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spiderispunk · 1 year

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Just thinking about how Peter would totally hump the bed while he eats you out I mean what 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Pairing: Peter Parker x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Smut [18+]. Oral Sex (F!Receiving). Multiple Orgasms. Pussy Drunk!Peter. Praise Kink. Dirty Talk.

A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble HELP!

“Fuck, baby,” Peter groans from between your legs. He pulls away from your dripping cunt to suck down a lungful of air.

He’d been between your thighs for the better part of forty minutes, licking, kissing, and sucking you all over. His movements teasing at first, the faintest suck of his lips against your clit, a barely-there press of his tongue between your folds. Then frenzied, urged by the hot twist of desire in his gut as he listened to the heady pleas and whimpers that dripped from your lips like saccharine honey.

The first time you came, it was with a choked whimper of Peter’s name. The second time, a scream had wrenched its way out of your throat. The third time you nearly blacked out. Now Peter was well on his way to earning a fourth, with no sign of stopping.

He looks absolutely sinful framed by your thighs. Dark curls a mess from your fingers. Cheeks flushed red. Spit and cum cover his swollen lips and chin in a glaze. The heavy-lidded look he gives you is lewd. A wicked grin spread over his face, a quick flash of teeth. Hickory eyes dance with mischief, and the shadow of something darker.

Greed. Maybe even…pride.

If he looked like sin, you looked downright sacrilegious. Fucked out, yet still wanting. Hair a mess, lips parted, eyes wild. Your shirt rucked up over your heaving breasts. Bite marks and bruises covering your skin.

It just made him want to wreck you all over again.

“Look at ya, honey,” Peter mumbles, the words slurred. He presses opened-mouthed kisses up and down your inner thigh.

The scrape of his beard against your soft, sensitive skin makes you shudder. “Pete,” you whine, your voice equally wrecked.

“Hm?” His grin widens. “Something you want?” His gaze burns into yours.

You nod, and Peter clicks his tongue.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“Want your mouth on me.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “Again? Greedy girl.” His voice is infuriatingly smug.

“It’s s’good.” You bite your bottom lip as Peter bites your thigh. He chases the sting away with gentle swipes of his tongue.

Peter chuckles. “You really know how to stroke a man’s ego, baby.” He presses a gentle kiss to your sensitive clit. “But, since you asked so nicely…”

Large hands grip your thighs and pull you back to his face. His lips wrap around your clit, tongue flicking as he sucks gently. His eyelids flutter shut at the taste of you. Peter moans and groans, each needy sound he makes muffled by your pussy. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder to open you up more to his mouth.

“You taste so fucking good, baby. Fuck. Could stay like this, with my mouth on you, forever.”

Before meeting you, Peter never knew what it was like to really crave something. To want something so badly– all the time– that when you couldn’t have it you felt like a piece of you was missing. But then, he got on his knees and buried his face between your pretty thighs for the first time. Now he doesn’t know how he ever lived without that before.

He’s addicted to you. Simple as that. Fixation pure and raw. To the taste of your cunt. To the way your hips rock and your thighs tremble when you’re getting close. The way you sigh and moan when his mouth is on you. The sharp pain of his hair being tugged between your eager fingers. All of it.

He can never get enough of it.

Peter’s fingers dig into your thighs, nails biting shallow crescents into the skin. He licks you up and down, savoring the taste of the three prior orgasms. He swears he can taste the beginnings of the impending fourth.

His tongue slides into your entrance, thrusting in and out as if he’s trying to bury himself in you however he can. You’re gushing on his face, uninhibited. Each slide of his tongue brings a new wave of wetness.

His nose nudges against your clit, and he inhales deeply. God you smell so fucking good.

“Oh shit,” you whine. You thread your fingers through his hair, using your grip as leverage to rock your hips up against his mouth. “Don’t stop. Fuck, that’s it, Peter. God.”

Your praise is music to his fucking ears. It makes his cock twitch in his sweatpants. He thrusts his hips, desperate for some relief from the ache that’s been building for almost an hour. He groans at the friction, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

It feels so good. No. Hopped up as he is on desire and the warmth of your pussy, it feels like fucking heaven.

He sneaks a hand down past the waistband of his sweatpants to squeeze his cock. Precum beads at the head of it, staining his sweats. Fuck, he could come in his pants, like a damn teenager, just from this. From you.

