You sound… disappointed.”
“I’m not disappointed,” you corrected with a sheepish smile, finally releasing his wrist. “I just think it would’ve been kind of interesting.”
For a long second he simply stared at you.
“What? I like spiders too, you know?”
Then a laugh escaped him, bright and completely unrestrained, echoing warmly off the cedar walls. He shook his head, still smiling to himself as he looked down at the water between you.
“You widows,” he shook his head, “You guys are something else.”
“Hmm, and what about you, Spidey? What are you?”
He pauses for a moment, his mind going back to the first night he officially met you in this bath, the towel clutched around him while Yelena spoke enough for the both of you.
“I am lonely,” he admitted at last, the confession coming softer than he’d intended. There wasn’t any self-pity in his voice, only a quiet sort of acceptance. “It’s… gotten better lately. A lot better, actually. But your sister was right.” He laughed weakly to himself, shaking his head. “I hate giving her that satisfaction.”
Your smile widened despite yourself. “So do I, but alas she keeps being right.”
He shifts a little closer, either consciously or subconsciously you don’t know. Close enough that you could make out the constellation of freckles scattered across his shoulders. Close enough to hear the steady rhythm of his breathing over the gentle splash of water against the stone. Close enough that every time either of you shifted even slightly, your knees threatened to brush.
For reasons neither of you could explain, the room suddenly felt much warmer than it had a moment before.
“I’m not very good at… this,” Peter admitted with a nervous smile, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Talking to people, getting close to people. I mean I think you’re the first person to touch me in years. Is that depressing?”
“A little.” You admit with a playful smile. “But I understand. Our lives, it’s impossible to have normal relationships.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He breathes out, and neither of you move. You both just sit there, relaxing against the concrete wall. The tension between the two of you is electric, it’s like every drop of water is drawing you closer to him.
The silence is only broken when he decides to speak up, “She sure is taking a while.”
“She sure is…” You turn to him, “You really never take the mask off for anyone?”
He shakes his head, “I try not to.”
You watch the fabric strain against his lips, and you yearn to see how plump they are. What shade of pink, how they’d feel against your own. You wanna see his nose, feel it pressed against your skin, to watch his eyes as you touch him.
“Not even a little?” You ask, your palms moving up to cup his cheek.
“It’s easier this way.” He says and he’s not sure if he’s telling you, or trying to convince himself. His body ignites with each rub of your fingers against the fabric.
You sit up, your hands falling to his shoulders.
“Is this okay?”
“More than okay.” He whispers, in awe as you practically tangle yourself in his lap. He holds you gracefully, and respectfully as you straddle him. You can feel his boxers against your inner thigh as his hands hover respectfully on the outside of your ribcage to keep you balanced.
Your fingertips trace the outline of his face, trying to memorize the feel of his cheekbones.
“I’ve spent so long wondering what you look like under there,” you admitted, your voice barely louder than your own breathing.
“Just like anyone else.” He managed to get out, his mouth going dry as he all but melted underneath your touch.
“I find that,” You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his fabric-covered forehead, “Very hard to believe.”
He shivers, fingers digging into your skin as you press long kisses down his cheeks right to where the mask ends and his skin begins.
“Would you,” The warmth of your breath makes the hair on his neck stand up, “Be willing to move the mask up about, an inch or two?”
“I-“
“You don’t have to.” You remind him, leaning back to catch his eyes again. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable-“
One hand leaves your skin, pulling the mask up just enough to expose his plump and waiting lips. There’s barely enough time to stare at the new part of him before he's pulling your lips into his. It’s a little clumsy at first, awkward with the bunched-up mask rubbing against your nose, but you make it work. His lips were warm against yours, opening his mouth at the first swipe of your tongue against it.
He pulls away with a gasp, “Can I touch you?”
You’re nodding before he can get it out, letting his head drop down so his mouth could suck and bite at your chest. Your nipples are pebbled by being exposed to the cool air, only warming once he pulls one into his warm and waiting mouth.
One of his hands is already guiding your legs apart, his fingers slipping in between your folds.
“You’re so wet.” He whispered against your tits.
“We’re in water.” Your eyes were closed, relishing the feeling of the gentle circles he was rubbing into your aching clit.
“And I’ve been able to smell you since I walked in, you can’t hide from me.”
Your heart rate picks up, and he no doubt feels that too as he slips a finger inside of you. You’re all but grinding against his fingers, your clit brushing against the raised spot on his wrist.
“F-fuck,” You cry out, “Can feel your wrist throbbing against me.”
