could i just request randomly pulling up the shirt of
(im wanting the little blurbs thag you do that are just *chefs kiss* with like peter p, steve, tony, venom, etc etc)
just to look at their abs, lit the only reason.
totally oki if not have a great day :)
marvel men in.. !!
their gf loves their abs !!
🏷 @mavixgirl , @luna-kait
📎 men featured : logan howlett, worst wolverine, wade wilson, origins! wade wilson, remy lebeau, kurt wagner, eddie brock (& venom!!), steve rogers, tony stark, peter parker, thor odinson, johnny storm, peter quill.
LOGAN HOWLETT
You’re mid-argument. Something about him leaving his dog tags on the nightstand again, something about the smell of cigar smoke clinging to your favorite sweater. He’s doing the thing where he just growls instead of using words, arms crossed over his broad chest, looking like a man carved from angry marble.
You are trying to be mad. You really are.
But then your eyes drift down. To the hem of his worn, grey henley. To the way it’s riding up just a fraction of an inch above the waist of his jeans.
“and you never listen, and you just—Logan, hold still.”
He stops mid-snarl. “What?”
You don’t answer. You just walk forward, grab the damp, frayed cotton, and yank it straight up to his collarbone.
Silence.
For a full three seconds, he just stares down at you. Then at your hands on his shirt. Then at your face, which is currently doing a very poor job of hiding the fact that you are openly ogling the geography of his abdomen. The map of scars. The ridges of muscle that look like they were carved by a very angry, very horny god.
“…The hell you doin’?” he finally asks, voice dropping an octave.
“Checking for injuries,” you lie, voice barely a squeak.
He catches your chin with two fingers, tilts your face up. His eyes are unreadable, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Bub. I heal.”
“Then I’m checking for… symmetry.”
He stares at you for another long, agonizing moment. Then he sighs, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of a century of suffering. He gently pulls his shirt down, but not before you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.
“You’re a menace,” he mutters, turning back to the argument. But now he’s holding his coffee mug a little lower. And the next time he crosses his arms, he makes sure the shirt rides up just a little more. For the sake of symmetry.
WORST WOLVERINE
You find him on the couch. It’s 2 PM. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of Wade’s hot pink sweatpants (they were the only clean ones), a stained white tank top that has seen better centuries, and an expression of profound, feral exhaustion. Dogpool is licking his own foot on the floor. Blind Al is somewhere in the kitchen, loudly trying to microwave a fork.
You are supposed to be bringing him a beer. You do bring him the beer. But as you lean over to set it on the coffee table, your gaze snags on the hem of that tank top.
It’s already barely there. But you want more.
So you do it. You just grab the thin, greasy fabric and hoist it up to his armpits.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just stares at you with those dead, tired eyes. His torso is a mess—a spectacular, horrifying, fascinating mess. Hair, scars, the memory of a thousand deaths. You could count his ribs if you wanted to, but you’re too busy looking at the way the muscles in his obliques twitch.
“…You done?” he asks, voice like gravel being dragged over broken glass.
“No,” you whisper.
He sighs. It’s the sigh of a man who has seen the multiverse crumble and found that this (his girlfriend ogling his post-apocalyptic abs) is the final indignity.
“You’re as bad as the red one.”
“I’m worse,” you admit, not letting go of the shirt.
WADE WILSON
You don’t even get to pull the shirt up. You barely reach for it.
One second your fingers are brushing the hem of his faded, chimichanga-stained t-shirt. The next, he has exploded out of it. The shirt is in tatters on the floor. He is standing in the middle of the living room, arms spread wide, wearing nothing but a pair of unicorn-print boxers and a triumphant grin.
“BABY! Why didn’t you SAY so?!” he bellows, striking a bodybuilder pose. “These bad boys have been DYING for a curtain call! Say hello to the lads! Upper management! The twins! The abdominal ambassadors!”
You blink. “I was just going to-”
“Shhhh.” He presses a finger to your lips. “No talking. Only looking. Feast your eyes, my little goblin. Feast upon the glistening, scar-riddled, perfectly-healed-from-forty-seven-stab-wounds terrain of TRUE LOVE.”
He then proceeds to do a full, unironic, unhinged strip tease to Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” on his phone speaker. He flexes. He points at each individual ab (he counts nine, there are four). He makes the muscle dance. He asks you if you want to “leave a tip in the tip jar” while gesturing vaguely below the belt.
By the end of it, you are crying with laughter, curled up on the floor. He takes this as a win, scoops you up, and carries you to the bedroom, whispering, “I knew my degenerative muscle disorder would pay off one day.”
You never did get to pull the shirt up. You didn’t need to. He pre-emptively detonated it.
ORIGINS! WADE WILSON
This Wade is smooth. Dangerously smooth. You two are sparring (lightly) when you trip him—not hard—and he lets you pin him just to see what you’ll do.
You lift his shirt.
He doesn’t flinch. He grins. “Checking for wounds, or checking for weapons?”
“weapons,” you say, eyes on the perfect V-line.
“Plot twist,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “the only weapon I’m hiding is right—"
You slap your hand over his mouth. “Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.”
He shuts up and lets you look. He even does a little half-crunch so the lighting shifts. But the second your fingers drift too low, he catches your hand, kisses your knuckles, and flips you effortlessly.
Now he’s on top. His shirt is still up. “Your turn to show me something.”
“I don’t have abs like that.”
“Did I say abs?” He grins, all teeth. “I said ‘something.’”
REMY LEBEAU
You’re sitting on his lap in a booth at some dimly lit New Orleans bar. He’s in the middle of a truly insufferable poker story. You’re bored. So you lift his shirt.
He doesn’t stop talking. He just smirks.
“—and den de man, he say, ‘Gambit, you cheat,’ and I say, ‘Monsieur, I never cheat at cards. Only at love.’ Ah, chère, you likin’ what you see, non?”
You nod, transfixed. His skin is warm. There’s a fine trail of hair below his navel.
He finally looks down, still smirking, and flicks a playing card from his sleeve. He tucks it under his own shirt, right above his hip bone. “Find dat one, and you get a prize.”
You spend the next hour with your hand up his shirt, searching for a card that keeps changing positions via kinetic energy. The bar loves it. He loves it. By the end, you’ve forgotten the card entirely and are just holding his waist.
He kisses your forehead. “You cute when you focused.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Oui.” He pulls his shirt down. Then up again. Then down. Then up. “But you ain’t complainin’.”
KURT WAGNER
You are both in the X-Mansion’s library. It’s late. Rain is pattering against the windows. Kurt is reading a battered copy of The Three Musketeers in German, his tail curled contentedly around your ankle. He’s wearing a soft, black long-sleeved shirt that fits him like a second skin.
You’re not reading. You’re watching the way the fabric pulls across his shoulders. The way his biceps flex every time he turns a page. The way his tail flicks.
You lose the battle.
You lean over, grab the hem of his shirt, and yank it up to his chin.
He yelps. Actually yelps. The book goes flying. He bamfs—teleports—out of your grasp and reappears on the other side of the room, clinging to the ceiling like a startled cat, his shirt still bunched up around his neck, his golden eyes wide.
“Mein Gott!” he gasps, a flush spreading across his blue-furred cheeks. “What-why- schatz!”
You are laughing so hard you can’t breathe. He’s still on the ceiling, tail lashing, looking like a very confused, very sexy gargoyle. His abdomen is a work of art. Lean, powerful, dusted with the same velvety blue fur as the rest of him.
“I just wanted to see,” you wheeze.
He drops down from the ceiling in a puff of sulfur, landing in front of you with his shirt still askew. He looks at you, really looks at you, and his embarrassment melts into something softer. Something warmer.
“You could have asked,” he says, his accent thickening. He takes your hand and presses it to his stomach, right over his navel. The fur is incredibly soft. “You never have to steal what is already yours.”
EDDIE BROCK (& VENOM!)
You come home to find Eddie in the kitchen, hunched over a tub of tater tots, looking like a man who has made several poor life choices. He’s wearing a faded Newsies sweatshirt (don’t ask) and sweatpants.
You don’t even say hello. You just walk up, grab the hem of the sweatshirt, and hoist it up.
Eddie freezes, a tater tot halfway to his mouth. His stomach is… well. It’s not a six-pack. It’s a soft, solid, eat-a-whole-pizza-and-still-look-good kind of stomach. A little hair. A little scar from that time he got impaled by a symbiote hater. It’s perfect.
Before either of you can speak, a black tendril shoots out of Eddie’s chest and gently pushes the sweatshirt back down.
“No,” Venom’s voice growls, low and possessive. “Ours. Only WE get to look.”
“Venom, dude, they’re my girlfriend,” Eddie says, still not moving.
“Then WE will look at HER. Not at US.”
Another tendril wraps around you, and before you know it, your shirt is being torn off of you by a very insistent alien goo monster. Eddie chokes on his tater tot. You shriek.
“Better,” Venom rumbles, apparently satisfied with the view. “Now we are even. We will keep the sweatshirt down. You will keep YOUR shirt up. This is the new rule.”
Eddie buries his face in his hands. “This is not the new rule.”
“VOTE.” One tendril raises Eddie’s hand. Another raises an invisible one for Venom. “Two against one. New rule passes.”
You are now sitting on the couch on your bra, eating tater tots, while Eddie pretends to not be staring. You consider this an absolute win.
STEVE ROGERS
You’re in the kitchen of the Avengers Tower. Steve is making breakfast: pancakes from scratch, because of course he is. He’s wearing a soft, cream-colored henley and an apron that says “Kiss the Cook.” You have never wanted to kiss a cook more in your entire life.
He flips a pancake. His forearm flexes. The henley strains across his back.
You crack.
You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and yank his shirt up.
He doesn’t react violently. He’s Steve. He just freezes, pancake flipper in hand, and looks down at your hands splayed across his bare stomach. His body is a monument. A tribute to the pinnacle of human (superhuman) achievement. Every muscle is defined, even after years of retirement. There’s a light dusting of blond hair below his navel. You could cry.
“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice that low, patient, dangerous captain’s voice. “What are you doing?”
“Admiring American history,” you whisper.
He turns off the stove. Slowly. Deliberately.
“We are in a common area. With cameras. That Tony definitely watches.”
“I wanted to see your abs.”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Rubs the back of his neck. “You… you see them every day. When I change.”
“Not up close.”
He looks left. Right. Then, very quickly, he lifts his own shirt for exactly 1.7 seconds—then drops it. “There. Satisfied?”
“No. That was a crime.”
“You know,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his perfect lips, “in my day, a lady would simply ask to see a gentleman’s torso.”
“In my day,” you retort, “we just took what we wanted.”
“If I let you look for five seconds, will you stop doing this in transited areas of the Tower?”
“Deal.”
He lifts his shirt. You stare. He counts down from five out loud, but he goes slower on the “two.” And when he says “one,” he doesn’t let go.
You end up with your hands on his waist, him holding his own shirt up like a gentleman, for nearly a minute. Sam walks in. Sam walks back out.
Steve buries his face in your hair. “I am never going to hear the end of this.”
“Worth it.”