Lewd noises fill the room. Mingled moans and sighs of pleasure. The frenzied smack of his lips against your pussy. And now, the creak of bed springs as Peter thrusts wantonly into the soft mattress.

You’re floating on Cloud 9. Body humming with the tell-tale signs of your orgasm creeping up on you. Whimpers fall from your lips freely, your chest heaves. Your thighs tighten around Peter’s head, holding him in place as you chase the high that’s floating above you, just a breath away.

“Look at me,” Peter pulls away for just a moment. “C’mon, baby. Look. Watch me make you feel good.”

It takes all your remaining strength to slide your eyes to his. They’re intense. Almost black with lust.

You hold his scorching gaze, let the fire in his eyes burn into your soul, spread through your blood and render your body to ashes.

Peter wraps his lips around your clit once more, head moving side to side, and it’s all over. You come with a wail, hips bucking and thrashing. He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you in place, wedged against his lips. Determined to drink down every last drop that you give to him. Wanting to drown in your perfect pussy.

Your back arches off of the bed. Ecstasy shooting through every inch of your body. Your heartbeat thrums loudly in your ears, so loudly that you almost don’t hear Peter’s panting as he himself comes undone.

But you do. Amidst the stilted exhales, you hear the quiet mumbling of your name.

Peter’s hips rock faster. So close to the glorious edge he can feel the tingling in his lower stomach. His shoulders flex under his shirt, biceps curling, and then his whole body tenses. Peter lets out a strangled cry. And then he comes. Hard. Like really, earth shatteringly, hard. His entire world flips upside down with the intensity of it.

Five minutes pass before he’s able to string together a coherent thought, and when he finally can, his first thought is of you.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers, pillowing his head on your thigh. “You okay?”

“Uh huh.” More than okay. “Fucked out and tired, but okay. C’mere.”

He forces his jellied limbs to move, and crawls so he’s resting on top of you. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip, playing with the evidence of your arousal.

A grin spreads over your face. “You made a mess.”

“Drove me fucking wild. Couldn’t help it.” Peter smirks. “Wanna taste?”

You kiss him stupid in response.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker smut #spiderman x reader #peter parker #andrew garfield #rion writes

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

return the favor

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Fem!Reader. Mentions of Pregnancy. Reader and Bradley Have A Son. Dilf!Bradley. Oral Sex (m! receiving). Dirty Talk. Domesticity.

Summary: He’d traded flight suits and fatigues for sweatpants and a t-shirt. And despite the fact that both items of clothing tended to get covered in spit-up by the end of the day, he still managed to make them look sexy. You wanted him every time you saw him, and judging from the little smirk Bradley wore whenever he caught you staring for a beat too long, he knew it too.

A/N: Honestly, I blame @withahappyrefrain, @ouralcohol, and Bud Light for this.

Little Nicholas “Nicky” Bradshaw came into the world kicking and screaming. Though he chose to make his grand entrance at around 3:30 AM on a quiet Thursday night, he was hell-bent on letting the whole world know about it. And so, with a whirlwind of forms, bills, and the shrill cries of the darling baby boy, you and Bradley were thrust into the throes of parenthood.

You both handled it well, or as well as you could for first timers. Working as a team to tackle midnight bottles, blowouts, spit-up and the frequent sleepless nights. You’d settled into an easy rhythm over the past seven weeks. Bottles every 2-3 hours. Naps in-between. Diaper changes. A little tummy-time when Nicky would tolerate it.

Day in. Day out.

You were worried the Navy-issued twelve weeks of parental leave would make Bradley squirrely– the repetition would become tedious–but here you were more than half-way through, and you hadn’t heard him complain about a thing.

If anything, Bradley took to the role of fatherhood eagerly. Sure, he might have missed being on base, the camaraderie, the planes, but he has other things to think about now. And he wouldn’t trade all the excitement for the joy of spending time with you and his son.

Everyday was another milestone, and so far Bradley had been there to witness them all.

“Nicky blinked at me today.”

“He almost turned his head.”

“I think I heard him try to say da-da.”

“He drank his whole bottle!”

“Do you think he’s old enough to wear shoes yet?”

