Chapter Text
WADE'S PACKAGE IS HERE!
He's so excited that he almost falls out of bed when he hears the doorbell's jingle. He puts on one slipper, leaving the other forgotten under the bed as it rings a second time. He yells “Coming!” in what should be a tone of playful joy, but due to the unnatural discordance of his vocal cords, it sounds more like a raspy scream. He doesn't pay attention to it, and why should he? Wade has been waiting for this for two months.
He doesn't know why it took so long to arrive. Wade thinks they should have the product in stock due to high demand, but the reality is that this was a customized product. But he can't be the only one ordering something like this. It arrived just when he thought he had been scammed, and just in time too, Wade was about to use his stalking skills to find the addresses of the guy or ‘company’ he had ordered from to pay them a little visit, which, considering they were a small and rather niche business, would have been difficult. But if none of that worked, he could still leave a bad review. Everyone knows that in the digital world, ruining your online image is practically as bad as being murdered. So it doesn't matter.
But that wouldn't be necessary. His package is here! He hops over to the door, which creaks under his hand as he yanks it open abruptly. On the other side, the delivery guy, a sweet-looking guy in his twenties with dyed ash-blond hair and a nose piercing, trembles from head to toe when he lifts his neck to face him, unable to hold back a frightened gasp. It's not surprising. Not every day you make a delivery to Deadpool. And Wade had been kind enough to greet him wearing his mask! Think that's alarming? He should try seeing him without it.
He could have killed him for that. He's done it in the past for less, but not today. Today he's happy. The notification from his Gmail informing him that his package was successfully delivered and would soon be at his doorstep has kept him in a good mood all morning. He can admit that he has't sleep since he received said message last night. It's been two months, three weeks, and four days, but this baby has finally come home.
He signs the paper handed to him by the frightened fawn in front of him, looking excitedly at the pile of boxes. He recognizes his by the name and the small label with the store's stamp. The boy trembles as he lifts his order, Wade snatches it from his hands, squeals at a frequency no adult man should produce, and kisses the delivery boy on the lips. The kid goes from having jelly bones to being frozen in shock, and Wade shoves a generous tip into his pocket. Some of the bills still had blood from their previous owners? Oh well, nothing a New York bodega can't overlook.
Wade closes the door as quickly as he opened it. Alone at last. Alone with this.
He's about to have a very good time.
He slashes the plastic with the edge of his baby knife, tearing open the outer packaging. There's tissue paper and bubble wrap that could keep him entertained for hours like a child, if it weren't for something special waiting for him at the bottom. Before getting to it, he checks a small folded note with gold and red embroidery that says: "Thank you for choosing and trusting us with your new magical experience. This will be the best purchase of your life." Pfff, yeah right. That was the slogan on their website too. Wade thinks it's a bit pretentious for a store with less than two thousand followers, only four posts, and a ridiculously long wait time while they manufacture the product. But hey, it was good enough to convince him to buy there, so...
He figured he'd give it a try. And if he doesn't like it, well, there were no returns, but he could always go back to plan S(talker).
And this better be good, he didn't just spend $783 for nothing.
Finally, he sees it. His breath catches in his chest for half a second and his eyes sparkle so mischievously that it can be seen through the mask.
It was here.
Wade can't believe it's here.
He takes it in his hands, it's so beautiful he could cry, so this is what heaven looks like.
Wade has his own Spider-Man-themed dildo.
It's a Spider-Man themed dildo! There's nothing better in the world!
HE CAN'T WAIT TO USE IT!
In fact, he literally can't wait to use it.
And it's not like he could get an infection or anything, so who cares?
He quickly strips off his clothes. Wade takes off his pink T-shirt, the kitten paw print on the chest falls to the floor. He walks to his room, sliding his shorts down his legs and pulling down the waistband of his underwear, which ends up scattered in different places along the hallway. He throws the dildo on the bed and immediately jumps in after it.