“It wants to shoot webs at you, wants to wrap you in them. Keep you all for myself,” He whispers, “You’d like that wouldn’t you? You want me to fuck my webs into you.”
There’s no shame to be had at the fire that licks in your lower belly at his words as you nod frantically.
In a split second you’re being pulled up from the water, and laid down on a towel. Your head propped up by his discarded suit bunched up as he hovers above you.
He leans down and licks a strip of water droplets from your tits, before his hand travels back down to your cunt.
There’s a soft hiss as his webs disperse onto you, they’re warm and sticky and practically dissolve into your wetness as he slides two fingers inside of you. With each brush of your clit against his wrist, he dribbles out fluid that only makes him fuck into you faster. His fingers curl expertly, and the sounds bouncing off the walls of the bath are lewd.
“You’re so dirty,” He growls against your skin, feeling every nerve on his body stand up. The inhibitor did little to quell just how feral he felt pressed against you. His cock was hard in his boxers, rutting against the soft skin of your leg to dull the ache. “You know, this is how spiders mate. They roll their sperm into webs and fuck them into the female.”
Your moan is broken off into confusion as you watch him, a small smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Sorry,” He whispered, his fingers still prying the nastiest sounds from your heat. “This is really hot.”
“You know, widows kill their mate after sex.” You manage to stutter out.
“Are you gonna kill me?” He asks, pressing harshly against your clit with another messy ooze of his webs.
“G-god no, I’m gonna cum.” You’re all but gasping as he pries an orgasm out of you
Your legs are shaking, chest heaving by the time you come to. He’s still sitting between your legs, boxers still on as he presses gentle kisses to your thigh.
You try to take him off guard by flipping him over onto his back, as gently as you could. He lands with a huff, and you pretend he didn’t see that coming. The view of you on top of him has him reeling, your tits bouncing as you tug briskly down at his boxers, pressing your lips to his.
“I can’t,” He pulls away from your lips reluctantly, “I can’t take the mask off.”
“I don’t care.” You sigh pressing your lips harshly against his again.
When he pulls away this time, a thread of spit connects your mouths. “I'm sorry, I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable if you can’t see me-“
”I don’t care,” You echo, “I just wanna feel you.”
“The mask stays on.” He asks, once more to confirm.
“The mask stays on.” You agree, digging your nails into his shoulder blades as you reach down to guide his aching cock to your entrance. You slide down on him with a satisfying hiss, gasping at the stretch of him. His cock is so thick, you have to pace yourself before your hips meet his.
“God.” He seethes through his clenched jaw, his eyes rolling back into his head. You wished so badly to see the pathetic, fucked out look on his face. “You feel so good.”
“You’re huge.” You sigh contentedly, rocking your hips lazily against his as his tip presses gently into your sweet spot each time.
You ride him slowly, relishing the moans leaving his glossy lips. Or the way his abs tense every few seconds as you bounce and grind against him. It’s frantic, but intimate as you fall apart above him.
“You’re so beautiful.” He pants, watching your thighs shake as the thick curve of his cock pressed against the deepest parts of you.
“Spidey.” You moaned, your palms heavy on his chest as you tried to keep up your rhythm, failing when the pleasure overtook you.
“Right there, baby. Fuck.” The term of endearment leaves his mouth recklessly as he leans up, the soles of his feet hitting the ground as he fucks up into you. His hands are on your tired hips, picking you up and fucking yourself on his cock as if you weigh nothing. He hit every single spot inside of you, the bulge of him pressing deep against your stomach as you cried out for him.
“I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“
“I got you,” He cooed, “Cum for me, let me feel you.”
He felt every second of it, as you spasmed and came around him. It wasn’t too long before he followed behind you, letting your cunt milk him for every drop of his cum. It was warm, and thick. You’ve never felt this full before, it felt like he was coating your insides, claiming you as his.
“Spidey,” You mumbled, “That was…”
“I know…” He sighed dreamily, rubbing gentle circles into your hips from where he still lazily held you.
You pull off of him with a lewd pop, his release dribbling down your inner thighs.
“It’s so thick.” You stare in amazement, a finger gliding through the thickened cum.
He sits up quickly, head tilting in confusion. “That’s- it’s not webbing.”
“Definitely not normal.” You giggle like a schoolgirl,. “Don't worry. I’m into it. Majorly.”
He shakes his head in disbelief, watching each sway of your hips as you slide into one of the shower stalls. He just lays there, chest still heaving in disbelief that the past twenty minutes have even happened.
