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A QUICK FIX. [18+] 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

‎✧˚₊‧ peter cumming in his pants when you sit on his face!

it’s been far too long since peter has fucked.

yes, you fucked him that one when you had to figure out who in the hell you fucked because he disappeared before you woke up; you’d eventually remember when you saw parker’s tank-top on the floor.

you remember his pathetic whimpers as he piston into you, the way he fucked sloppy and the way he refused to even pull out once, like it was physically impossible for him to pull out— and in some ways? it was… and you also remember, oh yeah! you have his phone number now, so of course, when the night is late, when nobody is around and you’re far too horny for your own good? guess he’d do the trick.

and peter, for all of his flaws, has a really good green flag if you ask the right person; he loves when women sit on his face.

he lovesssss getting a face full of pussy, his tongue licking up and down their folds and tasting all of their juices all over his face. he loves feeling trapped under thighs and under someone in full control… and he loved it especially tonight, when he hasn’t gotten the feeling in forever, and you put all your weight on him.

“p-peter! peter!” your moans echo off the wall just like they did two weeks ago as this time, it wasn’t his cock drilling in and out of you, it was his tongue lapping you up and down.

his rough hands grab your waist and keeps you on him, moaning against your cunt as your fingers stroke his hair. “mhm… so good b-baby.” his moans are broken, blushing as he can’t stop his tongue. “s’so’so good.” he mutters, feeling his cock twitch as his mouth tastes more of of your pussy. “could eat you all fuckin’ night, sweet girl.”

you rock on his face, both of your hands in his hair as he continues to lick and suck on your wet pussy. his legs shake a little, eyes rolling back at the taste of you entering his mouth— you taste so good.

“peter! p’peter! ohhhhh fu-fuckkkk!” you moan out, fingers yanking at his brown hair as you look down at him, shuddering at seeing him.

he didn’t hold himself back— he couldn’t, that’s the thing with his powers; yes, he’s spider-man and one of the downsides? he can’t hold himself back when pleasure overloads his senses… and in no time at all… he feels his balls clench and his cock vibrates in his pants.

and suddenly, he feels ropes of heavy semen leave his cock and stain his pants, unloading in his boxers as he cums— just by you sitting on his face.

you feel him tremble under you and you furrow your brows, looking at him with a mouth agape and turn your head, seeing his grey sweatpants become stained in the crotch area. you turn your head back at him and seeing the blush of embarrassment on his face.

“peter!”

“mhm— what?”

you shake your head as you groan at the vibrations against your cunt. “you— you just cummed? what- what the fuck?”

he shakes his head in between his thighs, running his hands up and down your back. “…’m sorry… you just t-taste so good… fuck…”

oh this absolutely pathetic man.

click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, i luv this pathetic ass man. also??? the amount of support on my first peter oneshot? didn’t expect that but if people want more penis parker, they gonna get penis parker!

thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!

created by... nobodys-s0n! ™

•18+ Adults Only

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darksuccubuss

𐙚 Personal lesson for a doll 𐙚 (age gap 20s-40s/very smut 18+)

What if you ask Ben to teach you how to defend yourself?

Thank you all for your personal messages and your subscriptions, I love you all!

Ben was worn out by the relentless pace of missions. A brief, silent break in the middle of the desert was all he needed, and all you wanted. However, your desire for his company concealed a deeper need: a burning need to learn to defend yourself. You'd seen Ben and the others in action countless times; their strength was undeniable. But you craved this ability for yourself, especially so Ben wouldn't have to worry about your vulnerability while he was on missions. The solution: a secluded cabin, his own private hideaway deep in the woods.

One evening, as the fire cast dancing shadows, you settled into his lap, the scent of whiskey mingling with the smoke from the fire. Your "old man" sipped his drink. You kissed his temple, and the words escaped him in a soft, determined sigh: "Teach me how to fight."

Ben took a long, slow sip of whiskey from his glass, the amber liquid reflecting in the firelight, and downed the rest. He exhaled heavily, the alcohol taking effect immediately. When you pressed this request to his temple, he paused for a second, simply staring into the dancing flames with his tired green eyes.

"Teach you to fight?" he repeated, lowering his voice to a hoarse, sarcastic tone. He laughed harshly, humorlessly, turning his head to look at you. "What, you think this is some fucking movie? You think you'll be that tough?"

He set the glass down on the coffee table with a loud clang that echoed far too loudly throughout the quiet cabin. His grip on your waist tightened, not painfully, but enough to remind you of the incredible strength contained in those muscular arms. He pulled you closer, his breath smelling of whiskey and tobacco.

"A real fight isn't pretty, baby. It's dirty, it's fucking mean, and it's mostly a matter of who's willing to be the biggest asshole in the room." He chuckled, that arrogant, self-absorbed glint returning to his eyes. "But if you're fucking serious about this... fine. But don't come crying to me when you're walking around with a broken nail or lying on the floor."

You roll your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding him tighter, "Just a couple of lessons, Ben. You wouldn't want me left alone without protection while you're on a mission, would you?"

Ben snorted in annoyance when you rolled your eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He hated your stubborn ways, mostly because they reminded him too much of himself. He raised his hand, cupping your jaw almost tenderly with one large, calloused palm, then ran his thumb roughly over your bottom lip.

"Damn stubborn girl, huh?" he muttered, though his voice held less venom than usual. "Okay. Let's start with the basics before I decide to let that sweet ass stay on me."

He shifted his weight, slid off the couch to stand, and pulled you with him. The firelight cast long, impressive shadows across his muscular body. He grabbed your wrists, guiding your small hands upward until your knuckles were in line with his chest.

"Lesson one: don't be a coward. Don't wait for some idiot to jump you; hit him first. Hard." He backed up just enough to give you space, rolling his shoulders as if he were preparing for a real, damn fight. "Put some force into it, sweetheart. Clench your fist tight, don't break your fingers, and aim for the nose or throat. The nose hurts, the throat paralyzes."

His eyes stared at yours, unblinking. "Go ahead. Hit me. Show me you really mean it, and aren't just playing dress-up."

You smirk at him, ball your fist like he said, stand right in front of him, and swing hard. The impact of your fist against his palm in the quiet hut sounds like a wet slap. Ben doesn't even flinch; it's like his hand hit a fucking brick wall. With lightning-fast reflexes, he catches your wrist mid-swing, his grip squeezing your bones until you feel the heat of his palm through your skin. His face remains impassive, almost bored, but his eyes blaze with a familiar predatory intensity.

"Damn, what a mindset, but your technique is crap," he growled, lowering his voice an octave. "You swing like you're trying to pet a damn cat, sweetheart. You should be punching through the target, not just hitting it."

He didn't let go of your wrist. Instead, he jerked you forward, forcing your body into his hard, muscular chest. The sudden movement stole your breath for half a second. He towered over you, his superior height making you feel small, his breath hot in your ear.

"And you left your damn chin exposed. Any slacker could have punched you right there and knocked you out." He pulled back just enough to look down at you, a smug, arrogant smirk playing on his lips. "You want to learn how to fight? Then stop fooling around and do it. Don't hesitate next time. If you hesitate, you're done for."

You snorted in irritation, looked at him, and said, "Maybe because my teacher is a boring old man?" You wrenched your hand from his grasp and aimed at him again, this time with your foot. Ben froze in his half-smile, his eyebrows rising at the insult. "A boring old man?" he repeated, his voice laced with incredulous irony. "My God, such impudence, Princess." A dangerous glint flickered in his green eyes—not so much anger as that competitive, arrogant streak that always surfaced when provoked. "Be careful what you wish for. I might start acting my age and show you how damn cruel that is."

Before you could even process the threat, you lunged forward, aiming a kick at his ribs. But Ben was a veteran of countless battles, a man who had lived through decades of Russian experiments and damn world wars. His reflexes were inhumanly fast.

He didn't just block the blow; he anticipated it. With effort, he stepped into your space, hooking your leg with his thigh to halt the movement, then grabbed your calf with his forearm. The sudden stop threw you off balance, but he kept you from falling. His other arm wrapped around your waist like a vice, pinning you to his strong body.

"Damn it, you'll break your ankle trying to kick like that," he barked, though a hoarse laugh vibrated in his chest. "You need to keep your balance. If you swing your leg like a pendulum, without support, you're just asking to be fucked."

He held you there for a moment, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. "That was better. More fucking aggression." His grip loosened, becoming playful, but his smirk remained smug. "But if you want to play dirty, you have to learn to take the hits. Think you can handle it?"

"I can handle it, old man," you snorted, looking at him. Ben let out a rough, barking laugh that echoed off the walls of the hut and shook his head, genuinely disbelieving your impudence. "Old man? You're fucking wrong, you know that?" Despite the insult, there was something almost amused in his expression—the very challenge he lived for. He loved your fire; it was the only thing that kept him from getting bored.

"Okay, since you're so damn confident, let's see how that pretty mouth of yours can handle being suffocated." His smirk turned hungry, and his stance regained its commanding, predatory edge. He didn't let go of your waist; instead, he tightened his arms around you, pressing you so tightly that there wasn't a centimeter of space left between your bodies.