His skin tingles with excitement. Wade takes the dildo in both hands and examines it. It's exactly as he requested. If there was one reason he chose that mysterious store despite its non-existent reputation, it was because of this, the quality of work shown in their reference images, which fortunately were not false advertising. The toy is 24 cm long, not counting the artificial balls. He ordered a 30 cm one, but for some reason, they told him that this specific model could only be made in this size. It has a diameter of 6.5 cm, the tip is thick and soft, and the entire length glistens as if bathed in sweat. The extended length was adorned with artificial veins that, when he ran his thumb over them, almost felt like they were throbbing. Wade placed his fingers on the dildo's contours, admiring it, massaging the glans to revel in how delicate it was, feeling satisfied when the veins became more prominent as if they were waking up. He nodded as he squeezed the balls, checking that, like the rest of the dildo, they had a heavy, smooth texture.
It's a pretty realistic toy, except for the color.
It's themed, after all. Very special, too, because of the unethical and immoral store is dedicated to make dildos based on celebrities, famous people, or public figures, all customized. Wade is excited to be the one chosen to hold it in his hands because another strange feature of that store is that they only make one model per subject.
And he has the Spider-Man model.
Which means that instead of the typical skin color that should cover its artificial surface, the toy was covered in blue silicone at the base, with red blending in halfway up to the tip. The tone fits almost as well as it would on a real cock, with the shades becoming lighter towards the head and darker along the shaft. And the spider webs? Of course they couldn't be missing. The veins were composed of that, finishing with patterns surrounding the testicles.
This is a fucking dream come true, and it's his.
Enough admiraring, he needs to move on to the quality control stage!
Wade sticks the suction cup base to the wall next to his bed, the dildo wobbles up and down until it settles in a straight line, facing him. Wade couldn't resist and leaned in to leave a kiss on its tip, giggleling ecstatically like a little girl and resisting the urge to scream like one.
This is gonna be amazing.
He turns around, lifting his ass a little, calculating the distance between him and the tip, arching his back. He spreads each cheek with both hands, trying to stretcy them as wide as possible. He's not wet enough for it to go in smoothly, but where's the fun if it doesn't hurt a little?
He takes a deep breath, excitement running through him like electric currents, but there's no point in rushing something good. He has to enjoy this. He leans back, feeling the tickle in his hole as the artificial head of the dick brushes against his cunt. A delicious shiver makes him tremble as he moves it up and down, letting the glans run along the folds of his vulva. The tip touches the outer and inner lips, passing through the opening of his urethra. Wade moves it behind his perineum, maybe later he can try fucking himself there too. It may not be the biggest toy in his collection, but something tells him this one is special. Wade wants to try it in all his holes.
His hole oozes more slick, the slippery wetness coating the corners of the dildo, which he eagerly inserts slowly. The head settles into his pussy, which little by little recieves it. The initial resistance has him pulling it out and pushing it back in. Wade is on his knees, leaning on his forearms, his stuffed unicorn beside him serving as a pillow that he hugs, drooling as the sensation intensifies. He's playing with himself. Teasing himself, imagining it's someone else.
Someone like the real Spider-Man.
He imagined his hands on his cheeks, spreading them open and spitting into both of his holes. Wade would get all loose and limp to welcome him, but once he was inside, he would squeeze so tight, so much that Spider-Man would have to pull out because of the overwhelming sensation. Yeah. Wade would take it. He'd take it well and without complaint. He would show him that out of all the sluts, he's the best. He would show him his ability to take cock as if it were second nature, a hidden superpower he has earned on his own merit. Pure hard work achieved through sweat and effort. Wade's mask is soaked with sweat and saliva that transfers from him to the unicorn squeezed between his fingers.
But it's not as soaked as his pussy.
Wade smiles, and without further ado, leans back, pushing the circumference in.