“You not gonna clean me up, Spidey?” You speak through the haze of the shower spray and a smirk falls on your face when you hear his feet frantically slapping against the wet concrete.
That’s how Yelena finds the two of you, your back pressed against the metal of the stall door. The water long gone cold as Spider-Man had your eyes shut in pleasure while he fucks up into you harshly, blubbering out pathetic moans of your name.
You’re still sensitive and so full from his last release by the time he slides into you again. He leaves no stone unturned as he urges you to come apart around him again, and again.
“Yes, yes,” He grunted, “Is this okay?”
“Yes.” You cried out, your legs locking around his ass to prevent him from stopping, as if he’d ever dream of it, “Please don’t stop. I’m right there, right fucking there.”
The metal stall was shaking with the ferocity of it, the sound of his hips slapping against yours drowned out by your cries.
“Are you gonna cum?” He panted, his fingers already rubbing at your swollen clit, “I need you to cum for me.”
“I’m gonna cum,” You nod, “Just keep going. Yeah, like that fuck. Fuck, Spidey I’m cumming.”
“M’behind you.” His hips stuttered as your cunt suckled him in and drank in every drop of thick cum he released deep inside of you.
“Fuck.” You laughed lazily, pressing your sweaty temple against his shoulder. He shuddered when he tried to pull out, his cum plopping out of you and clinging to his cock like glue. “Guess you gotta stay inside of me.”
“There’s worse places to be.” He laughed, pressing a gentle kiss to your head.
The blissful afterglow was interrupted by a loud throat clearing, Yelena’s voice carrying through the steam.
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.
Nanny!Reader who’s been taking care of the Riley twins so long, they’re practically begging you to be their mother.
You’ve been there through it all, and that means since the terrible twos, since they were still being trained to sleep in their own beds, to their first days of kindergarten, to secondary school graduation— the birthdays, Christmas’, football and piano lessons, the tantrums in between— you’ve seen it. The kids were practically yours since you were 20.
It’s been fun watching the twins grow up into (their own type of) mini Simons. Too adorable. Jamie is the youngest, quiet and sometimes a bit timid but a firecracker waiting to blow. And then Julie, named after her mother, loud and outgoing with such a big heart but can be such (an adorable) baby. You love them both to pieces, and they love you almost more than you, they were two little ducklings who had to follow closely behind— so much so you can never leave the house in peace.
Thing 1 and Thing 2, sat right on the bed as they watched you take different items from the dresser and stuff them into a spare bag.
“You can’t be really leaving, Dad’s just got ‘re.”
“Why are you leaving? You can’t just stay one more hour?”
“I’ve told you,” you giggle, folding the last bit of clothes into your small suitcase, “It’s Friday which means I’m off, which means I’ll see you Monday. Nothing has changed!”
“But Dad has been dying to—“ Jamie slaps a hand over his sisters mouth, “—Dad’s been dying to catch up. For business reasons.” The boy finishes.
You roll you eyes, unconvinced, still putting your belongings away. You talk to Simon nearly everyday through call or text, you know he wasn’t thinking about you. Probably. You’re sure he doesn’t have much to say to you about the kids.
“Uncle Kyle ‘nd Uncle Soap said we could play Fortnite with them. And Uncle John said he and Dad said they’d teach Jamie how to play that card game if you came to play too!” Julie pleads.
“Oh Please, you do not need four people to play Uno! This is time for you to spend time with your Dad and uncles who are downstairs. Time for family. Not stay up here watching me pack!”
“But you are family [+].” Thry both pout in unison.
You sigh, how could they make the cutest faces, imaginable? Just like Simons, they both stole his face. “We’ve talked about this,”
“I love you both like your my own— shit- you both are my own. It’s no coming in between it. Even if your Dad says he doesn’t need me anymore, I’ll be here at the drop of a hat. But, I’m not your family. Just a fairy to keep you three together because why?”
They both grumble, “Cause Dad loves us so much, he needed a longer person to love us too.”
It was a silly thing you came up with when they were much younger. Jamie doesn’t even believe in fairies anymore but it brought you four closer together. You give them a hopeful smile,
“Anyways your loving fairy has got to get a move on,” you kiss Julie’s cheek and kiss Jamies forehead, “I love you both, I’ll see you later.”
Simon looks up from the couch to see the two twins practically moping like two hurt puppies, takes a sip of tea, “Looks like you two couldn’t convince her.”
“She didn’t even think twice!” Julie throws herself onto Gaz and Soap who both playfully groan in pain.
