blueberri-blu

[blueberri-blu]

Control Group

pairing: Reed Richards x wife!Reader

summary: 5.8k words You and Reed Richards have been together for years. You run the labs, balance the mission schedules, and occasionally have kitchen-floor sex when the mood strikes. Everyone thinks you’re the one in control. And you are—until Reed asks if he can experiment on your body.

rating & tags: E,whoo boy. Soft Dom!Reed Richards, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Science Kink, Orgasm Denial, Facefucking, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, Blindfolds, Praise Kink, Power Dynamics, Sensory Play, Edge Play, Slow Sex, Rough Sex, Aftercare

a/n: I wanted to write something lighter and a little silly! No angst, just porn and domestic bliss! I deserve it. WE deserve it. Right???

By the time you got home, your hair smelled like burnt silicone, you were missing an earring, and your entire body felt like one long muscle cramp. The day had included: one failed coolant system, three anxiety attacks (none of them yours, miraculously), and a moment in Lab 3B where Reed muttered, “This shouldn’t be glowing,” before everyone evacuated.

He hadn’t looked away from the console in four hours. His tie was tucked into his shirt like he forgot how clothing worked. You didn’t even comment on it. Not today.

The apartment was dim and silent when you both entered. You kicked off your shoes and beelined for the kitchen. Reed trailed after you a few minutes later like a sad, genius ghost, still mumbling to himself.

You poured a glass of water and sat on the counter. You let your head fall back against the cabinet with a soft thud.

Behind you, Reed paced. “I still think it was the vibrational resonance interacting with the EM shield. If I had recalibrated the field generator—”

“Reed.”

“—or adjusted the amplitude manually before the cascade—”

You reached up blindly and waved a hand at him. He paused when you made contact with his stomach.

“Honey, stop. We’re home.”

He stood still, the warmth of his body radiating through the worn cotton of his shirt. His voice dropped. “Sorry. You’re right.”

You cracked one eye open to look at him. Hair everywhere. Sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Tension etched into every line of his face.

You softened. “You want me to make you a sandwich or sit on your face?”

He blinked. “Are those my only options?”

“Tonight, yeah.”

He stared at you. Then stepped closer. You dropped your hand from his stomach, and he filled the space between your knees. His hands landed on either side of your thighs on the counter, caging you in. You could feel the shift—subtle but there.

“I want to try something,” he said.

“That better not be a euphemism for another experiment.”

“It is an experiment,” he said. “But not a theoretical one.”

Your brows lifted. “Oh?”

He tilted his head, eyes raking down your body like he was recalibrating you too. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I’d like to see how far I can push you. Sexually.”

You stared at him.

Reed Richards, Mr. Emotionally Repressed, had just calmly proposed exploring your physical limits like he was planning a blood test.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Is this a seduction or your next grant proposal?”

He leaned in. “Can it be both?”

You snorted. “God, you’re lucky you’re hot.”

That made him smile. Not his usual distracted little half-twitch, but a real one—hungry and sharp at the edges. You shivered.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I’ve been working through some ideas. Different types of stimulation, how your body responds under pressure, whether vocal praise enhances arousal—”

You slid down from the counter and pulled your sweatshirt off in one smooth motion.

Reed’s voice faltered.

You stepped out of your joggers and stood in your underwear, barefoot on the tile. “So go on then, Professor. Experiment.”

He looked like you’d short-circuited his brain.

You stepped forward and hooked your fingers in his belt. “Do you want me on my knees, or do you want to guide me down?”

His breath hitched. Just once. He recovered quickly.

“I’ll guide you,” he said softly. “If that’s alright.”

You nodded. “Yes, Reed.”

He kissed you—firm and focused, a rare kind of kiss from him, the kind that meant he was truly present. You barely had time to savor it before he turned you around and walked you backward to the couch. He didn’t rush. Every touch was deliberate. Like he was cataloging you again from scratch.

When your knees hit the couch cushion, he paused. “You’re okay?”

“I’m excellent.”

Reed brushed your hair off your shoulder. Then he kissed you again—lighter this time, but with that same precision. Like he was lining something up inside his own head. You dropped to your knees.

You looked up at him, and he looked down at you like he wanted to bottle the image for future analysis.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

You did.

He unzipped his pants and drew himself out, already half-hard. Your lips parted further as he stroked himself once, twice, and then pressed the head against your tongue.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he murmured, cupping your jaw. “Or if you want more.”

The first push was slow—testing your depth. He watched you like he was tracking data points, his other hand sliding into your hair to cradle the back of your head. He pulled out, let you breathe, then pushed back in a little deeper.

“Good,” he said, voice low. “You’re doing so well for me.”

You moaned around him. His hips stuttered.

The thrusts became firmer. Deeper. He gripped your hair tighter, using it for leverage. You relaxed your throat and let him use you, hands resting on his thighs for balance.

It was filthy. Intimate. Reverent.

Reed murmured every observation like a prayer. “You take me so well. You’re warmer than I expected. Softer. Fuck, that’s perfect—look at you.”

He started to fuck into your mouth in earnest then, slow but intent, his breathing heavy and ragged.

“I didn’t know it would feel like this,” he whispered. “I thought about it. I planned it. But this—this is better.”

You hummed in response, and his hips jerked.

When he finally pulled out, your throat was sore, your jaw aching, saliva on your chin. He dropped to his knees in front of you, cupped your face, and kissed your wet lips like they were sacred.

You laughed a little, breathless. “So… your experiment a success?”

Reed smiled. “I’d like to run it again. With variations.”

“You gonna write a paper about it?”

“No,” he said, guiding you onto the couch and between his thighs. “But I might make a chart.”

Later that night, once you'd brushed your teeth, guzzled water, and reapplied your mouth balm like a devout convert, you found Reed in bed with a tablet in his lap and the most unbothered look on his face.

You were wearing one of his undershirts and nothing else. When he looked up, he didn’t react at first. Just blinked, looked back at the screen, and said, “You really are very flexible.”

You climbed into bed, straddling his thighs, and snatched the tablet out of his hands.

On the screen was a spreadsheet.

"You're joking," you said.

He blinked again. “I’m not.”

“You made a data log.”

“I color-coded it.”

You stared at him. “You sick, brilliant bastard.”

Reed smiled. Not smug—fond. “I told you I was serious about the experiment.”

You tossed the tablet to the foot of the bed and settled more comfortably in his lap. He was already hard again beneath you. Of course he was.

“I didn’t know you liked that,” you said, voice quieter now.

He tilted his head. “Did you not notice how difficult it was for me to remain standing?”

“You usually act like sex is a pleasant side effect of affection.”

He hummed. “It is. But it’s also… fascinating. Especially with you.”

You snorted, leaning forward. “Why? Because I make so many noises you could analyze them like whale song?”

“I’d call it more of a siren call.”

You blinked.

Reed was smiling again. And blushing. Smirking and blushing at the same time. You didn’t think that was legal.

“That’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said,” you murmured, breath ghosting over his mouth.

“I’m trying,” he whispered. “Let me try more.”

You froze.

Reed took advantage of the pause to flip you, smooth as a magician with a hidden trapdoor. One second you were on top of him; the next, your back was flat against the mattress and he was between your thighs, fully in control, not even breathing hard.

Your mouth fell open.

“I’ve also been reviewing… certain media,” he said, like he hadn’t just flipped you like a pancake. “Research.”

You raised your brows. “Porn?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

You burst out laughing.

Reed let you—just watched you laugh, eyes drinking it in. Then his hands drifted under your shirt, palms spreading over your ribs.

“I’d like to try something tonight,” he said.

You sobered slightly. “Okay.”

“I want to see what it feels like… if you let me control everything.”

You tilted your head. “You want to dom me.”

“Yes. But you can stop me at any time. I want that clear.”

Your chest ached in the best way. This was new for him. And you. But something in your gut had already said yes.

You nodded. “I trust you.”

That lit him up more than any filthy fantasy. He kissed you deeply—long, thorough, tongue slick against yours—and when he pulled back, his voice dropped.

“Keep your hands above your head. Don’t move unless I say.”

You swallowed. “Yes, Reed.”

He exhaled shakily and sat up on his knees between your legs.

You kept your hands where he told you, elbows bent, wrists crossed. It wasn’t binding—but it felt like something. A line. A line you were daring him to cross.

He pulled your shirt up and off, then sat back to look at you fully. Not rushed. Just observant.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “You always are. But like this…”

He bent down and licked over one nipple, slow and wet. You gasped. He sucked it into his mouth and toyed with it, tongue circling in a rhythm you couldn’t predict.

He alternated between your breasts until they were swollen and tingling. Then he kissed a path down your stomach, over the dip of your navel, down to the inside of your thigh.

He didn’t touch your cunt. Not yet. Just exhaled against it.

You writhed.

He looked up at you. “Hands.”

You froze, panting.

“Keep them there,” he said. “Or I’ll stop.”

You whimpered. “That’s evil.”

“That’s control,” he said. “Now hold still.”

Then he licked you.

Long, slow, torturous. His tongue was hot and clever and merciless. He sucked your clit until your legs shook, then slid two fingers inside you without warning, crooking them just right. Your hands fisted in the sheets but stayed above your head.

You couldn’t look at him. It was too much—his mouth, his fingers, his voice.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well. Don’t come yet.”

You keened.

“I mean it,” he said. “Wait for me.”

You sobbed a laugh. “You’re—god, you’re cruel.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said, mouth glistening. “Let me watch you fall apart.”

Then he went back to work, tongue and fingers moving in tandem until your entire body buzzed. And when he finally said “Now,” you shattered.

It was obscene. Full-body, sobbing release. You were still coming when he crawled up your body and kissed you again.

“You okay?” he asked, still breathless.

You nodded, still high. “Better than okay.”

“I think I want to fuck you now.”

You smiled, dazed. “For science?”

He lined himself up and slid in with one smooth thrust.

“For fun,” he said.

-

It started with you elbow-deep in soapy water scrubbing burnt curry off the bottom of a pan, when you felt his hands on your hips.

You didn’t look back. “You’re not getting out of cleanup just by groping me.”

“I’m not trying to get out of it.”

He pressed against you, slow and deliberate. You could feel the hard line of his cock through his pants.

You sighed. “Reed. Not now.”

“I disagree.”

You arched a brow over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I think this is exactly the time to see how responsive you are under domestic conditions.”

“You’re trying to fuck me over the sink.”

“I’m trying to test a variable,” he said, voice low. “Specifically: how long I can keep you upright while fucking you from behind.”

Your breath caught.

“Reed—”

“Hands on the counter,” he said. “Don’t move.”

You dropped the sponge like it had personally offended you.

Reed flipped up your dress—some faded T-shirt thing you’d thrown on after dinner—and found you bare underneath. You heard the exhale he didn’t try to hide.

He knelt.

“Holy shit,” you gasped. “Are you—”

“Testing oral stamina while you’re otherwise occupied,” he said, then spread you open and licked up the length of your cunt.

You grabbed the counter and nearly cracked a plate.

He devoured you—truly, like a man obsessed. And it wasn’t just filthy. It was funny. You were trying to keep your knees locked, trying not to slip on the tile, trying to keep track of what he was muttering down there between licks.

“Height differential… angle of access… tensile stability of thighs…”

“Are you narrating this like it’s a goddamn peer-reviewed paper?” you rasped.

“Yes,” he said. “Now be quiet and let me finish my research.”

You came in less than a minute. Loudly. On tiptoes. With soap bubbles clinging to your elbow and a dishrag on the floor.

Afterward, Reed stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like a total menace, and said, “You’re a very promising subject.”

You stared at him, still panting. “I hope you know this is going in my notes.”

-

By the end of the week, he was impossible.

He scheduled you into your own shared calendar under names like:

“Penetrative endurance trial” “Edgeplay (verbal cues only)” “Light restraint under chemical fatigue”

You changed them to:

“Makeout and fuckfest (bring electrolytes)” “Make Reed whimper” “If I don’t get to come tonight, I’m starting a fire in the lab.”

The sex got rougher. Smarter. More desperate. One night, he tied your wrists with his tie and said, “Let me take care of you.” You didn’t come down from the high for an hour.

Another time, you got so bratty during foreplay he bent you over the dining room table and spanked you with an open palm until you were wet enough to soak through your underwear.