TONY STARK
You are in his workshop. He’s under a car (one of his classic convertibles) wearing a grease-stained band t-shirt and jeans that hang low on his hips. DUM-E is handing him wrenches. He is muttering about torque ratios.
You crouch down, slide a hand under the car to grab at the plank he's laying on and tug it out, and before he can say “Friday, what the hell,” you grab his shirt and yank it up to his neck.
Tony blinks. He’s on his back, covered in grease, and his girlfriend is now straddling his thighs, staring at his stomach like it’s the last slice of pizza on earth.
“...Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ve been in a lot of situations. Hostage situations. Space situations. That one time in Budapest with a goat. This is… new.”
“Shut up, Tony.”
“I’m not complaining!” He holds up his greasy hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, most people buy me a drink first. You went straight for the home run. I respect it. I’m a little scared, but I respect it.”
You run your fingers down the middle. He shivers. Actually shivers.
“Friday,” he whispers, “cancel my three o’clock.”
“You don’t have a three o’clock, boss.”
“Then cancel my existence. I’m busy.”
He pulls you down on top of him, shirt still up, and kisses you until you taste like motor oil and twenty-year-old guilt. When you finally come up for air, he’s grinning like the man who has everything, and just found out he gets to keep it.
PETER PARKER
He is hanging upside down from the ceiling. Because he’s Peter Parker, and he cannot just sit on a couch like a normal person. He’s wearing a ratty old t-shirt that says “I ❤️ NY” and has a small hole in the armpit.
You walk under him. He grins, upside-down, all big brown eyes and messy hair. “Hey, my lov—”
You grab his shirt. You pull it up (or is it down?).
It slides down all the way to his chin, revealing his entire torso. And oh no. Oh no. He’s lean. He’s wiry. He’s got that swimmer’s build, all long muscle and narrow hips, and a faint trail of dark hair that makes you want to do things that would make your Catholic grandmother faint.
He tries to flip off the ceiling, but he’s so flustered he miscalculates and falls directly on top of you. You both crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs. His shirt is now down. He is now on top of you. He is very warm.
“I- you—why- my abs?!” he squeaks, his voice cracking like he’s fifteen again. “You wanted to see my- I have- they’re not even- they’re just-muscles!”
“Nice muscles,” you say, reaching up to poke one.
He makes a sound like a deflating balloon. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you’re touching them.”
“That’s generally what happens, yeah.”
He buries his face in your shoulder, ears burning red. But he doesn’t pull his shirt down. And he doesn’t get off you. And after a minute, you feel him mumble into your neck: “…do you want to see the back too?”
You have never loved anyone more.
THOR ODINSON
You are in New Asgard. Thor is on the couch, wearing a flannel shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course), eating a bowl of popcorn the size of your head. He’s in his “comfortable” era, softer around the edges, happier, more him.
You climb into his lap, because you fit there now. He grins, that big, golden, sunshine-in-human-form grin. “Hello, my love! Would you like some popcorn? I have also procured-"
You grab his flannel. You pull it open. Buttons fly everywhere. The shirt hangs off his shoulders, revealing his broad, glorious chest. He’s not as cut as he used to be. There’s a softness there now, a layer of warmth over the godly muscle. It is, objectively, the most attractive thing you have ever seen.
Thor freezes, a piece of popcorn halfway to his mouth. Then he looks down at his exposed torso, then at you, then back at his torso.
“…Did you just… de-shirt me?”
“Button-de-shirted you,” you correct. “And yes.”
He considers this for a moment. Then he puts the popcorn down, leans back slightly, and spreads his arms wide on the back on the couch. His smile turns slow, warm, and devastating.
“You know,” he says, his voice dropping to that low, register-rattling rumble, “on Asgard, it is customary to ask before one disrobes a prince.”
“On Midgard,” you reply, “we do what we want.”
He laughs a full, booming laugh that shakes the couch, and pulls you against his bare chest. He is so warm. So soft. So impossibly huge.
“Then by all means,” he murmurs against your hair, “take what you want, little mortal.”
You stay there for hours. The popcorn gets cold. Neither of you moves.
JOHNNY STORM
You are in the middle of a fight. A real one. He forgot your anniversary. You are screaming. He is deflecting. The Human Torch is currently being verbally immolated by his very angry girlfriend.
“and you said you would remember this time, Johnny, you promised!"
“Babe, I’m sorry, I was fighting a Mole Man—”
“THERE IS ALWAYS A MOLE MAN!”
You are so angry. So furious. Your blood is boiling. And then your eyes drop to his waist. He’s wearing his Fantastic Four uniform, the blue and black one, and the top is slightly untucked from his bottoms.
You grab it. You yank it up.
Johnny stops mid-sentence. His abs are obscene. A perfect, chiseled, airbrushed-by-the-gods six-pack that looks like it was designed in a lab specifically to make you forget why you were mad.
You stare.
He stares at you staring.
“…Are we still fighting?” he asks cautiously.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. “I forgot.”
His cocky grin returns. Slow. Smug. Infuriating. “So my abs just… saved the day?”
“Don’t push it.”
“I’m not pushing anything. You’re the one who pulled up my shirt in the middle of a screaming match.”
You drop the shirt. It falls back down. You immediately pull it back up again.
He throws his head back and laughs, bright and loud and Johnny. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, sweetheart.”
“Shut up and take off the rest of the suit.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
PETER QUILL
You are on the Benatar. In space. There’s a nebula outside the window. It’s very romantic. Peter is trying to impress you by playing Come and Get Your Love on his Zune and doing a stupid little dance.
He’s wearing his iconic red leather jacket, a grey t-shirt underneath, and that stupid, gorgeous, annoyingly charming smirk.
You walk up to him. He thinks you’re going to dance with him. He holds out his hand.
Instead, you grab his t-shirt and yank it straight up to his chin.
The music stops. Peter looks down. There’s a faint line of hair from his navel down. He’s suddenly blushing all the way to his ears.
“…Okay,” he says slowly. “I was not expecting that.”
“What were you expecting?”
“I dunno. A slow dance? A compliment about my eyes for once? Not-not a surprise shirt-ectomy!”
You run a finger down his sternum. He shivers violently.
“Dude,” he whispers. “My nipples are out.”
“I’m aware.”
He looks at you. You look at him. The nebula glows purple outside the window. The song is still playing, forgotten.
“…You wanna see the rest?” he asks, his voice cracking slightly.
Summary: You come back home after a work trip, and Eddie and Venom are both excited to see you again. Maybe a little too excited.
Check the Eddie x Neighbor Masterlist for more
Warning/Tags: smut, minors DNI, threesome, sexting, masturbation, handjob (or should I say tendriljob?), anal fingering (eddie receiving) unprotected piv, double penetration, cum eating, creampie, oral (f!receiving), venom being venom, set between first and second movie.
It was past midnight when Eddie’s phone buzzed. He was lying on the couch, the TV still on but muted, the flickering light casting soft shadows over his bare chest. His sweats rode low on his hips, he had a hand resting lazily over his stomach, he wasn’t asleep, not really, just…drifting, letting his mind go blank, trying not to think about you, but failing miserably at it.
His cock had been half-hard all day, twitching at nothing, at the memory of your body. He hadn’t even tried jerking off, not without you, not without that look in your eyes when you took him in your mouth like it belonged to you.
You were out of town on a work trip that felt more like a punishment the longer he stayed alone in that bed, everything smelled like you, but felt empty.
The phone buzzed again, this time louder. He squinted at the screen and immediately sat up like he’d been electrocuted. You’d sent a photo… a nude. It took a second for his brain to catch up with his eyes.
“OH MY GOD,” Venom screamed on full volume, rattling around in Eddie’s skull. “BLESSED BE TECHNOLOGY. WE ARE GRATEFUL TO THE DIGITAL GODS.”
Eddie couldn’t even answer, couldn’t speak. His mouth went bone-dry as his eyes locked onto the screen like it held the secrets of the universe. You were laid out on a hotel bed, topless, the sheets a mess beneath you, your perfect tits on display, nipples hard and aching. You had one hand between your thighs, your fingers slick and glistening.
“Shhhit,” Eddie muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
His cock twitched instantly, half-hard, painfully straining against his boxers, already leaking, a fat bead soaking through the fabric. He was pushing his waistband down before the thought even registered because it fucking hurt to keep his pants on, like his cock was pissed to be contained. He shoved his sweats down, not bothering to untie the waistband. His boxers got shoved under his balls, catching on the base of his cock, and then his length slapped hard against his stomach with a wet sound.
Pre-cum smeared across his abs, a slick trail that glistened as he looked down. His member jumped in his hand the moment he wrapped his fingers around it. The head was glossy, flushed a deep red, and when the air hit him, he shuddered.
No time to think, no time to breathe, just stroke, just fucking relief. He moved his fist slowly at first, squeezing just under the head, milking the sensitive ridge.
“ASK FOR MORE. SEND HER A PICTURE OF OUR DICK.” Venom snarled in Eddie’s head.
He sat forward, still holding the phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. His chest rose and fell too fast, he could feel the blood rushing between his legs, the ache already blooming.
He typed:
You trying to kill me?
You replied instantly:
That depends
Is it working?
Fucking yes it’s working Eddie hissed to himself, licking his lips.
He sucked in a breath, dropped his eyes again to the screen… to your picture.
“Look at her,” Venom purred. “She’s so wet. Because of us. She wants you to stroke it. Do it, Eddie.”
He curled his fingers around the base of his cock, like he was trying to hold back a dam ready to burst. He jerked his hips without permission as he fisted himself in one slow stroke, dragging his palm over the slick, pulsing head, smearing the hot pre-cum across his fist.
“She’s gonna make you cum with a fucking selfie,” Venom said, his voice almost giddy. “You pathetic, desperate man. You’d hump the couch if she told you to.”
Eddie didn’t even argue, he just moaned as he typed again, slower this time:
You touching yourself right now?
Your reply came right after:
Only if u are
“WE ARE. WE ABSOLUTELY ARE.” Venom purred in Eddie’s mind.
Your next message read:
Wrap ur hand around it
Slow first
I want u to describe it for me
Eddie rushed to reply:
It’s hard baby
So fucking hard
I’m stroking like you said
Feels good but not enough without you
He groaned again, and the couch creaked as he leaned back further, spreading his legs wider, like he needed space just to handle how fucking hard he was. His cock twitched in his fist, pulsing with every pump of his hand. He stroked up slow, cruelly slow, just to feel every bit of the burn, every clench in his abs as he edged himself again.
You’re driving me crazy
My hand isn’t you
It’s not your mouth
Not your pussy.
You typed slower now, savoring it:
Grip tighter and stroke all the way down then squeeze the head.
Imagine I’m on my knees in front of u looking up at ur face
He dropped his head back on the cushion, and then he let himself imagine it. Your mouth licking across the head, teasing his slit with the flat of your tongue, tasting him while you looked up with that smug, sinful expression like you knew he was about to lose it. He could see it, you kneeling between his legs, taking him slow, wrapping your lips around the tip, stroking with your hand what your mouth couldn’t reach, you’d moan around him just to feel the way he jumped on your tongue.