The moan that escapes his lips is soft, like a kitten being petted. His inner walls cling to the toy, demanding more and more. Wade has only pushed in half of it. He wants to remember every handcrafted vein, every stroke of silicone, and how it feels. It's warm. It takes Wade a while to realize it, but when he does, it's almost impossible for him not to push back completely so that warmth can invade every inch of his insides. The damn dildo was warm, and not only that, it was also pulsing in his vagina.
He doesn't remember asking for that function, nor does he remember it coming up in the instructions pamphlet he was given, but to be honest, Wade hadn't read the it. It was a dildo, not rocket science, and Wade was an expert at using them. You just play with them until your pussy hurts with pleasure. That's what he planned to do. Not that he was complaining, the dildo...
It feels like a real cock.
The member has already traveled all the way to the depths of him. Well buried it is, Wade's hole stretches, ready for thrusts that would never come. Right, Wade had to do all the work. As realistic as it felt, it was still a piece of plastic... A piece of plastic that he was sure was throbbing.
He must be really turned on to be imagining things like this.
Wade can't stand the temptation any longer. He pulls the dildo all the way out and looks back, the thing that is permanently erect is now glistening with his own arousement, the remains of slick adorning it with natural frost that makes the situation a thousand times hotter. Wade imagines Spider-Man's cock like this. He imagines it hard and helpless, unable to let go or pull back, he imagines it begging Wade to put his cock back inside because it was calling to him, because he needed to be inside him. He thinks of himself as a slut, but of Spidey too, of someone desperate enough to beg him to let him fuck him because Wade's pussy is just too good to be true. A virgin with the skills of a professional whore. And no one, not even the friendly neighbor Spider-Man, could resist.
Unfortunately, the only one who can't resist here is Wade himself.
He impales the toy back where it belongs.
This time he does it in one go, pushing it in as far as he can until the plastic balls rub against his entrance too. Once there, he waits a few seconds, wiggling his hips. Feels funny having it there. The initial discomfort has passed, but that's okay, because the dildo fills all the essential parts inside him. It's definitely ranking high on his list of sex toys, only time will tell if it becomes a favorite. For now, Wade relaxes his body and starts rocking back and forth, after a few seconds the movement goes on autopilot as he focuses only on moaning, thrusting, swallowing, and squeezing in search of his climax.
The pressure is good. The toy doesn't take long to find his G-spot, so Wade's attempt to turn this into a cute fantasy where he gets fucked by his heroic crush goes to hell 'cause, well, you can't make a bitch in heat change his behavior. Wade thrusts with speed and certainty, hitting his sweet spot over and over again, enough times to make him moan uncontrollably and not care. His neighbors might complain about the noise later. Wade might not care if he can use this toy as many times as he wants. Wade sobs, squeezing as hard as he can to prolong the orgasmic sensation once it has started and forcing the dildo as deep as it'll go, testing to see if he can rub parts of him that shouldn't be fucked, shuddering with his head spinning and tingling deliciously in his brain. The orgasm is so good that it makes him tremble. He closes his eyes and dreams, with a raspy voice of arousement, pinching his ass and filling him with hot seed. He dreams of Spider-Man cumming inside him.
He keeps fucking himself even after that, enjoying the girth, the thickness, the way it throbs against his walls and how it opens him up. He's so focused on torturing his post-orgasmic pussy that he doesn't realize... So good... So... Warm... So much. Too much.
Wade frowns, his imagination is good, but not that good. He crawls forward and turns around, the dildo slides out but surprisingly leaves a trail behind it, sticky white streaks that when he looks down, he also finds staining his scarred pussy.
He has semen in his folds.
Well, not semen, it can't be semen, because plastic testicles can't produce it, but it's strangely similar to it.
Wade looks back at the dildo, which is falling slightly downward, and yes, drops of cum are glistening from the glans, which his hole absorbed almost completely. It was a lot. Wade inserts two fingers, digging into the stickiness that has stained him white. He holds his fingers in front of his face, opening and closing them to check the texture. He doesn't remember ordering this either. And though he does have toys specialized in pumping fake cum into him, none of them have such a realistic consistency, none of them mimic the smell so well...