“You’ll get her next time, tried your best.” Simon says, and it’s almost always the same. The twins always want you to stay, and Simon doesn’t stop them from pleading their case because he too wants you to stay. When they were younger and Simon was desperate, you wouldn’t even think twice about staying. Hell, even when he got relaxed he’d suggest you stay, to help him bake or even if the kids smiled so brightly you couldn’t say no. You’d been the one who made their house a real home. Decorating the inside while you instructed Simon on how to put up decorations outside. Always had the house smelling good with your cooking. Simon was more than greatful to you for staying those long nights. It was the four of you against everything.
Until you got a boyfriend two years ago, and suddenly you had to leave every weekend without a second thought. Was it stupid for Simon to be jealous, especially at his age? Of course, but the man couldn’t get you off his mind. Not when you’d been the person who’s been taking care or his kids and his home for so long, who hes talked to on late nights and early mornings. Simon wanted you to be his kids mother, it just never looked like there was an in.
Not until you broke it off with your now ex, 6 months ago. The brute even baked a cake in celebration that you had a slice of (the cakes meaning a secret between him and the twins).
“Well she has to come back.” Jamie shrugs.
Simon cocks an eyebrow, “Why’s tha?”
Jamie reaches in his back pocket, revealing the Forrest green object, “She can’t do anything without her wallet.”
Truly a Riley, Simon grabbed his son and ruffled his hair, “Good work kid.”
You didn’t even realize you’d been missing your wallet till you got to the club with your friends. Having to wearily explain to your friends that you physically couldn’t get in because your ID was at home— but not your flat. The Riley home. And it’d be easier just to stay out there than to get the wallet and drive back.
You showed back up to Riley residence, annoyed with two suitcases in hand, opening the door with the key that was just for you.
“[+]! You came back!” Julie is first to hug you around the waist, then Jamie who was tired and yawning but came to greet you nonetheless.
The ends of Simons lips are threatening to turn upward, leaning against the wall as he watches both his kids trap you stuck in the entryway.
“Forgot something dovie?” Simon finally speaks, voice laced with humor.
You can’t help but laugh at all of the mess these 3 have gotten you into, “You’re a prick.”
And it has Simon laughing, joining the group hug like youd been gone for ages.
Making your heart race just the way you’ve been hoping it wouldn’t.
a/n: lmao this is nothing sandwich. “Here we go, I hope you’re hungry— for nothing.”
Gentle Ogre!Simon knows he’s too big to stick it in Fairy!Reader (it’ll probably kill you) so he only rubs the tip on you… right?
cw: 18+ mdni, SIZE K!NK, monster fvcking (let’s have fun guys), just the tip!!!, kinda crack
ANNNKK, wrong answer forehead!
Why would Ogre!Simon ever just run his fat and leaking cockhead on you when he’s imagined himself inside of you to the very hilt when he’s imagined you sobbing yout cute little heart out, stomach full every time he manages to just fit a little bit inside you. The way you’d be gurgling out his cum as he painted your walls and every bit of you white— he fought those evil human bastards with his dick heavy and bricked in his pants thinking about your cunt sopping wet on him.
He did you a massive favor once by moving the tree your entire bloodline lived in for you, helping plant it somewhere safe so of course, as the general of the Faries in charge of war and negotiations, you promised Ogre!Simon anything he wanted in return.
Who’d think that would be rubbing your tits against his cock that was bigger than the size of you, your tongue lapping around and inside his urethra you’ve grinding your fucking pretty and glistening Pearl on. Have had Ogre!Simon hold you down against the large dark brown table of his small kitchen, using his thick digit to open your gummy cunt open till you were squirting up his arm, not hesitating to slurp uo the syrupy sap that made a mess on him, groaning at the taste.
Ogre!Simon swore he’d just rub his cock against you, let you feel every vein from your to your cunt, to your stomach to your gorgeous face, have you kiss on it the way he likes every time he’d do a little thrust- but you were fucking creaming today. God his urethra all white before he could even start because you’d been thinking about him all day. Your fairy wings flutter in anticipation, squeezing your thighs together that didn’t help either the sheer of your green outfit. Slick covering the mound of you- Ogre!Simon would just fit the tip in.
Your eyes shoot open at the feel of his massive tip, stretching you full, your legs above your head as you let out a loud cry, “Y-you said-“
“—Know wha ‘ve said love- just- anh- jus- bloody ‘hell honey!” and Ogre!Simon is chocking on his own words with moans, groans filling the whole house. His head is thrown back as the loud squelch of your tight walls taking his cockhead, not even the whole thing. Just half of it got you sobbing, and throbbing around Ogre!Simon, the monsters breeder balls swinging everytime he give your needy and tiny little pussy a little thrust.