And then there was the evening where he edged you four times before letting you come once—and told you, in the same tone he used to discuss atmospheric modeling, “You should consider doing your own laundry if you’re going to ruin your underwear this often.”

-

But nothing—nothing—prepared you for the chair.

He built it.

You weren’t sure what else to call it. It looked like a standard lab stool. But it had a shallow dip in the seat, slightly elevated foot rests, and a curved back that looked suspiciously designed for your spine.

“What is this,” you said flatly. “And should I be afraid?”

“It’s for straddling,” he said. “I wanted to see how long you could sit on my cock without moving.”

You blinked. “Just sit there?”

“Well. Not just that.”

You crossed your arms. “Define ‘not just.’”

“Pelvic pressure. Sensory overload. Possibly a vibration mechanism.”

You laughed. “You’re building furniture now?”

“I’m optimizing the environment.”

You stared at him.

He stared back, completely serious.

“Okay,” you said, dropping your pants. “Fuck it. Let’s see what happens.”

He sat first, cock already hard in his lap, and pulled you down onto him, skin to skin. The stretch hit instantly—deep and perfect. You moaned.

“Don’t move,” he said. “I want to see if you can stay still while I talk to you.”

You blinked. “Talk?”

“Yes.”

He slid his hands up your thighs, and began describing your last mission briefing in excruciating detail.

You dug your nails into his shoulders. “You’re a monster.”

He smirked. “I want to see if I can make you come from focus alone.”

He didn’t move. Neither did you. But your body betrayed you—clenching around him involuntarily as he spoke.

“You’re twitching,” he murmured. “That’s fascinating.”

“Reed—”

“Can you come just from being full of me?”

You whimpered.

“I’ll add that to the variables.”

And then—then—he kissed your neck and whispered, “Let go.”

You shattered in his lap, pulsing around him, held together only by the grip of his hands.

When you slumped against his chest, he stroked your back and said, “Next time, I’ll add stimulus. For comparison.”

You groaned. “I’m going to die here.”

He kissed your shoulder. “Then I’ll bury you with honors.”

-

“You’re squirming,” Reed said, deadpan.

“I’m freezing,” you replied. “You made me lie down naked while you tied a Boy Scout knot around my wrist for twelve minutes.”

Reed sat beside you on the bed, half-dressed, furrow in his brow. The overhead light was off. A soft glow from the hallway cast him in warm gold, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, tie draped across one shoulder like he’d forgotten where it was meant to go.

“I had to check the tension. If it’s too tight, it impairs circulation. Too loose, and you’ll escape.”

“I’m not trying to escape,” you said. “I’m trying not to get rope burn from the third iteration of your sailor’s hitch.”

He looked down at your bound wrists—loosely tied to the headboard with one of his lab coats, because you'd vetoed the nylon prototype.

“I could use silk next time,” he offered. “Or maybe Kevlar—”

“Reed.”

He cleared his throat. “Silk.”

You smiled and let your head fall back against the pillow. You were warm again now, and slowly starting to settle. Trust came easily with him. Excitement, too. Even with the experimental vibe he brought into the bedroom—especially with it.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s proceed.”

“Proceed,” you mocked, just to be annoying.

He leaned in and nipped your collarbone.

You hissed. “Okay, Professor.”

He retrieved the blindfold from the nightstand. Technically, it was a black sleep mask—one of the fancy ones he swore helped reduce REM disruption, though you suspected he wore it just to look dramatic. He slipped it over your eyes with reverence.

The world went dark.

And still.

You could hear his breath. Feel the mattress shift as he moved. But nothing touched you. Not yet.

“Reed?”

“Shh.”

You bit your lip.

He started with his fingertips—lightly dragging them down your arms, across your ribs, then lower, barely grazing. You gasped when he finally brushed your nipple. The lack of sight made everything sharper. Hotter. He circled the bud with a wet flick of his tongue, then blew cool air across it until your whole body tensed.

He didn’t speak.

No data logs. No breathy monologues.

Just sensation.

You flinched when his mouth closed around the other nipple, moaning when he sucked. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.

Reed noticed.

He shifted between them, kissed down your stomach, and paused. You could hear your own pulse now. You could feel his gaze.

“I’m not touching you,” he said at last, voice low and quiet, “until you beg.”

Your mouth fell open.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he said. “I want to hear how badly you want it.”

You exhaled. “I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

“You can try,” he whispered, and pressed a single kiss to the inside of your knee.

Then another. Higher. Then a lick up your thigh so slow you nearly sobbed.

“Reed—”

“I said beg.”

You clenched your hands into fists above your head.

“Please,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“Please.”

“What do you want?”

You nearly growled. “I want your fucking mouth on me, Reed, now.”

A beat of silence.

Then he gave it to you.

His tongue slid through your folds, hot and slow, and you bucked upward. The blindfold made everything surreal—each sound and pulse amplified. You whimpered when he licked your clit just once, then backed off.

“Sensitive?” he murmured.

“Desperate,” you choked.

He moaned like he felt it too and licked you again—more insistent now, circling your clit with his tongue while two fingers pressed inside. He crooked them exactly right, finding your soft spot like he’d mapped it.

“Oh my god—”

“Don’t come yet,” he said against your skin.

You wailed.

“Wait for me,” he added, sucking your clit hard enough to make your whole body tremble.

You were seeing stars behind the mask. Moaning without shame. Your arms strained against the restraints—not from fear, not from pain, but from need. He edged you three times. Three. Each one worse than the last.

And then—when you were shaking, begging, begging—he let go.

“Now,” he said.

You came like the floor dropped out from under you.

It ripped through you. A whole-body, tear-stinging, leg-trembling orgasm that left you whimpering in aftershocks. You collapsed back, breath catching in your throat. You felt the blindfold slide off a moment later.

Reed looked wrecked.

Hair everywhere. Lips swollen. Eyes glazed with awe and want.

You licked your lips. “That was…”

He crawled up your body and kissed your throat.

“I want to build a machine that does that,” he whispered.

You laughed, hoarse. “Your cock?”

“Specifically your reaction to it.”

“You can’t build that, Reed.”

He kissed you softly, gently untying your wrists.

“Then I’ll just keep trying the old-fashioned way.”

-

You found the ice cubes in a beaker.

A fucking beaker.

In the bedroom.

You held it up like it was Exhibit A in a courtroom drama. “Do I want to know?”

Reed didn’t even look up from the drawer he was rummaging through. “Thermal response calibration.”

“Mm-hmm. And the popsicle stick?”

“Control variable.”

You blinked. “Please tell me you don’t mean that literally.”

He turned toward you with the most innocent expression you’d ever seen. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I value my cervix, that’s why.”

He blinked. “It’s rounded at the end.”

You pointed the popsicle stick at him. “So is your dick, and I don’t see you freezing that before putting it inside me.”

He paused. Then, very slowly, reached for the beaker and set it aside.

“…Good call,” he said.

-

You lay on the bed, already half naked, legs spread, watching Reed test an ice cube against the inside of his own wrist. He looked utterly serious. Scientific. His brows were furrowed, and he made a low hum of satisfaction as it began to melt.

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve had threesomes that felt less clinical.”

“I’m building a thermal map,” he muttered.

“Of my pussy?”

“Of your skin. But yes, eventually.”

You let your head fall back to the pillow. “If I get hypothermia, I’m haunting you.”

He crawled between your legs and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. “I’ll leave the lights on for you.”

You meant to respond. Instead, you gasped.

Because the ice cube had touched your clit.

Just barely. Just a flick. But you felt it in your spine.

“Okay,” you breathed. “Okay, wow. That’s cold. That’s—fuck, do that again.”

Reed smiled like a man vindicated by his hypothesis.

He did it again. Slower this time, the edge of the cube tracing your folds with quiet precision. Then his mouth followed—warm tongue lapping where the cold had been, the contrast so intense it made you twitch.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. “You are so lucky I love you.”

“You say that like I haven’t just improved your quality of life.”

You let out a hysterical laugh. “Are you seriously taking credit for—oh fuck—”

Because the ice cube was inside you now. Not far. Just at the entrance. Melting fast.

You clamped down around it. “Holy shit.”

Reed looked transfixed. “Your pelvic floor response is remarkable.”

“You’re gonna see a response in a second—”

But then his mouth was back on your clit, hot and focused, sucking in time with the melt. And that shut you up.

You came embarrassingly fast. Messily. Loudly. Your thighs tried to close around his head but Reed just growled and held them apart, dragging it out until your voice went hoarse.

He kissed your inner thigh, gentle again. “One more?”

You barely managed a nod.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and when he came back, it wasn’t with another ice cube.

It was a warm cloth.

You eyed it warily. “Now what?”

“Heat differential,” he said, and pressed it—hot and wet—against your lower stomach. You arched instinctively.

“Oh. Oh fuck.”

He held it there as he kissed your breasts, your neck, your collarbone. Then he used it again—lower this time, just above your clit.

It made you jolt.

He smiled against your skin. “Your sensitivity increases after orgasm.”

“Everything’s sensitive after an orgasm, genius.”

He slid two fingers into you. Slow, knuckle-deep. You cried out.

“But your response curve is fascinating.”

You whimpered.

Reed didn’t tease you long. He lined up and slid inside, still slow, still careful—until you clenched and pulled him deeper with a moan that bordered on a sob.

His rhythm was relentless. Smooth. Confident. The kind of precision that only came from weeks of memorizing your every reaction.

But he was also falling apart. You could feel it in the tension of his thighs, the quiet curses under his breath, the way his hands gripped your hips like he needed you to anchor him.

“You’re so—tight—after you come,” he rasped. “You’re going to break me.”

You laughed, delirious. “Better men have tried.”

He leaned down, bracing on his elbows. His chest rubbed against yours, sweat slick between you. He was so deep it almost hurt.

“Come again,” he said. “Do it with me still inside you.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.”

He kissed you hard. Thrust once. Twice.

You broke.

It crashed over you, hot and brutal. You screamed—his name, a curse, something incoherent—and felt him go with you. He swore against your neck, hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, still pulsing around him.

You lay tangled, ruined, sweat-slick and twitching.

Reed groaned softly. “I think that concludes the trial.”

You blinked up at the ceiling. “Put that on my gravestone.”

He kissed your forehead and mumbled into your hair. “We’ll call it a success.”

You wrapped your arms around him and whispered, “Your dick deserves a Nobel.”

-

“You’re smug.”

Reed didn’t look up from his tablet. “Am I?”

You narrowed your eyes from the doorway, crossing your arms.

“You’ve spent the last two weeks tying me up, fucking me breathless, and taking meticulous notes afterward like I’m your favorite petri dish.”

He nodded. “Correct.”

“I think it’s time for some balance.”

He set the laptop aside. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Balance,” he repeated.

You walked toward the bed, tossed your sweatshirt off, and straddled his thighs.

“You remember what it’s like when I’m in charge?”

Reed’s hands landed lightly on your hips. “I remember you trying to ride me into cardiac arrest.”

You grinned. “You came so hard your toes curled.”

“I had a full-body cramp.”

You dragged your nails down his chest. “Let me ride you again. Let me see if I can get you to lose that clinical detachment. Just once.”

His pupils dilated. “You want to break me.”

You leaned forward and whispered, “I want to see what it takes.”

Reed exhaled through his nose like it was a challenge.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You started slow.

You got him naked, cock hard in your hand, and kissed your way down his body like a woman on a mission. He didn’t speak. Just watched you through half-lidded eyes.

You sucked him deep.

No warning. No teasing. Just lips around the head and then all the way down, until your nose touched his stomach.

That got him.

He moaned—just a whisper—but it was a start.

You bobbed slowly, using your hand at the base, tongue curling along the underside. He was flushed by the time you pulled off, spit trailing from your bottom lip.

He looked wrecked already.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you murmured.

Reed laughed, breathless. “You’re insatiable.”

You climbed into his lap and slid down onto him in one long, slow stroke. He groaned.

But you didn’t move. You just sat there, full, letting him feel the heat of you. Letting it build.

“I could stay like this forever,” you said.

He swallowed hard. “Please don’t.”

You grinned. “You want me to move?”

“Yes.”

“Beg.”

He blinked. “You’re cruel.”

“Say please, Reed.”

“…Please.”

You clenched around him.

“Say it again.”

“Please,” he said, eyes dark now. Voice wrecked. “Please ride me.”

You did.