Fuckfuckfuck baby
I can see it
I’m dripping already
Everywhere
My hand’s a mess.
He grunted, jerking his hips, his grip faltering from how slick he was. He worked his hand faster now. His mind raced, picturing you dropping down on his cock, inch by inch, taking him deep, so deep you fluttered your eyes shut, your mouth going slack around a moan when he bottomed out.
Venom snarled in his head, practically writhing with amusement. “WE’RE GONNA CUM THINKING ABOUT HER PUSSY AND SHE’S NOT EVEN HERE.”
Shit baby I’m close
Say something
Tell me what to do
Don’t cum until I say
Edge yourself for me
His phone buzzed again. A video this time. You, laid out like a fucking fantasy, your skin flushed, gliding your fingers over your slick cunt, teasing your clit in slow circles, rolling your hips in these lazy movements. And the sounds… your moans were so soft, breathless, just barely audible through the speakers, but filthy enough to make his cock jump in his hand like it wanted to crawl through the screen.
He fumbled his cock in his hand. “Fuck, baby. Fuck.”
“Zoom. ZOOM. Enhance. Again. Again. AGAIN.” Venom was practically vibrating in his skull, like a rabid animal clawing to get closer, to get in. “I WANT TO BE IN THE PHONE. LET ME IN THE PHONE.”
He hit replay. Again. And again. And again. Every second was burned into his brain, the way your thighs trembled, your brows pinched, that breathless little “fuck” you whispered when your fingers pressed in deeper. The way your other hand cupped your breast, your nails grazing your nipple.
Please, baby
Please let me
I can’t hold it anymore.
The sounds you made played on a loop in his head. Your breathy whines, the wet suck of your fingers working your cunt, fuck, he could hear how soaked you were, and it only made him tighten his grip on his cock. Eddie was barely hanging on.
Alright
Stroke for me, baby
Fast. Don’t hold back.
I want u to cum hard for me
He arched his back off the couch like he’d been electrocuted. “F-Fuck—” he jerked his hips uncontrollably as his cock throbbed in his hand. Soon, warm and sticky streaks painted up his stomach in white. He quivered, hitching his breath. He was cumming so hard it felt like a punishment.
After he came back down from his climax, silence followed, just the flickering from the TV, the rise and fall of his breath, and the ghost of your moans still echoing in his head.
Then, another message.
Ur turn
Show me the mess I’m missing
Eddie stared at the message like it might combust in his hand. He was still half-sprawled on the couch, with sticky fingers, his cock twitching even after he’d already cum, but already starting to harden again.
“CAMERA. CAMERA. TURN ON THE CAMERA—”
He wiped his hand on his pants and typed:
You really want to see?
You replied:
Yes
I showed u so now u gotta show me
“YES. YES. WE ARE SENDING A VIDEO. SEVERAL. PERHAPS A LIVE STREAM.”
“Shut up,” Eddie hissed.
“NO. YOU SHUT UP. SHE ASKED. WE OBEY. NO TIME FOR BITCHING NOW.”
Eddie blew out a shaky breath and looked down at himself. His cock pulsed, dragging across the sticky mess cooling on his abdomen. He was hard again at just the idea of you watching him, of your eyes on his hand. He grabbed his phone, flipping the camera to record.
“SHOW HER. SHOW HER THE COCK.”
At first, he just filmed the aftermath, just his stomach slick with cum, his muscles taut, barely recovering. The camera picked up everything: the way he clenched his abs, the jumping of his cock when he drifted his fingers lower. He smeared his release slowly, dragging the mess over the flushed head of his cock, playing in the slick, making it wetter, coating himself in the evidence of just how badly he needed you.
The words slipped out before he could think. “You watching, baby?” he whispered into the phone. “You like this? Like seeing what you did to me?”
“Yes, Eddie. Show her. Stroke it for her. Show her what she did.” Venom said out loud.
He angled the camera with one hand, as he worked his cock with pressure, curling his fingers tightly around the base, dragging upward with just enough friction to make his hips twitch in response.
“Fucking ruined me. You didn’t even touch me, and I came for you.”
Then he tilted the camera lower, just enough to give you the full and obscene view: The thick veins running along his shaft, the way his hand glided, already shiny with cum, the steady roll of his hips lifting off the couch, chasing more pressure, more contact, more of you.
“GOOD ANGLE. YES. SHOW HER THE VEIN.”
“Shut up, V.”
He dragged his thumb slowly across the angry, swollen head of his cock, smearing the last slick bead of cum in with a shuddering breath, then squeezed tighter near the base, just enough to make his hips buck with the pressure.
“I came so hard thinking about you,” he breathed. “And I’m still fucking hard. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”
“Of course, our little temptress will help us.”
“You want more? Want me to cum again just for you?”
The screen shook slightly with each thrust of his hips, his thighs tensed and spread wider, grounding him as he rutted up into his hand, the veins standing out in his arms as he tried to hold himself back, to give you a show instead of just giving in.
Then he whispered. “You make me so fucking hard. Wish it was your hand.” Another breath. Another stroke. “Wish it was your mouth. Want you to see what you do to me. Want you to ache for it.”
Sent.
Immediately regretted it. His cheeks were flushed, still warm with arousal and shame, his chest still rising and falling in uneven, post-orgasmic gulps.
“Fuck me,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I filmed that. I—what the fuck is wrong with me. That was so embarrassing.”
“YOU WERE PERFECT. A TRUE SPECIMEN. YOU SHOULD HAVE SENT MORE. ANGLES, CLOSE-UPS, PERHAPS A LITTLE FLEXING—”
Eddie just lay there, arm flung over his eyes, lips parted. “You think she liked it?”
“SHE’S PROBABLY DEAD. OR SCREAMING. OR DEAD AND SCREAMING.”
Not even a full minute passed. Then:
Holy fuck Eddie
U look so hot I wish I could lick it off u
All that mess for me?
Eddie replied:
Always for you
Fuck
I can’t stop thinking about you riding me
You:
I wish I could ride you right now
Sit on ur cock and make u beg
Another photo, this time your fingers between your legs, two of them disappearing into your soaked pussy, glistening in the dim light.
I’m so wet looking at ur cock
Please send a video cumming
And be loud for me
Eddie hit record again and he stroked himself slowly, teasing, dragging his hand up and down his slick cock with languid precision, groaning out your name like you were right there, kneeling between his spread legs.
“Fuck, baby… I miss you. I miss this. I wanna be inside you so bad—”
“Angle down. No, lower. LOWER. We are showing her the main event, not your sad couch.” Venom instructed. “Groan louder. She wants the sound. Don’t be a coward, Eddie.”
He didn’t even make it thirty seconds. The orgasm ripped through him without warning, a guttural gasp left his chest, then a deep, broken moan as he bucked his hips up hard, spilling cum across his stomach in thick pulses.
“Fucking—oh my God—baby—”
He cried out your name again and again, as his body shook with the force of it. The camera caught everything, from the twitch of his cock, to the way his cum shot out of him, making another mess on his stomach.
Your reply came a few minutes later:
Fuck it looks so good baby
Came so hard watching it
“YES! WE MADE HER CUM,” Venom roared in triumph.
Eddie groaned, still catching his breath, lying flat on the couch like he’d been flattened by a truck. His stomach was a mess, and his right hand was still sticky. He could barely move.
“Holy shit,” he mumbled, scrubbing his clean hand down his face. “We? You didn’t do shit.”
“I was the artistic director of your little film,” Venom said smugly. “YOU THINK YOU CAME UP WITH THOSE ANGLES? THAT FLEX? THAT DRAMATIC SHOT OF THE CUM DRIPPING DOWN YOUR STOMACH? NO. ME.”
Eddie ignored him and just stared at the screen for a long time. Then typed:
You win
I’m officially ruined
You replied a second later:
Good
Now go to sleep baby. See u tomorrow
Eddie had his arm heavy around your waist as you curled against him in bed, splaying his fingers protectively over your hip like he never wanted to let go. Venom’s head was hovering next to the two of you, focused on the movie you were watching on Eddie’s laptop, and on the chocolate chip cookies you’d baked the night before.
“Missed you so fucking much,” Eddie mumbled into your hair.
You laughed into his shoulder. “You said that like twenty times already since I arrived.”
“We missed you. He is pathetic without you. Always whining. Always hard.”
You snorted, shoving Eddie back just enough to see his flushed face. “Venom, stop tattling on him already.”
“We tell the truth.”
Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I got back less than twenty-four hours ago and you two are already fighting for my attention,” you teased, grabbing another cookie from the plate over the nightstand. The black, viscous mass of Venom’s face slithered up your side, pressing against your skin. His toothy grin widened, his long, slimy tongue flicked out, darting toward your shoulder with playful hunger.
“COOKIE. GIVE ME.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as Venom chomped down the cookie, curling his tongue around the crumbs. He let out a pleased growl, almost like a cat purring, before immediately demanding:
“MORE.”
Eddie threw his hands up. “Hey, hey, they’re not all for you, buddy! I get a few too!”
You bit back a grin, breaking a cookie in half and offering both sides, one to Eddie, one to Venom. “No fighting. I baked enough for both of you.”
Venom crunched his half in one terrifying bite, while Eddie lingered, chewing slowly.
“God,” Eddie sighed, licking chocolate off his thumb. “Marry me.”
Venom immediately snarled. “NO. She marries us. Not just you. We are a package.”
You burst out laughing, covering your mouth to stop cookie crumbs from flying, but only a few minutes later, you were kissing Eddie’s shoulder, then lower, pressing kisses along the slope of his chest until he chuckled.
“What’s that about?” he murmured.
You bit your lip and nosed at the dip between his ribs. “Well, I missed you, too.”
“That’s code for I’m horny, Eddie.” Venom clarified with an amused grin. “She needs our attention.”
You rolled your eyes at Venom’s remark, even though he wasn’t wrong. Yesterday had left you utterly drained from your trip, all you’d managed was to bake the cookies as a little surprise for them before collapsing into bed early. Days had passed since you and Eddie had last been together, and the dry spell was starting to ache. You needed him. Needed him more than ever.
“Eddie, can I ask you something?”
He twitched his brows. “Yeah, ‘course.”
You hesitated for just a beat, and then, almost like a dam breaking, the words spilt out, it was the confession of a fantasy that had been simmering in your mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought about me… like… fingering you?”
There was a beat of silence, and then you felt the way Eddie stiffened, how he froze his hand on your waist, and the tension rippling across his abdomen as he opened his eyes wider than they had been all day.
“Uh… what?”
Venom, unhelpfully, laughed. “She wants to touch your ass, Eddie. Don’t be a pussy and let her. I’m curious too.”
“Venom… don’t. Not now.” Eddie said, pointing a finger at the floating head.
You leaned up on your elbow, watching him with calm patience. “It’s not a big deal if the answer’s no. I’ve just been thinking about it.”
Eddie blinked up at the ceiling, clearly struggling. “You—you mean, like… actually in?”
You raised a brow, biting your lip. “I mean you on your stomach. Me with lube. My fingers. Your ass. Yes. But only if you want it. Only if you’re curious.”