“Simon, mmm Simon!” You mewl, eyes rolling into your skull, what would the princess think of you like this fairy!reader? “Negotiations” going well? Sure, getting screwed by the kind ogre more than 12 times your size, guts filled with his pre as you shake in his calloused hand, squirting and cumming so hard it almost knocks you out.
And Ogre!Simon used you, your pretty yet limp body in one hand as he rolls his hand up and down his aching length, till he’s cumming in his hand and down to the kitchen floor. Accidentally Smearing his cum on your ethereal face, trying to wipe the sweat away.
“I’ll ‘ave t’ get you a fuckin bath in here dove,” he sighs, standing and taking steps towards the sink, heavy footsteps hitting the floor, “Probably ‘ave my kid the way we’re going.”
a/n: I was evil laughing while writing this, hold my beer. Was I watching Peterpan? No further questions.
hear me out, Ogre!Simon with a Crybaby Fairy reader👀👀👀
a/n: well yes! (kinda)
cw: 18+ mdni, tiny plot, smut, SIZE KÏNK, anatomy that doesn’t make sense, monster fvcking
It was a huge gamble deciding to take the potion to get around human size, it only last two months and it’s full of rare herbs and can only be made in a special witch crafted cauldron, but you did it none the less. Not only for Simon, but to better understand elf’s, for your fairy community back home to form better alliances with other creatures other than the animals.
You just didn’t know Elf’s could be so rude, even though you looked like them, some what, on the taller end with pointy ears. The only difference you didn’t really keep your feet on the ground, maybe they saw you as flighty that way, but even with the certificate stamped by approval from the Queen of fairies, it seemed to only be a flimsy lead to the elf’s, casting you not only out of the city it took 4 days and nights to get to, but off elf territory.
You’d come home to Ogre!Simon in tears, reaching up to burry your face into the crook of his neck, babbles of how mistreated you were by those who were supposed to have the same nature as you. If the Elf’s hadn’t been so far away, it’d be a blood bath by now. But he’s such a loving partner, brushing your curls out of your face before pressing your heads together, “‘S okay da’lin, you’re with me now.”
Of course he fucks you better!
Has your face smooshed against the wall watching as Ogre!Simon fucks his way into your cunt, even with that damn growth potion, his girth is still too large, too wide for your shimmering cunt. Least he knows it won’t kill you this time. But it’s like square peg in a round hole, crushing you into the wall your hands are laid flat on, not matter how much of you’re arousal is gushing out of you like honey spilling from a pot.
His jaw is clenched, eyes rolling into his skull as he gets passed another strangling tight barrier of your heat, “Bloody fuckin-“ and Ogre!Simon tries not to bruise you (externally) not with how pretty your skin is, the way it shimmers with that golden complexion, but he’s got a Vice on your hips, hand covering your mouth so you don’t spook any of the animals near by because he knows they’ll come running to protect you. The large ogre splitting you open with a harsh pound of his hips, your ass smooshed against his abdomen, that makes you yelp out.
You’re already seeing stars, feeling the weight of his member inside you’re damn stomach, your feet off the ground while your tender walls spasm around every pulsing vein, orgasm smacking you clean in the face. And then you feel your feet swing in the air as he holds you up by your hips, manhandling you back down his cock.
Tears are already steaming down your pretty face, babbling out a, “Nnngh! Simon- Simooon!”
A loud thundering groan leaves his stomach, bucking his hips into you faster, the loud sound of your skin smack each other filling your ears, “I’m ‘ere dovie, right here. Love y- hck- ooh- love you. My love, I loooove you,” he’s drunk on you. Drunk on the fact that he can see the large bulge that makes you look pregnant in the mirror near by. Your lavender and blue fairy wings flutter, twitching with every thrust.
And then, you feel his pink tongue lick up your sensitive to the very tip that has you moaning like a damn maniac.
“You’re sensitive ‘ere?” He asks, flicking his tongue against the delicate design, “Jesus, dove- mmph- you’re so precious gorgeous- I could eat you up.”
