Work Text:
The message arrives well past three in the morning, jarring you from your sleep.
Come over.
A second message is quick to follow.
Now.
You stumble from your bed, your heartbeat accelerating. A third message follows the previous two: an address you’ve never heard before. You aren’t worried. By now, you are used to these messages and know exactly what they mean. Your time has come.
You hastily apply some makeup but don’t bother to put on any proper clothes. You simply throw a long coat over your nightgown, and then you are out the door.
There is no time to waste. Your hero needs you.
You arrive at the provided address approximately half an hour later—a nondescript apartment building in the bowels of Nueva York. You never meet at the same location twice. People might catch on if you did. Instead, you cycle through a selection of apartments and hotel rooms, each blander than the last. They aren’t romantic, but at least they are clean.
He is pacing the floor when you step into apartment 928, stalking around like an enormous jungle cat. Even after all this time, it is still surreal to see him standing before you, his blue and red suit bright like a beacon of justice.
Spider-Man.
“You’re late,” he growls. You can practically feel him glaring at you through his mask. The weight of his gaze—so focused, so intense—makes your heart flutter with something that isn’t quite fear.
“I came as soon as I got your message.”
He scoffs. “Feel like I’m going to fucking explode. Siéntate en la cama. You know the drill.”
You obey without question, shrugging off your coat and padding into the bedroom. If he notices the way the pink silk of your nightgown clings to your every curve, he does not comment on it. You perch on the bed with your hands folded obediently. Waiting.
Being blindfolded scared you, at first. As much as you trusted Spider-Man, as much as you understood the need to preserve his secret identity, you weren’t used to having your senses deprived in this way. Now, you relish the slip and slide of the silk tie against your skin as darkness consumes your vision. You are giving him absolute power over you, and you know he will use that power responsibly.
Won’t he?
You hear a small buzz as he deactivates his suit, and then he is upon you—pushing you onto your back, pinning you down by your wrists, peppering your neck and shoulders with kisses that are all teeth and no lips. His skin is warm. Too warm. Burning hot, as though he is running a fever. The feeling of him on you sends your heartbeat into overdrive, sends a wave of heat rippling through your own body.
He nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply. The scrape of his stubble on your soft skin makes you bite your lip. “I can smell your adrenaline spiking. Cortisol, too. You scared? Pobrecita.”
“Just excited.”
He laughs humorlessly. “Liar.”
His claws skim the smooth fabric of your nightgown, catching on loose threads. He snorts. “What’s this? You trying to impress me?”
“I wore it to bed.”
The sound of silk tearing. Then, a cool rush of air along your bare skin. Your nipples harden. “I like you better naked.”
His tongue is warm as he laves at your tits. He swirls one of your nipples around before taking it into his mouth. Fangs brush your skin, and you wince in surprise. This is hardly the first time you’ve felt his sharp teeth, but the sensation never fails to make your heart race.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes. “Makes me want to mark you up. Would you like that, chica? Being covered in my love bites?”
You nod your head vigorously, already imagining the pleasurable sting of his teeth sinking into your flesh.
“Of course, you’d be temporarily paralyzed once I bit you,” he says. “Venom and all. But that might be fun in its own way.”
You picture yourself lying completely still for him, a perfectly complacent little fuckdoll for him to ravage as he desires. Wetness gushes between your thighs at the thought. “Yeah. That could be fun.”
His lips brush the sensitive junction where your neck meets your shoulder. “Maybe another time. I want to feel you move with me tonight.”
You have no delusions about your arrangement. He doesn’t love you. Sometimes, you don’t even think he likes you. You're not even sure he remembers your name. You are just a tool, a means of relieving the stress and frustration that weigh heavily on him every day. You don’t care. Spider-Man is Nueva York’s savior, and it is an honor to help him in any way you can.
You owe him your life, after all.
You will never forget the day you met him. It started like any other day. You just needed to make a quick run to the bank before work. The next thing you knew, a masked madman was holding everyone in the lobby hostage. You thought for certain you were going to die. Spider-Man saved you, crashing through the skylight like some avenging angel. Your heart soared at the sight of him.
He tried to slip away as soon as the crisis was resolved, but you managed to corner him.
“How can I ever repay you?” you asked.
Your role is an important one, allowing Spider-Man to relieve perfectly natural urges without asking anything in return. You help him keep his mind clear and free of distractions so that he can focus on protecting the people of Nueva York. After all, that was what lead to the downfall of the other Spider-Man, wasn’t it? Personal attachments made the Spider-Man of old weak, gave his enemies easy targets. But the Spider-Man of the twenty-second century, your Spider-Man, has no such weaknesses.
And if you have any say in it, it will stay that way.
You feel him crawl between your legs, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. Your back arches in anticipation. Spider-Man is so generous, attending to your pleasure when you would be happy just helping him get off. He really is a hero.
“Such a pretty little cunt,” he murmurs. “And already so wet.”
“You do that to me.”
He licks a stripe along your entrance. “Of course I do.”
He eats your cunt like a man starved, lavishing attention on your clit until it is swollen enough to suck on. When his lips wrap around that tender little bud, your back lifts up off the bed as you shriek. “Yes! Just like that!”
You feel him grin into your thigh, clearly satisfied with himself.
His fingers probe at your entrance, and you shrink away reflexively. “Your claws—”
“—are retractable,” he finishes. “No need to be so jumpy, chica. Going to take good care of you.”
And he does. Oh god, he does. His fingers pump in and out of you, working you relentlessly even as he continues to lick your cunt. It’s too much. Pressure stacks in your lower belly, building to a fever pitch. You squirm and writhe under his touch, panting and mewling his name.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl,” he hisses. “You going to come for me?