Deeper down inside there was the growing fear of his impending absence . It wasn’t a question of if, but when . A mission would come, the phone would ring, and the goodbyes would begin. Pictures and grainy videos would stand in for the real thing.

But he was here now, and he was determined to soak up as much as he could.

Fatherhood suited Bradley.

He’d traded flight suits and fatigues for sweatpants and a t-shirt. And despite the fact that both items of clothing tended to get covered in spit-up by the end of the day, he still managed to make them look sexy.

It would be infuriating if it didn’t turn you on so damn much. Of course, it didn’t help that he’d opted to let the stubble on his chin get scruffy now that he didn’t have to comply with on-base grooming standards.

For you, hopped up on hormones and the longing that comes with forced post-birth abstinence, it was a truly lethal combination. More than once, you’d gotten lost in your daydreams about what the coarse hair would feel like as his lips caressed your skin. Trailing down your neck, over your sensitive nipples, scratching between your thighs.

You wanted him every time you saw him, and judging from the little smirk Bradley wore whenever he caught you staring for a beat too long, he knew it too.

You try to push the horny thoughts to the furthest recesses of your mind, as you enjoy the quiet afternoon. It’s a rare occasion. Nicky’s nap is going longer than usual–probably because he kept you and Bradley up the entire night before–so you’re trying to relish the stillness.

You doze on the couch, head pillowed in Bradley’s lap while he scrolls through the endless black hole of his phone. His thumb circles mindless patterns into your upper arm and shoulder. He hums quietly under his breath.

The TV is on, David Attenborough going on and on about the ocean and all its wonderful creatures. Sleep tugs heavy on your eyelids, aided by the soothing drone of his voice, and the patch of warm sunlight that falls over you.

You’re thinking you might finally be able to catch up on lost sleep, when a wail crackles through the baby monitor. Harsh and breathy, it shatters the silence, snapping you to attention. A hunger cry.

You sit up, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s due for a bottle.” You stretch your arms to the sky, groaning as the muscles in your back and shoulders stretch and loosen. “I’ll go warm one up.”

“Hey.” Bradley’s hand curls around your waist. “I got it.”

“You fed him last time,” you protest, turning to face him. “Stayed up with him for half the night, and changed his diaper three times in a row. S’not fair for you to do everything.”

He cups your face, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. “I got it. He’s my kid. ‘Sides you were falling asleep.”

“Bradley–”

He cuts you off with a quick kiss. “Baby. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of Nicky.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you promise, eyes not-so-subtly scanning over his body.

Bradley chuckles. “No payment necessary.” He kisses your forehead and then your lips once more. “Get some rest, yeah?”

You nod, and stretch back out onto the couch. Bradley pulls the crocheted throw blanket over you and, with one last smile, heads upstairs.

The door to the nursery squeals, and then you hear his voice through the baby monitor.

“Hey, Nicky,” Bradley whispers. “Look at you. Sleep okay, bubba? Yeah? You ready for lunch?”

The one-sided conversation continues as Bradley changes Nicky’s diaper. He asks about Nicky’s dream, tells him some of the facts he picked up from Our Planet, and shares his latest sports predictions.

“Your Auntie Natasha thinks the Padres have a shot this year. I told her she was crazy at first, but I might be eating my words soon.” A pause. “That means I’ll have to admit I was wrong. It’s an idiom. Your mama’s the English teacher though, she can teach you all about that later.”

You smile dopily at his words. The easygoing way he interacts with your baby. He’d been so worried at first. Scared to fail, scared Nicky wouldn’t like him. But there was no denying the simple fact that Bradley was meant to be a father. He proved that more and more everyday.

The steps creak as Bradley begins his descent. “Gotta be quiet, okay? Your mama’s sleepin’. Yeah, you tired her out last night.”

You hear him moving around in the kitchen and then the soft gurgling of the bottle warmer. Nicky whines impatiently, and Bradley distracts him with more stories. The effect of his words are two-fold, soothing both your baby and you. You blink sleepily, snuggled up on the couch all comfortable and warm. A few minutes later, aided by the hush of Bradley’s voice, you fall into sweet unconsciousness.

When you wake later, the room is wrapped in shadows. The once bright sunlight has started to dim. You swallow thickly, tasting stale breath. Your body aches from sleeping in the cramped space, limbs still heavy with sleep.