And maybe he was. The way his humongous body covered yours while he bruised your cunt, mushroom tip leaking so much pre you can feel it swell in your stomach, the way he’s using you and you don’t mind because because you’re so cocky hungry for him. Feeling his teeth bite down on your pointy ears, hard, and your creaming his manhood once more, your entire body shaking as he holds you tight. You feel every creamy white cum fill you to the brim, wider, till it’s dripping on the floor. his large hand coming around right where he’s keeping you plugged up on yout mound, then rubbing your stomach. Can still feel his length inside you.
He grunts, “All mine sweet’art, all mine now.” Leaving a tender kiss under you earlobe as he catches his breath, “Kids gonna be right in ‘ere dove. I’ll keep ‘y safe from now on.”
I think about Naive!Reader and Fresh Out of Prison!Simon on the subway.
cw: 18+ mdni, nsfw.
And how he’d make naive!reader sit in his lap when he notices and older woman standing in subway isle.
“Thank you, both of you.” The older woman giggles as she takes the empty seat.
“‘S no problem ma’am.” Simon nods, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “She’s so cute isnt she love?”
You can’t even focus, his hardened erection pressing into your ass, in those jeans that Simon loves so much. Couldnt stop staring at the way your thighs spread as you sat down, every curve on you, that charm you have in your brown eyes. You wiggle in his lap but he only presses you down harder, he tsks in your ear, “Don’t move baby, or everyone ‘ere will see just what you do t’me.”
You feel him grow with every shake of the train against you, only smirking as he sees the way you can’t look anyone near you in the eye, heat rising under your skin with that slightly tense look on your face. You try your best to give a smile and wave to the old woman but Simons hands roll down your skin, down your your thighs that makes chills run down your spine, “Bloody hell, can’t wait t’ get off of ‘ere, fuck you right against the wall in the alley across the street from our stop, you’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Your lips purse out, breath hitching, “Simon!”
“ ‘F Course you would doll,” he draws out, calloused hands going to your hips, giving them a nice squeeze, humping up into you, “Or should I have you keep keep my cock warm right here, sliding it in your hole so eeeeveryone can see that pretty face you only make with me-“
You can’t help the little mewl you let out, his covered manhood pressing against your cunt, “Simon-“
“—I know, I know swee’art,” he coos, kissing your cheek, “Won’t do tha’ to ya.”
The subway rattles again and you bite the inside of your lips, nervous eyes flickering down into the mahogany brown eyes staring back at you. Glint shimmering in them.
“Not here, anyway.”
Simon lets his hand caress the apple of your cheeks from behind, squeeze them together that makes him chuckle, “Would you let me take you to the bathroom though? Hm love?”
You play with your fingers, checking the time on your phone, before muttering so quietly, “For j-just a little bit, I don’t wanna miss my show tonight.”
And the older man underneath you groans happily, eyes crinkling, rubbing his hand up and down your back, you’ve made the man go red in the face, “M just jokin baby, god, you’re so fuckin loveable.”
Simon Riley and his need, borderline addiction, to eat you out
Something about getting on his knees and eating you like the last supper, worshipping you as if you are God just does it for him. Makes his cock throb even harder in his jeans as he flicks his tongue through your folds.
Thrusting it in and out of your hole till you’re screaming, groaning on your cunt that sends vibrating on your sensitive pearl when you grab his blonde stands of hair. Sucking your pulsing little clit till you’re sobbing out in pleasure and your juices are running down his chin.
He’ll stay down for hours till the hunger slightly subsidies, till you’re overstimulated and whimpering for him to ease up. But he’ll look up at you with those pretty brown eyes, not stopping of course, slapping your pussy a few times while he kisses around your hickey and bite ridden legs, squishing his face into your thigh, slick glistening on his perfect lips.
He pants, “Just- fuck mee lovie, let me have it one more time, yeah? Make a mess on me one more time.”
But I mean fuck, is he even asking you at that point?
He’s talking to your poor pussy, and he knows exactly what she needs.
But it’s never just one more time, you’ll have tried to climb up the bed and on all fours and he’ll draaaag you by the hips back to his face, slurping and sucking and drinking up your syrupy sap that leaves your soaking pussy.
Don’t let him catch you on a day your ass just looks so perfect. Too perfect. In those jeans that hug your curves, or that dress he likes more than you do. Simon will turn into a real pussy drunk fool.
He’ll have you riding his face, from his nose to his mouth to his chin and back. Sloppily eating and groaning as you make yourself feel good on him like he’s only an object to you. Good. He’s a slut for this, the way you shake and mewl his name, your mouth agape and your head thrown back. The way you buck your hips, try again to get out his grasp but he sits you down proper on his face. The feel of your plump ass on his chin as you grind down on his he can’t help but slap. The brute lives for every moment of it, humping into the air as he gives your watering pussy much deserved French kisses.