Out of curiosity, he licks one of his fingers.
None of them emulate the salty-sour taste like this either.
It tastes so good. He can't resist digging deeper inside and cleaning his fingers as much as he can. Some drops have been lost as they dried on his blankets, but he hopes they will at least retain the scent overnight.
He takes the dildo by the base. He can clean it later, but for now, he has a feeling he'll be using it again soon.
It was much better than he imagined.
Peter is in trouble.
He's in the middle of a mission right now. The Sinister Syndicate isn't a world-class villain team, nor one that requires the help of any other superhero friends for backup. He surprised them in the middle of one of their plans and decided to intervene. This is routine. Peter has been on missions like this hundreds of times. That's not what's causing him problems.
What is, is that what should have been a routine mission is being interfered with by... Something.
He's dodging White Rabbit's blows when he feels it. It starts as a caress, so subtle that at first he ignores it as the tickle of the wind. His suit was quite tight, so it wasn't unusual for him to feel friction down there sometimes. It's not unusual. Then he's attacked by Lady Octopus, and the touches are no longer mere illusions of the wind. Peter even lowers his head, believing that one of her slippery metal arms has become too mischievous, exploring places it shouldn't. But there is nothing near his crotch to make him believe that overnight, his enemies have become handsy with him.
Peter felt a brush against his cock.
It must have been his imagination. He discreetly adjusts the spandex in that area and shakes his head. He still feels a phantom tingling. Scorpia attacks him with her stinger, and he's so distracted by that weird sensation that he fails to dodge in time, sending him into one of the walls with a brick digging into his shoulder. The impact blurs his mind from the fight.
But at the same time, it makes him much more aware of what he can only describe as a sensation.
Peter feels like someone is touching his glans.
It's unmistakable now that his legs are spread open in the pose where he fell, the debris clouding his vision, but he knows that the syndicate isn't done with him yet. Soon they'll come back to continue beating him, but Peter's eyes are fixed on his crotch. He feels it as clearly as a bucket of cold water, fingers squeezing the head of his cock, outlining the veins on his shaft, which, to his horror, begins to throb.
It feels like someone is examining his penis.
What the hell was going on?
Peter has experienced many, many strange things in his life. He has been transformed into a giant spider, used by an alien parasite, traveled into space, been tricked by optical illusions, died. He has villains who are complete psychopaths or just plain weirdos. But he has never experienced anything like this. This can't be.
There was nothing there. No one was playing with his crotch.
But Peter could vividly feel fingers wrapped around his dick.
This was way too weird.
Had he been drugged? No one in the syndicate was exactly a genius in biochemistry, at least not in this way. That wasn't their style. Besides, what for? This had to be some kind of mind game. A kind of sensory illusion that makes him think there are invisible hands massaging his member.
But why would anyone do something like that?
That's twisted. Even for his own villains.
And since Peter doesn't voluntarily take drugs, doesn't remember eating anything bad, and doesn't think he's dreaming, then it was all in his head. He just had to breathe, control himself, and...
He just felt his balls being squeezed.
“There you are!” One of the girls had found him, it's Electro, great, one of the craziest of that group of female villains. “Don't expect to get away from the fight, Spider-Man!”
Peter has to get out of here.
Whatever this is, it's getting worse. Electro grabs him by the neck and starts wrestling with him. Peter manages to kick her in the legs, and given the position of his foot, that should have gotten rid of the ghostly sensation of magical touches on his dick, but it doesn't. No matter how much he moves, it's as if that tingling sensation can't be shaken off by anything. Electro is not happy at all, her eyes blaze with rage and electric sparks that she blasts him again. Several volts of electricity force Peter to stay pinned to the ground before he's thrown like a baseball. He tries to take refuge in a gap between the abandoned buildings.
