Honeysuckle
peter Maximoff x reader smut
chapter 1: sugar blues
warnings: female reader (sorry), sex pollen, aphrodisiacs, overstimulation, shameless smut, rough sex, kissing, porn with (slight) plot, canon divergence
word count: 4466
a/n: hiii !! this is my first fic posted to trunglr !! i've diverged from canon a lot here. timeline is modern day. remember deadpool 2? and the x men cameos? just ignore the fact that everyone would be old af now. pretend they're not old. also, even though he doesn't show up; it's the kelsey grammer beast btw. because i'm based. tyvm
chapter 2 here.
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Peter really didn’t mean to be such a menace.
Like, pffbbt…this was totally the most accidental instance of the classic phrase: Wrong place, wrong time. Outside of Hank’s lab, Peter noticed something he hadn’t seen the day prior. A faint light, emitting a firefly-like glow. Curiously snooping, as one naturally does, he peeked through the window of the lab door. Only to find…no one was there.
Peter checked the digital watch on his wrist. A Garfield watch. Totally sweet.
Hm.
Hank’s lab was usually occupato on late Friday evenings like today. He should’ve been inside, poking around with some newfangled gadget. Or conjuring up some gnarly formula. But, upon further inspection? The lab was entirely absent of any big, beastly scientists. Not a hint of blue fur to be found.
Maybe he took a break?
Nah. If there was one thing Peter knew about Hank? He never gave himself down time. Ever. The big guy would rather stay up for 72 consecutive hours in a row. Pounding down enough black coffee to scald his throat. Pouring through documents and schematics, keeping his brain persistently active. Such is the life of a mega nerd.
Which begged the question: Where was said mega nerd?
The faint glow from inside the lab caught Peter’s curious eye again. Tempting him to be just a little nosier. Something about the light was almost mesmerizing. Irresistible, even.
Screw it, he thought.
Even these days, in his early thirties; Peter was just as much of a menace as he was in his youth. Had he chilled out by a touch? Absolutely. Did he still enjoy a little mischief-making every now and then? Most definitely.
It really wouldn’t be so bad if he allowed himself one, quick look inside, right? A fast one. Faster than fast. No accidents. In and out.
Peter rushed through the door and into the lab at high speed. His movements were a little too careless and overconfident. And in his carelessness, he may have accidentally bumped straight into a lab table. How he hadn’t seen it coming, he’d never be able to guess.
Somewhat distracted, Peter crashed straight into the table. The force of his body against it caused a series of glass beakers and test tubes to come tumbling down. They shattered upon hitting the tiled floor below. And Peter stumbled back to try and avoid the mess.
His worn sneakers (one of the laces was untied. Must have been the true culprit. Sneaky sneakers.) crushed bits of fragile glass. The soles slid along a neon, pink substance. A glowing substance. The same, faint light he’d been hella curious about in the first place.
In seconds, a hot-pink gas unexpectedly rose into the air. It drifted upwards with a cloudiness much akin to cigarette smoke, straight from the substance Peter stepped in.
“Oh…well…shit…that can’t be good.” He mumbled to himself, pulling his earphones down to hang around his neck. Thin Lizzy’s Sugar Blues echoed quietly from them.
Peter stepped even further back the moment the foreign gas met his nostrils. He coughed, swiping away at the heavy cloud of smoke. A sweet-tasting thickness, like honeysuckle, coated his tongue and filled his throat. Peter blinked away an unexpected, stunned stupor. And he looked down at the pink glow, now having stained one of his shoes.
“Shiiiiit…shit shit shit.”
Glancing around to make sure no one saw what happened, Peter sighed. Annoyed with himself. Way to fuckin’ go, dude.
“Hope that wasn’t anything toxic.” He whispered with a soft cough, clearing his throat. Sugary sweetness littered his taste buds, and he smacked his lips.
Peter bent down to pick up the larger shards of glass on the lab floor. And as he poked through the pieces, he found the occasional strand of blue, beast hair left behind. A reminder. Which made him feel all the more guilty, knowing how annoyed Hank would be once he saw the damage. Sighing again, Peter looked over the mess of broken glass and mysterious liquids.