He swallowed, bobbing his Adam’s apple, a rosy flush was already creeping up his neck, and it was spreading fast all over his face. His cheeks were flushed too, and you hadn’t even touched him yet.
“Have you… done that before?” he glanced at you nervously.
You smiled. “Not really.”
Venom was already losing his damn mind, screaming inside Eddie’s head. “YES. YES. WE’LL DO IT, LITTLE TEMPTRESS. EDDIE, YOU’RE CURIOUS. YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN CURIOUS. EDDIE, SUBMIT TO HER.”
“V, it’s Eddie’s choice. Let’s not pressure him.” You said gently to the symbiote.
Eddie made a strangled noise, covering his face with one hand, he was blushing so hard it looked like he was being set on fire. “God, baby… You can’t just say that like it’s nothing—fuck.” But then softer: “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I trust you.”
You felt the fluttering of your heart inside you, like your chest was blooming just from hearing those words. “Yeah?” you whispered, kissing his jaw. “You trust me?”
Eddie nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, sliding your hands down his chest, tracing with your fingers the faint trail of hair down to where he was already starting to harden under his pants. His cock twitched under your touch, half-hard and growing fast. Eddie lifted his hips to help you slide his pants and underwear down, before wrapping your fingers around him. You stroked slowly, lovingly, the way he liked it, and he gasped against your mouth, relaxing under your touch, his nerves giving way to need.
“You’re so good for me,” you murmured. “So fucking sexy.”
You kept your strokes slow, using your free hand to slick up your fingers with lube from the nightstand, that one you'd brought to his place a few weeks ago, just in case one day you might need it. The scent of the lube drifted between you. Eddie looked surprised but also flustered, groaning as you leaned in to whisper in his ear.
“Tell me if anything hurts and I’ll stop.”
He nodded again, this time quicker. “I—I will. Promise.”
You kissed his neck, then trailed lower, exploring his chest with your mouth. You traced the curve beneath his pec with your tongue, feeling him shudder, his nipples hardening under the brush of your breath. You coated your fingers generously and reached between his legs, past his balls, slowly circling his entrance with featherlight pressure, just shallow touches at first, watching his muscles twitch and his breath catch, you didn't want to overwhelm him.
Eddie would be lying if he said he’d never wondered what it would feel like, but the sex he’d had up until now had been vanilla at best. Missionary. Lights off. Fifteen minutes. Done. Over. Safe. He’d never imagined he’d find himself here, trembling, completely unprepared for this kind of touch.
“You good?” you whispered.
He nodded. “Just… go slow.”
Venom was vibrating with anticipation as he kept his eyes on both of you. “RELAX, EDDIE. SHE’S GOING TO MAKE YOU SEE THE UNIVERSE.”
“V, give me a hand with this.” You whispered, curling your lips into a wicked smile. “Stroke him for me.”
Venom didn’t need to be told twice. He slithered down a slick tendril, wrapping it around Eddie’s cock with precision. He pumped him in perfect rhythm, making Eddie let out a guttural noise you’d never heard before.
You waited for him to relax, for the tension in his thighs to ease, and then you gently pressed forward, just the very tip of your finger, just soft pressure, barely there. He moaned when your fingertip slipped past the tight ring of muscle. It was a high-pitched, surprised noise, like it had been torn out of him, he curled his toes and arched his back off the bed involuntarily.
“Still okay?” you asked gently.
“Y-Yeah. Just new.”
“RELAX YOUR ASS, EDDIE.”
His hole clung tight around your finger, fluttering as you eased it in deeper, and the heat of him wrapped around you in a way that made your own breath hitch.
It felt strange, not in a bad way, just new, intense, and overwhelming. Not painful, you were so gentle, teasing him, moving your fingers just right, and the way you looked at him with that burning mix of desire and tenderness in your eyes made him relax and melt into your touch.
“Shit—that’s weird.”
Venom hummed encouragingly. “Weird and good. Keep going.”
You smiled against his skin. “Want more?”
He nodded shakily. “Yeah—fuck, yeah.”
You hummed, smiling, leaning down to kiss his lips as you worked your finger deeper. You kissed him until he sighed into your mouth, until his body relaxed under the weight of your affection. When you pressed deeper, just a little, he moaned like it was pulled from somewhere deep. You could feel him clenching around your finger, and the vulnerability in it made your chest ache with how much you adored him.
As the tight walls of his ass began to stretch around your finger, a shiver ran through him, every nerve ending was pulsing with a type of filthy pleasure he’d never known. This new and forbidden sensation was starting to feel fucking amazing, every movement of your hand was drawing out heat until it pooled in the pit of his stomach.
His hole was loosening now, and you could glide your finger deeper with every wet slide, feeling the trembling of his thighs from the effort of holding still. You moved gently, curling your finger just a little, watching how his hips twitched, and the way his cock leaked pre-cum on Venom’s tendril as you began to really finger him, still trying to keep your thrusts slow.
“Eddie. Eddie. She’s fingering you. YOU'RE GETTING FINGERED. And you like it. You little slut.”
You chuckled at Venom’s words, but instantly kissed Eddie’s temple, trying to calm him down. “You’re doing so good. You look gorgeous like this, baby. Taking it so well.”
He whimpered, tensing and trembling under your touch. Sweat started to bead at his hairline, he parted his lips, and they looked a dark pink from how often he’d been biting them.
“OH MY GOD. I DIDN’T KNOW IT COULD LOOK LIKE THAT. EDDIE. I’M PROUD OF YOU. DO YOU FEEL POWERFUL? DO YOU FEEL ALIVE?”
You leaned closer. “Do you want another one, baby? Want me to stretch you open a little more?”
He fluttered his eyes open, and nodded without hesitation. “Yeah… fuck—give me another. I can take it.”
"LOOK WHO'S A BIG, GREEDY BOY NOW," Venom pumped him steadily with his tendril, sliding up to the tip then back down, coating his cock in more of his arousal.
The sound you made was low and pleased as you pulled your finger out just enough to coat a second one in lube. Then you pressed both against his rim, circling gently so you could give him some time to breathe before slowly working them in. The stretch was deliciously obscene, you slid the second finger in beside the first with a wet squelch.
“Oh fuck—fuck. Oh God.” Eddie whimpered, digging his fingers into the mattress.
“Feels good like this?” you whispered full of desire. You’d never seen a guy as needy as Eddie, and you loved every bit of it. “God, you’re so tight, Eddie.”
“So sensitive,” Venom purred. “Such a perfect boy… ours.”
You worked the two fingers inside him with steady thrusts, curling them just a bit each time, rotating and scissoring them inside his tight heat.
You leaned down, pressing kisses along his shoulder, brushing your lips against his ear as you whispered, “You like that, don’t you? Feeling me inside you…”
“F-fuck… yeah… too much—” Eddie moaned, drawing up his knees slightly as his body adjusted. You could hear the lube-slick sounds of your fingers working him open, and the wet sounds of Venom working his pre-cum-covered cock.
You crooked your fingers just right until you felt him clench hard around you, pressing against his sweet spot, making him gasp loudly.
“Fuckfuckfuck—what the hell was that?”
You grinned, thrilled. He looked so fucking cute. “That’s your prostate, sweetheart.”
His breath came faster. “No one’s ever—fuck, fuck, keep—keep doing that, oh fuck—”
You did. Again and again, fucking him with your fingers as he writhed under you, sweating and moaning and falling apart.
Venom slid his appendage upward, pressing against the underside of his shaft, twisting gently as it moved. It slid up with teasing pressure, then slid down, lightly brushing the tip. It pulsed in a smooth, steady motion, jerking him slightly, circling the head lightly, then gripping the shaft with a wet, slick grip.
You watched his thighs start to shake, his abs trembling with tension, his cock jumping with every stroke. Eddie was trembling beneath you, completely undone, torn between embarrassment and overwhelming pleasure. His legs were spread wide for you now, no resistance left, just raw need.
“Fucking—gonna cum, baby,” he panted, hips starting to roll.
You leaned over him, breathing against his lips. “Then cum for me. Let go.”
“We like you like this… restrained, desperate… begging for release.”
Eddie’s breathing grew uneven. “Oh—oh God… you two… don’t—stop—please…”
You mirrored Venom’s pace with your fingers, curling inside his ass just enough to make him gasp. The combination of your firm touch and Venom’s rhythmic stroking was driving him wild. He rocked his hips involuntarily, trying to chase the pleasure that was building faster than he could handle.
He spilled with a loud, wrecked groan, his cock pulsing as hot and thick ropes of cum painted the black tendril in white, dripping across his stomach.
He clenched his thighs around your arm and his ass around your fingers as his body seized in pleasure. His whole body spasmed with the force of it. You kept going, easing him through the comedown, kissing his forehead and whispering how good he’d been for you, how pretty he looked when he came like that.
Venom purred with satisfaction, releasing Eddie’s cock only after the last spasm had shuddered through him. A tendril stroked his chest almost tenderly, wiping at the mess. “SO PROUD OF YOU, EDDIE. MY SWEET LITTLE BOTTOM BOY.”
You chuckled, but Eddie only rolled his eyes, and when he could finally speak, he rasped out, “Holy fuck.”
You curled beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pressing your nose to his shoulder. “That was okay?”
“Shit—that was more than okay, that was—” Eddie got distracted when he saw the way you were sliding down his body slowly, kissing your way across his abs, smiling as he gave a lazy groan. “What’re you—”
“Cleaning you up,” you murmured sweetly, and before he could protest, you leaned down and licked a slow stripe from the base of his cock up to the swollen head.
“F-fuck,” Eddie choked, twitching as you dragged your tongue over his sensitive shaft.
You grinned up at him, licking along the underside again before wrapping your lips around the head, sucking gently to gather the cum that was dripping down. His breath stuttered, jerking his hips involuntarily,
But you smirked, cupping Eddie’s thigh and looking over at the hulking black mass. “Come on, Venom. Don’t just stand there. Help me clean him up.”
Venom extended the tendril that had been stroking Eddie before, still glistening with a mixture of slick and cum. The thick appendage curled closer, hovering above you. Then, with exaggerated slowness, Venom extended his enormous tongue and dragged it along the length of the tendril. The reaction was immediate, he contorted his face, squinting his eyes like he’d bitten into something foul. “Disgusting!” he roared, spitting dramatically to the side. “Eddie, you are rotten inside. You taste like death.”
Eddie groaned, covering his face with his hand. “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s your fault for only wanting to eat tater tots and chocolate.”
You burst into giggles, nuzzling Eddie’s thigh before licking another line up his cock, deliberately slow. “Don’t listen to him, baby. He’s just being dramatic.”
Venom sniffed his tendril, then licked again, slower this time, as though double-checking his opinion. He twisted his face even harder, baring his teeth in a theatrical grimace. “Ughhh! It is even worse the second time! Sour, bitter, wrong. You need to do the pineapple diet. Yes. We will make you eat it every day.”
You laughed outright, nearly choking on a lick as you glanced up at Eddie. “How does he even know about pineapple?”