"You think you can handle me?" he asked thoughtfully, his voice dropping to a dangerous, hoarse whisper. "Most people would shit themselves trying. You're playing with fire, baby."

Suddenly, he shifted his weight, using his superior strength to move you. In one smooth, aggressive movement, he tripped your legs, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send you tumbling backward onto the soft carpet in front of the fireplace. Before you could rise, he was on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head with one massive hand. His knees gripped your hips, trapping you completely beneath his muscular body.

"Here's your first lesson in proper combat, sweetheart," he growled, looming over you like a shadow, his eyes dark with amusement and something far more carnal. "When you screw up, you're going to be pinned down by someone bigger, stronger, and who knows exactly how to break you."

You smile, biting your lip and giggling, "But you won't let that happen, will you, soldier boy?" Ben chuckles softly, and you feel it vibrate in your chest. Your laughter was the last thing he expected after you'd tried to attack him just seconds earlier, but it worked, disarming him in a way only you could. He looked down at you, your hair scattered across the carpet like tangled silk, your cheeks flushed from the strain and heat of the fire.

"Damn, what a manipulative little brat you are, aren't you?" he muttered, though there wasn't a hint of malice in his words. His grip on your wrists didn't loosen, but the aggression was replaced by something dense, heavy, and unmistakably aroused. "Using your sweet smile to get yourself out of trouble. That's a dangerous game with a man like me."

He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours, his breath hot and faintly scented with whiskey. "And don't call me that. Only the idiots and bastards at Vought who want something from me call me that." His green eyes darkened as he slid over your features, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes.

"As for whether I'll let that happen...you're right about one thing, doll. I won't let anyone touch you. Anyone who tries to lay a finger on you will find out just how screwed I can be." He shifted his hips slightly, pressing the hard surface of his thigh deeper between yours. "For now, I'll let you think you're winning, baby. But don't get cocky. In a real fight, I'd gut you before you could blink." The corner of his mouth curled into that signature, arrogant smirk. "But since we're here… maybe I'll let you keep pretending. For a little while."

He releases his grip on your wrists, and you suddenly wrap your legs around his waist like a snake. "Don't even think about giving in." You look at him playfully. Ben grunted in surprise when you suddenly wrapped your legs around his waist, the movement so fast it almost caught him off guard. His eyes widened for a split second, then narrowed, taking on a darker, more dangerous hue. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline when you challenged him, the same one that usually precedes a hell of a shootout or a bar fight.

"Don't give in?" he repeated, his voice hoarse, as if he were grinding stone. "Sweetheart, you have no idea what you're asking for."

He didn't back down. Instead, he pressed himself harder against you, his weight pinning you to the carpet, his forearms bracing against either side of your head. His smug, self-absorbed smirk returned, but there was a rough, hungry edge to it. He loved this defiance; it made the subsequent surrender even sweeter.

"You think you're in control here just because you've got your legs wrapped around me?" He let out a rough, mocking laugh, his green eyes gliding over your face, taking in your flushed skin and tousled hair. "You're just making it easier for me to fuck you senseless, doll."

One of his hands left the carpet and slid down your shoulder, his rough palm skimming possessively over your ribs before settling on your hip, squeezing hard enough to leave light bruises. "You want to play unfairly? Fine. But don't you dare start whining and begging me to stop when I decide to stop playing fair."

You grabbed the hand that was holding your hip and said directly into his mouth, "Actually, the lesson isn't over yet, sir." At the word "sir," Ben's eyes flashed. He made a sound somewhere between a growl and a bloody choke, his pupils dilating, and the green of his irises turning into a thin, electrifying ring. This particular brand of defiance, wrapped in submission, was precisely the kind of psychological warfare he couldn't resist. It struck him right at the wounded, complex core of his masculinity.

"Damn it," he croaked, his voice trembling slightly with the effort. "You really do know how to push all my bloody buttons, don't you?"

He didn't pull away. Instead, he pressed closer, his hips moving purposefully against yours, letting you feel the full force of that little word that had such an effect on him. The cocky, arrogant Superman was still there, but beneath that soldier lurked something more primal, something that knew exactly how to get what it wanted.

"The lesson isn't over yet, is it?" He leaned down until his lips touched yours, teasing you with the touch, not giving you the chance to kiss you fully. His grip on your thigh tightened painfully, his fingers digging into your skin. "You think you're in charge now?"

A slow, sinister smirk spread across his face as he deliberately lowered his head to bite the sensitive skin where your neck and shoulder met, leaving a mark that would surely linger until tomorrow. "Alright, princess. Since you're so eager to learn… let's see if you can handle the advanced course."

His hand slid up from your hip, tangling roughly in your hair, tilting your head back to expose your neck completely. He wanted you vulnerable; he wanted to see that sweet face break under the weight of what he was about to do. The firelight played across his stubble as he pulled away from your neck just long enough to meet your gaze again, his expression somewhere between amusement and pure, unadulterated lust.

"First rule of the advanced course," he growled, his thumb brushing hard across your bottom lip, causing it to sting. "You have no right to make demands unless you're willing to accept whatever punishment comes with them."

He shifted his weight, deliberately flipping you onto your stomach in one powerful motion. Before you could protest, he settled between your thighs, his heavy body pinning you to the ground. The rough texture of the carpet pressed against your skin as he leaned in, whispering directly into your ear in a voice like gravel beneath his boots.

"Now stay still and shut up, doll. Let's see how long you can keep that sharp mouth of yours open before you're too busy screaming my name."

"You're insufferable, Benjamin!" Ben laughed hoarsely at the sound of you calling him by his first name, but he didn't soften at all. On the contrary, the sound only seemed to fuel his narcissism. "Insufferable? No, honey, I'm damn perfect. You're just not used to getting what you want."

The way you bit your lip didn't escape his notice; he watched your teeth sink into your soft flesh with such greedy intensity that his own pulse pounded wildly in his chest. He loved seeing you flustered, loved knowing he was the one responsible for that pleasant blush creeping up your neck.

"And stop whining," he growled, though his smirk remained incredibly smug as he pressed his chest deeper into your back, making sure you felt every inch of his hard muscle. "You're my doll, y/n. And dolls don't need to be damn good at fighting. They just need to sit there, look pretty, and let you do all the dirty work."

His hand moved from your hair to your spine, his palm, rough and warm, tracing the curves of your body. The arrogance in his tone was so thick it was choking, a classic manifestation of his conviction that he was the center of the damn universe.

You moan softly as he moves his large hands to your breasts, then lowers himself onto your stomach, still hovering over you with your cheek pressed to the floor. Ben heard that soft moan, and it sounded like fucking gasoline on an open fire. His pupils dilated as he watched your back arch beneath him, your body betraying every bit of the tough girl you'd been playing all evening. The sound of your surrender was sweeter than any damn whiskey he'd ever drank.

"That's it," he rasped, his voice dropping to that dark, husky timbre that meant he was done playing games. "Make that sound again."

His large hands continued their slow, measured descent, his palms sliding across your skin with enough force to make you feel completely his. As his hands moved to your stomach, settling possessively on your hips, he pressed his pelvis hard against your ass, reminding you who was in charge. He loved the contrast between your soft, tender body and his large, hardened frame.

"You can pretend you're learning to fight all you want, baby," he murmured, leaning down so his bearded jaw brushed your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "But we both know you'd rather be here, pressed against me like this, begging me to fuck you senseless."

He exhaled heavily, tightening his grip on your hips as he shifted, preparing to take what was his. "Now stop whining and take it like a good girl. Lessons are over. Now we're going to do what you really like."

Ben didn't waste a second. His large hand moved from your hip to your jaw, his fingers rough and vicious, forcing you to turn your head and meet his gaze one last time. His green eyes were filled with a terrifying hunger, but he didn't give you time to process it before he smashed his mouth onto yours.

This wasn't a gentle kiss; this was a fucking invasion. He kissed you like he was claiming territory, like he was reminding you who owned every damn inch of you. His tongue pierced your lips with aggressive force, demanding access, and when you moaned into his mouth, the sound seemed to shatter the last vestiges of his inhibitions.

"Fuck, baby," he growled against your lips, the words muffled and hoarse. Your moan was like fuel for his fire, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to his cock. He loved your taste, your response to his touch, the way his rough hands could easily bring you to orgasm.

He deepened the kiss, his teeth lightly grazing your bottom lip, which was both painful and incredibly pleasurable. One hand remained pressed to your jaw, holding you still, while the other slid down between your bodies, his palm pressing hard against the heat building between your thighs. He wanted to hear you scream, wanted to feel you tremble beneath him as he took everything you had to give.

"That's it, girl," he whispered breathlessly between kisses, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Moan for me. Let me hear how much you want it."

Ben's patience had completely evaporated. With one powerful, impatient thrust, he pushed you to the floor again, your chest pressing hard against the rough fibers of the carpet. He no longer cared how soft your clothes were; the brazen soldier had given way to something far more primal and demanding. His large hand spread across the center of your back, pinning you to the floor as if you were nothing more than prey he'd finally cornered.