Hard. Slow at first, then bouncing in his lap, hands on his chest, sweat trickling down your spine. He grabbed your hips without permission, trying to guide you.

“No touching,” you warned.

He groaned but obeyed, fists clenched in the sheets.

And when you reached back, rubbed your clit, and whispered his name in that perfect, broken tone—he lost it.

You felt it when it happened.

The moment Reed Richards broke.

His hands shot out, gripped your thighs, and flipped you—back against the mattress, his cock still buried deep, his body flush against yours.

He kissed you like he wanted to devour you.

“You wanted to see me lose control,” he rasped.

You nodded, wide-eyed.

“Now you will.”

He fucked you like he was punishing the mattress.

No rhythm. Just raw need. You clawed at his back, moaning, screaming, overwhelmed.

He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head.

“I warned you,” he said.

You couldn’t respond. Couldn’t breathe.

He growled into your neck. “You think you can break me? I’ll make you come so many times you forget your name.”

“Reed—”

His hand slid between your bodies. Rubbed you mercilessly. You came with a gasp and he didn’t stop.

You came again. Again.

You begged, pleaded, shook under him.

He kissed the corner of your mouth and whispered, “Now we’re even.”

Then he pulled out, jerked himself twice, and came all over your stomach—hot and thick and messy.

He collapsed beside you, panting.

You stared at the ceiling, boneless.

“Well,” you said. “That escalated.”

Reed laughed, hoarse and stunned. “That was… effective.”

You rolled onto his chest. “I win.”

He stroked your hair. “I think we win.”

-

You were already panting and fully naked by the time he gave the command:

“Don’t come.”

Your laugh was choked. “You’re kidding.”

Reed didn’t smile. He knelt between your legs with maddening calm, shirt still on, tie loose around his neck like he didn’t intend to use it for anything wicked. Liar.

“I’m not,” he said. “I want to see how long your body can resist climax under repeated stimulus.”

“Stimulus,” you repeated flatly.

His fingers dragged through your slick folds. “Correct.”

You groaned. “You’re such a goddamn menace.”

He leaned in and kissed your thigh. “And you agreed to this.”

You had. Like an idiot.

Now your wrists were loosely bound with one of his belts—not tight, but enough to keep you grounded—and your thighs were trembling just from his slow, steady touch.

“Breathe for me,” he said. “Focus on what you’re feeling.”

“I feel like I’m going to combust.”

“Not yet.”

Then his mouth was on your clit.

Not gentle. Not teasing. Just wet and confident and devastating. He licked in slow circles, then flattened his tongue and sucked hard. Your hips bucked and he held you down, strong fingers bruising your thighs.

“Reed—”

“Don’t.”

You moaned in protest, every muscle tight.

He stopped.

“Reaction time is shortening,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “You’re responding faster.”

“No shit,” you gasped.

“Fascinating.”

You would have murdered him if you weren’t so close to sobbing from arousal.

He reached for the vibrator on the nightstand. A sleek, quiet thing he claimed was “ergonomically perfect” for your anatomy. You’d made fun of him when he brought it home. Now you nearly cried at the sight of it.

He turned it on and held it just above your clit—not touching.

You whimpered.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So needy. So close. Just from being denied.”

“Reed, please.”

“You want to come?”

You nodded desperately.

“Not yet.”

Then he touched you with it.

You screamed. Bucked. The stimulation was too much.

But he didn’t stop.

“You’ll wait for me,” he said. “You’ll ask.”

You were trembling now. Vision blurred.

“I c-can’t—”

“You can.”

He removed the toy and replaced it with his fingers—two, deep, curling just right. You clenched, slick and spasming, right on the brink.

“Ask,” he whispered.

You sobbed. “Please, Reed. Please let me come. I’ll do anything, just—please.”

His voice was reverent. “Now.”

You shattered.

Full-body. Mind-blowing. Writhing, keening, almost blacking out. You barely registered him kissing you through it, hands cupping your face.

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, twitching.

Eventually, you found your voice.

“That was evil.”

Reed smiled against your shoulder. “That was science.”

-

You woke to his hand stroking your thigh.

Not demanding. Not teasing. Just there—a warm, steady presence. He was curled behind you in bed, breath soft at the back of your neck, fingers tracing lazy shapes along your skin.

You made a small sound. Not a word. Just a hum to let him know you were awake.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hi.”

You stretched a little, wincing as your hips protested. “I think you broke me last night.”

“I brought water. And ibuprofen.”

You blinked. “You’re perfect.”

“I also canceled our morning lab window. I figured you’d be… recalibrating.”

You snorted, throat dry. “You say that like it wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t hear you objecting.”

You rolled over, facing him. He looked different this morning—bare, sleep-warm, less scientist and more man. Hair mussed. Eyes soft.

“I liked it,” you said, voice hoarse.

“I know.”

“No, I mean… the denial. The begging. You taking control like that.”

Reed watched you carefully. “I worried it would feel imbalanced.”

“It didn’t.”

“You always keep me grounded. I didn’t want to… unmoor you.”

Your heart cracked open.

“You didn’t,” you said. “You made me feel… known. Seen. Even when I was blindfolded and drooling.”

That got a smile. A real one.

You reached for him. Pulled him close.

His mouth met yours like he’d been waiting all night. Slow. Deep. He kissed you with reverence—no rush, no pressure. Just connection.

You tugged his hand between your legs and guided his fingers where you needed them.

“You want more?” he murmured.

“Always.”

He slid over you, naked and warm and familiar. When he entered you, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t scientific.

It was home.

Your hands framed his face. You moaned into his mouth. He moved slowly, rolling his hips, eyes locked to yours like he couldn’t look away.

“I don’t want to study this,” he whispered. “I want to live it.”

You cupped his jaw. “Then live it, Reed.”

You came first—soft, warm, tear-prickling release that made your whole body loosen. He followed soon after, gasping into your neck as he spilled inside you, his whole body shaking.

You stayed tangled.

After, he brushed your hair behind your ear and said, “I’m in love with you.”

You blinked. “You think?”

“I know. But I wanted to be methodical about saying it.”

You kissed his stupid, brilliant mouth. “I love you too, you absolute nerd.”

He smiled.

“Can I still blindfold you later?” he asked.

You grinned. “Only if I get to tie you up first.”

thank you for reading 💙💙💙

[blueberri-blu]

STIMULI AND RESPONSE: A STUDY IN CHEMISTRY…

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Reed Richards x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 6k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, spoiler free, age gap (unspecified), intern reader, divorced reed (sorry sue), swearing, sexy science, first kiss, lots of data talk but it’s just filth, sex pollen, fingering, p in v, dr. reed ‘any size you want’ richards, finger sucking, nipple play, creampie, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: well this was extremely inevitable…we all knew this was coming. i loved fantastic four and i love marvel’s first family, the avengers don’t have SHIT on them. i can’t believe this is my very first (1st) sex pollen fic, like i’ve really been dropping the ball but that ends right now. hope y’all love it, mwah!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics & reed pic by angel @iamasaddie!

dr. richards asks a favor of you…

The Baxter Building laboratory always smells faintly of motor oil and hot circuity, like the very air itself has been charged.

You've long since gotten used to the smell after all these months spent hard at work in your internship.

You're used to the low hum of oscilloscopes, the spotless glimmer of all the different chrome instruments strewn about the room, the tick of Dr. Richards' watch when he's hunched over his workbench with the kind of single minded focus that never fails to make your chest ache.

It’s well past midnight, another day of you staying far beyond the allotted time, but it’s hardly out of the ordinary by now. Dr. Richards research—and mind quite frankly—has no regard for any kind of normal office hours. It’s almost as if he exists in a different realm, tethered only loosely to the rest of humanity by his work.

That’s another thing you’ve become accustomed to. The clipped speech, the crisp white lab coats always just a bit rumpled from long days, and the air of a man who thinks faster than anyone could follow.

You were supposed to be here for observation, honing in on the delicate skills needed to work in a lab as complex as this one. It started off as just another internship credit. Two semesters of assistance. What it’s slowly morphed into is something more like a full time job, if not a full on fixation with your boss. 

You’ve become the one person Dr. Richards doesn’t mind in his peripheral vision. Always quiet, always ready, always watching him with eyes a little too attentive, voice a little too eager each time he speaks to you.

It’s something you never let yourself think about too closely. The one thing you’d never stick under the dozens of highly advanced microscopes just beneath your fingertips.

It’s not plausible.

You’re halfway through labeling a series of glass slides when the door softly hisses open behind you.

“Ah, there you are. Wonderful.”

You swivel around on your stool, standing almost automatically—like Dr. Richards' mere presence demands it. At this point, you’re sure that it does.

He’s standing at the threshold of the lab—tall, thoughtful, thin glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. In the bright, sterile fluorescent lights, Reed Richards looks less like a man and more an idea given form. All poised intellect, sharp eyes, and a mind clearly three steps ahead.

“Dr. Richards,” you greet, smoothing your skirt out of habit, because no matter how hard you try, you always feel like a nervous schoolgirl around him. “I was just logging the slides from the blood pressure data–”

“Excellent.” He cuts in gently, like he always does when your words are just a little slower than his. “However, I have a far more pressing matter at hand.”

Dr. Richards strides past you to his desk, flipping open one of the many notepads cluttering the space. It was quiet for a few beats, only the sounds of pages turning and muted mumbling as he read over the flurry of sporadically scrawled notes and equations.

You stay in your spot a few feet away, hands clasped in front of you as you wait patiently for him to speak again. He isn’t the kind of man you dare to interrupt when he gets lost in his work.

He picks up a stray pencil to scribble one final note in the margin, then straightens and turns his sharp gaze on you. “I need your assistance with a controlled trail,” he says simply, like he’s requesting something as routine as a full body scan.

“A trial?” You blink, taken aback. Your eyes cut to the clock hanging on the opposite wall, noting the time before returning your gaze to his passive expression. “Tonight?”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, waving you over and turning back to his work. The quiet clinking of glass rings out as he cards his fingers through a test tube rack full to bursting with a different array of brightly colored chemicals. “It’s Compound 83. A strain I synthesized last week from the pollen of a Peruvian orchid."

You cross the short distance obediently, perching yourself on the spare stool next to him just as he plucks out a tube filled with a viscous pink liquid.

Dr. Richards swirls the tube gently, brow furrowed as he watches it splash up against the sides. “Genus Cattleya venusta. Extremely rare. Hyper stimulating. A short half life. I’ve…refined it recently.”

You nod, still confused but refusing to let it show. You pick up your own notebook from the pile, the one with a small atom sticker he placed in the top right corner to mark as yours. “What does it do?”

He hesitates, just long enough for you to notice. But the moment is gone just as fast as it came, giving you no time to think on it.

“It’s a neurological accelerator targeting oxytocin, dopamine, and a few obscure hypothalamic pathways we’ve only begun mapping. Thus, when administered in a controlled environment, should trigger an amplified parasympathetic response.”

Dr. Richards’ voice is calm, measured, full of the kind of certainty that makes people believe anything he says. He adjusts his glasses with his free hand as though to punctuate the statement.

You slip the pencil resting behind your ear out and begin dutifully recording his dictations on a fresh page. “Amplified parasympathetic response,” you repeat, as though saying it out loud will cement the idea in your mind. “Meaning…relaxation?”

“Relaxation, certainly. But more specifically…” He trailed off as his long fingers drum along the glass tube. “...heightened sensitivity, increased blood flow to erogenous zones, accelerated dopamine release, and a…well, a state of arousal far surpassing the body’s baseline capacity. Think of it as a neurological catalyst. A kind of–hm–sexual amplifier, for lack of a better term.”

You blink. Your pencil abruptly stills against the paper. “Dr. Richards…” you begin carefully, dreading the answer you were sure to receive. “Are you saying this is…an aphrodisiac?"

“Yes,” he says, dryly. “But I’d prefer we didn’t reduce it to that.”

Your pulse quickens before you can stop it. You try to disguise the sudden dryness of your mouth with a stunted laugh void of all humor. You’re unsure if this is a joke, some elaborate scientific prank to weed out the weak interns—or if Dr. Richards is really asking what you think he is.

He takes a step closer, peering at you over the frame of his glasses. “I need data on its physical, behavioral, and cognitive effects. In vivo. A live trial. Unfortunately, none of the team are suitable candidates due to immunogenic complications. Johnny had a reaction. Ben refused.”