He shook his head. For a split second, he felt dizzy.
In a rush to clean up the evidence of his escapade, Peter tried to move quickly. However, he found his body refused to kick into speedster mode. His brain, which usually operated at lightspeed; now functioned at a pace way too mellow for his liking. He almost wanted to panic, but his reaction time moved like molasses.
Shit. Fuck. Maybe that glowy, pink substance was something toxic.
The physical effects of whatever-the-fuck he’d breathed in started, weirdly enough, in his fingertips. A strange, almost alien warmth, unlike any Peter had ever felt before. It spread from the tips of his fingers, into the thick veins of his hands. Peter hesitated, dropping a shard of glass. He raised his hand to carefully inspect it, furrowing his brows.
Should he call someone for help? Maybe wait for Hank to come back? Aw, but Hank’s totally gonna give him shit for messin’ things up so bad…
A tingling sensation in his hands kept Peter’s attention for a moment longer. The minute on Peter’s Garfield watch changed with the agonizingly slow passage of time. And a single second ticked by in silence. The only sound to be heard was that of Killer on the Loose playing through his earphones. But in his laggy state of mind, Peter barely registered the tune.
And like the flip of a switch, both Peter’s thoughts, as well as his body, finally caught up with reality. Speeding to an inhuman degree all over again. As if returning to normal. His normal.
Normalcy lasted 0.1 seconds.
Warmth lingering under Peter’s skin turned to blistering heat. A heat which immediately surged through his blood. It gave him goosebumps, causing Peter to jump in his spot. He dropped the pile of glass he’d picked up. And in a blink, Peter stood, struggling to catch his breath. Every inch of his burning body tingled, as though his veins were injected with buzzing, electric static.
The fiery buzz lit aflame in his veins, and moved with a furious rush. It settled somewhere completely unexpected. Boiling deep within his pelvis, the scorching sensation caused his muscles to tighten. And following that, Peter felt his cock spring to life. It twitched under his shining, silver jeans.
A millisecond passed, and his dick grew rock hard.
“Ohhhh-…wait…what the fuck???”
He knew he shouldn’t leave the mess he made behind. That’d be, like, mad rude. Majorly inconsiderate. And probably hazardous too? Fuck! Not fuckin’ cool!
But, at the same time, there was no way in hell Peter could face Hank, or anyone else right now. Not while this was happening. Whatever the hell this was.
Before he bolted, Peter disappeared from the lab and reappeared in a flash. He placed a wet floor sign over the mess of scattered glass and science-y substances. And left a hastily scribbled, sticky note behind:
My bad, Beastie.
- Peter
Panicked, he made a mad dash to his (his mom’s) house. And in a blink’s worth of time, Peter disappeared behind the door to the basement. He hoped with every fiber of his speedy soul, that his mother wasn’t home to hear the sound of it slamming shut.
Once locked in the basement, Peter didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He stumbled through the messy space in a confused, feverish daze. His mind seemed to race a million miles faster. So fast, even Quicksilver himself could barely keep up. Muffled thoughts he couldn’t yet comprehend echoed in the furthest reaches of his subconscious.
Peter felt his cheeks flare up with red heat, his breathing growing more labored and hot. Every step he took, every inch he moved, flooded Peter with overwhelming discomfort.
Why did his clothes feel so irritating all of a sudden? His skin cringed at the sensation of cotton fabric brushing against it. Peter couldn’t breathe like this. How could anybody breathe in clothes as suffocating as these? He needed to shed them immediately. Now. Right now.
Peter tried to catch his breath as he shrugged off his signature, silver jacket. Next, came the goggles. They were tossed carelessly aside, along with his Walkman. Which he forgot to turn off, leaving it playing through a Thin Lizzy tape he’d already heard a thousand times over. Chinatown.
Sweat drenched articles of clothing were all dropped on the floor. Until Peter was left in nothing but tight, grey, boxer-briefs. And the Garfield watch. He kind of forgot about the Garfield watch.