The sound of your shorts and wet panties being ripped off resounded loudly in the quiet cabin. He tossed them aside without thinking, his breathing ragged and heavy, his sighs echoing across your bare skin.

"Look at you," he growled, his voice laced with a rough, possessive satisfaction. "Fucking helpless. Is this what you wanted, doll?"

As he leaned down to press his lips to your ass, the heat of his breath made you shudder violently. His stubble brushed against your skin as he kissed you there, but there was no tenderness in sight. Instead, he accompanied each wet, lewd contact with a stream of filthy comments that made your blood boil and your stomach ache.

"Bet you'll be covered in my fucking bruises by morning, sweetheart," he murmured, pressing his skin against yours, his teeth grazing your thigh. "All red and bruised, so everyone knows exactly who you belong to. You'll be a terrible mess when I'm done with you. A beautiful, broken little mess."

He pulled back just enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze on your bare buttock before shifting his position to take you fully. "Now hold still and take it." I won't ask twice."

Ben held your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh like iron fire as he lifted your buttocks higher, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him. The shift in position made you feel dangerously unsteady, but there was no stopping the pace he had set. When he lowered his head between your thighs, the first touch of his tongue was like an electric shock throughout your body.

"Fuck, you're soaking wet," he growled, pressing against your sensitive skin, his breath hot and moist. "Tell me how much you want me to fuck you."

The moment his tongue slid over your clit, you lost control. A loud, uncontrollable moan escaped your throat as your hips involuntarily arched toward his face. The pleasure was overwhelming, too intense for your body to process. You began moaning, making those high, desperate sounds that only seemed to excite him further. You were panting, your lungs burning, struggling to catch your breath between the waves of sensation he was deliberately eliciting.

"That's it, good girl, make fucking sounds," he muttered, his voice muffled by your damp skin but still retaining that rough, commanding edge. "I want the whole damn house to hear how good I make you feel."

He didn't slow down; instead, he became even more aggressive, his tongue working with a punishing rhythm that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He loved hearing you break, hearing that confident little sparkler turn into a whining, gasping mass under his tongue. He wanted to get you to the point where you couldn't think, couldn't speak, could only feel the raw, unfiltered need he was squeezing out of you.

Ben let out a hoarse, satisfied groan, pulling away from your wet folds, watching your body continue to tremble from what he'd done to you. Without missing a beat, he hooked his fingers around your entrance and, without hesitation, inserted two thick fingers inside. The sudden fullness made you gasp, your hips instinctively jerking at the intrusion.

"Fuck, baby... look at you," he growled in a low, dangerous rasp, leaning down to whisper directly into your ear. "You're such a fucking slut. Just from pinning you to this damn carpet and touching you like this, you're already dripping wet. You're so fucking turned on by me, it's pathetic."

His fingers began to move inside you with a brutal, relentless rhythm, stretching you and working you with the experience of a man who knew exactly how to elicit a maximum response. He wasn't gentle; he was possessing you, leaving his mark inside.

"Open up, baby," he commanded harshly. Before you could process what was happening, he pulled his slick, wet fingers from your vagina and pressed them to your lips. "Suck them. I want you to taste what you're doing to me."

The command left no room for argument. His eyes, dark and challenging, locked onto yours as he forced his fingers into your mouth. The taste of your own arousal, mingled with the saltiness of his skin, filled your senses. "That's it, swallow it all," he murmured, a sinister, arrogant smirk spreading across his face as he watched you submit. "Every last drop." Show me what a good girl you can be."

Ben watched you through narrowed eyes, a dark, twisted sense of satisfaction clenching in his stomach as he watched you cry and suck on his slick fingers. The vulnerability in your expression, the way you looked utterly exhausted, was better than any drug he'd ever taken. When he finally pulled them from your mouth with a wet pop, he didn't give you a second to rest before moving on to the next step.

"Fuck, that's it," he growled, his voice shaking with impatience. The metallic click of his belt unbuckling resounded loudly in the quiet room. He quickly removed his pants and briefs, pushing them down past his muscular thighs until he stood, his cock already hard, thick and wicked-looking.

He didn't enter you right away. Instead, he lowered his hand between your legs again, his rough fingers delving into your swollen folds again, gathering evidence of how much you wanted him. He brought those glistening fingers to his cock, slowly and deliberately stroking it along the length of your cum.

"You see that?" he murmured, his breathing becoming increasingly ragged as he moved, the wet sounds of his hand sliding over his cock filling the space between you. "You're so fucking desperate, you're practically begging me to destroy you. You're so fucking wet, you're fucking helping me get ready."

He leaned over you, his shadow engulfing you as he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock penetrating your pussy. "One more sound like that, and I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget your own fucking name."

Ben, fucking hell, didn't wait for you to adjust. With one brutal, uncompromising thrust, he slammed his cock all the way into you, so hard it felt like he was trying to rip you in half. The suddenness of the thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, and you pressed yourself against the carpet, gasping for breath. His other hand shot out, fingers tangling roughly in the hair at the back of your head, pressing your face to the floor until your cheek pressed painfully against him.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growled, his voice shaking with unbridled need. "Fuck."

A painful, desperate moan escaped your throat as you bit hard on your plush lower lip, trying to stifle the sound, but it was no use. He felt every shudder running through your body, every involuntary spasm of muscles trying to obey him. The cocky soldier was gone, replaced by something far more relentless—a man driven by pure, unadulterated lust.

As you tried to grab onto something, your hand caught on the carpet, and he intercepted it. His grip was iron as he grabbed your wrist, twisting it and pinning your arm behind your back in a pinning hold. Now you were completely immobilized, pinned between his crushing weight and the floor.

"Don't try to pull away from me," he rasped in your ear, his hips beginning to move in a torturous, piston-like rhythm. Each thrust was deep and purposeful, aimed at driving you wild. "Stay here, damn it. Take every inch of this."

The wet, slapping sounds of his pelvis slamming against yours echoed off the walls as he increased his pace, his breathing becoming ragged, animalistic wheezes. "That's it, whine for me, doll. Let me hear how much you fucking love it."

The sound of your sobbing moans and the wet slap of his skin against yours was what Ben needed to overcome the last of his inhibitions. Seeing tears streaming down your cheeks, not from pain but from this all-consuming, sensual overload, drove him crazy. He loved breaking you; he loved watching this beautiful, confident girl turn into a tearful, desperate plea under his weight.

"Fuck, yes, cry for me, baby," he growled, biting his teeth into your bottom lip so hard, watching his cock disappear inside you with each crushing thrust. The sight of your flesh stretching around him was pure pornography.

When you finally broke, your voice trembled as you screamed his name and announced your orgasm. "Ben... I'm cumming!..." Ben felt his own control snap like a fucking wire. "That's it! Take it all!" he roared. He didn't slow down when you began to thrash around him; instead, he pressed his huge, sweat-covered chest against your back, pinning you even harder to the floor. He thrust into you with animalistic fury, his hips pumping like pistons in a fucking engine.

"Fuck." His smug smirk vanished, replaced by a mask of unbridled, desperate pleasure. The orgasm washed over him like a freight train, furious and all-consuming. He let out a guttural, primal cry as he gave one last thrust, giving it all he had, pouring his hot seed deep into you in thick, relentless waves.

He collapsed on top of you, his heavy body pinning you to the carpet, both of you panting like you'd just run a fucking marathon. His heart pounded against your back. "Fuck me," he rasped in your ear, his voice broken and dirty. "You're fucking incredible, girl."

After all that roughness, Ben changed with surprising fluidity. That rough, predatory beast retreated, leaving behind something that almost resembled the man he'd been before everything went to hell. In one fluid motion, he pulled away from your bodies and reached for your hand, turning it over to place gentle, lingering kisses on your knuckles and then your forehead.

For a moment, the rough Soldier vanished, replaced by that rare, almost impossible tenderness he reserved only for you. "You don't need to learn to fight, y/n," he muttered hoarsely, but without the usual harshness. "Such a pretty doll shouldn't do such crap. I'll give you a damn gun to keep you safe while I'm gone."

When you summoned the courage to smile weakly, "Boring." He didn't look angry. Instead, he chuckled softly and kissed you on the lips—a truly sweet, almost frighteningly sweet kiss. "You really irritate me, you know that?" he chuckled.

Then his stomach growled, and hunger flashed in his eyes again. "Come on, sweetheart. I want that damn pie you baked me this morning. Don't make me wait, I'm starving."

He leaned down, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. But instead of kissing, he began to gently, teasingly run his coarse beard over your sensitive skin. "Damn, it tickles, doesn't it?" he teased, his breath hot against your ear. You giggled involuntarily, trying to escape from under his prickly stubble.

"Ben!"

He simply laughed, pressing you to his warm, firm chest.

jewellaces

₊˚ ᰔ Lake house

Summary: Your finally eighteen, freshly single, and stuck spending the last weekend of summer at your dad's best friends lakehouse. Beau has been always amazing to be around, but now things feel different.