You reach for your phone sitting face down on the coffee table. The screen is bright in the dark room. You squint to make out the round numbers. 5:52 . Fuck. You’d been asleep for hours .

“Babe!” You call out. “Why’d you let me sleep this long?” No answer. “ Bradley .”

Still nothing. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. The baby monitor wasn’t picking anything up either. Your heart twinges painfully in your chest, stomach turning with the thick ice of dread.

You tap your phone screen again, looking for a message or a missed call. Any kind of clue as to where Bradley had disappeared off to. There’s a text waiting for you, must’ve missed it in your initial alarm. You scan it quickly and breathe out a sigh of relief.

Almost out of diapers. Went to the store with Nicky. Don’t freak out. Love you honey.

Panic now abated, you drop the phone back onto your chest. You should probably get up and do something, anything . There was no shortage of chores to do around the house. Laundry to fold. Dishes to wash. You were due for a pumping session too. But try as you might, and admittedly you don’t try very hard, you can’t bring yourself to disturb the peace. So you stay on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep.

You must have fallen asleep again, because sometime later you’re startled awake by the click of the front door.

“Bradley?” you mumble, rubbing the heel of your hands into your eyes.

“Hey, honey.” He kicks the door shut behind him. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” You stretch. “Freaked me out a little when I woke up and you guys were gone.”

Bradley kisses your forehead and flicks a lamp on. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to, but I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

You draw in a sharp breath when you see him. He’s looking sinful in a pair of jeans and a dark blue Henley. A backwards baseball cap rests atop his unruly hair. Your eyes flit over his body, head to toe. He prattles on about his errand, completely unaware of the fact that you’re currently undressing him with your eyes.

Somehow, at this moment, he’s the hottest he’s ever been.

“Got more diapers. They’re in the car. I wanted to bring Nicky in first and get him settled. He fell asleep on the drive back. He got a compliment from the lady at the register. Honestly I think all this attention is starting to go to his head. Can’t help that he’s so cute though, he got it from you. I also got more onesies, cuz I saw them in Target and couldn’t help it. Oh and those peanut butter cups that you like from Trader Joes, and…” He trails off, catching you staring. “What?”

“Babe,” you mumble, still in your lust-fueled trance.

“Yeah?” Bradley’s eyebrows knit together.

“C’mere.”

He sets Nicky’s carseat down gently. “You’re looking at me weird. Did I do something wrong?” He asks, moving over to you slowly.

You shake your head. “You let me take a nap, and you went to get diapers without me asking you to.”

“Uh huh. So?” He looks down at you, lips pursed. “I still don’t understand why you’re looking at me like that.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you grab the waistband of his jeans and pull him towards you.

“Whoa, baby.” Bradley stumbles forward. His hand covers your fumbling ones. “What are you doing?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “What does it look like I’m doing?” You undo his belt and pop the button of his jeans.

“I mean it looks like you’re about to–” his gaze flits to where Nicky rests still fast asleep in his carseat. “Suck my dick,” his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Wait, right here? Shouldn’t we move–”

There was definitely logic in his words, but it didn’t really register at the moment. The only thing on your mind was him . Emerald tinted lenses colored your world. Greed plain and simple. For the taste of him. For the weight of him on your tongue. For the sound of his throaty groans to fill the air.

“Bradley,” you whisper, lips following the trail of dark hair down his stomach to where it disappears into his elastic waistband.

Your husband swallows thickly. “Yeah, honey?”

You free his cock from his boxers. “Stop talking.”

“But, sweetheart– oh fuck .” Bradley runs a hand over his face.

“Let me return the favor.” You shush him.

“You don’t have to do–” Bradley chokes as you swipe your tongue over his hip bone. “ Shit . Okay, yeah.”

You spit into your palm and stroke him slowly. He’s halfway there, but getting harder with each languid flick of your wrist. You sink your teeth into his thigh and he groans throatily. The noise settles deep into your stomach, pulsing against your clit.

You missed this. The heady paradox of being on your knees, yet having Bradley completely at your mercy. Making him feel good. Pulling him apart piece by piece.

You mouth at the base of his cock, tongue laving at the underside of it. Bradley rests a hand at the nape of your neck. There’s no force behind the gesture, it’s more like he’s anchoring himself than pushing you further onto him.