His ears were bright red, his jaw tight as he muttered, “He spends too much time on NSFW subreddits.”
“Well, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You taste delicious.” You wrapped your lips around his cock again, sucking gently on the head, letting him watch you savor him. “See? I love it.”
Venom growled, shaking his massive head like a disappointed parent. “She lies to protect your fragile ego. You are poisonous.”
You chuckled again, licking the last streak of cum from Eddie’s shaft before kissing the head softly. “Ignore him, baby. He doesn’t get it. He’s not used to it.”
Venom muttered in the background, still sulking. “Rotten, Eddie. Rotten. We will order pineapples tomorrow.”
Eddie hadn’t even caught his breath before his cock twitched back to life, thick and hard again against his stomach. You laughed softly, brushing your lips over his jaw.
“Already?” you teased.
His eyes burned into yours. “Already,” he growled, pushing you onto the mattress with a thud and climbing over you with that desperate energy you knew so well.
His cock slapped heavily against your thigh as he pressed your wrists into the sheets. “You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy,” he whispered, kissing you roughly and biting at your lips.
“Good,” you whispered back, arching up against him. “Then fuck me, Eddie. Show me.”
And he did. Eddie drove into you with one hard thrust, burying his cock to the hilt. You gasped, arching your back as the stretch stole your breath. He didn’t give you time to adjust, not that you needed it anyway, your body had molded to fit him perfectly, as if you were made for him. He snapped his hips forward again and again, like he wanted to claim every inch of you all over again.
“God, baby,” he groaned against your throat, his voice breaking as your cunt squeezed around him. “So tight... fuck—you’re gonna make me lose it.”
You clawed at his back, desperate and crying out with each thrust. “Yes—oh my God, Eddie—yes—”
You lifted your head just in time to see Venom unfurling his tendrils, as he slid his tongue from his jagged mouth. He spoke with an amused tone. “He gives you cock… but I can make it even better.”
“Not now. You had your fun, now leave us alone—oh fuck—” Eddie stopped mid-sentence, cursing as you clenched around him.
But the alien only chuckled, curling his tongue in the air like a serpent. “I will show her what I can do. We will make it so much better together, Eddie.”
“Jesus Christ,” He pistoned his hips into you harder, battering your cervix every time he bottomed out inside of you. “Don’t—don’t you dare—”
But you couldn’t stop yourself from locking your eyes on Venom’s massive tongue, which was thick and glistening. You ached for it, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of the possibilities of what that tongue could do.
“Eddie…” you clutched his shoulders. “Let him. Please.”
He groaned as if you’d stabbed him, but the way in which you felt him twitching inside you betrayed him. “You’re gonna kill me,” he kept thrusting, lost in the enveloping tight heat of your pussy around his hard member.
Venom didn’t wait for another word of permission. He darted his enormous tongue forward, dragging a stripe up your inner thigh, making you jolt, then gasp, and then clutch Eddie tighter as he slid the wet muscle up to your swollen clit.
“OH FUCK—” you cried out, shaking as Venom flattened his cold tongue against your clit, licking broadly with strokes that made your vision blur.
The sight of Venom devouring your clit as his own cock disappeared into your hole just inches lower, made Eddie growl above you, feeling every shiver and pulse of your body as you squeezed him so tight it almost hurt. He had to admit, watching you unravel like this was divine. You, the same person who’d always been bold, commanding, and in control, were now a trembling and whimpering mess, utterly consumed by pleasure as Venom and he moved in perfect sync.
The symbiote laughed, vibrating against your cunt as he circled your clit with his tongue, flicking it to tease you, then sucking hard enough to make you scream. “She loves it. She is shaking for us. Admit it, Eddie... we make a good team.”
Eddie cursed him and slammed into you deeper, fucking you so hard the bedframe rattled. You couldn’t even respond. You were convulsing under them, Eddie pounding into you deep, Venom lapping and sucking your clit with obscene precision.
Venom swirled his tongue so fast you nearly sobbed. “So sweet… so wet… she loves us both, Eddie.”
You were incoherent, crying nonsense into the air. “I—I can’t—oh my God—”
Eddie kissed you roughly to swallow your moans. “Yes, you can. You’re gonna take it. Gonna let us ruin you together.” His thrusts grew relentless, stretching you deeper and deeper with his cock.
Venom pulled the sensitive nub into his mouth with gentleness so he wouldn’t hurt you with his sharp and pointy teeth. He never once eased up. “She is going insane. Our little temptress is begging to break.”
“Fuckin’ perfect. You’re shaking so bad, baby... so tight... so wet—” He ground his pelvis into you with each thrust, grinding his fat head against that tender spot inside you, making your cunt pulse tight around him, forcing you to rub your clit against Venom’s tongue at the same time he bottomed out inside you.
You could only whimper, you were quivering violently as Eddie’s cock and Venom’s tongue kept you strung tight on the edge, over and over, with no escape. Eddie’s thrusts were deep and brutal, he was splitting you open again and again on his cock, and the way Venom curled his tongue tight around you, squeezing the sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking it into his mouth, made an obscene sound that echoed through the room.
“FUUUCK!” you screamed, jerking up your body off the bed, but Eddie pinned you down instantly, growling into your ear as he pounded harder.
“Yeah, baby—feel that? He’s eating your little pussy while I fuck you full. You’re ours. You hear me? Fuckin’ ours.”
Venom purred, shooting the vibrations through your clit, his fangs glistening as he uncoiled and lashed his tongue across your soaked folds. “So sweet. So messy. She gushes for us.”
You felt it in every frantic thrust of his cock, every desperate growl against your throat. His cock throbbed inside you, swelling, twitching, begging to spill.
“Fuuuck—baby—I’m not—I can’t—” he pressed his slick forehead against yours.
From between your thighs came that guttural chuckle. “Lame. He is already whining. Be a man, Eddie. Hold it.”
Eddie snarled, grinding his teeth, pounding you harder. “Shut the fuck up—”
Venom didn’t stop. He squeezed your clit tight, then pulled back to slap his tongue against it with obscene wet sounds. “You will not finish before her. If you spill now, you are weak. Useless.”
You sobbed under them, thrashing as Venom sucked your clit into his mouth again. Eddie groaned into your neck. “I’m trying... fuck, I’m trying—” He panted. “She feels so good... she’s so tight… squeezin’ me—fuck—”
Venom stretched his grin widely, dripping saliva from his jagged teeth. “Excuses. Do better. Prove you are a man.”
You half-laughed, half-sobbed, clutching Eddie’s shoulders. “Don’t listen—oh God—don’t listen to him, baby—you’re perfect—”
Venom growled in mock offence, slurping your clit so hard your scream ripped the air. “She lies. She wants more. She needs us both. Eddie”
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie kept hammering his hips, ramming your g-spot with bruising force. “I’m—fuck—I’m not lettin’ her cum without me—”
Venom was smacking your clit with wet lashes before sucking it back into his mouth like he was trying to swallow it whole. You convulsed violently, clamping your cunt down on Eddie so tight he nearly cried out.
“FUCK! Baby—you’re—oh God—you’re choking my cock—” he groaned, sinking his teeth into your shoulder.
Venom purred. “She is ready. She is going to explode. You better keep up, Eddie.”
“I’m holdin’ it—” Eddie closed his eyes and mentally counted to fifty so he wouldn’t blow too soon. Venom was right, he had to man up, he had to hold it. Prove he could keep up. “I’m holdin’ it, goddamn it—”
Venom pulled back only long enough to taunt Eddie. “For now.” Then he dove back, slurping and devouring you so hard the entire mattress was now a wet puddle.
You were gone, sobbing, trembling violently. “Please—oh my God—please—I can’t—”
Eddie hammered his cock deep, his thrusts getting more and more ragged. “Cum for us. Cum for us now.”
Venom coiled his tongue around your clit one last time, sucking it into his mouth with brutal force, and that was it.
You dig your nails into Eddie’s back. “Eddie—oh my God—Venom! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
Your orgasm crashed into you like fire setting your entire body alight. You clenched your cunt around him, squeezing him and trying to milk Eddie with violent pulses..
Eddie roared, losing himself, yanking himself off of you, pulling out before the intense twitching of your cunt made him spill too early. He’d learned his lesson before. Many times.
Venom licked your pussy, slurping your arousal as it gushed out, swallowing down the mess he’d helped create. “Good. Very good. She came. You did not completely embarrass yourself, Eddie.”
Eddie collapsed on top of you, sweaty and trembling, groaning weakly into your neck. “Go…fuck…yourself…”
Venom chuckled as he flicked his tongue over your overstimulated clit just to make you whimper again. “Not necessary. I have you both.”
You stroked Eddie’s damp hair back, laughing breathlessly even through the aftershocks. “Don’t listen to him, baby… You were perfect. So fucking perfect.”
“She means us, Eddie.”
And with the way you still shook under them, Eddie couldn’t argue. He suddenly flipped you onto your stomach, making you squeal as he dragged your hips up, keeping your ass in the air, and pressing your face into the mattress.
“Needed to see this view,” he spread your asscheeks with his big hands, and then slammed his cock back inside you without any warning. The wet stretch of your used and overstimulated cunt made you cry out.
“EDDIE—fuck—”
He bent over you, pressing his chest into your back. “So fucking good from behind… watching this tight little pussy swallow me up... Holy fuck—”
His thrusts grew relentless and brutal, each snap of his hips got you digging your nails into the sheets, as the waves of pleasure tore through you again and again. You couldn’t help but wonder, was this how sex was supposed to feel for the rest of your life with Eddie? Endless climaxes, each one more intense than the last, a pleasure so intense it made you cry out. And… did you just think about spending forever with him? A lifetime together? Fuck, maybe you did love him too.
Venom kept his wide and white eyes focused on the place where your body and Eddie’s were joining. “Beautiful. But incomplete.”
Eddie froze for a moment, groaning through gritted teeth. “You’re still here. Of course.”
Venom slithered his hulking form closer, unfurling his tendril with a wicked smile. “You are already in her pussy. But she still has another hole.”
You clenched hard around Eddie’s cock at the suggestion, and he cursed, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Baby—fuck—don’t even—”
“Yes,” you said before he could argue more, turning your head to meet Eddie’s wild eyes. “Let him, Eddie. Please. Please. I want it.”
Eddie twitched inside you at your words, torn between his jealousy, fueled by the insecurity that maybe Venom was indeed superior, and maybe you'd come to realise you didn't need him anymore, and also the pure lust in your voice, which made him want to fulfil every single one of your fantasies. “Christ, you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me…”
Venom purred. “Wise choice.”
He slid a slick tendril between your ass cheeks, circling your tight hole teasingly. You jerked at the touch, moaning and burying your face in the pillow as Eddie resumed his thrusts, angrier, as though trying to prove something.
“Don’t—fuckin’—forget—I’m the one inside you,” he fucked you deep, slamming his cock into your g-spot with every thrust.
You could barely answer, too lost in the sensation of his cock and Venom pressing his appendage firmer against your ass, slowly working the tight ring of muscle until it slipped just barely inside.
“OH GOD—” you clenched your entire body around both intrusions in your body, a loud cry leaving your throat.