He has just been attacked with pure electricity, and that still hasn't undone the invisible caresses.
What was going on?
Just when, overcome with desperation, he was about to lower his hands and squeeze, trying to remove whatever was on top of his cock, the touches cease. Peter looks down fearfully, but of course, there was still nothing there. Except for his semi-hard dick. He blushed in horror at his reaction. It was natural, except for the fact that he was in the middle of a damn mission. This shouldn't be happening. Peter can't be hard while fighting supervillains, female villains! They'll think he's a pervert.
He just can't help it. He just felt like someone was stroking his cock as if it were a glorious trophy. That wasn't normal. He takes a relieved breath thinking that it's apparently over. Maybe he's been alone too much lately? He broke up with MJ, again, not long ago, and he hasn't had any “action” in a couple of months, so maybe this is his body's exaggerated way to remind him, we have hormones! We're still young and we need time off at least twice a month. A very bad joke from his own mind.
Yeah, that has to be it.
For now, it'd be best to get this over with quickly and get back to the fight, hiding as best he could that he had a semi-hard boner during a mission, praying that no one would notice.
But his mind was no longer in the game. He was caught up in that supernatural experience, and that was a rookie mistake that Peter hadn't made in over ten years. It's the mistake of doubt that causes him to falter and be cornered by Trapstr. Trapstr! There were more worthy villains to be defeated by. He has been immobilized by her sticky polymer, from which, if he concentrates his strength, he should eventually be able to escape.
That's when the real trouble begins.
The sensation returns, stronger than ever. Now it's much worse.
Peter feels as if someone is rubbing against him.
“No, no...”
He whispers, throws his head back, and looks sideways, almost expecting to see something, but there's nothing, damn it, there's nothing! But Peter feels it right there, he feels the tip of his cock rubbing against a soft, wet spot. He feels the wetness staining his glans and the suffocating pleasure of what is unmistakably a pussy. He's had sex enough times to know the feeling. He feels like he was playing with an entrance, deciding whether to stick it in or not, except that was impossible! Because he was trapped, because he was on a mission, because he's not even naked in the first place! Because no one is there.
And yet, Peter feels the suffocating heat wrap around his member.
He realizes too late, Peter is hard. It's not just a half-erection anymore, he was completely hard.
“Yes, Spider-Man.” Says Beetle, Janice Lincoln, the Syndicate leader, approaching him triumphantly. “We finally have you. Maybe this will teach you not to meddle in our affairs ever again.”
He's punched in the side. He doesn't care. He can't even be scared by the possibility that they could kill him, torture him, or worse, unmask him if they wanted to, defeated by a group of B-listers villains he has faced thousands of times before, all because he's too busy trying to escape from an invisible pussy.
He's deep inside the passage now. It's not just an itch on his glans, it's not the strange tingling or the grip on his balls. It's the burning heat of an enveloping pussy. The tightness of the inner walls forcing themselves to accommodate him. It's being inside someone for the first time, enjoying every inch as if he never wants to forget it. His cock tenses against his will, but Peter can't deny that it feels good. It's horror and pleasure mixed together and feeding off each other. This excites him, this scares him. This can't be happening. It's outrageous, he's in front of an audience and—
And it'd still be bad even if he were alone!
Peter has to focus. This is in his imagination. For some reason he's gone crazy, and maybe he really has been drugged without realizing it. But if he were in his room, away from prying eyes, would he feel so terrified?
Yes—
No—
He's confused!
This is clearly wrong, but is it because he feels guilty about having (indirect) sex in public? Or because part of him is enjoying it?
He has so much to discover about himself. Dark things he could never talk about in therapy.
But right now he has a very big problem to deal with, no matter how pleasurable the phantom pussy or whatever he was stuck in right now was, he can't get turned on in the middle of a mission!
“You're horribly quiet, huh? Scared of your imminent defeat?” Peter lets out a gasp as the intangible touch fades again. He's dizzy, still immobile, and with pain in his ribs and shoulders. Beetle is on top of him. “Maybe we should show you what it feels like to be on the losing side. Get this off him and let's show him!”