You don’t bring up the obvious member missing from his apparent previous failed trails. The divorce was none of your business, it never will be. You’ve seen Sue and Reed interact less than a handful of times since the news broke to the press and then to the general public. They seem to be working together quite well despite what one might think, still cordial and professional with each other in every facet within the team.

Your grip on your pencil tightens, lips parting. “And you want me to…test it?”

“Yes.” Dr. Richards nods once, deliberate. “Your physiology is well suited to controlled observation. You’re young, in excellent health, no known endocrine disorders. Statistically ideal.”

Your stomach sinks, a flush of warmth creeping up the back of your neck. It’s hardly a compliment, practically the furthest thing from one. It still has arousal sparking deep in your belly, the idea that he’s looked at you. He’s cataloged you. He’s thought about this moment carefully, crunched the numbers and deemed you the best candidate for this experiment.

You don’t realize that you’ve gone quiet, the silence stretching out in the spotless lab as your brain tries to process all the input you’ve received in the last five minutes.

“I wouldn’t ask,” he says quickly, taking your silence as a negative. “if I didn’t think you capable. You’ve shown remarkable composure under pressure. And I assure you—if at any point you wish to stop, you only need to say so. Consent, of course, is paramount.” His gaze finally softens, just enough for you to see the man behind the scientist. “I’d never want to harm you.”

You swallow stiffly, your throat dry. “What about you?”

Dr. Richards brows furrow slightly, like you asked him an extremely stupid question. “It would be irresponsible to not include myself. The biochemical pathways are interactive, and I must assess the shared impact.” He raises the test tube to the light, the liquid shimmers under the bright white rays. He glances at you again, eyes unreadable. “To be perfectly clear, the study would involve direct physical contact.”

It’s the most clinical way anyone has ever told you we’d be having sex.

Heat flares under your skin, like thousands of tiny pinpricks breaking out all along your body. “So, what you’re really asking me is to–”

“Copulate,” he supplies matter of factly, as if he’s describing the weather. “Us, under the influence of the compound.”

He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like the simple word us doesn’t rearrange your entire nervous system. Like you haven't spent months wondering if Reed Richards—brilliant, remote, obsessively precise—even thinks about you at all when he’s not assigning you lab reports.

You try to find the words, but they all tangle in your throat. “Um, what–what exactly would the study entail?” you finally manage.

“Simple,” he replies, turning fully toward you now. His deep brown eyes pin you to your seat with clinical intensity. “Oral intake of the compound, both subjects will report on their individual symptoms as they manifest. I’ll monitor physiological changes as it begins to take effect—heart rate, body temperature, pupil dilation. Eventually, I’ll…well.” His voice trails off, as if only now realizing the inevitable conclusion. “We’ll engage in various sexual activities to evaluate its full efficacy, at which point I’d assess how, if at all, the effects might be mitigated or resolved.”

“Resolved,” you echo, voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes,” he says softly. “Achieving climax would, in theory, alleviate the overstimulation.”

Your breath catches, sharp and shallow. Once again, he says it like it’s nothing—like sex with him is just another variable on a spreadsheet.

Your heart pounds hard against your ribcage, your palms sweaty. The logic is sound, of course it is. The delivery is methodical, careful. You hear the question Dr. Richards isn’t voicing beneath it all clearly despite all that.

Would you let him touch you?

You should say no.

You really should.

This could complicate everything, in a myriad of different ways. Dr. Richards is your boss, your mentor. The possible legal ramifications alone should be enough to scare you out of the lab and all the way back to the safety of your apartment.

Instead, you hear yourself whisper, “I’ll do it.”

The relief on Dr. Richards face was subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders relax, dropping a beat of tension you didn't realize was there. You have the inexplicable urge to laugh, at how ridiculous this all is. Or maybe, it was because he thought you'd ever be able to say no to him.

"Very good." He nodded once, his face already set with determination. He swept the notebook from his desk, the test tube still secure in his other hand. "Follow me."

You have no choice but to obey.

The isolation room is a sea of crisp white.

White walls. White floors. A single chair is bolted to ground right in the center, padded with spotless white leather.

It's sterile in nature, it was designed that way. Silent except for the low electrical hum of the halogen lights shining overhead. There’s a faint antiseptic tang in the air, like bleach diluted with something floral. Faint enough to almost be pleasant.

You know for a fact there's a camera somewhere, disguised in the ceiling tiles. It's for safety purposes, to monitor subjects from afar when they're deemed to dangerous for an in person encounter.

You wonder idly if Dr. Richards disabled the camera, or if he's kept it on.

The latter seems extremely likely. If you know him at all, he'll want the footage to be available for later use. To review the trial as more of a fly on the wall when all is said and done.

The idea of him re-watching this encounter has your chest tightening, something like embarrassment and arousal churning together sickly somewhere deep in your stomach.

Dr. Richards enters behind you, his footsteps soft against the tile as he passes you and stops next to the chair. "If you'll sit, we can begin."

You lower yourself down into the chair, it was made to cradle the spine and ensure maximum muscular relaxation. You've cleaned it before, wiped it down countless times. Logged its maintenance just as much. You never thought you'd be perched on it like this, legs pressed together nervously, arms resting primly at your sides.

"I'll begin with a baseline assessment." He clicks his pen, flipping his notebook open with brisk precision. "Pulse, temperate, pupil reactivity." His voice is calm, steady. As though he isn't about to feed you something that will make you ache for him.

He doesn't look nervous—he never does—but the faint tightening at the corners of his mouth betrays just how carefully he's bracing himself for what's about to happen.

Dr. Richards leans in closer, and for a moment the clinical facade fades. His scent—clean linen, aftershave, the acrid note of lab alcohol—floods your senses. He takes your wrist gently, sliding his fingers over the delicate skin of your wrist until the press against the throb of your pulse.

"Eighty beats per minute," he murmurs to himself, eyes narrowing as he counts under his breath. "Slightly elevated. Presumably caused by anticipation."

"You think?" You speak before you can think better of it, tone laced with the barest hint of sarcasm.

"I know," he replies matter of factly, jotting the number down. His fingertips linger on your skin for a bit longer than necessary before falling away. "Measuring pupil dilation now."

He plucks a small penlight from the breast pocket of his lab coat. Without warning, he reaches forward and takes your chin between gentle fingers, steadying you. His thumb brushes your check as he shines the small light back and forth over your eyes.

You hope he can't feel the warmth rising beneath your skin. The beam stings, but you hold still, because he expects you to.

"Pupils responsive," he notes, close enough that you feel the fan of his breath. He clicks the pen light off, slipping it back in his pocket before his hand moves up and presses against your forehead.

It takes every bit of will in your mortal body not to lean into his touch.

"Temperature is normal." He nods, dropping his hand to scribble more information into his notebook. "Ninety eight point four."

You fight the urge to laugh. You feel like your skin's blistering.

"All right." Dr. Richards takes a step back, placing his notebook on the tray. "We can proceed."

Your heart skip three times over in your chest as you watch him retrieve the test tube. He unscrews the cap, and a sweet, heady scent drifts through the air between you. It hits your nose like perfume. Your mouth waters against your will.

"Compound 83 has been calibrated to a micro-dose." He picks a pipette off the metal tray resting on the table beside you, sliding the dull tip inside of the test tube and carefully measuring a few milliliters of the liquid. It shimmers rosy pink in the light, filmy and iridescent like the surface of a bubble. "Oral administration. It should take approximately three minutes to cross the blood-brain barrier."

You nod once, jerky and tense. You don't trust your voice enough to speak.

"Tongue out," he instructs softly, taking a step closer.

The command makes your stomach twist.

You part your lips, tipping your head back slightly. The first drop lands on your tongue, and the taste is shockingly sweet—like sugared fruit with bitter, chemical bite beneath. Dr. Richards tilts the pipette, letting the measured dose coat your taste buds.

"Swallow." His tone leave to room for hesitation.

You obey, throat working as you take it down. His eyes track it the movement with the subtle air of fascination. For your apparent bravery? For your insistent need to please? You're not entirely sure.

"Good," he whispers, reeling back to take his own dose. He sets the tube and the pipette down, checking his watch. "Note the taste."

You roll the few drops left around in your mouth, absentmindedly chasing the flavor. "Sweet. Slightly bitter."

Dr. Richards nods in agreement. "Any tingling? Metallic aftertaste? Olfactory shifts?"

You shake your head, wringing your hands nervously. "No. Not yet."

"Good," he repeats, eyes sharp as he keeps his gaze trained on his watch, recording the time down to the second. "Now, describe the sensation. Do you feel warm?"

You do, now that he's brought it up. A pleasant heat thrumming just beneath your skin, like the hot spray of a shower head beating down on overworked muscle. Nothing you can't handle.

You nod, tongue coming out to sweep along your bottom lip. "Yes. If baseline temperature was determined as normal, I'd estimate it's climbed approximately six degrees."

"Fascinating," Dr. Richards mumbles, reaching out yet again. Long fingers catch your wrist, gently circling it to find your radial pulse point. "Pulse is elevated, one hundred and thirteen beats per minute."

Your thighs shift slightly, the hem of your skirt creeping up with the movement. His eyes track it, his gaze feels like a physically caress on the newly exposed skin.

He drags his eyes back up slowly, really looking at you, studying your face. "Pupillary dilation at…remarkable. Nearly thirty percent increase already."

Your hands fall to the armrest on either side of you. "Dr. Richards-"

He cuts you off. "Subject B experiencing similar symptoms to Subject A. Internal temperate is rising steadily."

He sheds his lab coat then, draping it over the back of the chair. He unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeve with deft fingers, rolling them up to expose the corded muscle of his tan forearms. The collar of his shirt is askew, just enough to show off the hairy skin of his chest. His undershirt is thin enough that you can see the slight clench of his abdomen.

He looks more inviting this way, more approachable. Devastatingly handsome.

You try not to notice the way his suspenders hang loosely around his hips. You fail.

White hot heat unfurls low in your belly, sharp and sudden, like the spark of a match catching dry paper. Your skin prickles, sweat beading at your hair line. Every inch of you is hyper aware of Dr. Richards nearness radiating the same warmth.

Your breath hitches, hands squeezing the chair's armrests. "Dr. Richards, I-"

"Reed," he interrupts, his tone tighter than before—strained. "Please, call me Reed."

Your chest heaves, lips slick and parted as you suck in greedy lungfuls of air. Your thighs clench, pressing together tightly. There's an unmistakable dampness spreading over the thin cotton fabric of your panties.

“Breathe normally,” he instructs, eyes glued to your chest, to the hard peaks of your nipples straining against your shirt. “The compound should take effect within-”

You don't hear the rest.

The compound spreads faster now, thrumming in a way that's inescapable. The room feels like someone cranked up the heat as high as it goes, your skin sings under every brush of air. You shift again, and a needy sound escapes before you can catch it.

Blood rushes through your ears, a mess of white noise. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins to light them up like you took an injection of kerosene.

"Reed…" You breathe, voice gone airy and taut. "It's-it's getting stronger."

"Wonderful." It's almost as if the word is pulled from him before he can think better of how lewd it sounds. "Describe the sensation in your lower abdomen."

He means your pussy—your brain supplies unhelpfully. The thought alone has another humiliating sound falling from your lips.

"Pressure," you admit softly, eyes never straying from his. "Heat. A kind of almost…pulling sensation."

Reed's eyes darken, it's unmistakable. "Touch sensitivity?"

You blink. "I-I don't know."

"Then let's determine."

Before you can respond, he steps forward. Your thighs part instinctively, giving him the room he needs to loom over you.

You can hardly sit still beneath the intensity of his gaze. Your thighs part further, and he notices—of course he notices. His sharp brown eyes flick down, linger, then return to your face.

Reed reaches up slowly, being sure to let you see the path his hand takes through the air. Gently, so gently, he cups the side of your face.

The touch is featherlight. Measured. His skin is warm, callused. Your eyes flutter shut, a soft moan falling from your lips. His skin feels scorching, burning a plane of heat along the side of your face.

“You’re—extremely sensitive,” he observes. “Marked increase in reactivity. Pupils dilation increased to 100%. Body language—shifting. Seeking friction.” His fingers trace down your neck, just barely ghosting over your pulse.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs, his own hand shaking. “Very responsive to light contact.”