⟢ Warnings: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, age gap, dad's best friends, praise kink, pet names, finger sucking, mild babying kink, risk of getting caught, creampie

wc: 4.3k

You hadn’t been to Beau’s lakehouse in years.

The invitation had come late in the summer, almost as an afterthought, your dad mentioning over dinner that Beau was opening the place up one last time before the season ended, and that the whole family should come. A weekend by the water. A few of his other friends. Their kids. The usual crowd.

You were eighteen now. High school was finished. College waited on the other side of a few short weeks. Everything felt temporary and too loud at the same time.

In the passenger seat you kept your headphones on, bare feet propped on the dashboard. You weren’t looking forward to any of it, the noise, the heat, the forced conversations. You just wanted to be left alone.

Your boyfriend had cheated. Everyone knew because your dad had made sure of it, telling the story to half the town. The looks that followed you around felt heavier than the breakup itself.

“Headphones off. We’re here.”

Your dad’s voice cut through the music a second before he reached over and pulled the headphones down around your neck. You rolled your eyes and unbuckled, the seatbelt sliding free with a soft click.

He always insisted on arriving early. Predictably, the long gravel driveway was empty when the truck rolled to a stop in front of the lakehouse. No other cars yet. Just the quiet stretch of water beyond the trees and the low wooden structure that still looked the same as it had when you were a kid.

You stepped out into the heat and stretched, arms overhead, the hem of your shirt lifting for a second. Then you tugged your jeans a little higher on your hips, smoothed them once, and looked toward the porch.

The place smelled like sun-warmed wood and lake water. Somewhere inside, a screen door was already propped open, waiting.

Your dad hauled the cooler out of the truck bed and headed for the open screen door. You followed a few steps behind, the heat of the day already settling against your skin.

“Hey, Beau.”

Your dad set the cooler down with a solid thud. Beau looked up from where he’d been wiping down the counter, a slow grin spreading across his face.

“Hey. You two are early.”

He crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled your dad into a quick, back-slapping hug. Then his eyes shifted to you.

“Hey, kiddo.”

The nickname landed differently now that you were standing there in an off-the-shoulder cover-up with the thin straps of your swimsuit visible underneath. You fidgeted with one of them, twisting the fabric between your fingers.

“Hi, Beau.”

Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to.

Your dad gestured at the cooler. “Where do you want this?”

“Out on the back deck. Ya’ need a hand?”

Beau raised an eyebrow, already half-reaching for it, but your dad shook his head and lifted the cooler again. “I got it.” He disappeared through the sliding door toward the water, leaving the two of you alone in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.

Beau exhaled, watching him go. Then he turned back to you. The easy smile faded into something softer, more careful.

“You okay, sweetie?”

He reached out and ruffled your hair the way he used to when you were younger, but his hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. You could feel the warmth of his palm against your scalp.

“Your dad told me—”

“He told the whole town,” you cut in, eyes dropping to where his hand still rested near your shoulder.

Beau’s mouth tightened. He let his hand fall away, then said quietly, “I’m sorry, baby. You deserve better than that.”

Beau’s hand dropped away, but he didn’t step back. The kitchen felt smaller with just the two of you in it. Outside, you could hear the cooler lid open and close, the distant splash of water against the dock, but in here it was quiet enough to hear the low hum of the refrigerator.

He studied your face for a second, like he was deciding how much to say.

“You want something to drink?” he asked, already turning toward the fridge. “I’ve got water, soda, beer if you’re–” He stopped himself, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Water?”

“Water’s fine.”

He pulled out a bottle, twisted the cap off, and handed it to you. When your fingers brushed his, neither of you pulled away right away. His eyes dropped for half a second to the thin strap of your swimsuit where it cut across your shoulder, then flicked back up like he’d caught himself.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said.

You took a sip, mostly for something to do. “Just tired of people knowing everything about me.”

“I’m not everybody,” he said, voice lower. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But I’m here if you do.”

The sliding door opened before you could answer. Your dad stepped back inside, wiping his hands on his shorts.

“Cooler’s good,” he said, then looked between the two of you. “What’d I miss?”

Beau pushed off the counter like nothing had happened, the shift so smooth it almost looked practiced. “Just getting her a water. You want one?”

Your dad shook his head and clapped Beau on the shoulder. “Nah. I’m gonna go grab the rest of the bags. You two catch up.”

He headed back out toward the truck, leaving the door open behind him. The sound of his footsteps faded down the porch steps.

Beau’s gaze returned to you the second your dad was out of sight. He didn’t smile this time.

“You really okay?” he asked again, quieter now that there was no chance of being overheard.

You nodded once, but it didn’t feel convincing even to you.

Eventually the driveway filled with cars. Voices carried through the trees, kids shouting, cooler lids slamming, someone laughing too loud. One by one people made their way down to the lake. Your dad and Beau stood over the grill, smoke curling up into the late-afternoon light. A handful of younger kids cannonballed off the dock. A couple of teenagers tossed a football back and forth in the shallow water.

You stayed apart from it all, sitting at the edge of the dock with your feet dangling in the cool water, cover-up still on. The noise felt far away.

After a while Beau left the grill and walked over. He dropped down beside you with a quiet sigh, leaning back on his palms. The wood creaked under his weight. For a moment he just sat there, watching the water the same way you were.

Then he glanced over.

“Why don’t I make you a plate?” he offered, voice easy. His arm settled around your shoulders, warm and casual in a way that still made your pulse jump.

“I’m not very hungry.”

He shook his head, a low laugh under his breath. “Come on. I cut up a whole watermelon just for you.”

You looked at him. The corner of his mouth was tilted up, eyes soft in a way that felt private even with everyone around. A small smile pulled at your own lips before you could stop it.

You pushed yourself up from the dock.

You followed Beau up the slight slope toward the grill, the wooden planks of the dock warm under your bare feet. His hand stayed lightly at the small of your back for a few steps before he let it fall away, like he’d only just remembered other people could see.

Your dad glanced over from the grill, tongs in hand. “She finally hungry?”

“Working on it,” Beau answered, already reaching for a paper plate. He piled on a few slices of bright red watermelon, then added a small piece of grilled chicken without asking. “Sit,” he said, nodding toward the picnic table under the trees.

You sat. He set the plate in front of you and dropped onto the bench across from you instead of going back to the grill. Close enough that his knee brushed yours under the table.

“Eat the watermelon at least,” he said, voice low so it stayed between the two of you. “You look like you haven’t had anything all day.”

You picked up a slice. The juice ran sticky over your fingers the second you bit into it. Beau watched for a second longer than necessary, then looked away toward the water, jaw flexing once.

Your dad called something about needing more charcoal. Beau answered without getting up. “In the shed. I’ll grab it in a minute.”

He didn’t move. His eyes came back to you instead.

“You still thinking about him?” he asked quietly.

You wiped your fingers on a napkin, not meeting his gaze right away. “Trying not to.”

Beau nodded once, like he understood more than he was saying. Under the table his knee stayed pressed lightly against yours, steady and warm, while the rest of the party went on around you like neither of you were sitting in the middle of something that felt a little too quiet and a little too close.

“Thanks Beau,” You said with a smile, before one of the kids dragged you to the water.

You stood up from the picnic table, catching Beau’s eye for half a second before you reached for the hem of your oversized cover-up. You pulled it off in one smooth motion and dropped it on the bench, leaving you in just the thin swimsuit that clung to every curve.

Beau’s gaze dragged over you before he could stop it, quick, dark, and not nearly as subtle as he probably thought. You felt the weight of it settle warm under your skin.

You grinned, a little breathless already, and took off running down the dock.

“Don’t even think about it–” your dad started, but you were already launching yourself off the edge with a bright, unrestrained giggle. The cold water swallowed you whole, shocking and perfect. You surfaced with a gasp, hair slicked back, and floated for a moment as the sky turned gold and soft pink above the trees.

Some of the younger kids immediately started splashing toward you. You laughed and kicked away, holding one hand up.

“Hey, no, not the hair! I just got it nice!”

From the shore you could feel Beau still watching. When you glanced back he was standing near the grill, arms crossed, plate forgotten in his hand. The corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, but his eyes stayed on you a few beats longer than they should have, lingering on the way the water beaded across your shoulders and the line of your swimsuit as you floated there in the fading light.

You turned onto your back, letting the sunset paint everything warm, and pretended you didn’t notice. But the small, private smile on your face gave you away.

You floated a little longer, letting the last of the sunlight warm your face, then swam back toward the dock with slow, easy strokes. Beau was still there when you reached the ladder, standing at the edge like he’d been waiting.

You climbed up, water streaming down your legs and dripping onto the wood. He held out a hand without a word. You took it. His palm was warm and rough, and he didn’t let go right away, just steadied you as you stepped onto the dock, his fingers lingering against yours a second too long.

“You’re freezing,” he said, voice low.

You weren’t, not really, but the way he looked at you made your skin prickle anyway. He reached past you for the towel someone had left on the bench, then draped it over your shoulders himself. His hands stayed there, smoothing the fabric down your arms, thumbs brushing the bare skin just above your elbows.