“Fuck, baby.” His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw slack, and lips slightly parted. “ Christ. ” He rocks his hips forward into your hand.

A wordless plea. You know what he’s asking for. Your mouth slides up his shaft slowly, and you swirl your tongue around the head, still pushing, still teasing. It’s only when Bradley moans brokenly that you decide to have mercy on him.

Your lips part, and you swallow him down slowly. His head tilts forward and he lets out a breathless whisper of your name that has you squeezing your thighs together as your clit throbs.

Bradley’s a perfect picture of debauchery above you. Shoulders drooped and leaning over you slightly. His face is flushed, eyebrows screwed together. The veins on his neck and arm bulge prominently. His grip on your neck tightens, and he gently guides you forward.

You take as much as you can handle, stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth. Your jaw aches from the lack of practice. But it’s worth every bit of discomfort to hear the moans and praises he levels your way.

“Your mouth feels so goddamn good, honey,” he whispers, when his cock hits the back of your throat. “Just like that, baby. Such a good girl. You’re doing so good. Keeping going, sweetheart.”

Your hand drifts downward of its own accord, and dips into the waistband of your leggings. You rub insistent circles into your clit to relieve the ache. It’s been so long, you think you could come from this alone.

“Look at you getting off,” he says, hazel eyes blazing into your own. “Wish you could see how pretty you look with my dick in your mouth, baby,” he mumbles, lazily thrusting forward.

Bradley cups your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheek where he can feel his cock moving. He rolls his hips forward again, biting his bottom lip as he watches your lips stretch to accommodate him.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face so he can see you better. “Taking me so well. Gonna make me come.”

You moan, and Bradley chuckles.

“That what you want? Want me to come down your throat?”

You blink up at him, pleading with watery eyes. You wanted it more than anything.

“Yeah? Gonna swallow every drop, like a good girl?” The thought sends a shudder down his spine. “My good girl. Won’t last long with you looking at me like that.”

That’s the plan .

You move the hand on his thigh around to gently squeeze his balls, and Bradley thrusts forward sharply.

“ Shit –sorry, baby.” His thumb brushes at the newly shed tears that track down your face. “You okay?” The fire in his eyes dies slightly as he searches your gaze for any sign of pain or reluctance to continue.

Instead the only thing he finds there is hunger and greed.

This time when you squeeze, you’re ready for his reaction. You take his next roll of his hips easily. And the next, and the next. Letting Bradley gently fuck your face. He was close, you could tell by the slur of his words, the inconsistent buck of his hips.

“Goddammit,” Bradley says through gritted teeth. His fingers snag into your hair, tugging at the nape. “Gonna fucking kill me, honey.” His chest heaves with shallow breaths. “‘M gonna come, sweetheart. You ready for me?”

Please, oh please . Your thoughts chant, words blurring into a slurry. You hope your eyes convey the desperation you feel.

Bradley’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He bites his pointer finger, trying to muffle the shameless groan he lets out as he unravels.

You take all he gives, and he gives you so much. His cum coats your throat, and you swallow as much as you can, but you have to pull away for air. The last dribbles of his cum paint your lower lip and drip down your chin. You tilt your head back and stick your tongue out to show off your empty mouth.

Bradley stares at you, eyes crossed and unfocused. He pushes his hat off and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Fuck, baby.”

He swipes at your lip, smearing the cum and spit into your skin. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You smirk.

“All innocent and shit.” Bradley pushes his ring finger into your mouth. “I’ll fuck you right here.”

You clean the digit off with your tongue and pull away with a pop . “You promise?” You arc an eyebrow up.

“Fuck.” He leans down and gives you a kiss that leaves your toes curling. “Give me five minutes to put Nicky in bed, and I’ll be right back.” He whispers.

You lean back and peel your shirt from your body. “ Tick tock .”

Bradley bites his bottom lip, eyes sliding hungrily over your body. “Don’t go anywhere.” He points a stern finger at you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you chuckle. “Hurry up so you can fuck me.”

He grabs the carseat, and still manages to be gentle despite his obvious excitement. “Five minutes, baby, I promise.”

Bradley’s never one to break a promise.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #tgm #miles teller #lets try this again #rion writes

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