You want to deny it, but the data is undeniable. Your breath is quick, thighs pressing tight together, nipples showing through the thin fabric of your blouse.

Another wave hits you hard. Your hips shift against the chair involuntarily, and Reed watches. “Pelvic tension. Motor restlessness. Onset confirmed at three minutes, thirty seconds.”

Your back arches off the chair, sweat dripping down the length of your spine. You finally let yourself lean into his touch, panting at the contact.

“I can feel it as well,” he says quietly, breath hot against your ear. “My palms are sweating. Heart rate elevated. There’s a persistent ache behind my eyes. Blood flow redistribution—predictable.”

You glance down.

There's a very pronounce tent in straining behind the fly of his slacks. A patch of wetness darkens the khaki fabric, spreading and so inviting.

You moan at the sight of it, your hands twitching with the need to touch.

"This will be for data," he says, like he's convincing himself the words are true.

You nod, dragging your eyes back up to his own. Your gaze is dazed like you've been spun in circles.

Reed kisses you.

Your hands fly to the lapels of his lab coat, dragging him down as he leans into the chair with you.

It's not romantic. Not soft. Not scientific. It's hungry, searching. A filthy mess of spit and something delicate and layered shattering like sugar glass between the two of you.

He's trying to map you, to gauge your reaction. His tongue slides into your parted lips and you whimper, aching. Reed swallows the sound, returning one of his own. A deep, low groan that wracks through your body like thunder.

When he pulls back, you chase him.

"Extraordinary," he breathes against your mouth, more to himself than to you. "The compound is creating extreme dopaminergic reinforcement."

"Touch me," you gasp, past the point of desperation. "Please, Reed. Touch me. I need-"

Reed's mouth crashes against yours, hard enough to clack your teeth together roughly. He's more gone than you thought, the careful man who handles each and every lab instrument like they're made of blown glass long gone as he claims your mouth. His hands slide up you body—along your waist, up over your ribs, until they cup your breasts.

You cry into his mouth when his thumbs brush over your nipples. The stimulation is immediate, electric. Explosive.

He pinches them between long, nimble fingers—caution lost in the whirlwind of arousal.

You keen.

“Heightened sensitivity confirmed,” he murmurs against your jaw, now completely wrecked. His voice is hoarse. “God—you're responding faster than anticipated. It's remarkable.”

You gasp when he yanks your blouse open with a sharp tug. Buttons scatter across the floor, clinking against the tile. His hands are on your bare skin now, mouth following. You arch as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, his fingers teasing the other.

Reed groans like he's in pain, panting against your breast. “Where are you experiencing the most acute sensation?”

Your tongue is too thick in your mouth. You try to swallow, try to answer, but it comes out wrong.

He leans closer, resting his forehead against yours. “You’ll need to verbalize, please.”

“Between my legs,” you manage, barely audible. “It—it’s extremely sensitive.”

A low sound rings out in the minuscule space between your lips. It takes your molasses drenched thoughts a few beats to realize it's coming from Reed. From somewhere deep in his chest, clawing its way out.

“Understood.” His touch travels, skating down lower until his fingers are trailing up the inside of your trembling thigh. “Do I have your permission to proceed with physical contact?”

"Yes," you whisper, and it comes out far too fast. Too eager. You can't find it in you to care. "Yes, Reed."

Reed slips his hand under your skirt, seeking out the damp plane of your pussy.

You jolt at the contact, hips twitching forward before you can help it.

Through the cotton, he traces the outline of your cunt, every shift of pressure measured, every reaction recorded in the keen flick of his eyes. He presses just slightly against your clit and watches the way you squirm, the way your breath stutters.

“Fascinating,” he repeats, eyes fixed on you as you start to writhe beneath him. “Clitoral response is heightened. You’re…exquisite. Perfect. Responding exactly as hypothesized—no, better—God, better.”

Two fingers spread you wide, and the slick sound is nothing but downright obscene. Your hand flies to his forearm, gripping it tightly as his index finger teases along your entrance.

You whimper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Remove your underwear,” Reed instructs, not unkindly—but without pause. “I’d like to confirm those measurements manually.”

You scramble to do exactly as he says. You lift your hips, fingers fumbling with the hem of your skirt and dragging the soaked panties down your thighs. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you set them aside on the tray. The air hits your bare cunt like a slap—wet and exposed and throbbing.

Reed sinks to his knees.

It’s the first truly shocking thing he’s done all night.

He doesn’t say anything about it, not at first. He just positions himself between your legs, face level with your cunt, and exhales once. A long, slow breath. It's ragged at the edges, tormented.

It makes you shiver.

“Excellent visibility,” he mutters, seemingly unbothered by the fact that your folds are glistening and swollen inches away from the front of his face. You can still hear the slight termor of his voice all the say. “Subject appears to be fully engorged. Labia minora are visibly distended. Vulvar tissue is flushed.”

His first finger enters you with barely any resistance. You’re so wet, the stretch is effortless, obscene. He watches the way you swallow him in, his jaw flexing once as if trying not to react.

“Incredible,” he says, voice low. “Increased elasticity. Temperature is elevated. Constriction around the first phalanx…tight. Responsive.”

He curls his finger experimentally.

You choke on a gasp.

He adds another.

The stretch has your thighs clenching automatically around his wrist. You’re wet enough to hear it—the slick, filthy sound of your cunt sucking him in. Reed doesn��t blink.

“Two digits…full insertion.” He speaks as if he’s trying to distance himself from it. But his breath is shallower now. His cheeks are flushed. “Subject is—remarkably reactive.”

Reed scissors his fingers gently, eyes trained on the place where they disappear into you. “You’re pulsing around me,” he murmurs, full of awe. “That’s…beautiful.”

You’re past the point of embarrassment now. Your hips rock helplessly into the rhythm he sets—slow, firm pumps, angled just slightly until—

“Oh my god—”

“There,” he breathes, and there’s an almost feral edge in his voice. Not clinical. Not detached. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod desperately, your free hand flying to your mouth to muffle the pathetic noises spilling out.

“Dampness-Jesus Christ,” he rasps, voice barely intelligible now. “Lubrication ratio also surpasses hypothesized maximum. You’re absolutely soaked. I—God, I need—I have to be inside you. Now.”

He slips his hand from between your legs and frees himself from his trousers with the same kind of focus you’ve seen him use to construct a fusion coil. Efficient, but trembling at the edges. His cock is flushed a deep red, thick, the tip shiny with precome as it presses against the heat of your cunt.

You moan at the sight. Your mouth waters as your cunt throbs with the raw, visceral need to be filled.

Reed stands, cock sways in the air, hard and heavy, pressing insistently against the slick seam of your cunt. Your body jerks at the contact, thighs twitching open wider, a helpless invitation.

The heat of him is almost unbearable, the swollen head nudging against your entrance like he’s testing the resistance.

His eyes are wild now, pupils blown wide, but his voice is still that low, steady baritone, though it trembles with restraint. “Lubrication is more than sufficient,” he says, breath ghosting over your lips as his hand fists at the base of his shaft. “Your body is prepared to accommodate penetration.”

Prepared—like you’re a lab experiment instead of a dripping mess beneath him. The words shouldn’t make you whimper, but they do.

Reed drags the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, collecting every drop. You keen, desperate for him to breach you, hips canting forward as if your body could take him in by force.

And then, without warning, he presses inside you.

The stretch punches the air from your lungs. Reed’s cock slides in slow, thick, impossibly deep, the sweet burn of it making your spine arch off the chair.

It's everything you've imagined it and more. All the guilty nights spent after lab hours with your fingers stuffed inside yourself as you let yourself indulge in the plethora of dirty thoughts floating around your brain couldn't have prepared you.

Nothing in the universe, this one and all the others, could have prepared you for the feeling of Reed Richards cock craving your cunt open like it belongs there.

You cry out his name, hands flying to his shoulders so your nails can dig crescent moons into the muscle there.

His head tips back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. “Ah—constriction exceeds expectation. Warmth is—” He cuts himself off with a shudder. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

There's no easing into it, no letting you get used to stretch. Your whole pelvis burns. The perfect mix of pain and pleasure intertwined together as one.

Reed fucks you with a single minded intensity, the same focus he gives to his equations, except now it's your body under his meticulous study, your cries the data points, your rapidly approaching orgasm the undeniable proof.

Your body arches off the chair, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He sets a brutal rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, his hands braced on either side of your head.

“God,” you cry, nails clawing at his shoulders. “It’s—it’s too much—”

“It’s the compound,” he pants, his hair damp and curling against his forehead. “It’s magnifying everything. Every nerve. I can feel your heartbeat around me—Jesus—” Reed watches you through half lidded eyes, his expression wrecked, fevered. “Your walls are…milking me,” he mutters, reverent. Worshipful. “Constriction’s incredible. God, you feel—unreal.”

You moan louder when he adjusts his angle, the thick head of his cock rubbing against the sweet spot inside you. Your hand flies to your mouth, trying to muffle the noise.

“Don’t,” Reed growls, catching your wrist. He guides your fingers away from your lips and replaces them with his own. “Open and suck. Need to test oral fixation. S-salivary response.”

You suck greedily, tongue swirling over his fingers. The broken sound he makes only spurs you on. He moans when you suck harder, when you glide your tongue along the pads of his fingers like you want to devour him whole.

“You’re—fuck—you’re responding to every variable,” he says, voice cracked wide open, losing composure fast. “You’re better than anything I could’ve projected.”

You gag softly around his knuckles when his pace picks up, each thrust deep and punishing. Your nipples rub against his shirt, swollen and desperate for friction.

“Good girl,” he breathes, hips slamming harder into you. “God, you look so beautiful—sucking my fingers while I fuck you.”

Reed pauses, trembling, as if his own body is trying to calibrate to yours. “Is the stretch too much?” he manages, voice frayed with strain.

Your answer is a desperate whine, your hips bucking as his fingers slip out of your mouth so his hands can grip your hips tightly. “More. Please, Reed—”

His lips press hard to your ear, and you feel the words rumble out of him. “I can make it better. Adjust dimensions.”

It takes a second for your brain to process. And then he shifts.

You feel him thicken inside you, the stretch intensifying deliciously as his cock grows, swelling to fill you more completely. Your cry is broken and raw, your cunt clenching around him like a vice.

You’re dizzy, trembling, barely holding on. The friction is unbearable, the way his cock drags against your walls like he was designed for you. Reed leans back just enough to watch your face, his own expression wrecked. His cheeks are flush, curls plastered to his sweaty forehead.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your skin. “Your body’s pulsing, clenching—I can feel it, how bad you need it. You’re going to—God, you’re going to come so beautifully.”

Your hands scramble to sink into his salt and pepper hair, holding him against you, desperate. He growls low in his throat, hips picking up speed, driving into you harder, faster. The lewd slap of skin on skin echoes off the pristine white walls, obscene and unrelenting.

When his free hand slides down to rub your clit, your vision whites out.

“Reed—!”

Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, ripping through you so violently you sob. Your cunt spasms around him, sucking him deeper, milking him. You’re shaking uncontrollably, tears sliding down your temples as Reed groans against your breast.

His thrusts turn erratic, his composure breaking. “Constriction—fuck, so tight—I can’t—” He slams in deep, burying himself to the hilt.

With one last broken groan of your name, he’s coming inside you—flooding you—his cock stretching slightly, growing thicker as if his body wants to stay buried in you. You feel the warmth of it spread, thick and hot and unstoppable, deep inside where no one else has ever reached.

His forehead drops to yours, sweat slick, breath ragged. “Perfect,” he whispers, almost delirious. “Absolutely…perfect data set.”

Reed places a sweet kiss over your slack lips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles along the skin of your hips.

You’re still trembling when he pulls back enough to watch the way his come leaks out of you around the base of his cock to drip down onto the leather, eyes dark with awe. His thumb swipes gently along your clit again, just to watch you jolt.

“Reaction remains heightened post-climax,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I’ll need…further confirmation.”

The look in his eyes tells you he isn’t nearly finished.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: this man is autistic and literally no one can convince me otherwise. i was sitting in that theater like, he’s my people…anyway i need that. those little slutty grey patches? yeah. that’s some good goddamn fucking food.

also, who knew all the hate i spewed on my chem lecture last semester would come back to bite me hard in the ass writing this. i mean i'm really in my chemistry bag with this one. that and a&p. can you tell i’m a stem major? i know all my professors would be proud.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[blueberri-blu]

Rottmnt x reader

SEPERATE! Leo/Donnie x reader headcannons

Summery: Headcannons about sensitive reader who cries easily during sex.