Peter left a trail of soaked clothes to his unmade bed. Weakly, he fell into the cushions and off his quivering legs.
For a torturous moment, all he could do was writhe around in clouded, heated agony. Every single one of his limbs ached with dull pain. And the blistering heat pooling in his pelvis made him squirm with amorous starvation.
A starvation for something he hadn’t yet figured out.
“Fuuuuuuck. Fuck this.” Peter groaned in soft, breathy pants.
A powerful surge of an even stronger, electric heat fired through him again. And his eyes flew open wide. Beady, black pupils flooded the brown of his irises. Sucking in a deep, labored breath; Peter rolled onto his back. A trickle of steaming sweat dripped down his temple. Titling his head up, Peter squinted. His vision blurred slightly as he stared ahead.
Dark, half-lidded eyes met the twitching bulge in his boxer-briefs. And he knit his brows together.
Something seemed…different.
So, like, whatever. Maybe, privately, Peter had always prided himself on his size. Most definitely above average. His dick had a nice thickness to it, and wasn’t weirdly shaped in any way. And the few times he fucked around with it, he never heard a single complaint from anyone.
But this…
Unless he was totally blind to the size of his own dick his entire life? Something really wasn’t right here.
Another rush of hot, sticky heat washed over Peter like a feverish wave. He trembled, hissing in response to the overwhelming burn that came with it. Under the fabric of his underwear, Peter’s bulge pulsated with demanding aggression. Begging for any stimulation.
In a foggy, desperate haze of sexual frustration, Peter reached downward. Hesitant fingers dragged frantically across a trail of soft, silver hairs. Guiding themselves to the waistband of his underwear. A wet spot caught his eye, and he groaned. In one, quick motion, Peter shoved the garment down his trembling legs. Slick precum pulled with the fabric, separating from the tip of his leaking head.
And Peter’s aching cock finally bounced free.
He struggled to comprehend the image in front of him. Peter rapidly blinked, staring down at his dick in muddled confusion. Blossoming desire burst with an electrifying buzz through his cock. And Peter hissed again. He sank his teeth hard into his lip, mindlessly bucking his hips into nothing.
Nothing.
An instinct in his subconscious mind forced itself forward, demanding Peter find something. And fast. His cock bounced on its own again, visibly pulsating. Thick, wet precum spilled from the tip. And he threw his head back with a whine.
“H-Holy shit…”
Yeah. No doubt about it now. Peter’s dick looked a lot bigger than he remembered. The length ached so painfully, vibrating in a most subtle way. Imperceptible to the human eye. Colored a dark, pinkish hue, and decorated with pulsing veins; Peter’s cock appeared on the verge of bursting. And the tip sputtered with so much precum, he was left wondering if he’d cum already without realizing it.
Whatever! Be cool, dude! So, yeah! He must have exposed himself to some kind of weird, sex chemical. What the hell was Hank even doing with something that potent?? No way he was saving it for personal use. Peter really didn’t wanna think about that right now.
But he couldn’t have slapped a warning label on it?
Don’t touch! Lest ye be horny!
Not that Peter would’ve seen a label anyway.
No big dealio! Maybe all he needed was to get off. And really get off. Like, maybe Peter needed to nut so hard, the afterglow would slow him down for a good, few minutes. Instead of his usual, mere seconds.
He could totally do that! Easily! If Peter felt it necessary, he could beat off in the span of a second. Maybe after? He could finally move on with his life. Never to race carelessly through Beastie Boy’s nerd lab again. Call it a lesson learned.
Peter took his girthy(er) length in his hand, the veins straining under his skin. Based on feel alone, he could tell he’d grown in size. His hand was big enough on its own as is. But his cock held an even heavier, unfamiliar weight in his palm. Extremely sensitive too. Peter’s cock was so hypersensitive, that a single, light grasp got him writhing across the bedsheets.
He sucked in another, ragged breath. Just a quick second was all he needed. And this heinous experience would finally come to pass. Relief. Peter only wanted to feel sweet, freeing relief.