Venom pushed his tendril deeper, twisting it as he toyed with your ass. “Tight. Hungry. She loves it. Admit it, Eddie... you love it too.”
Eddie pistoned harder, and it made you son into the mattress, clamping violently around him while the symbiote curled his tendril inside your ass, stretching you in ways that made your vision go white.
Venom slithered out another appendage from Eddie’s back, stretching it until he circled your entire body, pressing the the tip of it against your pussy. He flicked out the tendril, rubbing your clit while he kept burying the other one up in your ass, thrusting it slowly.
“Fucking—hell. You’re—Shit, baby—you’re stuffed so full—”
You babbled incoherently, shaking, with both of your holes filled and used. While Venom massaged your clit in little circles, he also twisted the tendril inside your ass. You were trapped between both of them, and you didn’t want out.
“She is breaking. Two holes filled. Soon… she will beg for more.”
You could hear the slapping from Eddie’s heavy balls against you with every brutal thrust, and feel every push and twist of Venom on your ass. All of it only fueled you more, making you clench down on Eddie’s cock even tighter.
“Jesus—fuck, baby—you’re so tight—you’re choking me—” Eddie gave you erratic but merciless thrusts.
Venom filled the room with purrs full of satisfaction as he kept toying with your pussy like he wanted to devour you. “Perfect little holes. Stuffed full. She’s dripping, Eddie. She’s ours.”
Your scream tore from your throat, and you clawed at the sheets, shaking from too much pleasure. You were full, stretched, fucked in both holes, so stimulated you couldn’t form a coherent thought. “Please—oh God—please, I can’t—”
Eddie growled in your ear. “Yes, you can. You’re gonna cum for us. You’re gonna cum so fucking hard—”
The rhythm destroyed you. You screamed Eddie’s and Venom’s names as your climax took over your body, fluttering around his cock so violently Eddie roared, slamming deep one last time, and spilling his hot and thick seed inside you, trembling with the force of his release.
Venom didn’t stop, he kept working you with his appendages, milking every last spasm from your shaking body. “Yes. Cum for us. Break for us. You are perfect like this. Our little temptress.”
Eddie collapsed over you, covered in sweat, still buried inside your pussy, feeling it it spasming around him. “Christ—baby—I can’t—fuck—I can’t move—”
Venom finally pulled back, sliding his tendril from your ass with a wet pop. “Weak. But effective. She came. You came. Acceptable.”
Eddie was too wrecked to argue. You laughed weakly through the aftershocks, stroking his arm softly. “Don’t listen to him, baby… You were perfect.”
Venom stretched his grin wider. “She means us, Eddie. WE were perfect.”
And with the way your body was still trembling, stuffed full and leaking, Eddie didn’t have the strength to disagree.
“Pathetic. Both of you are puddles. Look at you—limbs like wet noodles. Couldn’t fight off a kitten right now.”
You let out a broken laugh, reaching up to stroke Eddie’s damp hair where it stuck to his forehead. “He’s right. We’re wrecked.”
“Yeah, great, just what I wanted to hear,” Eddie rolled off you, collapsing onto his back beside you, throwing one arm over his eyes.
“I made her scream louder. My tongue made her twitch like that.” He sounded like a little kid about to stick out his tongue at Eddie to mock him.
Eddie’s insecurities crept in, uninvited. What if you preferred Venom? What if the day came when you only wanted the symbiote, and not him? He couldn’t blame you, after all, Venom had superhuman strength, tendrils that could stretch however he wanted, and that tongue… Eddie couldn’t compete against that. The alien could go all night, never tiring, while he, human and flawed, needed a protein shake after fifteen minutes of doggy. It wasn’t just jealousy. It was fear that he might never measure up.
“Jesus Christ,” Eddie dragged his hands down his face. “Can you not—just for once—just shut the hell up about it?”
You rolled onto your side to face him, brushing your fingers over his stubbled cheek. “Hey… don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Get all in your head,” you said softly, nudging his arm away so you could look into his tired eyes. “Don’t start thinking he’s better. That’s not what this is.”
Eddie looked away. “He just—he’s got these tricks. Tentacles. That freaking tongue. And I’m just—” He sighed, slumping his shoulders. “I’m just a guy.”
Venom leaned closer to his ear. “Very well done, Eddie. The first step is acceptance. You’re a sweaty, weak, messy little guy. It’s a miracle she still lets you put it in her.”
You smacked Eddie’s chest lightly, earning a half-laugh, half-groan from him. “Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t get it.”
“Doesn’t get what?” Eddie whispered, still avoiding your eyes.
“That you’re all I need,” you pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another to his cheek. “You’re all I want. Venom’s just… extra,” you looked at Venom before he could protest. “Good extra,” You clarified before looking back at Eddie, pressing your forehead against his. “But you, Eddie… you’re mine. You make me feel good. You did from the first night. And I don’t want to change you. Not one bit.”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, finally daring to glance at you. The insecurity there cracked your heart a little.
“Yeah?” he rasped. The way you said it,so convinced, so soft, so certain… he believed you. He saw it in your eyes, the honesty, the weight of your words wrapped in sincerity.
“Yeah,” you promised, kissing him slowly and lingering, until he sighed into your mouth and melted against you. “We’re all a team. I make you two feel good, Venom makes us both feel good, and you make us feel good too.”
Venom gagged loudly, mimicking throwing up, lolling his tongue as if he’d just tasted something gross. “Disgusting. Sickening. Lovebirds. Get a room.”
Eddie broke the kiss to snort, finally cracking a small grin. “We are in a room, you asshole.”
You laughed, nuzzling into Eddie’s chest, drawing lazy shapes over his ribs with your fingers. “Ignore him. Just stay here with me.”
Eddie wrapped his arm around you tight, pulling you flush against him, brushing your hair with his lips. “Yeah. I can do that.”
Venom muttered another jab, his voice full with mock disgust. “Ugh. You’re both so wrecked you’ll be useless tomorrow. Pathetic meat sacks.”
You tilted your head, looking up at Eddie. His eyes were half-lidded, his hair damp, his mouth soft and kiss-swollen. He looked so vulnerable and exposed, it made your chest ache.
“Eddie…” Your voice came out quieter than you expected, but he shifted, humming like he was listening with full attention. You swallowed, feeling the nerves curling in your belly, but then you just said it. “I love you.”
For a second, he froze, like his brain hadn’t caught up with what you said. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, but no sound came out. And then it hit him with full force. His face broke open into this wide, almost boyish smile, his eyes going bright and wet. You loved him too. You were saying it loud and clear. And you weren’t just saying it, you actually meant it.
“You—” his voice cracked, he laughed like he couldn’t believe it, and then he grabbed your face in his big, shaking hands and kissed you so hard your lips tingled. “You love me,” he whispered against your mouth. “Say it again.”
“I love you,” you whispered. “I just… I couldn’t deny it any longer.”
He groaned, pulling you into his chest, crushing you in a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air out of you. He buried his nose in your hair, his breath shaky and rough. “Jesus Christ, baby, you don’t know what that does to me.”
Venom’s growl was loud and irritated. His floating head, suspended by the writhing black goo that spilled from Eddie’s back, hovered in front of you both, studying you with pure disgust. “You two are revolting. Too much sugar. I will vomit.”
You laughed into Eddie’s neck, but Eddie just shook his head, still smiling like a fool, kissing your temple, your cheek, anywhere he could reach. “Ignore him. Don’t stop, please. Just—God, I needed to hear that.”
Venom huffed. “You wanted so bad for her to love you back. You’re weak.”
Eddie rolled his eyes, still holding you like he’d never let go. “Yeah, so what? She does. She loves me. And I love her. So go sulk somewhere else.”
Venom made more exaggerated gagging noises. “Now what? Marriage? Babies? Because Eddie always wanted babies. He dreams of little humans running around.”
Eddie stiffened instantly, his cheeks going red. “Jesus, V, can you not—”
You pulled back just enough to see his face, shooting your eyebrows up, tugging a grin on your lips. “You want kids?”
Eddie rubbed the back of his neck, looking awayl. “Not—not like right now. Just… someday. It’s not a big deal.”
Venom, enthusastic about embarrassing Eddie a little more, just kept going. “He thinks about it more than you think. Pathetic little fantasies. White picket fence. Babies drooling on his shirt. You baking in the kitchen. Domestic Eddie.”
“Shut up!” Eddie’s face was now red as a tomato. He looked back at you, nervous, fumbling. “It’s—don’t listen to him, okay? It’s just—it crossed my mind. That’s all.”
The way you smiled so softly made his heart clench. You cupped his cheek, kissed him slowly, gently, full of all the love you had. “Eddie…” you whispered against his lips, “you’re all I want. Whatever we do, whatever comes… I’m with you.”
His eyes shone, and his breath was shaky as he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was memorizing it.
Venom made gagging noises. “I hate this. I hate both of you.”
Eddie broke the kiss just to laugh. “He just wants you to say you love him too.”
You looked at the symbiote for a moment, “I love you too, V. Don’t get jealous.”
Venom let out a pleased growl that made the bed vibrate, but he soon tried to cover it with a cough, pretending to act unfazed. “Whatever. Yeah. Thanks. You too.”
You could feel the way Eddie relaxed his body even as he grumbled, like everything he ever wanted had finally settled into place. That girl… the same one who’d once taken his phone charger and rewarded him with a blowjob, was now curled against his chest. She was the one he loved, the one he imagined a future with, the one who made every broken day worth it.
“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He didn’t mean just you saying I love you back. He meant everything: your laughter, your presence, the way your eyes lit up at the smallest things. He’d waited his whole life for a connection like this, for this kind of intensity, for a love so pure it made the world feel lighter, even in the darkest corners.
You rested your hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling the way it slowly began to beat more steadily, calmer. “I meant it. I’ll keep meaning it every day.”
Before Eddie could get all teary again, Venom cut in with his usual flair. “Boring. Love confessions, cuddles, sweaty bodies sticking together. Enough. Let us think about something new.”
Eddie rolled his eyes. Of course Venom had to ruin the romantic moment. “Here we go.”
“Yes. New adventures. What is next for us? We have conquered the bedroom. The kitchen. The shower. We have destroyed one mattress already. This is the beginning. We need a change of scenery.”
You chuckled into Eddie’s chest. You’d never imagined, in a million lifetimes, to have this kind of pillowtalk. “What do you suggest, V?”
The alien hummed, as if thinking for a moment. “The beach. I want to see the ocean. Feel the wind in my hair. The sand on my feet. The seagulls. We will eat them.”
Eddie sighed from the absurdity of the request. One he’d heard many times already. “For Christ’s sake, you can’t, you don’t have fe—”
“I will feel it. And I’ll eat the seagulls. They are loud and stupid. But also, romantic! We will sit in the sand. Watch the sun set, do all those cheesy couple things Eddie likes.”
You laughed so hard imagining Venom with a beach hat and a pair of sunglasses, that Eddie’s chest shook with you. “He wants a beach date.”
“No,” Eddie said firmly, pointing at his face with one threatening finger. “We are not going on a beach date with you third-wheeling.”