Authors note: Thanks you for the request. I only did Leo and Donnie but if its wanted it will do Raph and Mikey.

Requests Open!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leo

Leo is worried out of his mind the first time it happens. Genuinely shaking in his boots imagining the worst.

Hed quickly stop everything to make sure you were ok and not hurt

Is very reassuring but doesnt really know what to do cuz he didnt expect you to cry

After you explain that it was actually the opposite of what he thought and you were feeling good not bad his ego goes from already high to somehow higher

He wouldnt admit it but he was actually worried he wouldnt do good since he didnt have much experience in the whole sex department (you try getting a date when you're a mutant turtle living in the sewers)

But he wasnt only doing good but he was doing so good you cried

After making sure you're 100% ok the two of you would go back to what you were doing

Leo does make an effort to find where you're really sensitive so he makes sure its that much better for you

Hes a teaser at heart and of course he uses this as material

Not so much as using it against you but as a way to one up you

"Who was it that was crying on my di-" "Leo quit it!"

Donnie

You and donnie sorta plan out your first time

Not so much as plan but have a good talk about what you're comfortable and uncomfortable with

Donnie was a man of excellence and perfection and he really wanted your first tiem to go as perfectly as possible

So going into the situation Donnie knew you were sensitive but he was exactly sure how much

So when you start crying hes a little (a lot) worried he did something wrong

But you reassure him that you are just feeling really good it immediately gets to his head.

Donnie gets kinda cocky about it and brings it up when hes talking dirty

When hes being rough he likes to wipe away the tears that run down your face and give you comforting words

He also runs 'experiments' to see where you're especially sensitive that just ends sith him teasing you into oblivion

And of course hes a scientist so he makes toys catered to you specifically

[blueberri-blu]

Js realized I can write whatever the fuck I want. I’m on my phone so don’t mind typos :> anyway. You’re deranged and you’re dating Simon. He’s retired.

“You have a knife.” Simon states, looking at you with a tilted head.

“I do.” You confirm, coming closer.

“Why?” He asks, easily taking it from you. You never really fought him.

“Dunno.” You answer, letting him pick you up. “Kiss?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He says breathily, placing soft kisses on your lips. However many you wanted.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“No. No. Stop.” He chastises, noticing that look in your eyes.

“Please go away. My girlfriend is crazy.” He practically pleads with the girl trying to chat him up.

“No, no. She can talk to you allllll she wants. If you want her, just say that.” You grumble, gripping the pick that previously held your olive too tight.

“Don’t be like that. Cmon. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I’ve barely had anything. Put me down!” You grumble, kicking your feet as you’re thrown over his shoulder.

It doesn’t stop him. It never does. But it also doesn’t stop the scary precision you have with throwing things as the olive pick finds itself wizzing just past that women’s eye as you smile.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“Do you love me?” You ask Simon over call.

“Live for you dove.” He answers, pulling up to McDonald’s.

“I’m not in the mood for McDonald’s.” You answer.

He doesn’t question how you know he’s at McDonald’s, just pulls out of the drive-thru. “What do you want then?” He asks.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“…. Uhm. Is she okay?” Gaz asks his first time meeting you.

“Perfectly content.” He says, not acknowledging you gnawing on his arm.

“…. Okay.” Gaz breathes out quietly. Let the weirdos be with the weirdos. He thinks to himself.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“She doesn’t have to know.” Another girl states, trying to chat him up.

“Not a matter of that. She will know, she will kill you and make me watch, she will then kiss me goodnight. Please leave.”

The girl is gone before you come back from the bathroom.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“I don’t like my face being licked.” He states blankly.

“Just love you.” You mutter with a pout.

“You have access. To my entire body. I just don’t want my face licked.” He says to you, now straddling his lap.

You rest your head in his neck, nodding solemnly. He thinks he might get some reprieve from your animalistic behavior, but he’s wrong. Because of course he is as you mark his neck.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

You breathe heavily, two broken plates on the floor as you stare daggers at Simon.

“You’re off your medicine.” He states calmly, hands up as he walks towards you, a bag in hand. Not too quick, but not hesitant either.

“I’m not off shit. All I asked for-”

“Is your candies. I know. I have them.” He says, shaking the bag as proof.

“….” It’s only fair you cry as you clean up the glass, apologizing to him for being so… well- fucking crazy when he’s only ever nice.

“I know. I know.” He comforts. “Cmere.” He beckons with a candy.

You cling to him the rest of the night. Biting him to calm yourself.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Gaz asks, his second time meeting you.

“Perfectly content.” Simon states once again, watching his strong girl beat the shit out of a punching bag because you ‘wanted to try it :>’

“…….. okay.” Gaz breathes out again, making a mental note to not get on your bad side.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“I like your girlfriend.” Soap says with a smile, having bonded with you over explosives.

“Me too.” Ghost says, watching you tinker with one of Soap’s projects.

“She’s.. uhm. Really educated. How.. how uh, did that come to be?” Soap finally asks as you make his project work, clapping to yourself.

“Calls it: ✨hyper fixation✨.” Simon answers honestly.

“And… she’s okay mentally?” Soap asks, suddenly feeling wary for his friend.

“No.” He answers, completely smitten.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“So… we’re all scared for him right?” Gaz says, having called a meeting with the rest of the 141.

“She’s pretty decent.” Price answers, not knowing what the problem is.

“She’s- where the hell do I even start?” Soap chimes in.

“Crazy. Probably practices witchcraft, has Simon- mind you- Simon, wrapped around her finger, is smart as shit, and is fluent in 4 languages.”

“So?” Price questions.

“Simon is in love with her.” Soap restates.

“So the man’s found love.”

“Simon, Cap. Simon, found the love of his life.”

……..

“Okay, maybe we should be a little cautious of the woman.”

“Fucking finally.” Soap and Gaz exhale in unison.

~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—_~ ~_—

“Simon!” You holler like you’re being butchered.

“What? What?!” He asks, at your side in a few seconds.

You only point.

……….

“Let’s not scream bloody murder when you find a bug in the house.” He says, having set it outside because your bleeding heart wouldn’t allow him to kill it.

“I was scared.” You say.

“I know.” He mutters, kissing you.

Okay bye :>

[blueberri-blu]

[blueberri-blu]

[blueberri-blu]

my blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters by the way so if you voted trump or just lick his ass unfollow me thank you kindly

[blueberri-blu]

Ghost gets no bitches and he reminds me of whatever that TikTok audio is that’s like “how’d you get her?” And the other person is like “get her? No she grabbed me by the throat and told me I was hers”.

Word count: 800

Warnings: none (ghost being immediately whipped)

So hear me out you’re at the grocery store and while walking down the aisles you see this behemoth of a man. Big muscle sexy, surgical mask covering his face. You want. What to say? How should you approach? Ah yes you need help getting something from the top shelf. Stepping so you’re in his line of sight

“Could you come here?” You ask him and he just gives you a blank stare. Raising your eyebrows clearly waiting for a response he turns around looking for who you could be talking to and who is clearly not listening to you. When he sees no one else in the aisle he slowly points at himself, questioning you. “Yes you.” You smile trying to hold in a laugh. Quickly adding a “please” in the sweetest little voice and he is scurrying over to you.

“Could you please reach that box for me?” Ghost raises his arm up and points to a box when you nod confirming that’s the one you want he hands it to you. “That one too please” he obeys. You have him hand you two more boxes (not needing any of them). Then you try to push your luck a little. “Wait not this one” you hand him a box back and he returns it to the shelf. Before you know it you’ve had this man put all the boxes back just to hand them to you again. A smirk plastered on your face. Not once did the large man question you, not when you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes.

“Ok done with this aisle. Come on.” You start walking and his feet are following you. He hasn’t said a word to you but is following you around the store like a puppy. Down the next aisle you pointed at something (well within your reach) and he handed it you.

“Are you always this obedient?” You watched his eyes go wide but he found himself nodding. He’d probably say yes to anything you ask when you’re looking at him like that, like you want to eat him whole. His answer brought a smile to your face and he swore his knees were gonna buckle. You held out your hand, “phone.” It was a statement not a question and he quickly (fumbling) pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you. When you saw it was locked you looked up at him moving the phone ever so slightly towards him. You had meant for him to take the phone and unlock it but instead he mumbled out “0000” a small but dramatic gasp left your lips “oh so he does speak.” You typed in the 4 digits and the phone opened. You looked up at him when the basic passcode worked. “Simple and obedient. Just how I like ‘em” ghost swallowed hard. No one has ever treated him like this. Spoke to him like this. Not even Price. He should be offended? Insulted? Definitely not turned on. Right? (mark him down and scared AND horny). You handed his phone back to him, your number and name resting on his screen. He reached to take the phone from you, but you didn’t let go. Fingers touching you looked up at him “you better call me. I’ll be real sad if you dont.” He swore he was gonna pass out. Before you let go of his phone, hands still touching, heavy steps made their way into your aisle.

“Aye lieutenant there ye are. Been wandering round lookin fer ya.” Soap called down the aisle.

Ghost refused to acknowledge his friend calling for him, keeping eye contact with you. Your smile got bigger as you let go of the phone.

“Lieutenant huh? That mean you know how to give orders too?” He nodded again. “Then I’m definitely going to need you to call me. I’d like to see that.” Your eyes shamelessly raked down his figure. Fuck he needs to hold on to something.

Once you finally walked away, Soap approached quickly asking who you were and when ghosted shrugged his shoulders “I don’t know.” (But he’s gonna that’s for sure)

“She’s a fine looking lass I’m gonna go talk to her.” Ghost’s hand moved fast, grabbing the back of Soap’s neck guiding (pushing) him in the opposite direction of you. He was thanking god you saw him first and not Soap. If you had talked to Soap like that, ghost knew you’d have him walking on a leash (who’s he kidding if you had asked ghost would’ve barked)

[blueberri-blu]

I usually dont do requests but.. you see, you seem pretty nice for me to NOT ask for something.

Soo, im autistic and i have a HUGE problem with anything that gets sticky or stuff like this, so washing dishes for me makes me very disgusted.

Soo.. could I maybe ask for a fem autistic reader x rottmnt donnie? Like shes just trying to wash dishes but some food just gets in her hand and she just gets all "eww!"

Sorry if this is a bad request, I just rarely see autistic reader stuff. Take your time and I love your tmnt stuff!

Hello, hello! I decided to write this one here, because... Well, as you said, it's a little difficult to find autistic reader request. HOWEVER! This will officially be the last request I will accept from TMNT, because I will stop writing about them for a long time ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ. Anyways, hope you like it ~ ♡♡♡♡

Sensory Overload and Suds *⁠.⁠✧

ROTTMNT Donnie x Autistic!Fem!Reader

The kitchen sink was running, warm water filling the basin as you carefully placed the dirty dishes inside. You never minded washing dishes—when everything went smoothly, at least. The warm water felt nice, and the repetitive motions were calming. But the moment your fingers brushed against something slimy at the bottom of a bowl, a deep, full-body shiver ran through you.

"Eww!" You recoiled so fast you almost knocked the dish rack over, shaking your hand like it was on fire. "Ew, ew, ew, ew!"

From across the lair, Donnie, who had been working on one of his latest tech projects, immediately turned toward the noise. His brow furrowed behind his goggles as he stood up. "Are we under attack? Has one of my brothers done something catastrophic again? Is the kitchen on fire? Because if it is, I swear I will—"

You turned toward him, still shaking your hand in distress. "No, no, it's worse!"

"Worse than the kitchen being on fire?" He asked dryly, making his way over.

You turned the sink off and backed away from it like it had personally offended you. "I touched…something."

Donnie tilted his head. "Something?"

You shuddered again, rubbing your hands against your shirt as if that could erase the sensation. "Something slimy. And now I feel it. It's everywhere. It's like it's still on my skin even though it's not. I hate it."

Ah. Sensory overload. Donnie knew how that was.

"Alright, stand back, dearest," Donnie said, dramatically cracking his knuckles. "I shall now engage in a high-stakes battle against the revolting entity that dares disturb you."

You gave him a flat look. "Don, it's just food gunk."