Reminder. Note to self: Maybe don’t go barreling through any science labs like a total spaz next time.
Several, squeezing pumps of his cock happened in an instant. By the next second, Peter came in bursts. Thick ropes of cum burned hot on his skin, quickly spilling over and making a filthy mess of him.
At the height of orgasm, his body convulsed in small twitches. Subtle vibrations raced through his veins, bringing feelings of ecstasy with them. Peter bit his lip even harder to hold back the obscene moans threatening to leave his throat. He breathed humid, exasperated pants of air through his nose.
Being the king of speed, it was completely natural for Peter to recover immediately after cumming. A couple seconds, and he’d be good to go all over again. Peter secretly prided himself on this trait too. His endless stamina came (no pun intended) in handy, should any totally hot babes wanna screw around for hours at a time.
Such a trait wasn’t so handy now. Under the alluring spell of magical, sex chemicals? Recovery took less than a nanosecond.
Peter’s head fell forward, his hand still wrapped around his raging hard-on. Absent-mindedly, he pumped the length without thinking, spreading the remnants of his first release. Running his other hand through the damp, silver locks of his hair, Peter groaned.
“Ohhh….this sucks so bad…auuugh…”
That same, now all too familiar ache fluctuating in his cock raged on. Orgasm did nothing at all to calm the storm surging with electric, tingling heat through Peter’s body. His dick twitched, pulsating red. Desperate to bury itself deep in something hot, wet, and so tight. Fuck. Peter needed something tight around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. And he needed it so, wickedly bad.
He pushed himself over the edge two more times. And after that, another three. Eventually, his maddening frustration got the better of him. Peter stood from his bed in a fwip. Slumped over in a heavy breathing, cum drenched mess of himself; Peter observed his sweat-soaked body in a full mirror.
His heart hammered away fast enough to send even him into cardiac arrest. Peter couldn’t catch his breath. And no matter how many times he felt the sweet, sanctity of orgasmic release; his desire was never satiated. Peace lasted only a fraction of a second, before dissipating completely. Leaving Peter to suffer in endless, boner agony.
The next second, Peter found himself hunched over in the shower.
Cool, icy cold water cascaded down his trembling body. Bracing his hand on the wall, Peter kept his other pressed to the wet glass. In an attempt to relax himself, Peter took long, drawn out breaths. Trying to calm the stirring fire in the pit of his belly; he fought the insatiable desires raving on in the back of his mind.
The cold did little to rid him of his painful, oversensitive erection. Peter couldn’t shake his thirsty, carnal needs. Even as he basked in the peace of cool wetness on his scorching skin, horniness consumed him. Dragging him down into the flaming depths of frisky hell. Praise be to our dark lord and savior: Boner Satan.
Peter made another, more frustrated attempt at stroking himself off. Just one more time, he thought. Standing under heavenly, frigid water; Peter wrapped a warm hand around his length. He was so, insanely desperate for anything to fuck that, by now; Peter instinctively rocked his hips into his own fist. Fucking into the wetness of it, he kept a palm pressed to the shower glass.
“Please please please please please please please pl-f-fuck! Oh, please please-” Peter whined, a flurry of needy moans leaving his lips.
Yet another second passed, and Peter came again. Shooting a thick load of hot cum straight onto the shower wall, he shuddered. Peter’s hips moved on their own accord. And he found himself unable to control his own movements. His cock continued to fuck itself rapidly into his fist, even despite the near-painful overstimulation coursing through his veins.
Peter couldn’t stop the tearful moans of torturous pleasure flying off his tongue.
“F-FUCK! FUUUUCK! PLEASE!” He cried, forcing himself to free his cock.
Falling forward, Peter pressed his forehead to the cool, shower wall. And he braced himself with an elbow to its surface. Soaked, silver locks hung over his face, and Peter stared down at the shower drain in hazy thought.