Arms wrapped around your waist tight, lapping up your walls and everything inbetween your with vigor till you’re squirting and creaming his face, getting him and the bed even messier. But he drinks it up, eating you till your clean again and his face is soaked,
He shivers, finally coming up for air as your straddle his chest, his hand kneeding your perfect globes and then pulling them apart.
After little to no consideration, I thought about inmate!simon.
inmate!simon, who’s been in and out of jail his whole life but really did try his best to stay out of the system when he started dating you. well, tried not to get caught, but they’re kinda the same thing, no? What was his job exactly? No one likes a hit man until you need one.
It’s after you had your baby, little Robin, Simon got caught up on a mission. It was supposed to be in and out— who would’ve thought it was the man pulling the strings over some President? Price’s own target. So someone had to take the fall, for the time being.
Does Simon hate being in there? Course he does. No one likes being jail unless they have no where better to be. But he promises you it’s just six months. And it’ll only be six months. Why? Because he made a deal with the devil John Price that would get him out of that shit hole only if Simon worked for him.
inmate!simon who’s letters are extremely plain, ‘worked out a bit on the yard, almost got in a fight but the guy fucked off when he saw me. The foods still shit but I ate.’ But he’ll end it off with something so fucking sweet, ‘hug the kid a little tighter and a little longer for me. I’ll take all the responsibilities when I get out, change every nappy they ever have. And you sweetheart, I think about you every day, every hour. My darling [+], my all, I know I hurt you this time, but I’ll be there for you soon baby. Just wait for me. Please.’
inmate!simon, who gets visits twice every two weeks from you. One with Robin so they can see their father, Simon will put his fingers to the glass and cutely coo to get your child’s attention. He even smiles— okay, maybe not a proper one. But his eyes are gleaming like stars as he hears his baby babble ‘dada’ and ‘wub,’ heart swelling at how fantastic his one year olds drawings are, “Bloody incredible artist you are baby, Micheal Angelo doesn’t got shit on you.”
the second visit— let’s just say, it’s never just you two just catching up.
inmate!simon who whispers the nastiest, freakiest, down right sluttiest things imaginable through the phone as he watches you try to contain yourself with the vibrator you got stuffed in your cunt. How’d you get it past security? Don’t ask. Your hands trembling as you clutch the phone. Your eyes hazy as you look at the hunk of man through the bulletproof glass, his scared face and tattoos— you gasp at the sight of him. The vibrator buzzing inside your tight walls.
“Such a dirty little slut, getting off while someone’s fuckin grandma is crying next to you. Bet your dyin t’ have your pretty pussys stuffed with my cock, hm? Have you sobbing while I play with your little button, ma hands goin from your wet cunt to your pretty nipples, to your neck while I fuck you stupid— you’d like that? Wouldn’t you?”
inmate!simon who gets off on you getting off because he just can’t get off without seeing you face to face, loves to how you react his and only his husky voice talk to your through the glass. How you drool, and whimper and mewl his name, even humping at the damn chair if you’re too out of it.
And sure inmate!simon’s been escorted out of visitation by security, right after you’ve cum and all— once off catching someone sneaking a glance at you, of course the blonde had to teach him a lesson for keeping his eyes away from you, slammed his head on the table with not a fuck given. The other for Simon “encouraging” you to be the freaks you are.
He could only let that conniving smirk dance on his perfect lips, he’ll yell as they take him the door, “You call me dolly, not finished with you yet.” And it simply makes you melt, excitedly blowing a kiss to your man goodbye.
inmate!simon who spends his time working out or reading. He keeps to himself most of the time, moseying around the courtyard on a good day. On a good day, he plays barber and will do just about anyone’s hair— cutting hair, buzzcuts & line ups, trimming beards, maybe even teaching someone a lesson with a spare blade, Simon does it all!
inmate!simon who gets out with more tattoos than he went in with but they’re not shit by any means, well drawn and taken care of. Simon only shrugs, let’s the end of his lip curve up, “Little babe didn’t get the talent from no one love.”
“No one puts baby in a corner.” | cw: 18+ mdni, fluffish with tiny smut, country!simon, mentions of víólence, slútshâming.
If it’s one thing Simon Riley doesn’t play about it’s you, his dear wife, lucky!reader. It’s his job to protect you and love you unconditionally, what the man has vowed to do for the rest of his life.