Oh no.
Peter tries to get up but Beetle puts her foot on his chest. For the first time, he wishes they were talking about removing his mask, but he knows they're talking about the substance that keeps him pinned to the ground, a substance that conveniently covered his crotch. The villains are laughing as they dilute the chemical at the same time that the extrasensory experience returns stronger than before. He feels himself impaled into nothingness itself.
That's when the gasps of astonishment and disgust ring out.
“Is he—?”
“Is that—?”
“How dare he—!?”
“IT'S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!!” He screams, hugging his knees in a fetal position in a vain attempt to hide his boner, which has already been seen by the six criminals. “It's not what you think— Ah!”
He closes his eyes when he feels himself slamming into a soft spot, thin walls that would give way if only he could apply the right pressure. Peter doesn’t even have time to figure out if aiming from different angles could somehow affect whatever was fucking him. He can't try it either, not in the condition he's in.
And now the rest of the villainesses had found out, what could he say to save his skin?
“Ewwww! You're a fucking weirdo! Pervert!” Beetle moves away from him as if he had scabies. “He touched me! Y'all see that!? That fucking pervert is using us as jerk-off material!”
Jerk off mate—
He didn't even ask for this!
“That's not tru— FUCK!” He squeezed his cock with both hands, exasperated, wanting to end this but the heat felt so good, like fitting into a case he didn't know he needed, wet and comfortable, too much so to be able to speak normally. “If you'd let me explain— ”
“Explain!? You're dead, Spider! Just wait until my dad finds out about this!” Great, as if he didn't have enough to deal with, now Beetle was going to go tell Tombstone, as if the guy didn't hate him enough already.
“Yeah! Tell him, Beetle!”
“That's so inappropriate.”
“It's so disgusting.”
“Do you think he does this with all his female villains?”
“Pervert! That's what he is!”
“Get him!”
Peter curls up tighter in the fetal position, just letting them go at it while his hand stays right where it is. The group of girls punch him, electrocute him, sting him, kick and beat him every way possible. It's been a while since he got his ass kicked like this.
He can't care.
Not when the tightness around his length grows stronger, not when the thrusts, which he's not causing since he's completely still, become more precise. Not when the walls squeeze him, cling to him, get wet and kiss him in a way he's never felt before, making it nearly impossible not to push his hips forward and scream as he feels the unmistakable rush of an orgasm that triggers his own almost immediately.
He can't stop it. He's cumming in his pants, being beaten and in public in front of six of his villains. Peter has cum from the sensation of an invisible pussy squeezing his cock.
“Did he—?”
“Of course a weirdo like him would like pain.”
“What a joke.”
“He's not even worth it.”
“Disgusting.”
“Goodbye, pervert.”
The girls are walking away, Peter wants to turn to them to beg them to let him explain, but explain what? Who in the world would believe something like this? No, this is something he must take to his grave, and pray they never tell anyone! Though that seems almost impossible.
Peter doesn't have the energy to do anything but lie on his side. With the orgasm softening his nerves, the pain becomes more present. Despite his slightly accelerated healing, it will take him a few days to physically recover from this. Mentally? He's not sure.
Now he has to go home beaten up and with a stain on his pants.
But there's nothing there.
He opens his eyes immediately, pats his crotch looking for the usual wetness and finds nothing. Not a trace of semen beyond a few small drops. He came, he's sure of that. It makes no sense.
Just as it makes no sense to feel like you're fucking an invisible pussy.
Okay, sure, he used to be in love with Johnny's sister when he was a teen, but this is ridiculous (and Sue wouldn't do something like this in a million years). And since he doesn't know many heroes with invisibility powers who would do something as twisted as this...
He really had no way to explain what he had experienced.
Peter lies on his back with one forearm on his forehead.
What the heck just happened?