He knew he was beyond exhausted, having pushed himself too far. Peter’s mutation never allowed him to sleep. But once this was all over? He promised himself he'd be taking the longest nap ever recorded in human history. Jot that one down in the Guinness World Records.
Peter lazily blinked, his eyes half-lidded.
Time to face facts. Only one thing could possibly satisfy this unending, carnal need. Peter’s animalistic instincts blared like a siren, shrill in his ear. They screamed out - Another person. Peter needed to feel the intimate touch of another, living, breathing body. Someone to breed. That word seemed to echo in the back of his mind like a forbidden whisper. Breed. Breed. Breed.
A conflicting onslaught of embarrassment swung like a wrecking ball through Peter’s thoughts. It shattered the lecherous desire holding itself stable in his head. Sure, he needed to feel the touch of another person. But…who??
Truthfully, Peter wasn’t comfortable screwing around with anyone in this state. Had this been any normal day? And he only wanted a fun, playful fling? No strings attached? He’d be a lot more open.
But…like this? Misty headed, overstimulated, and choking to death on an ultra-desperate, sweet smelling, horny spell? C’mon! That’s just-...that’s so, majorly embarrassing! How was he even supposed to explain this totally weird scenario to anyone anyway?
Sup, babe! So, I was fuckin’ around. Bein’ a pest. Y’know, as usual. And I sorta knocked some stuff over in ol’ Beastie’s lab. Yeah. There was this weird aphrodisiac involved, I guess. It was totally an accident, by the way. But I’m, like, so horny right now I can’t breathe. Already tried jerkin’ off. Yeah. Like, a lot. So, uh…listen…wanna screw?
Nope! Not happening! No way in hell!
But dammit all, he needed it! Peter was so, painfully hard and starving to fuck; he was almost convinced he’d die if he didn’t get to. If he didn’t bury his dick in something so deep and warm; if Peter didn’t stuff someone full of enough cum to cause a pregnancy scare. He would literally die. Plain and simple. A fact of science. Confirmed by Bill Nye himself.
What else was he supposed to do? Ask Hank for advice? Pfffbbt…
Burning, insatiable desire swarmed Peter again. He disappeared from the shower in an instant, now completely dried off. And he paced the basement at a speed so quick, he looked nothing more than a nude blur in the wind.
Okay. Fuck. Who, man? Who?? Think about this logically! How could Peter get his dick wet with as little embarrassment involved as possible?
Peter’s first thought?
You.
It shouldn’t have been you. But it was you.
Because of course you were his first thought. Peter had known you long enough now, that he felt he could trust you with anything. Even wickedly awkward situations like this one. You were his best friend. His dorky, little partner in crime. So patient, and so understanding. He knew for sure you’d never, in a million, bajillion years, judge him. For anything. No matter what.
Not to mention, you’d look so damn fine with your ass bent over for him, eagerly taking his coc-
Peter shook away the thought.
Jeez…that’s…a hella twisted thought to have about your best bud, dude.
Regardless of what Peter told himself, his instincts seemed to think otherwise. He felt his cock pulsate with painful, aching need again. And yet another, more torturous burst of heat blazed like a wildfire through his blood. Peter had become so oversensitive, he couldn’t hold back anymore of his needy, whiny noises.
Bolting to his bed in a flash, Peter grabbed a pillow. And he buried his face into the plush of it to conceal his moans.
“A-Aaaaa…fuck-” He whined, his voice muffled. What followed was a distressed laugh.
Focus! Focus, you horny spaz!
Other options. What were his other options, if any?
Some random stranger? No.
One: Peter wasn’t at all comfortable with total randos touching him like that. And Two: Talking some randy into messing around would take wayyyyy too long. Peter didn’t have the patience for it. Especially not right now.
You.
Mystique? Hot. So hot, she’s deadly. But, no.
She was Hank’s girl anyway. What kinda bro would Peter be to steal her away, just to relieve some horny tension? And tension he brought upon himself, while being a nuisance in Hank’s lab, no less. That’d be messed up, man!
You.
Any other members of the X-Men?