But there are sometimes when he can’t be there to protect you, because he’s not with you all the time. Shindigs are just not Simon Riley’s thing, he knows that, you know that. But you love to drink and do those line dances and Simon can only smile under his bandana because, hell, did he love to see you happy. There shouldn’t have been an issue as long as you got home at around 2 or 3. So he sent you off on your own, made sure you were all straight. It was some day party you’d been itching to go to and you’d drove yourself.
Simon didn’t expect for you to come back to the house only 4 hours later, makeup smudged and pouting.
He quickly made his way from the chicken coop over to you, who was stomping up the steps, grabbing your wrist, “Woah there dolly, what’s going on? Thoughtcha texted me ‘nd said you were havin fun.”
You sniffle, groaning when you recall what happened, “I was Mr. Riley! But- but-“ you cut yourself short with a sob. Fiercely wiping your tears and stomping your foot.
“But what honey?” he speaks so soft, comforting, gently tugging you to sit in his lap on the steps.
“But that Bishop boy he- he was so fuckin mean Simon!” And you go and on, sobered up but tipsily explaining how rude the man was and how he called you quote, ‘a lil whore, dressed like you were ready to fuck any damn body and sleepin under a good for nothing.’ And of course, you raised hell, cursing the man out and causing a scene. But the venue ended up kicking you out for the disturbance, which led you here.
Crying in Simons arms as he wiped your tears with the pads of his thumbs. He knows it’s a lot for you, you have big emotions and it’s frustrating and tiring when you get them all out. Simon sits you on the steps, kneeling beside you and lifting your chin inbetween his fingers, “Lookey here Lucky, yer husbands gon’ figure this allll out for ya, m’kay? Just wait here f’me, my pretty girl.”
You nodded, letting the older man kiss your lips as a promise before taking the keys you had to the truck and driving off down the dirt road.
It was less than an hour when Simon came back, cigarette between his lips and gripping the steering wheel. He hopped out the car and slammed the door shut before heading back the trunk to retrieve something—
Well someone.
Bloodied and bruised, coughing up blood into the dirt of the pathway and begging for help as Simon drags him towards the porch. But the other farmhands are simply ignoring the whole ordeal and praying to never end up in the same situation. Simon spots you already watching from behind the screen door of the house.
“You come ‘ere lil girl!”
And you do, rushing over to the scene fast. Simons knuckles are bloody, wounds slightly open, he holds the Bishop by the hair, steadying him by he collar of his plaid shirt.
“Alright,” Simon starts, “I clearly don’t take too kindly fer no one t’be talkin out the ass bout my wife, but for you t’ make my baby cry? I should just kill you.”
Simon sighs, making the man kneel and then taking the cigarette between his fingers, “But ‘M better than that. Lucky knows it, ain’t that right precious?”
“It’s true!” You nod and sniffle, rocking on your feet.
“ ‘Xactly baby. Now,” he knees Bishop in the face one good time right in the nose, the man crying in agony. “Say what you ‘posed to.”
“I-I’m sorry Mrs. Riley! I mean it! I’m really sorry! I’ll never say anything ridiculous bout you again, I s-swear!” He begs, hands in prayer positioning while he’s crouched down beside you.
“You accept it dolly? Ain’t got to.”
You think for a moment, maybe this is why Soap and Gaz call you spoiled because Simon Riley will very literally do anything to make sure you’re alright. And if beating someone to a pulp makes you feel reassured, so be it. But right now, you don’t wanna deal with this anymore.
Your hearts not in it at all but nod slowly, just wanting it over with, looking over at Simon.
“Words darlin.”
“I accept your apology, this time.” You clarify.
Simon scuffs, fixing his hat but has resolve in your answer. For now, sure that this idiot won’t try it again. Especially with the windows to his truck shot. He puts out the cigarette, gives you a kiss on the cheek and pat on your plump ass.
“Could you wait inside f’me a lil longer sweetheart?”
He’s asking but he’s really telling you to go, so you don’t have to see him clean up the mess nor how he’s getting Bishop back in his truck.
And of course, when Simon comes back he’s finger fucking you into a much needed nap. Thick fingers getting drenched in your wet slick while you lay your head on his shoulder, soft moans and whimpers filling his ears as he slowly works three digits in and out of you. Telling you how strong you are for dealing with everything and that you’re such a good girl for waiting for Simon to come back to you. Your release comes slow but strong, clenching onto Simons shirt as your walls tighten around his fingers, a little wet spot forming on his jeans from how wet you got.
And Simon licks his fingers clean, kissing down your neck,
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