“Third-wheeling?” He barked, as if insulted. “I am the wheels. Without me, you are nothing. Without me, you fall over.”
You bit back a giggle. “Honestly, I wouldn’t mind the beach. Just us… and him.”
“You’re enabling him.” Eddie run his hand down his face, he already knew he had no way out of it.
“She loves me too,” He declared smugly. “It’s time you accept it’s the three of us, forever.”
You smirked against Eddie’s skin. “I guess he’s right.”
A contented rumble vibrated from the alien. “Then it’s settled. The beach. We will swim. We will eat ice cream. We will build sandcastles. We will… bury Eddie in the sand. And then…” He locked his gaze on you. “…it will be just you and me.”
“Over my dead body,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head from side to side.
You tipped your chin up, kissing him sweetly. “C’mon, baby. Could be fun. Not the part where you’re buried in the sand, obviously.”
Eddie sighed, but you noticed the twitching in the corners of his mouth betraying him. “Fine. But I swear to God, if he eats a seagull in front of you—”
“I make no promises.”
Your laughter filled the room, and even Eddie chuckled, shaking his head, pressing his lips to your temple. For the first time in a long time, everything felt light. You had Eddie’s arms around you, Venom’s ridiculous commentary, and a whole world waiting outside. Maybe Venom was right. This was just the beginning.
Updates account
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read the series and supported me through it, you don’t know how much it means to read every single comment🥺
I honestly had low expectations writing for Eddie since he was the least-voted option on a poll I made, so I was really surprised (and grateful!) for how much love these fics got. I hope you enjoyed the series, and thank you for sticking around. I know it took me a while to finish it, and some people might’ve forgotten about it, but I really wanted to give them some kind of ending.
And a special thank you to @lafrancak for reading this last part and giving me suggestions, I appreciate it so much🩷
Also, it’s not just Eddie, Venom, and reader who are going to the beach, I’m going to Punta Cana this Saturday for a week😺 I’m finishing some of the fics I’ve been working on, so even if I won’t be super active here, I might still have something to post while I’m on vacation.
Marvel Comics Characters Receiving a Dirty Picture from You in Public
Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios
God, I love Marvel Comics...
Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man
Peter has been through a lot. He’s fought villains, lost people he’s loved, and carried the weight of responsibility since he was a kid. But nothing—not Venom, not Doctor Octopus, not the Green Goblin—has ever hit him as hard as opening his phone and seeing you.
He’s perched upside-down on a fire escape, mid-stakeout with Daredevil, when his phone buzzes. He barely glances at it at first, assuming it’s an update from MJ or the Bugle. But then—his Spidey-Sense misfires. His stomach drops. And suddenly, he’s scrambling so fast that he almost falls off the fire escape.
“...Parker?” Matt’s voice is suspicious, brow furrowing beneath the red mask. Peter clutches his phone like a lifeline, heat rushing to his face, his entire body going rigid. “Uh—nope! Nothing’s wrong! Totally fine! Just, uh—gotta—go!” Before Matt can say another word, Peter web-slings away, heart pounding.
Later, in his apartment, he stares at the image, biting his lip so hard he might draw blood. Then, fumbling with his phone, he types back: You cannot just drop this on me in the middle of a mission. I almost DIED. You’re gonna make it up to me. In person. Immediately.
Tony Stark aka. Iron Man
Tony Stark is always the one making people flustered. He’s the king of inappropriate timing, the grandmaster of chaos. So when you flip the game on him? When you send him something completely indecent while he’s in the middle of a live press conference? Oh, he is in trouble.
He’s mid-sentence, standing in front of a sea of reporters, when his phone vibrates. He glances at it without thinking, because hey, it might be about stock prices or another alien invasion. But no. No, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.
He visibly freezes. Blinks. Blanches. Then—his brain blue screens. The entire room stares as Tony suddenly cuts off mid-sentence, clears his throat, and forces a smirk that’s absolutely not covering up a crisis. “Uh—ladies and gentlemen, I think that’s enough questions for today.”
The moment he’s offstage, he stumbles into the nearest private room, yanks at his tie, and pulls out his phone like it holds the meaning of life. He types back immediately: Oh, now you’ve done it, sweetheart. I hope you’re home right now, because I’m on my way, and I’m bringing consequences.
Steve Rogers aka. Captain America
Steve is not a prude. He’s been around, he’s seen things. But there’s something about you—about the way you know exactly how to knock the breath from his lungs—that makes him feel like a kid again.
He’s in the middle of a strategy meeting with Sam and Bucky, his shield leaning against the table, when his phone vibrates. He checks it without thinking, eyes flicking down—and then every muscle in his body tenses. His grip on the phone tightens. His ears burn red.
“You good, Rogers?” Bucky gives him a knowing smirk, because he immediately recognizes that look—Steve flustered beyond belief. Steve clears his throat, hard, locking his phone like it’s offended him. “Fine,” he says, voice a little too even. “Let’s, uh—let’s keep going.”
But later, when he’s alone, he exhales deeply, pressing a hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, with slow deliberation, he types: I hope you know what you just started. Because I don’t break my promises, sweetheart. And I promise—you’re not leaving that bed when I get there.
Thor Odinson aka. God of Thunder
Thor has seen battles, has waged wars across the cosmos, has faced monsters and gods. But when his phone pings—when he sees the absolute sin that you’ve just sent him—he forgets how to breathe.
He is in the middle of the Avengers’ common room, laughing boisterously with Bruce and Natasha, when he pulls out his phone. He expects something simple—a text from his brother, perhaps, or a message from Jane. But instead? Instead, he sees you.
The entire room feels it when Thor’s laughter stops. There is a moment—just a beat of silence—before the lights flicker. The air crackles with static electricity. His fingers twitch around the phone, and then, in a low, very serious voice, he mutters, “By the Norns…”
Natasha raises an eyebrow, but Thor abruptly stands, clearing his throat. “I must depart. Urgently.” Bruce frowns. “What? Why?” Thor barely offers an explanation before storming out of the room, typing furiously: You dare tempt the God of Thunder? Very well, little one. You shall learn what it means to summon a storm.
Loki Laufeyson aka. God of Mischief
Loki is the undisputed master of control. He is calm, composed, always one step ahead of everyone else. But when you send him something so shameless, so brazen, in the middle of an important diplomatic event in Asgard—he nearly drops his goblet of wine.
He’s reclining on his throne, listening to some dull ambassador drone on about trade negotiations, when his phone vibrates. He lifts it lazily, expecting nothing of importance—until he sees you.
His entire body goes rigid. His grip tightens around the goblet, the silver denting beneath his fingers. His green eyes darken, and for the first time in centuries, he feels his pulse stutter. The ambassador keeps talking, oblivious, but Loki? Loki is seething.
Later, in his chambers, he lounges on his bed, turning the phone over in his fingers before smirking. Then, with slow, careful precision, he types: You dare tease the God of Mischief? Oh, darling, you are in such trouble. And you know how much I enjoy trouble.
Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye
Clint Barton is used to chaos. He’s fought alien invasions, taken down crime syndicates, and, most impressively, lived in a house with three dogs and somehow survived. But nothing—not the Avengers, not S.H.I.E.L.D., not even Kate Bishop’s endless sarcasm—could have prepared him for this.
He’s in the middle of a debriefing with Captain America and Black Widow when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it, but boredom gets the better of him. He sneaks a glance, tilting the screen just slightly—and immediately chokes on his coffee.
“Barton?” Natasha’s voice is sharp, her suspicious gaze snapping to him. Steve looks concerned. Clint, on the other hand, is malfunctioning. He quickly locks his phone, pressing it to his thigh like it’s burning him. “Yep. All good. Just… wrong text thread. You know how it is.”
The second he’s alone, he whistles, rubbing a hand down his face before sending a text: You are absolutely trying to kill me, aren’t you? I’m a trained marksman, babe. You know I always hit my target. Hope you’re ready.
Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow
Natasha Romanoff is a professional. She’s endured psychological conditioning, trained with the deadliest assassins in the world, and can lie so well that even she forgets what’s real. But when you send her something so utterly filthy, in the middle of a high-stakes poker game with some very dangerous people—she nearly loses her composure.
She’s holding a perfect poker face, one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette between her fingers (purely for effect). Then, her phone buzzes. She never checks her phone during missions, but for some reason, she does this time.
The second she sees the image, her fingers twitch. She almost fumbles her cigarette. Almost. A single slow breath is all that betrays her before she locks the screen and smirks, adjusting her sunglasses to hide the flicker of heat in her gaze.
Later, after she’s won the game (because of course she has), she finally responds: You must be very confident, sending me something like that. I hope you know what happens when I catch my prey, моя любовь (my love). Because I always catch them.
Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier
Bucky is already always on edge. He spent decades being controlled, his mind fractured, his instincts constantly telling him that danger lurks around every corner. But when his phone vibrates in the middle of a mission briefing and he makes the mistake of checking it—he nearly self-destructs.
He’s sitting next to Sam Wilson, arms crossed, trying to focus on the tactical discussion. Then, out of habit, he glances at his phone. And suddenly? His enhanced heartbeat spikes. His grip on the phone tightens, metal fingers creaking.
Sam immediately notices. “Dude. You okay?” Bucky doesn’t answer. He just exhales deeply, jaw clenching, and locks his phone like it’s personally offended him. “Fine,” he mutters, but the way his throat bobs betrays him.
Later, in the privacy of his room, he leans against the wall, pressing his flesh hand over his face before looking at the image again. Then, he types—slow, deliberate, full of promise: You are playing with fire, doll. And you know I don’t burn alone.
Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil
Matt has learned to control himself. He has to, considering his senses pick up everything. The heartbeat of a liar, the scent of blood, the whisper of fabric against skin. But when he puts in his earpiece during a stakeout with Elektra and hears you—sultry, teasing, wicked—his composure shatters.
Your voice is a purr, warm and full of amusement, as you describe, in explicit detail, exactly what you want to do to him. Every syllable slides into his ear like a sin, and for the first time in years, Matt Murdock forgets how to breathe.
“Murdock.” Elektra’s voice is unimpressed. “Are you even listening?” Matt clenches his jaw, forcing his expression into something neutral as he slowly removes the earpiece. “Yeah,” he lies, his voice way too tight. “Loud and clear.” But his fingers twitch, betraying him.
Later, alone in his apartment, he plays the message again. And again. Until his own heartbeat is thunderous in his ears. Then, with a slow smirk, he records his reply—his voice low, gravelly, barely more than a rasp: Angel, you have no idea what you’ve just done. And I promise—you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.
Frank Castle aka. The Punisher
Frank Castle does not fluster. He’s a man who’s seen the worst of the world, a soldier who has lost everything. He does not get distracted. But when he’s sitting in the middle of a grimy bar, brooding over a whiskey, and his phone vibrates—everything stops.
He checks it absently, expecting intel from Micro or maybe a warning from Daredevil. But instead, he gets you. And just like that, his grip on the glass tightens. His jaw locks. His entire body tenses, muscles coiled, because you have just sent him something so utterly indecent that he has to set his whiskey down before he crushes the glass.