“Thanks,” you said, a little quieter than before.

Beau’s eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up. The party noise felt distant, kids still splashing, your dad laughing at something by the grill, but right here it was just the two of you and the dripping water between your bodies.

He leaned in slightly, close enough that you caught the faint scent of smoke and sunscreen on him.

“You’ve got something…” His thumb came up and gently wiped a droplet from the corner of your jaw, lingering there. “Right there.”

The touch was soft. Deliberate. His hand didn’t drop immediately.

You tilted your head just a fraction, enough that his fingers rested more fully against your cheek. Beau’s breath left him in a quiet exhale. For a moment it looked like he might actually close the distance,

Then a loud splash and a kid’s shriek broke the air, and he stepped back half a pace, jaw tight, like he’d just remembered where he was.

As the night wore on, the last cars pulled away down the gravel drive. The lakehouse grew quieter, just the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of bottles left behind.

You sat curled in one of the chairs, phone in hand, a towel wrapped tightly around your still-damp body. The air had turned cool once the sun disappeared. Goosebumps rose along your arms.

Your dad and Beau sat a few feet away, beers in hand, laughing about something that happened years ago. You shifted in the chair and frowned.

“Dad, I’m cold.”

He glanced over, took another swig, and sighed. “I know, hun.”

Beau looked at you instead, eyes soft in the porch light. “Stay the night. You’re too drunk to drive anyway,” he told your dad, though the smile he sent your way felt like it was meant for you. “Plenty of rooms.”

You managed a small, awkward grin.

“Go on in, sweetheart,” Beau said, tipping his chin toward the door. “I’ll get your dad settled in a minute.”

“Thanks.” You stood, tightening the towel, and headed inside. Your dad followed a short while later, still chuckling about whatever story they’d been telling.

The house was quiet and dim. You walked down the hall toward the bathroom, already thinking about hot water, when you noticed Beau’s bedroom door cracked open. Soft blue light from the TV spilled into the hallway. He was stretched out on the bed in a clean T-shirt and shorts, watching a game, one arm folded behind his head.

You hesitated, then knocked lightly on the frame.

He looked over, a slow smile pulling at his mouth. “Hey bunny,”

“Hi.” You shifted on your feet, still wrapped in the towel. “Do you have any extra towels? I was about to shower.”

Beau sat up with a quiet grunt, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah. You heading in now?”

“Mhm.”

He stood and walked toward you, stopping close enough that you had to tilt your head back a little. “Need help?”

You raised a brow, a small laugh catching in your throat.

His mouth curved. “With the shower. It’s got one of those fancy handles. Takes a second to figure out.”

You ducked your bangs behind your ear, suddenly aware of how little the towel covered. “Probably, yeah.”

Beau grabbed a couple of clean towels from the shelf in his closet and handed them to you, his fingers brushing yours as he did. The contact lingered a beat longer than it needed to.

“C’mon,” he said, voice low. “I’ll show you.”

You followed him down the short hall to the bathroom. He pushed the door open and stepped inside first, flipping on the light. The space was nicer than you remembered, clean white tile, a big glass shower with a complicated-looking chrome handle.

Beau set the extra towel on the counter and reached for the handle, demonstrating. “You push in, then turn. Hot’s this way. It takes a second to catch.”

He glanced over his shoulder at you. You were still standing in the doorway, towel clutched tight around your body, hair damp and starting to dry in soft waves.

“You got it?” he asked.

You stepped closer, into the bathroom proper, until you were right beside him. “I think so.”

He didn’t move away. Instead he stayed there, one hand still on the handle, the other braced on the tile wall, effectively boxing you in just a little. The air between you felt warmer than the rest of the house.

“Here.” His voice dropped. He took your hand, gently, deliberately, and guided it to the handle, covering your fingers with his own. “Like this.”

His chest was almost against your back. You could feel the heat of him through the thin towel and his T-shirt. When he turned the handle for you, the water started up, steam already beginning to rise.

Neither of you pulled away right away.

Beau’s thumb brushed once over your knuckles. You felt him exhale, slow and controlled, right near your temple.

“You good?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, but you didn’t step out of the circle of his arms. For a second it felt like he might close that last bit of space, like he was thinking about it hard.

Then a floorboard creaked somewhere down the hall (your dad, probably), and Beau straightened, letting your hand go. The moment cracked open just enough for reality to slip back in.

He cleared his throat and stepped aside, giving you room.

“I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he said, eyes still dark as they met yours. “Just... yell.”

You managed a small smile. “Okay.”

He paused in the doorway one last time, looking at you like he was still deciding something, then pulled the door most of the way closed behind him, leaving it cracked just enough that you could still hear him settle back onto his bed.

You stood under the hot water longer than you needed to, letting it beat against your shoulders while your mind kept replaying the feel of Beau’s chest against your back and the way his hand had covered yours on the handle. The bathroom filled with steam. Outside the cracked door you could hear the low murmur of the game still playing in his room.

When you finally shut the water off, the house felt even quieter. You dried off quickly, wrapped the fresh towel tight around yourself again, and stepped into the hallway. The floorboards were cool under your feet.

Beau’s door was still open a few inches. The blue light of the TV flickered across the wall. You hesitated, then knocked softly with your knuckles.

“Yeah?” His voice was rough, like he’d been half-asleep or just thinking too hard.

You pushed the door open a little wider. He was still on the bed, but sitting up now against the headboard, remote in one hand. His eyes moved over you once, towel, damp hair, bare legs, before he dragged them back up to your face.

“Everything work okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Thanks for the help.”

The silence stretched, thick and warm. You should have said goodnight and gone to the guest room. Instead you stayed in the doorway, one hand still holding the towel closed at your chest.

Beau set the remote down. “You warm enough now?”

“Getting there.”

He studied you for another second, then shifted over on the bed, making space without quite saying why. “You can sit if you want. Game’s almost over. Or I can find you something to sleep in. You’re gonna freeze in that towel.”

You stepped inside and quietly pushed the door most of the way closed behind you. The click of the latch felt louder than it should have.

Beau watched you the whole time. He didn’t say anything at first, just shifted a little more, leaving clear space on the edge of the mattress. You sat down carefully, still clutching the towel, the bed dipping under your weight. The heat of his body was immediate even with a few inches between you.

The game murmured on the TV, some late-inning commentary neither of you were really listening to.

“You want a shirt hun?” he asked after a moment. His voice was quieter now that you were this close. “I’ve got clean ones in the drawer.”

You nodded. “Please.”

He got up, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a soft gray T-shirt that looked like it would swallow you. When he handed it over, his fingers brushed yours again. This time neither of you pretended it was an accident.

“I’ll turn around,” he said, but he only half-did, giving you his profile more than his back. You stood, kept the towel up with one hand, and pulled the shirt on over your head. It fell to mid-thigh. The towel dropped to the floor.

“Better?” he asked, voice lower.

“Yeah.”

You sat back down. Closer this time. Your bare knee rested against the side of his leg. He didn’t move away.

For a few seconds the only sound was the TV and the distant creak of the house settling. Then Beau reached over and gently tugged the collar of the shirt straight where it had twisted, his knuckles grazing your collarbone.

His hand stayed there a second longer, thumb brushing lightly over the skin just above the neckline of his shirt. The touch was careful. Testing. When you didn’t pull away, he let out a slow breath and shifted so he was facing you more fully on the bed.

“Your dad’s out cold already,” he said, almost like he was reminding himself as much as you. “Passed out on the couch the second he finished that last beer.”

The information settled between you, heavy and deliberate.

Beau’s gaze dropped to your mouth. He leaned in just a fraction, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke again.

You didn’t say stop.

“Open your mouth for me, baby.”

His voice was soft but left no room for argument. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers against your lower lip, waiting. The second your lips parted he slid them in, slow and deliberate, resting them on your tongue.

“That’s it, good girl. Suck.”

You did. The low, pleased sound he made went straight through you.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Nice and gentle.” His free hand stroked your hair, almost petting you. “Look at you. My sweet little thing, taking my fingers so well. You’re doing so good for me.”

He pushed them a little deeper, watching your face the whole time.

“Such a good baby,” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “Pretty mouth. You like being good for me, don’t you? Nod if you do.”

When you nodded around his fingers he smiled, soft and a little dark.

“That’s my girl. Keep sucking.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead while his fingers stayed in your mouth.

His other hand slipped under the hem of the oversized shirt, warm palm settling on your bare thigh, stroking lazily.

Beau slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, trailing them wet across your bottom lip.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, tasting himself on your tongue. His hands slid under the oversized shirt and pushed it up, peeling it off you in one smooth motion. The cool air kissed your skin for only a second before his warm palms replaced it, cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples as he made a low, approving sound.

“Look at you, so pretty for me.” He laid you back against his pillows, hovering over you. “Gonna take care of you now, okay? Just relax. Let Daddy make you feel good.”