"A heinous foe, indeed," he continued, rolling up nonexistent sleeves before grabbing a pair of dish gloves from under the sink and slipping them on. "Fear not, for I am well-equipped to vanquish it."

Despite the lingering feeling of grossness still on your hands, you snorted. He always did this—turning small moments into theatrical productions. You appreciated it, though. It made things easier, made you feel less silly for being overwhelmed by something others might see as insignificant.

Donnie rinsed out the offending dish, making sure there were no traces of slimy remnants left before setting it aside. He then turned to you and dramatically held out his hand. "There. The beast has been slain. Shall I escort you to the hand soap to ensure no remnants remain?"

You rolled your eyes but took his hand anyway, letting him guide you to the sink. He turned the water on for you, and you immediately scrubbed your hands under the warm stream, sighing in relief as the sensation finally faded.

"Feeling better?" he asked, watching as you meticulously cleaned every finger.

You nodded, glancing at him. "Yeah. Thanks, Don."

He gave you a little smirk and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Anytime, my dear. My talents extend far beyond the realm of science—I am also a certified rescuer of distressed damsels suffering from unfortunate dish-related incidents."

You flicked water at him. "You're so dramatic."

"And you love it."

You rolled your eyes again, but you couldn't stop the small smile forming on your lips. "Yeah. I do."

[blueberri-blu]

a bond formed of love

summary: ecstatic about finally being married to the love of your life, Oberyn Martell, dread consumes you at the thought of consummating your marriage. will the horrible tales of first nights told to you become reality? or will they turn out to be elaborate lies?

pairing: oberyn martell x f!reader

word count: 11.1k

warnings: 18+ content; no use of y/n (but many, many nicknames); fluff & smut; first times; wedding night; oral (m & f receiving); unprotected p in v; multiple orgasms; body worship; oberyn being the most devoted husband ever

author's notes: this one goes out to @aurasjournal who not only inspired a huge part of this but also kept pushing me to make this as long as it is. thank you so much <3

part of "the viper and the sun"

• masterlist •

Happiness. It was all that she could feel, consuming her entirely, filling every last inch of her.  Almost euphoric in nature, laughing and smiling as she moved beside him - her love, her husband.

Husband.

The sole reason why she was so happy today, unable to tear her eyes away from him, no one around her mattering in this moment. Looking even more handsome than usual, as if that was even a possibility, his dark eyes crinkling at the corner when he laughed.

Oberyn Martell, her husband.

Finally she could call him that. The love of her life had finally become her husband, making her the happiest woman, the happiest wife, in the world.

Not that she hadn’t been happy before, back when he was simply courting her, when he had asked her to marry him. She had always been happy with him at her side - he made her laugh, he entertained her, he took her out for rides into the most beautiful corners around Sunspear.

Down to the shores, into the deserts.

But she had longed to be his by title, to wear a ring which showed she was his and he was hers. 

All hers.

Just dancing with him here, moving with one another, as if they were connected somehow. As if the Gods had bound a string around them so long ago, pulling it tighter and tighter as they moved towards each other on the wide floor, empty save for them. Tighter still, until they met, his hands finding her hips with a laugh, her hands resting on his broad chest, on the beautiful robe he wore for the occasion, a pale yellow, adorned with golden suns and many intricate details stitched with golden thread.

Their lips found another, pulling them even closer together, the string so tight around them that it expelled the air from her lungs, breathless from kissing and laughing and dancing all day. 

The exhaustion creeped in slowly but surely, replacing the rushed emotions of excitement and euphoria she had been feeling.

“We should retire soon, my sweet dove.” Oberyn said when he parted from her lips, wishing he could just keep kissing her as they spun around. Eyes bright, sparkling with something she had seen often before but could not always place. 

Mischief, perhaps. Desire. 

“I wish to be with you, alone.”

She understood what he meant, a sudden nervosity replacing some of the happiness inside of her, albeit not all of it. Nothing could take this wonderful feeling from her, slowing down in their movements, slowly circling one another.

But she did feel nervous, and had felt so for a long time. 

Because just as excited as she was about finally being alone with him, to be as close to him as was humanly possible, she was just as tense about it.

She knew about his past, about how often and liberally he had taken partners. The Dornish way, all while she had waited for her future husband, had waited even when she had fallen for Oberyn. When she knew she would never love anyone else but him.

Knowing deep down in her heart and deeper still, that this wasn’t just love but that he was the partner promised to her by the Gods.

Oberyn noticed the sudden change in her, saw the emotions on her face, one hand raising to cup her cheek. She could feel the cold of the ring on his thumb as it brushed over her cheekbone. His gaze intense but gentle, their movements coming to a halt.

“What has befallen you, my dove?” He asked, feeling the need to implore what seemed to cloud her mind, unable to stand the thought of her feeling bad on their wedding day. They had both waited far too long for this. “What bothers my beautiful wife?”

His wife.

Warmth spread through her at the words, smiling up at him and shaking her head. She did not want him to worry about her.

“I am just getting tired, my love.” She replied, voice as quiet as his. “Tired but thrilled. Let us go, I wish to have you to myself.”

Leaving the festivities was more difficult than she had imagined, nervousness still sitting deep inside of her as they made their rounds, saying their goodbyes to everyone who had come. Squeezing his warm hand tightly as they went, now walking along the corridors to their new chambers.

Their shared chambers.

It only filled her chest with more tension, knowing these chambers would be where she was to reside with him for the rest of their lives. 

What an odd thought, to leave her childhood rooms behind to find her life with Oberyn.

They did not speak as they walked, his touch doing all the talking through squeezing her hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. His head turned to look at her with a smile so soft and loving that she could cry from joy, reciprocating it as they walked.

His smile always managed to ease her nerves, and she wished he could smile at her forever somehow. To capture it in a way that she could carry it with her, able to look at it when she was in a foul mood.

Perhaps she could ask the woman who had done their wedding portrait today if she could paint them again, and make a small copy of him for her to carry inside a locket of some sort.

So she could open it and look at his beautiful smile at all times.

She was so in thought, she didn’t notice that they had reached the huge double door, opening them while still holding her hand tightly in his, only reluctantly letting go of it once the doors had closed behind them.

Oberyn watched her take in the large room, their room. 

The big, four poster bed draped in the finest dark red and orange silks and linens, curtains hanging off of it which would shroud them in a sense of privacy. 

The doors leading to a spacious balcony, letting them look out into the sky from their bed. The cushions and chairs in one corner by the bookshelves and strewn throughout the room which was lit with various candles, a vanity at the other side, near the door that led to their private bath. 

Walls decorated with tapestry and rugs. It all felt intimate and warm and welcoming.

She would be happy to live here with him.

“I hope everything is to your liking, my love.” Oberyn said behind her, making her jump a little as she hadn’t heard him walking up to her. Silent like a viper. “I am sure you will give it your touch in due time.”

Her eyes found the telescope standing by the door to the balcony, the books in the shelves including thick volumes about topics she loved. 

All attentively picked by him.

The sweetest gift, his love apparent just by how he had asked the room to be decorated.

His fingers touched her waist when she nodded, her view suddenly blocked by his wide chest as he came to stand in front of her.

“I love it, Oberyn.” She said with a smile. Voice small, so unlike herself.

He smiled back, the gentlest, most loving smile, his hands wandering up her side, slowly and carefully, as if she could break if he was just any faster in his movements. Seeing her slight tremble, hearing it in her voice as she spoke, suddenly so quiet. 

She wasn’t quiet and timid usually, not afraid to give him a piece of her mind, so this worried him, cupping her cheek with one hand, her nervous eyes finding his. 

His eyes became questioning in turn, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone.

“What is ailing you, my dove?” Oberyn asked, so gently that it made her heart burst, making her feel bad suddenly. “Tell me, my sweet.”

The sigh that left her was heavy, loaded with a burden which hurt him to hear. She didn’t deserve to be burdened, no matter what it was, and he did not wish to see her upset, see her nervous and quiet. 

Deserving to be carefree and loud and happy. With him to carry her burdens for her.

“I- I am scared, my Viper.” She admitted, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her gaze casting down as she couldn’t bear looking at him, afraid of what emotion his face would display. “You know I have never… I am simply nervous.”

A compassionate smile curved his lips upward, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, lingering there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

The hand on her cheek came up to the crown in her hair, carefully untangling it before he placed it on a table next to them. It shimmered in the lights of the candles, the gold and the jewels embedded in it, all for her.

“You do not have to be scared, my sweet dove.” He said, his knuckles running over her cheek. Still gentle and careful, his new wife being the most precious thing in his life at this moment, besides the daughters he already had. “I will show you nothing but tenderness, there will not be anything done that you do not explicitly wish to happen.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tried to slow her heart, thrumming away in her chest. A tempest of emotions settled within her.

How had she gotten so lucky with him?

“I know, Oberyn. I know, but-” She took a deep breath, trembling. “I am still so scared. I have been told it hurts, it is uncomfortable and… I apologize, my love.”

His brows furrowed, two of his fingers moving under her chin, tilting it upwards. Making her look at him, he saw the fear etched into her features, his heart breaking at the sight.

No one had prepared her properly. She had been told nightmares and nothing more than that. It hurt him, seeing the love of his life so scared. Scared of him, of what he could do to her.

Things which were supposed to be joyous only but had been tainted and marred by the tales told to her.

“There is a possibility of it hurting, my dove. That is, if we rush things.” He said, his voice quiet, soothing. Like a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe. “Yet, I do not wish to rush things. We do not have to consummate our marriage tonight, not in the traditional sense.”

Now her brows furrowed in confusion, her fingers running over the embroidery of his robe, feeling the golden thread. She wasn’t sure if his words unnerved her more or soothed her.

What other way was there? He was to take her, to validate their marriage.

Just like everyone had told her a husband would on their first night together.

“What other way? Won’t our marriage be invalid if we do not-” She paused, swallowing hard as tears welled up in her eyes. The pressure of it, their marriage and being good for him, when he has had many partners before, it was terrifying. “If you do not take me?”

He smiled, loving and encouraging as always when he looked at her. Melting under her gaze, her tears tearing at him and his heart.

It was a special sort of pain, to see one's wife with tears in her eyes. A pain unlike any physical one he had ever endured.

“There are many ways to pleasure, and I will not take you if you are scared. This is as much about you as it is about me, my love.” Oberyn said, bowing his head to kiss away the few tears which were rolling down her cheeks, the saltiness of them a displeasure for him tonight. “I will wait until you are ready, and if it takes all eternity to do so.”

She took another shuddering breath. How was he so calm about this? Talking about waiting until all eternity while the guilt of being too scared to give herself to him weighed heavily on her.

Not even his lips on her wet cheeks could help soothe her in this moment.

“But, Oberyn- Isn’t it your right? Isn’t it a husband’s right?” She asked, her voice thick with tears. “To take his new wife, to consummate their marriage, willing or not?”

The smile faded from his face, his expression turning stern suddenly. Only terrifying her more, thinking she had misstepped, had angered him somehow.

She had never wanted to anger the Viper.

“My dove.” He spoke, his voice firm but not cruel, conveying an importance to what he was saying. “Fuck whatever you assume to be my right. I did not marry you to fuck you, my sweet dove. I married you because I love you and my only command as your husband is to banish these thoughts of old customs from your mind.”

Raising his brow, he looked at her, so scared and small in front of him, her bottom lip quivering.

“I am not a brute. If you are too scared tonight, then I will not force you. Nor any night hereafter.”

Her hand reached out to touch his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against her palm. So handsome, so sweet. Such a stark contrast to his reputation in the Seven Kingdoms, the Red Viper. Cruel, cunning.

“But- My Viper-”

Oberyn shushed her, gentle and quiet but not lacking in firmness.

“No, my dove.” His lips found her forehead again, hoping to convey his love and his understanding through the caress of his lips. Soft and tender. “If you allow me to, I wish to show you something different. To ease you into pleasure, to ease you into me.”

She hesitated, biting her bottom lip again, feeling his calming presence soothe her nerves. As he always did, so expertly taking away her worries as if they were nothing.

“What do you wish to show me?” Her voice was as quiet as his, still shaking as she spoke.

Oberyn smiled against her skin, finding the faintest sliver of amusement in her innocence. What a wonderful thing she was, his wife. So willing and devoted and in love with him, but entirely unknowing.

Any man of less honour than him would have taken advantage of her sweetness.

But not him.