The bartender notices. “You good, man?” Frank barely glances up, his fingers white-knuckled around his phone. “Fine,” he mutters, voice rough. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and downs the rest of his drink in one go.
Later, in the dead of night, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, before sending a single message: You think you’re real cute, huh? Yeah. Keep that same energy when I get home. See if you’re still smirking when I’ve got my hands on you.
Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight
Marc has lived multiple lives. A mercenary. A vigilante. A fist of vengeance. But the moment his phone vibrates in the middle of a stakeout, and he sees you—he nearly blows his own cover.
He’s perched on a rooftop, watching a weapons deal go down, his mind sharp and focused. Then, out of habit, he checks his phone. His breath hitches. His grip tightens around the device, and he has to physically restrain himself from groaning. Khonshu’s voice rumbles in his mind: "Your mortal desires are distracting, Spector." Marc grits his teeth. "Yeah, no shit."
“Something wrong?” Jake’s voice purrs from inside his head, amused. “She send you something nice, hermano?” Marc rolls his eyes, exhaling sharply before locking his phone. “Mind your damn business.” But his pulse is thundering.
Later, back at his apartment, he leans against the wall, staring at the image before typing: You have no idea what you’ve just done. Hope you’re home. Hope you’re ready.
Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch
Johnny Storm is used to attention. He thrives on it. He’s a celebrity, a hero, a walking flame. But when you send him something scandalous in the middle of a live television interview, even he isn’t ready for it.
He’s laughing, flashing his signature cocky grin at the camera, when his phone buzzes. He checks it without thinking—because hey, it might be Sue yelling at him again—but instead, it’s you. In the filthiest pose imaginable.
Johnny visibly chokes. His entire body tenses. For the first time ever, he forgets what he was saying. The interviewer blinks. “Uh… Johnny?” His brain short-circuits. His face heats—literally. The tips of his ears ignite before he clenches his fists and forces himself to not spontaneously combust on live television.
The second the interview is over, he’s sprinting to his dressing room, slamming the door shut and typing frantically: Ohhh, you are in trouble. You’re really trying to set me on fire, huh? Hope you’re home, babe, ‘cause I’m flying over. Right. Now.
Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic
Reed Richards is a genius. His mind is constantly working at speeds beyond human comprehension. But when he’s mid-lecture at a prestigious scientific conference and his phone vibrates—his brilliant mind suddenly goes blank.
He absently checks his phone, half-expecting an alert from the Baxter Building. But instead, it’s you. Wearing almost nothing.
For a solid ten seconds, he is frozen. His eyes slightly widen. His fingers twitch. And then, very slowly, he locks his phone and clears his throat. “Ah—excuse me, esteemed colleagues, but I must—um—attend to an urgent matter.”
Later, he adjusts his glasses, staring at the image with a fascinated, almost scientific appreciation. Then, with methodical precision, he types: You are a very distracting woman. I will be conducting an… in-depth study on you as soon as I return. Expect a thorough examination.
Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat
Felicia Hardy is a master of seduction. She flusters men for fun. But when she’s in the middle of a high-stakes casino heist, and you send her something utterly indecent, even she loses her composure.
She’s leaning against the bar, sipping an expensive martini, eyes locked on her mark. Then, her phone buzzes. She lazily checks it, expecting an update from her crew. But instead? Instead, she sees you.
Her eyelashes flutter. Her lips part just slightly. And for the first time in years, her poker face cracks. The bartender—oblivious—raises an eyebrow. “Everything okay, miss?” Felicia exhales, smirking as she locks her phone. “Oh, it’s better than okay.”
Later, she lounges on silk sheets, staring at the picture before purring into her phone: You really think you can tease me, kitten? Oh, sweetheart… you just made a very expensive bet. And I never lose.
Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange
Stephen Strange is not easily shaken. He’s fought cosmic horrors, bent reality, and wielded power beyond mortal comprehension. But when he’s in the middle of a magical duel with Dormammu, and you send him a sinfully explicit picture—he almost loses.
He’s mid-incantation, floating above the Sanctum’s rooftop, when his phone vibrates. Normally, he’d ignore it—except something in the back of his mind tells him it’s you. He flicks his fingers, glancing at the screen—and immediately regrets it.
His spell stutters. His fingers twitch. The fabric of reality briefly warps. Wong, standing below, yells, “What the hell was that?!” Stephen clenches his jaw, locking his phone immediately before snapping his wrist and repairing the timeline. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Absolutely nothing.”
The moment the battle is over, he retreats into his study, loosening his Cloak, before typing: You dare distract the Sorcerer Supreme? You have no idea what you’ve just unleashed, darling. And I do hope you’re prepared for consequences beyond mortal comprehension.
Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner
Namor is a king. He does not answer to anyone. He has waged war against the surface world, stood against the mightiest heroes, and commands the loyalty of an entire empire. But when he is seated on his throne, discussing politics with his council, and his communicator vibrates—everything else becomes irrelevant.
He glances down, expecting a diplomatic missive. Instead, he is greeted by you—a vision of temptation, captured in a way that only he has the privilege to see. His grip on the communicator tightens, his lips parting slightly. The light of the display reflects in his dark, narrowed eyes.
The council drones on, but Namor hears nothing. His golden gauntlets flex, his knuckles tightening as his jaw sets. A slow, deliberate exhale is all that betrays his reaction. But those closest to him—his most trusted generals—see the flicker of something dangerous in his expression. A storm, barely contained.
Later, as he stands upon his balcony, overlooking the endless ocean, he types a single response: You seek to tempt a king, my love? Then be prepared for the wrath of a god. When next we meet, you will drown in my devotion.
Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider
Johnny Blaze has seen Hell—literally. He has ridden across the desolate highways of damnation, stared into the abyss, and laughed. But when he’s sitting in a biker bar, nursing a whiskey and half-listening to some guy ramble about the Devil, his phone vibrates. And when he checks it—he nearly sets the whole place on fire.
The image of you is burned into his mind, seared into his soul. He sucks in a slow breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening around the glass. His knuckles go white. Somewhere deep inside, the Spirit of Vengeance chuckles.
“Something wrong, Blaze?” One of the other bikers eyes him warily. Johnny forces a smirk, setting his whiskey down before he crushes the glass in his grip. “Nah,” he rasps, his voice a little too rough. “Just realized I got… unfinished business to take care of.”
Later, on his Hellfire-coated bike, he sends a text: You got a real bad habit of making me wanna sin, sweetheart. And I promise—I’ll make sure you repent. Over. And over.
Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom
Eddie Brock has been through hell. He’s fought monsters, been one himself, lost everything, and still kept going. But nothing—not a damn thing—could prepare him for the absolute carnage of getting that picture from you in the middle of a crowded subway.
He’s scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, Venom muttering in his head about wanting tater tots, when the image loads. For a solid five seconds, he is completely still. Then—
“Eddie.” Venom’s voice rumbles, amused. “Your mate is very… bold. We approve.” Eddie, red-faced, slams his phone against his chest like that’ll somehow erase what just happened. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw. A teenager across from him raises an eyebrow.
Later, when he’s alone, he finally lets himself look at the picture again. A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face as he types back: Oh, you think you’re being cute, huh? Yeah. Just wait till I get my hands on you. Hell, maybe we’ll even let Venom have a little fun, too.
T’Challa aka. Black Panther
T’Challa is a king, a warrior, a legend. His mind is a fortress, his will unshakable. But when he is seated in the royal palace of Wakanda, surrounded by dignitaries, and his Kimoyo Beads alert him to a personal message—his focus wavers.
He allows himself a discreet glance. And in that moment? His heart skips a single beat. His fingers—steady even in the heat of battle—tighten just slightly around his beads. His expression does not change. But to those who know him well—Okoye, Shuri—they notice the subtlest flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
Shuri smirks. “Brother,” she murmurs, leaning in. “You look… distracted.” T’Challa exhales deeply, locking the message with a casual flick of his fingers. “I am merely… anticipating a conversation.”
Later, when he is alone, he reviews the picture once more, fingers grazing his jaw before he types: You are testing my patience, beloved. And you know I am a man of great discipline. But for you? I am willing to break my own rules. Expect me soon.
Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra
Elektra Natchios does not fluster. She has slit the throats of kings, danced on the edge of oblivion, and played cat-and-mouse with death itself. But when she is sharpening her sai on the rooftop of a New York high-rise and her phone buzzes—her grip falters.
The blade nicks her glove. Barely. But it happens. Her lips part in a slow, dangerous smirk as she tilts the phone toward the moonlight, drinking in the absolute audacity of your message.
“Something amusing?” A voice—a rival assassin, lurking in the shadows. Elektra does not answer. She merely tucks her phone away, standing smoothly, her stance lethal. “Yes,” she purrs. “Something… very amusing.”
Later, as she leans against the window of her penthouse, she finally sends a reply: You are so very reckless, my love. And I do enjoy breaking reckless little things.
venom is the big monster you got when you found the book of death. the rules were simple : write a name and they die. in the beginning you found him annoying; his large body always hovering over you as you watched your victim die. his deep chuckle that made your room shake a little and his long tounge slithering out every so often to lick the tip of your ear. from then to now, you couldn’t figure out how your emotions changed. the laugh that used to make your eyes roll now made you thighs clench together wetness pooling into your panties. venom saw the change, the subductes gaze in your innocent eyes. if he wasn’t a villain he wouldn’t have entertained you - but fortunately he was.
the news blared in the background, reports of another unexplained and sudden death. usually if you weren’t occupied you would be giggling, kicking your feet, and eating popcorn. but - this time your legs were spread open for your big monster. “do you like that?” his usually monotone voice had a slight edge today. his clawed finger rubbed at your puffy bud as gently as he could be. you threw your head back nodding quickly. pink comforter getting damped underneath you both from your wet cunt and venom physically drooling at the smell of you.
“mmm” you both grunted together. your chest heaved up and down, brown nipples hard and welcoming the tip of the textured tongue circling it. “y-yess!” you cried, you hips bucked into he air, venom taking that to move quicker. his slanted eyes zeroed in on your empty hole that dripped for attention. he felt his restraint breaking, his tounge now going back and froth with each nipple that was wet with slob; but it wasn’t enough. his movement shocked you, a small gasp that turned into a loud moan left your lips. venom held your hips and pushed your legs to be by your head. his tounge slowly slithering its way into your pussy. your walls clenched and unclenching as he tried going deeper stretching your hole.
your legs shook, your hand on his slimy head trying to push back tears falling from your eyes. “waittt” you bucked into him, body and mind in two different places. venom rubbed his monsters cock again your bed. big drops of pre cums dripped from him, the friction of the soft cover and you taste being satisfying enough.
he inched a little more of his tounge into you, grunting against you. his eyes closed, tip of his tounge touching all of your insides. your stomach dropped, and one last small unmoving tug to his head was all you could give. your squirt came out showering the monster in your essence. he mumbled how he loved this, he could never go another day without the taste of you but you were like a fish out of water. your head pounded, juices still flowing from you, body twitching. venom would never leave you alone now.