He kissed down your throat, your chest, lingering to suck softly at each nipple until your back arched. Then lower, settling between your thighs. He hooked your legs over his shoulders and dragged his tongue through your wetness in one long, slow stroke.

“Fuck, already so wet for me, baby.” He licked again, slower, savoring.

He worked you with his mouth, tongue circling your clit, two fingers sliding inside and curling just right, while his free hand pinned your hip down. Every time you whimpered he hummed praise against you.

“Feel how nicely you open up for me?”

He brought you right to the edge and held you there, then pulled back with a wet kiss to your inner thigh.

“Not yet. Want you cuming on my cock first.”

Beau shoved his shorts down, kicked them away, and settled between your legs. He rubbed the thick head of his cock through your folds, coating himself, teasing your clit with it until you were squirming.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You did. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, watching your face the whole time. A deep, guttural sound left him when he bottomed out.

“Taking all of me so well.” He stayed still for a moment, letting you adjust, brushing hair from your face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Feel how full you are?”

When you nodded he started moving, deep, steady thrusts that filled the quiet room with the soft, wet sound of him fucking you. One hand stayed laced with yours above your head; the other gripped your thigh and kept you open for him.

“Taking my cock so pretty.” “

“Gonna come for me soon, aren’t you?” he murmured against your mouth.

His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb circling your clit in tight, perfect rhythm with his thrusts. The dual pressure pushed you over fast. You clenched hard around him, gasping his name, and he groaned like it wrecked him.

“Fuck, yes,”

He kept thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out, then buried himself to the hilt and came with a low, broken sound, spilling deep inside you. He stayed there, pulsing, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard.

After a long moment he kissed you soft and slow, still buried inside.

He carefully pulled out, gathered you against his chest, and tugged the blanket over both of you. One big hand stroked up and down your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

“Let’s keep this a secret, okay?”

beecomingnothing

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: smut , non-supe ben x fem.reader , age gap [ben 40s] , soft dom!ben , p/v sex , prone bone , headlock , brat taming , light degradation , creampie , begging , 18+

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 430

want more?

thinking about how brat tamer!ben would handle you the second you started acting up.

one smart comment too many and he’s got you face-down on his bed , chest pressed into the mattress , one heavy arm locked around your head so you’re forced to look straight into the mirror across the room. he isn’t choking you , yet. ben’s making sure you can’t hide your face.

god , he’s so big it feels like being buried into the sheets. the dense hair of his unkempt beard scrapes along your shoulder as he mouths at your neck with sloppy kisses. the fat head of his cock reminds you just how bad you need this. dragging up through your folds , smearing wet precome over your sopping cunt.

“could’ve just asked me for dick , instead a’ bein’ a brat.” he muttered against your ear , amusingly. “all you needed was this cunt filled.”

and there’s nowhere left for you to go. long deep strokes that force the air out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. the wet slap of his hips against your ass fills the room. every thrust punches a broken sound out of you.

your toes curl tight. drooling seeping onto the bicep locked under your jaw. when he flexes it , the muscle tightens against your chin and forces your mouth closed a little more. the bush at the base of his cock relentlessly scratches against your lower back.

ben can feel how close you are— the way your cunt keeps fluttering and squeezing around him with every deep stroke. but he can’t let you get off that easy.

the long , heavy thrusts turn deliberate and maddening. dragging almost all the way out before pushing back in so slowly you can feel every thick notch and vein of his shaft.

“you think brats deserve to come?” he asks mockingly. “after all that attitude?”

and of course you break. shaky pleas spill out of you against his arm “please , please , i’ll be good , i promise” while your hips try to push back for more.

but only when your voice is properly wrecked does he give in. driving back into you hard and deep, fucking you through an orgasm until your whole body tightens around him. you come in pulsing waves , milking his cock while you’re held down in place.

and when ben finally comes he’s flooding you until creamy white rivulets start to leak out around his cock and drip down your thighs.

“you’re too fuckin’ pretty to be giving me lip,” he mutters against your ear, almost proud. “next time your horny just ask for it.”

uhhhj13iguess

friends helping friends

sex pollen with peter parker x fem!reader

wc: 4.5k

cw: MDNI!! dubcon (bc there's an aphrodisiac involved), oral (f!receiving), fingering, lots of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, mating press, creampie, multiple orgasms, friends to lovers!!, HUNGRY peter

masterlist, taglist, and kinktober 2025 masterlist!

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carmysdoll

💭 𓈒⠀𓈒ㅤㅤ peter parker fucking you from behind , your face pressed against his forearm and bicep in a deliciously sweaty headlock. you feel his weight and sweaty chest pressed against your back , feeling all hot and lost in the pleasure. your teeth would bite deep marks into his bicep to hold in your moans—feeling shy after he praised how pretty you sounded for him, he’d let out a desperate mix of a moan and whine at the pleasurable pain in your ear.

panting and whining in your ear , telling you how good you feel and begging for more as if he didn’t have you in a position where he controlled everything and could take what he wanted. he could overpower you in every single way but no , you had him falling to his knees with just a look , peter truly was putty in your hands.

his eyes would roll back as he felt you clenching around him, the way your nails dig into his biceps, feeling a mixture of your drool and tears of pleasure soaking his bicep and the pillow, how his name sounded coming from your lips. the sounds of skin slapping, the bed creaking and the beautiful euphonious melody of your shared sounds of pleasure, filled the bedroom of the safe house.

the feeling of you cumming around him brought him right to the edge, while the feeling of you pushing back against him, using him to fuck yourself through your orgasm, made him cum deep inside you with a choked out moan. sniffling and placing wet kisses along your shoulders as he tried to calm down from the intense and passionate love making, both of you sensitive and twitching with each little after shock…whispering shared and desperate ‘I love yous’

nobodys-s0n

A QUICK FIX. 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

‎✧˚₊‧ down bad! peter parker who fucks like he’s mindless !

it’s not like he’s touch starved for any sort of real connection; everyone who he loves doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t have anyone to go home to besides that red and blue stupid spider-man suit that mocks him from the hanger. he watches the news as people cheer for him but no one wants him.

truly wants him. peter parker, not spider-man.

peter parker is a man who is starved of touch. he can live with no connection— it was just him and his aunt for many years… but the feeling of another person’s hands on him that wasn’t some goon in manhattan trying to put him to early retirement… it was foreign to him.

it’s been four years since mj, and he hasn’t felt anything on his body… except now, his breaking point.

youre not quite sure how you ended up in his vicinity anyway, but you did. you were simply in professor banners class when he came running in at the last minute, completely sloppy looking and out of his mind to talk to the professor. you stayed back to watch him ramble to him, seeing how disgruntled he looked, the bruises on his jaw and his forearm peaking out under the empire state hoodie.

when he left, you left, and you asked for his number.

that’s how you ended up here; in his messy bed, his cock thrusting in and out of you like a piston. he’s rough with his thrusts but gentle with his hands, like his fingers are trying to mark every single inch of your body, his lips haven’t left your neck since he’s thrusted.

“o-oh god baby.” he whispers, voice cracking under the pressure of your pussy clenching down on him. your nails rake down his biceps,

you moan around him, listening to his chorus of whimpers and pleads as the wet sound of his cock forcing its way into your puffy folds fills his mundane apartment bedroom. “f-fuck peter! keep going! oh fuck!”

the apartment walls in this place may not be the thickest, but peter’s cock is, so you don’t care that your moans could probably be heard from top floor to basement.

he moans when your fingers create more markings into his body, his senses going haywire with each stroke of his dick. “feels good baby? pussy needing me s’so much, don’t you?” he whispers, sucking on his right thumb before bringing it down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. “never letting you go, swear to god, fucking christ…”

each one of his thrusts picks up with the speed and velocity only a man like peter parker could display. you couldn't describe it but you felt so full but so good at the time time. your eyes rolled back as he kisses your cheek, feeling his balls slap against your clit.

he kept thrusting like he had something to lose; his hands touched you like he was trying to keep a reminder to himself what a female body felt like, what another human's body felt like under his own callous palms.

he's never felt like this in four years, and now, he's a selfish man and who could blame him?

peter was a man suffering in silence, currently thrusting into you like he was personally trying to break your cervix— and you didn't mind it, feeling like heaven itself as his forearms cage your head, kissing your face even as the tears flow from overstimulation, his mouth catching each one.

he brings you closer and closer, groaning deep into your ear as you tighten around him. the bed was louder than you at some points but you didn't even try to be quiet.

if anyone truly knew what peter parker was suffering with for four years... they'd understand why he fucks like this. why he fucks like it's his last day on earth. why his cock ruins you like it's never done before... and you didn't quite understand the full extent of it...

you just understood peter parker making you cum, and feeling ropes of his hot and heavy cum filling your pussy.

and in the same night? he tucks you in and sneaks out the fire escape, because peter parker only gets temporary joy when the city needs spiderman all the time.

click here for main masterlist! 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃

AUTHOR'S NOTE: god, brand new day is gonna eat so hard. ive never written for peter, but he was so fucking fine in that trailer, so why not write for him. sadie, tom, and zendaya in the same movie + promotion is gonna be so funnnnn, I can’t fucking wait. I do not care; i will somehow get a sadie hot ones episode as well as a sadie vs tom hot ones episode because I said so.

thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!

created by... nobodys-s0n! ™

spacejjunk

my spidey senses are tingling

pairing: mean! college peter parker x reader

w/c: 6.8k+

summary: you have no idea how your best friend harry puts up with his roommate, peter parker. hes loud. brash. annoying. a whore. you tried to avoid him. to leave the room when he arrives. but the universe has decided on the secret third option- forcing you to spend more time alone with him than youd ever have to when you just wanted your damn necklace. fuck. requested by anon

warnings/tags: mean! peter, college au peter, forced proximity, enemies to blowjobs, smut (oral- m receiving, dirty talk, praise), the juicy sweats make their grand appearance

masterlist // join the taglist

You were sprawled across the shitty dorm couch like you owned it, one leg hooked over the armrest, half-listening to your best friend complain about his organic chem midterm while the other half of your brain was already planning the fastest escape route if Peter Parker walked through the door.

