playing rape with frank !! he’s holding a hand over your mouth, telling you that if you’re quiet he’ll be so gentle with you. “if you act right, i’ll even let you finish.” pretending to be ashamed when you come around his cock, leaving sticky white cream behind as evidence. why would you orgasm if you weren’t supposed to like it?
Peter's body talks to you like crazy whenever the arachnid side of him comes out to play.
But it's not lust he's been feeling lately. Lust doesn’t come close to describing what his body goes through at the mere thought of you. He might get hard out of the blue any other day, might bat his dick around in his hand when you call to ask what he wants from the grocery store, but this is different.
What he feels today runs far deeper than the blood that heats the pale skin of his neck when he catches wind of your scent a block away from his apartment. than the barrage of filthy imagery his brain assaults him with right as you walk through the door and his sclera start to bleed an inky black.
Lust doesn’t reduce a man like him to the aching, rock hard state he’s been in all day, spread out on the bed in nothing but a pair of sweaty boxers and his own shame.
Peter does his best to keep it together as you dote on him, no doubt pressing bloody crescents into his palm with how hard his hands clench as you wipe a cloth over his sweaty forehead. Trying to adjust his focus to ponder the shapes the clouds outside are making and not what you’d sound like if he pressed your face down on his dick until he can feel your forehead against his abs.
He can smell you. All of you. Whether it’s the way your body wash and the scent between your legs mingle or the minuteness he’s picking up from your chapstick. Something inside him snarls hard at the thought of your scent intertwining with his in bed. Coming up for air from your kiss-bitten neck and getting nothing but lungful after lungful of you.
He snaps back to reality somewhere in between you asking him if he's okay and asking if he needs some alone time. His response comes quicker than he can manage.
"Can I fuck you?... can I-- I'm sorry." He pants, running a shaky hand through his soft curls. "I don't know where that came from" he lies, eyeing you up and down with his lip pinched between his teeth. "Could we..."
"...Have sex?" You laugh, cocking your head at him fondly. "Would it make you feel better?"
"Just might." He grits grits out, fighting down the shiver your offer sends up his back. Neither of you miss how hard his dick jumps against his boxers when you climb into his lap and let him flip you into the mattress.
in another timeline peter and i are at the cvs on our college campus in the trenches of finals week wondering how the fuck we're gonna play for the plan B
we scrape together the cash and finish the night off with another creampie in his dorm cause it'll cancel out anyway . or like . something
indy there is a reason Matt Murdock is known as the marvel bike he’s been AROOOOUND and it makes me want him more
i like that he’s a slut tbh i love slut characters i hope his body count is in the mid to late hundreds. i hope all he does is fuck and i hope one day im the last person he’ll probably sleep w