Ehhh…probably not. Most of ‘em were too young for Peter anyway. How warped would it be if he went to them in need of a sexual favor? They already thought he was a bit of a screwball. Why make it any worse?
You.
Wade Wilson?
He’d been assisting the X-Men a lot lately. All under the guidance of mister Russian, steel-dick himself: Colossus. Wade was a pretty eccentric guy. And a huge pervert. Really kinky. The kind of dude who’d be open to virtually anything if the right person asked him. So… why not?
But Wade would probably have a field day ripping Peter’s dignity apart. And more than likely, he’d spill the details to everyone completely unprompted. Plus, he’d be so obnoxious and teasing about Peter’s situation the whole time. And when was Wade ever gonna stop calling Peter ‘Jeffrey’ for no reason?? That shit didn't make any sense! Augh…
Nah. Couldn’t be him.
You.
Peter sucked in another, shuddering breath. His limbs trembled in humming surges of unbearable pleasure. As his pulsing cock bounced in a distracting desire for touch; Peter forced himself to ignore it. He checked his Garfield watch, squinting to make out the numbers through hazy vision.
Right about now? He knew your schedule should be open. Peter had memorized your daily doings at a distance. In a totally-not-creepy way. More in a clingy-lost-puppy-who-missed-your-company kinda way. Not that you knew about it. Which…yeah…maybe that did make it a little weird. Oops.
Peter fell onto his back on his bed, sinking into the blankets. He rapidly drummed his fingers on his bare belly. And he nipped his bottom lip in thought.
He’d always been a bit of a risk-taker. Facing the forbidden often gave Peter a kind of rush he sorely missed at this point in his life. And of all the risky chances he could take, none would be as forbidden as sticking his dick in his best friend.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it before. No duh, he’d thought about it. A lot. Ever since he met you, Peter hadn’t been blind to the obvious. Of course, he noticed how your hips swayed as you walked. How could he resist staring at the fullness of your lips, while you giggled at another one of his corny jokes? And it was virtually impossible to ignore the way your eyes sparkled up at him. Especially when he called you babe. And what about the cute look on your face when you blushed, all because Peter teased you one, too many times?
Wait. Shit.
Either he was way too far gone, and lost without hope in a desolate desert of horny.
Or…Peter only just now realized he was totally, undeniably in love with you.
Probably both. Or, maybe? Just horny.
Teeth sinking further into his lip, Peter grinned mischievously through the pink flush in his cheeks. He’d been absentmindedly stroking his cock while lost in a daze of filthy, wreckless thoughts. Ultra, mega, next-level, wreckless thoughts.
Peter should have known. The very instant he thought of turning to you for help? He was done for. No turning back. No other option. There was nobody else in the world he’d rather screw around with right about now.
Another thought flashed through Peter’s mind. Like a brilliant light. The image of you on your back in his bed. Your legs spread open wide, just for him. Your gorgeous, doe eyes timidly looking up at him as you helped guide his cock into your-
Peter’s throbbing dick stood to immediate attention then. So, extremely rock hard it seemed to have a mind of its own. Peter’s cock pulled itself from his grasp, pulsating with a swell of hot desire. For you. And only you.
He really, really, really shouldn’t do this. It’d be leagues beyond stupid. Reaching levels of stupidity only found in far off, distant universes.
But, hey! Peter might literally die! So, fuck it. Right? No way you’d be happy if he died. His death would most definitely break your heart. And he didn’t wanna break your heart!
A fwip, and Peter grabbed his phone from where it was buried, deep in some sofa cushions. His phone was a device he barely ever used. Social media wasn’t his forte. Peter wasn't afraid to admit; he was pretty out of touch. He still listened to cassette tapes on a Walkman, for fuck’s sake.
Typing something into his phone in a heated stupor, Peter’s fingers sped across the keys. Embarrassingly enough, he found he made an ungodly amount of spelling errors. Not his fault. He could barely even think straight. Instead of correcting his mistakes, Peter erased the text entirely. Replacing it with something much more simple and to-the-point.
He only hoped you’d understand.
- Basement. SOS
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