The apartment smelled like cheap laundry detergent and the lingering ghost of last night’s takeout. Harry's textbooks were stacked in a precarious tower on the coffee table, and the TV was muted on some reality show neither of you were actually watching. You’d been here for almost two hours, which was roughly an hour and fifty-nine minutes longer than you preferred to risk running into his roommate.

“I’m just saying,” Harry continued, flipping a highlighter between his fingers, “he’s not that bad once you—”

The door clicked open.

luiluvr

"your eyes!" || peter parker

A/N: im not even joking i saw bnd and immediately opened tumblr bc it is that serious. expect more from me...

WARNINGS: NSFW, mdni, drunk f!reader, drunk hookup (all is consensual), no BND spoilers included! (js talks a little about his heightened abilities), p in v, unprotected rough sex, arachnid sensory overload... him using his senses to fuck you 🤤

WC: 2.4k

SUMMARY: Meeting a stranger at your friend's party, you decided to go out on a limb and do something you never do: casually hookup. Peter's amidst discovering his new abilities, and dealing with these bodily changes– he's searching for his own relief outside of Advil.

You never go home with strangers. People who go to clubs or parties purely for spontaneous hookups with no real meaning are stupid. You vowed to never be one of those people. After an unexpected invite to MJ and Ned's housewarming party, you find yourself pacing past huddled bodies, head overwhelmed by the mix of chatter and soft music. There should be a limit to how many people can be in an apartment, this is ridiculous. The drinks are fun, there should be less people, more drinks.

You raise a blue plastic cup to your lips when you see a random guy stumble past a group of people ranting and raving about something you can't make out. They're talking too fast anyway. He rubs his head as though a headache is seriously taking over his brain, and he huddles into a corner for protection from the chaos.

You're bored and drunk, what's the harm?

murdrdocs

suddenly having flashes of being fingered by peter parker woah. 18+ MDNI

he’s hovering over you, nuzzling your cheek and jaw with the tip of his nose. you don’t know what he’s doing at first, but you think he’s just listening—tuning in to the reactions your body is having from his hand between your thighs. he kisses your cheeks, your temple, your forehead, all while you’re spreading your legs further apart and wrapping your hands around his forearm.

“is this still good for you?” he asks, yet again. and again, you nod, breathless, choosing to focus on the sensation of peter’s thick, calloused fingers over attempting to speak. “can you tell me?” peter requests, his voice soft and gentle.

you lick your lips, preparing to speak, but it’s then that peter purposefully presses his fingers against the spot inside of you that eliminates all words.

instead of affirmation, you say “jesus fuck” and peter laughs. the smile spreads across his face, making him like younger like it always does. you don’t chastise him but peter still apologizes with a swift “sorry” and a kiss to your lips.

“let me make it up to you,” he offers, smile still on his face, now twisting into something more seductive. and it’s clear what he means. especially as you watch him descend down your body, his eyes watching you the entire time.

you nod, entranced on the way peter removes his fingers from your cunt and gives himself a taste, previewing what he’ll soon have littered all over his molars and tongue and lips and any skin within the general vicinity.

•18+ Adults Only

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arachine

being chased by peter in his arachnid state. suggestive.

it comes up in casual conversation one day. you flipping through a magazine, him rubbing your feet on the couch.

"what?" he queries, pausing his ministrations. there's a bewildered expression plastered on his face, and he removes your legs from his lap, turns his full attention to you. he waits expectantly for you to elaborate, and with a sigh, you throw your magazine on the coffee table.

"i just think it'd be kinda hot, you know?" you start, folding your legs under your bottom, "like you chasing me. catching me. when you're like... that."

a beat. peter glances away, then back to you. puts on that thinking face he does when he's trying to compute every variable, every iteration in which this can go wrong.

then, "i don't know. i've been getting better at finding the balance without the inhibitor, but—" there's extra emphasis on the last word, and he straightens out his back, makes sure you're listening to what he's saying. "i still don't have full control over it yet. when i stay in that state for too long, sometimes it takes a minute to revert back. i would never, ever hurt you, baby... but there's still a risk."

"oh, peter. you're so cute," a light chuckle slips past your lips, "that's the appeal. but if you're genuinely worried about hurting me, you don't have to be. i trust you."

gallavichsreddie1128

The Mask Stays On (Peter Parker)

Description: You have feelings for Spiderman but have never seen his face before. Now with him going through changes he can tell and decides to do something about it.

Warning: Smut, oral (female receiving), doggy style, unprotected sex, Peter’s new senses get the best of him, sex in the Spiderman suit, Peter rips your clothes, dark Peter? He gets back to himself in the end

Word Count:1,656

obsessedweveryth1ng1

poor peter!

𑣲⋆｡˚ peter hasnt had any action in nearly a year!

𑣲⋆｡˚ 1.4k words

MDNI! SMUT! 18+ only!

peter parker hasnt fucked anyone for exactly 304 days. 304.

he was loosing his mind.

he never had the time to have a cheap hookup, always too busy with saving the entirety of nyc every. single. day.

and he might have actually survived those 304 days of just jacking off on the occasion to make sure he doesnt get too stressed, if it werent for you.

his drop dead gorgeous, sexy, hypnotising neighbour.

you moved in exactly 252 days ago, carrying a heavy box in the hall and struggling to grab the key from your pocket, when peter had rushed over to help you since he was already on his way out. big mistake.

when you handed him the box, he was revealed a gorgeous rack of tits in a low cut shirt, basically shoved in his face as you fumbled for the keys. he felt so guilty. your sweet smile and honey dripped voice thanking him made had him weak in the knees.

since then it just kept getting worse.

like the time you were picking up a couple of letters from your door mat on your way in from doing the laundry, and he happened to be walking past.

you were bent over, pyjama shorts sliding up your ass and gripping to your pussy lips through the fabric. right in front of him.

he had nearly came in his pants right then and there.

he had to rush home, his belt half off before the door was even closed, shirt quickly tossed off as he had fucked his fist and imagined bending you over every surface in his apartment.

oh and don't get him started on when he can hear you through the walls.

he had listened when you were brought home with a date, and it was like his wet dreams had been happening in the room next to him and he wasnt allowed to watch.

he could hear the way you were bent over, hips in the air and face shoved into the pillows as you got fucked senseless, wet pussy welcoming in a strangers cock when it should have been his.

he could hear the slaps of your ass hitting the mans hips with every thrust, the breathless moans escaping your mouth, everything.

he had listened the whole time, fucking himself with his own fist and wishing praying that it could be him next time.

and now, it had been two whole months since he had even jacked off. he'd been too busy! the whole day he had been tense, off his game.

and now he was home.

his hand was shoved down his pants in a second, head fall back on his couch as he wrapped a hand around himself, his tip an angry red. he needed release so so bad! poor peter :(

his hand moved quickly, his mind filled with images, moments with you.

your name slipped out of his lips with a wimper, and just as he was starting to get close-

knock knock knock.

"peter?"

it was you.

oh god.

peter shoved himself back into his pants, not even doing up the button as he practically ran to the door.

he opened the door with a slam, making you jump.

you stared up at him in shock.

he looked gorgeous.

his hair was a mess, cheeks flushed and eyes shiny. his shirt was slightly pushed up, cock hard in his half undone pants as he stared at you, chest heaving.

"i- i cant-..." your voice trailed off, forgetting what you even came over for.

and for a moment you both just stared.

"peter..?" you said softly, taking a small step forward.

and he groaned.

he actually groaned.

his boner was threatening to slip out of his boxers at this point, and you were not helping.

you moved into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind you, your chest nearly pressed against his.

"poor peter..." you murmured, pity in your eyes at the state of him. your hands landed on his chest, one trailing up to his hair, tugging softly.

he let out a filthy moan, eyes rolling back as he lowered himself onto his knees, grabbing your hips and shoving them towards his face, burying his nose into your pussy.

you let out a wimper, your hand tightening on his hair as he slipped your pyjama shorts down, grabbing one of your thighs and hoisting it over his shoulder, staring at your greedy pussy, which was dripping.