You nod. You can feel it building deep inside you. You just need a little more.
“Then fucking come.”
At last, you obey. Your back bows as searing heat explodes within you, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl. When he pulls away, you are left empty and aching.
He places a kiss to your stomach. “There you go. That’s my girl.”
He doesn’t allow you much time to linger in the afterglow. Soon, he shoves his half-hard cock in your face. “Suck on it.”
You do as he commands, taking the head into your mouth. The strong, salty taste of his pre-come assaults your tongue, and your mind goes blank. You hollow out your cheeks, attempting to accommodate his massive length. You’ve had practice at this, but he is just so damn big. You jaw is already aching.
When you start to stroke him at the base, he makes a noise in the back of his throat that sends shivers down your spine. Molten heat pools low in your belly. “You like that?”
He grabs a fistful of your hair. “Cállate. Suck.”
He fucks your mouth furiously, pushing deep into your throat, ignoring your gagging. It is intoxicating, being so completely full of him. In that moment, your entire world is reduced to his cock, his hands in your hair, his low noises, his musky scent. Soon, he is whimpering.
There is something particularly satisfying about unraveling such a stoic, imposing man.
His breath hitches, and for a moment, you think he is about to come in your mouth. Instead, he pulls you off of him with an audible pop.
“Tell me you want it,” he pants. “Dime."
“I want your cock. Need it. Dámelo, por favor.”
“De nuevo.”
A stinging sensation erupts on your backside. You throw your head back, hissing in surprise. Your ass cheek burns slightly where he swatted you, but you find you like the pain. “¡Dámelo! ¡Lo necesito!”
A large hand settles onto your head. Ruffles your hair. “That’s my girl.”
The hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you feel him draw closer, strong arms bracketing you in. He nudges you with his nose. “Turn over.”
“Have you got a condom?” you ask.
His breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “What if I don’t? What if I want to fuck a baby into you? Could you really stop me?”
You hesitate. Because the truth is, you couldn’t stop him, even if you wanted to. He is too fast. Too strong. “I…”
“Relax. I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a condom right here.”
The sound of foil tearing. Then, a soft groan as he rolls the condom onto his erection. Your shoulders slump in relief, and immediately, you feel guilty. Bearing Spider-Man’s child would be the ultimate privilege. You hope you haven’t offended him.
If you have offended him, it isn’t enough to stop him from seeking release. He wastes no time, plowing into you as soon as you turn over. Your jaw clenches as his enormous cock slams into you, forcibly hollowing you out. It doesn’t hurt. You are far too wet for that. Your body is simply unused to accommodating something so big inside of you.
“No one appreciates how hard I work. Nobody cares about the things I’ve given up to keep all of us fucking safe.”
“I appreciate you.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and you know it. It’s too intimate, too tender for your rough, impersonal fucking. But it’s the truth. You wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Spider-Man.
He huffs a laugh. “Of course you do. My sweet fucktoy. My personal little whore.” You should be insulted by such names, but he says them so lovingly that you find yourself growing wetter instead. “You like being used like this, don’t you? I know you do. I can feel your little cunt clenching around me.”
“Mmm, feels so good. Harder,” you mutter.
His hips jerk forward, fucking you with what feels like enough force to snap you in half. You moan loudly. “You know, one of these days I want to fill you with my come. Give you so much it’ll leak out your cunt and drip down your thighs,” he says. “And you’ll take it. You’ll take it all, won’t you, chica? You’ll take it all even if it gets you fucking pregnant because you’re such a cockslut for me.”
You nod. “Yes, give it to me! ¡Dámelo!” It doesn’t matter what you say at this point. It’s just dirty talk, just an attempt to get him off. As long as he is wearing that condom, the chances of you getting pregnant are very low.
His thrusts become rougher. Sloppier. He must be close. You should be humiliated. A virtual stranger is fucking you on all fours like an animal, threatening to breed you. Instead, you rut back onto his cock, meeting every one of his thrusts because they just feel so damn good. Tears sting the corners of your eyes. “I want to put a baby in you. ¿Entiendes? Want to watch your belly swell with it. Mine forever, whether you want to be or not.”
“Spider-Man…”
“My name is Miguel.” A common name. Knowing it gives you no clues to his identity. Still, the fact that he trusts you with any small part of his true self makes your chest swell with warmth. Or perhaps he’s simply vain. You are content either way.
“Say it.” As if for emphasis, he slams into you hard, his cock brushing your cervix.
“Miguel! Want your come, Miguel. Make me a mommy!”
“One of these days, chica. One of these fucking days.”
Without warning, he bites down on your shoulder, making you yelp in surprise. A tingling warmth races through your veins, and gravity seems to increase. Your entire body feels rooted to the bed, weighed down by some invisible force.
Miguel’s venom. He injected you with venom.
“Miguel!” Your cries only seem to drive him over the edge. Cursing, he splits you open on his cock. Your every nerve ending is on fire, the pleasure so sharp and strong, it hurts. The friction is too much, and you find yourself coming a second time. Your cunt squeezes around his cock, milking him for every last drop of come. His voice breaks, and with a few more lazy thrusts, he falls still.
You heave a heavy sigh. If it weren’t for the venom, you are sure your entire body would be shaking. You feel incredible. Your entire world is cloaked in a haze of bliss. And it is all thanks to the man lying next to you. The bizarre urge to kiss him seizes you.
But your body refuses to move, no matter how hard you try.
“Um, Miguel?”
“Don’t use my name when we’re like this,” he growls. “The effects of the venom will wear off shortly.”
“Will you stay with me until it does?”
Even with your blindfold on, you know he is rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”
If you could, you’d smile. There is no doubt about it: Spider-Man is a true hero.