"peter." a sharp yank on his hair made his eyes snap away from his meal to your face.

"ask nicely." you normally sweet voice was sharper, but from the way he twitched in his pants, thats what he needed.

"p-please baby, oh- i'll be so good, please let me eat this pussy, please" he pleaded, eyes watering, before you nodded.

he was quick.

he shoved his face into your dripping pussy, tounge spread greedily as he slurped up the juices before licking at your greedy core, which was tightening around nothing. your head fell back, the door holding you up as you leaned back against it.

peters tongue was prodding at your hole, nose nudging and grinding against your clit desperatly as his hips bucked into the air. his thick arms were wrapped tightly around your waist, hands keeping your trembling thighs open.

"ooh peter! f-fuck!" you cried, hand gripping his hair tightly, and he moaned into your pussy at the sound of your voice.

before you knew it, he was standing, kissing you deeply.

you let his tongue into your mouth, tasting yourself on him, and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his hips as he stumbled through his apartment, finding his room quickly.

he dropped you onto the bed and was quick to tug off his shirt, revealing his bulky body, small bruises littering the abs and biceps that you were ogling at.

"p-please let me fuck you. i needa fuck your pussy baby- o-oh shit please!" he whined, crawling over you, his eyes wide with desperation and lust.

"please- please fuck me peter.." you mumbled, pulling him closer, and he nearly sobbed of happiness.

he tore his belt off, shoving down his jeans and boxers, and you nearly choked.

he was huge.

his greedy hands tugged at your shirt, pulling it up.

"Lemme see those pretty tits baby." he mumbled, pulling it over your head gently before throwing it somewhere behind him, his eyes glued to your chest, mouth open.

"peter." you growled, your thighs clenching. "hurry up and fuck me."

"yes maam." he nodded, before lowering his head to kiss you again.

his hand reached down, jerking himself a little before lining up, your sweet pussy being spread by his tip as he swirled your clit with his leaking tip, before he lined himself up with your hole.

"so pretty. so- so so pretty." he mumbled, looking down at you as he got ready, slowly pushing in.

just watching the way you winced and moaned at adjusting to his fat tip made him loose control. he pushed in with one sharp thrust, making you scream with pleasure and pain, meanwhile he mumbled apologies over and over, already starting to thrust in over and over.

the bed creaked underneath you as he fucked you deep into the mattress, your tits bouncing with each thrust. both of your moans echoed in his room, filling the apartment with the sounds of your shared pleasure.

you clawed at his back, your own back arched as you took his deliciously deep thrusts each time.

"such a good pussy for me. this pussys mine noew, huh? c'mon baby, t-tell me this pretty pussy belongs to me." peters voice was pathetic, but he was fucking you oh so good.

"p-peter! nghh-fuck.. its yours peter! y-your pretty pussy." You wimpered, eyes rolling back as his tip thrashed your cervix with each thrust, his thumb rubbing your clit perfectly.

he whined so loudly at your worse, his thrusts becoming messy, but he grabbed your thighs, throwing them over his shoulders to get even closer, the new angle making you moan so loud you knew you would be getting a noise complaint.

"i love you. ohmygod i love you!" peter whimpered, saliva pooling at the sight of you folded underneath him, his cock so deep into your womb, the bulge so visable to him.

"cum in me peter, need your cum!" you cried out as your pussy clamped down on his cock, your release flooding all over him.

peter threw back his head, burying himself far into you as he came, thick white cum painting your walls white with the hot sticky substance.

you felt so full, stuffed with his cock and his cream.

he lowered himself on top of you, making sure he didnt slip out as he held you close to him, his heart racing.

"can i take you out for breakfast tomorrow morning?" he asked quietly.

"yes please."

little did he know this was your wet dream come true as well.

freaks.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

A/N: can we tell i havent been fucked in nearly A MONTH.

everythingcollided

in dreams, i meet you in warm conversation

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: brand new day spoilers (but it's genuinely the smallest one you ever did see)

summary: you're avoiding the party that mj and ned wanted to throw, but that doesn't stop you from being found by a stranger. why can't you shake the feeling that he's familiar?

a/n: umm it's been eight years since i posted on this account? we're so back? saw brand new day in theaters (twice) and felt teenage me gnawing on the bars of her enclosure this one is for her (and for y'all). potential for a part two...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚. *ੈ✩‧₊˚

You’d never really liked parties.

You didn’t know exactly what it was. You didn’t mind the music or the alcohol; even being around so many people was fun sometimes. Before everyone got drunk and started spilling things and yelling, obviously. But every single party you’d been to at MIT had felt…wrong. Like you were missing something. Like someone was supposed to be there with you, and they weren’t.

Which didn’t make sense. Ned and MJ had gone to a majority of the parties you’d gone to throughout college, and they were your closest friends. How could you feel like something important was missing when everything important was already there with you?

cherry-lala

Black-Eyed Hunger

Pairings: Peter Parker x fem!reader Wordcount: 3k+

Summary: When your quiet neighbor collapses outside your door one night, a dangerous side of him emerges that neither of you saw coming.

Warnings: MDNI,Non-Con/Grape, Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Bondage, Web Restraints, Forced Silencing, Loss of Control, Feral Behavior, Forced Orgasm, Overstimulation, Monster Fluids, Rough Handling, Fear/Panic, Body Betrayal

A/N: I watched the movie the other day and my goodness he’s so fine esp with the black eyes. Had ya girl hungry up in there. So Ofcourse I had to write this ,that was on my mind. First time writing for Spider-Man and I write smut😂Enjoy this filth I guess😭😭

The top floor of this particular tenement building in the sprawling, unforgiving heart of the city possessed exactly one redeeming quality: it was quiet.When you moved in a year ago, the landlord had warned you about the water pressure, the radiator that clanked like a dying engine, and the five-story walk-up. But he hadn't lied about the solitude. You were the only tenant on the top floor—until a few months ago, when a quiet, perpetually exhausted-looking guy named Peter moved into the unit at the end of the hall.Most of the time, the silence held. But on certain nights, when the city traffic lulled, you could hear the muffled cadence of his voice bleeding through the cheap drywall. He spoke in hushed, hurried tones, sometimes accompanied by a female voice with a clipped, slightly synthetic accent. You had assumed she was a girlfriend or a demanding long-distance relative. They seemed to bicker endlessly about obscure things—mostly about a "suit," its structural integrity, and the cost of polymer webbing. You had half-convinced yourself he was a dedicated cosplayer trying to make it big at conventions.

•18+ Adults Only

Watch Anya Live on Cam

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.

✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions

Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming

spacejjunk

(not so) friendly neighborhood spiderman

pairing: peter parker x reader

w/c: 5.4k

summary: you've been observing your neighbor peter ever since he moved in 4 years ago. hes quiet. smart. painfully nice. oh and hes also spiderman- not that you were going to let on that you knew. not until the noises of a man in pain next door got too much for you to ignore.

warnings/tags: porn w some plot, brand new day era peter!, spoilers equivalent to watching the trailer, smut (oral f receiving, being tied webbed up, rough sex, very much dom! mean! peter, multiple orgasms, squirting, bruising, aftercare) neighbors to something

a/n: zendaya pls dont fight me for this

masterlist // join the taglist

You were stretched out on the couch in a pair of old shorts and a hoodie that you couldn't remember where it'd came from. The TV murmured some mindless afternoon show you weren’t really watching. Outside, Queens hummed its usual Sunday quiet—distant traffic, a dog barking two streets over, the low thrum of the city that never fully slept.

Then the noise hit.

A sharp, wet crack followed by something heavy slamming into a wall hard enough to rattle the shared plaster between your apartments. Glass shattered. A low, guttural sound that didn’t belong to any human throat bled through the wall, half-growl, half-pain.

You were on your feet before the last echo died.

sluvaffair

🕷 Thank You, Spider-Man 🕷

↳ Warnings/Themes: Brief mention of theme from the movie but no movie plot. Mature (🔞). Smut. Handjob. Oral (F!receiving). The mask stays ON! PwP. Reader is teasing at times lowkey mean. Spidey is sensitive. Cum eating (kinda). ↳ Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader ↳ Words: 2012 ↳ Summary: Enhanced!Spidey has made a habit of visiting you. You don't know what he looks like, but you do know how he likes to be touched.

☁️: The way this movie reminded me of the PS4 game urgh I want to be sandwiched between the two Peters please. Anyways! Peter requests are open for fluff, smut, or a cute series! No angst pls, my boy's been through enough ❤︎‬

General Masterlist here. Peter Masterlist here.

Waiting for Spider-Man to arrive had become a habit. It settled beneath your skin long before the sun went down, winding through your veins until every passing minute seemed to pulse with quiet anticipation.

You'd tell yourself that this was casual, that there was no reason to glance at the window every time a sound came from the fire escape or a gust of wind brushed against the glass. He couldn't be there every night, he was married to New York, not to you. The sooner you accepted that, the less it would hurt when he stopped showing up.

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