His hand went from her chin to her waist, pulling her just a little bit closer to him while his lips stayed connected to her forehead.

“Do you trust me?”

She nodded, the reaction so fast as if it was innate, like there was no doubt about her answer. And she did, she trusted him with everything.

“With my life, Oberyn.”

His lips curved upward against her skin, his fingers curling into her side. 

What a lucky man he was, to have married a woman like her.

“Sit down on the bed for me, please.” He said, feeling her hesitation at his gentle words. 

Taking a moment to steel herself, she took another deep breath before walking away from him, just a little unsure in her footing.

Still, she made it over, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed just like he requested, the silks smooth under her hands. She watched how he followed her, slow, deliberate steps, feeling a tenseness in her abdomen at the sight of him. His gorgeous smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle, coming to stop right in front of her.

Instinctively she reached for his hand, just lightly holding onto it, needing reassurance, encouragement. The motion only made him smile more, squeezing her fingers as he slowly kneeled down in front of her.

He couldn’t hold back the chuckle which left him when he looked at her surprised face, shaking her head.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t-” She stammered out, confused by his actions. What husband kneeled before his wife? On their wedding night no less. “Shouldn’t I be the one-”

Oberyn slowly shook his head, raising her hand to his lips, giving each knuckle a kiss, dark eyes fixed only on her. His unoccupied hand touched her clothed thigh, making her jump just a little, her eyes never leaving his. 

Like they were bound to him in some way.

“If I wish to kneel before my wife to show my devotion to her, then I shall do so.” He said, his voice calming her nerves, just like his lips did, turning her hand in his, kissing the tip of each finger. Each kiss lingering, an extension of his love for her. 

Moving to her palm, eyes staying fixed on hers as his lips pressed against it, his beard tickling her.

She enjoyed it, watching in awe how attentive he was, feeling warm at his touch.

Then, he leaned forward, capturing her lips with his own and she could feel the desire sleeping within him, holding back for her sake. She allowed herself to close her eyes and simply feel him, aware of his hand on her clothed thigh, the other intertwining their fingers, an anchor for her.

Carefully his lips wandered away from her mouth, kissing the corner of it, then peppering her jaw with fleeting touches, finally reaching her neck. 

The gasp that tumbled from the depths of her chest as he made contact with the sensitive flesh excited him, the sound something he wished to preserve forever.

“Oberyn.” She whimpered, shifting in her place when his tongue darted out to taste her, breathing in the scent of oranges which always lingered with her.

A smile graced his lips, enjoying that she was easing into his ministrations, perhaps even enjoying herself as he caressed her skin.

“Do I have permission to undress you?” Oberyn asked after several more moments, pulling back to look at her face, finding it flushed and her eyes still closed.

The nervousness which had faded a little under his touch came back suddenly, turning her stomach into knots. 

Undress her.

Seeing her naked, completely exposed. When he had been with so many others before her, would he even like what he saw?

She wasn’t self-conscious by any means, but in comparison to his life before her, she could not help but think about the possibilities. Being inexperienced in pleasure already weighed heavily on her shoulders, she didn’t wish to disappoint him in just about everything tonight.

He could see the emotions cross her face, her eyes spoke of all the uncertainty and fear that whirled inside of her at this moment when she opened them. 

And it broke his heart. 

His beautiful, stunning wife, chained up by the expectations which had been placed upon her shoulders by everyone but him.

There was nothing he expected from her, already knowing she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his dark eyes upon, the most kind and loving wife. All he would ask of her was to stay loyal to him and to love him like he loved her, with all her heart and mind and soul. Like they were bound by fate.

Bound by an invisible string which had led them to one another.

She softly squeezed his hand, taking a deep breath before nodding. Forcing the smallest smile onto her lips, small compared to the one he gifted her in return.

The hand on her thigh moved up to her shoulder, brushing back the hair which had fallen over it, then letting his fingertips wander over the material of her gown. Soft silks, embroidered and beaded with hundreds of thousands of small stones.

Making her shimmer in the candlelight, like a million stars were strewn across her body.

Never losing her eyes when he brushed one strap off of her shoulder, watching for a reaction that she didn’t want this. There was no joy in this if she wasn’t willing.

He let it glide down her arm, not yet exposing her breasts to him, simply letting the swell of one appear in the periphery of his view. Soft skin, the whisper of a sigh leaving her when he leaned forward to kiss her exposed collarbone, to press his nose against the dip above it.

Still holding onto her hand, her fingers nervously flexing against his own as he moved on to the other side, slower this time.

The beat of her heart was visible, shaking the pretty material over where it sat, hoping he would be able to make it beat as wildly for another reason soon.

And as he carefully slid the material off her other shoulder too, she took a shuddering breath looking up at the ceiling. The cool air meeting her heated flesh, nipples perked.

Oberyn repeated his earlier motion, kissing the other side but this time moving down to press his lips against the valley in between her breasts. A low hum vibrated in her chest and he could feel the noise, kissing her again and again.

“You are so beautiful, my dove.” He said, looking up at her but seeing her gaze turned away. Unable to tell if it were simply her nerves or shame. “May I touch you?”

Silence befell them for a moment as she tried to calm herself. His words were encouraging, her heart soaring and the gentleness with which he treated her made her want to cry.

She could feel his lips on her still, like she had been branded by him, hot and searing. A good feeling, a welcome one.

Longing for his touch but still too afraid to speak, her skin yearning for his lips, for his fingers. Yearning for every inch of him, still wondering just what exactly he had in mind for tonight.

“Yes.” She breathed out, shaky and barely audible even in the dead silence.

Then his hands were on her, softly cupping her breasts, feeling the velvety skin of them. Admiring them, his thumbs brushing over the peaks, making her moan quietly. She tilted her head down, taking in the way he looked at her.

With a desire she had never seen in anyone before, mesmerized and needing, but not making her feel like an object for his desires.

He made her feel like art. Like a beautiful painting.

A slight pressure built in her abdomen as his thumbs rubbed over her nipples again and again, an unfamiliar feeling she blamed on his touch. It was pleasant, watching in awe as he bowed his head to take one stiff peak into his mouth. Hot and wet on her skin, her free hand twisting into his hair, a shaky gasp leaving her.

“Oh, Oberyn.” She moaned, concentrating on his tongue repeating the motion of his thumb, a deep groan of his vibrating against her. “It feels good, fantastic. You feel fantastic.”

He looked up at her, not stopping his ministrations but a twinkle appeared in his dark eyes. She rubbed her thighs together, a motion which didn’t go unnoticed by Oberyn, finally releasing her breast with a soft pop. Surging upwards to capture her lips in another kiss, fiery this time but reigning himself in as he felt himself move too fast.

“You’re feeling it, are you not?” He asked, parting from her and staring deep into her eyes. “Pleasure, my dove?”

“I’m not sure, Oberyn.” She replied, his kiss having left her a little breathless, her head reeling. “There is a pressure…”

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, a smile stretching his mustache wide over his lips, revealing his teeth. 

“Right here?” He touched her abdomen, right where the feeling appeared and she nodded. No one had ever thought to teach her a damn thing about herself. “Yes, my dove. Pleasure. Do I have permission to undress you further? I wish to give you more of this feeling.”

Her nod was eager this time, easing into his touch. It filled him with joy, pressing another kiss to her lips which made her giggle.

Oh, how he loved that sound.

“Lay down for me, my sweet.”

She did, their hands finally letting go of each other as she laid back, immediately finding his lips to be back on her sternum, kissing a path further down between her breasts, onto her stomach. Revealing more of her skin as he went.

Peeling the garment off of her like he would with a fruit, revealing the sweet flesh, tasting it, feeling it beneath his fingers.

Feeling her shaky breaths as he lingered over her stomach, her muscles twitching under the caress of his lips.

He lifted her hips, pulling the dress down the rest of the way, letting it fall to the floor. Exposing her entirely to him, his lips pressing against that spot on her lower belly where she felt the pressure building.

Her heart beat in her throat, fighting the urge to cover herself with her hands, knowing he would just move them away. His own hands smoothed along her naked thighs, watching her face as she looked at the ceiling, lips slightly parted.

“You were made in the Gods’ image, my love.” He whispered, letting his lips trail back up her body, feeling himself become drunk on her body, on her beauty. To think she had feared this, feared showing herself to him when she truly was the most beautiful being he had ever laid his eyes on. “No beauty compares to that of yours.”

She smiled, a sound the cross of a sob and a huff tumbling over her lips, overwhelmed by his love for her. Melting into his lips as they found hers yet again, like he couldn’t get enough of her, of the taste of wine and fruit on her tongue.

Suddenly she thought about him, still fully dressed. Shouldn’t she make him feel as good as this, too? Cover his body in kisses, worship him like he worshipped her?

She was curious to see him, wondered if he bore scars. How big they were, how deep. She wanted to see him, longed for it.

Her hands wandered to the hem of his robe, attempting to undress him but he stopped her. Gently taking her wrists in his large hands, he moved them away, shaking his head.

“My Viper-” She began in an attempt to explain before he shushed her again.

“Tonight is about you, my Princess.” Oberyn said, kissing the corner of her mouth. A small whimper escaped her, her lips chasing after his when he moved back again. “You and your pleasure only. I told you, I can wait until all eternity.”

He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, hoping to get her to understand just through his eyes that his words weren’t empty promises. As he breathed with her, one calming breath after the next, he hoped she understood that he would wait a lifetime and beyond for her to be fully ready. Her pleasure alone would be enough to sustain him until the sun had shared its last rays with the world, until the world grew cold and dark.

“I wish to touch more of you, my love.” Oberyn whispered into the silence, his hands moving to her hips. “Will you allow me to?”

She nodded, more firm than at the beginning, feeling a throbbing between her thighs, an unfamiliar wetness.

“Yes, my Viper.” A whisper just as quiet as his, her eyes full of desire, even if he could still see remnants of fear in them.

Oberyn brushed the bridge of his nose along hers, an intimate gesture which made her heart burst with love and joy. Hands coming up to cup his cheeks just for a moment before he slipped away again, down her body.

Calloused hands rested on her knees, his eyes on her face as she sat up slightly, leaning onto her elbows to watch him. She bit her bottom lip, his hands slowly opening her legs, gentle and sweet in his movements.

He kissed the inside of one knee when she was fully spread for him, once again resisting the urge to close them. His beard scratched along the sensitive skin, moving to the other knee as well.

It felt good, the way he kissed her skin, the way his beard felt on the sensitive flesh. How his hands smoothed over her thighs as he inched higher, lifting his head again.

One of his hands moved upwards, ghosting over her mound and feeling the coarse curls covering it, feeling the shiver that went up her spine at the featherlight touch. He watched as he gently spread her lips apart for him, glistening from the wetness that had gathered. 

His thumb just hovered over her clit, like he was unsure. All while she watched, holding her breath in anticipation of where he would touch her next, each touch better than the last.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” Oberyn asked, eyes moving back up to hers. Knowing fully well that she would answer with a No. She was too responsive to his ministrations to have done so before. “Right here?”

His thumb pressed down, featherlight, like a ghost, drawing a choked gasp from her, her hips involuntarily rolling in response.

It was as if lightning had shot through her, setting her nerves ablaze at his touch. Her skin hot, she felt like she was burning up from the inside, the pressure in her abdomen only becoming worse.

“N-No.” She breathed out. Already longing for more of his touch. Needing more of that buzzing feeling it provided, pulsing faintly where his thumb rested.

His thumb swiped lower, gathering a little more wetness before ghosting over that little peak of nerves again. Carefully, trying not to overwhelm her with these new emotions, coaxing a low moan from her lungs.

It might just become his favourite sound, a sweet symphony sung only for him in this shared intimacy. Sweeter than the choirs which had sung at their marriage celebration which just now seemed so long ago already. Sweeter than the birds, than the bustle of the markets, than the rolling of the sea.

He lifted one of her legs over his shoulder, kissing the inside of it as he lazily rubbed his thumb over her, watching her reactions. Her eyes were dark with nothing but lust and curiosity, only fixed on his moving digit. She tried to hold back more sounds, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her heart still thrumming against it for reasons he liked now.

No longer out of fear but out of desire.

“How does it feel, my dove?” Oberyn whispered against her skin, pressing more wet kisses against it, the hand holding her leg caressing it while his thumb moved away from her clit. Instead, it traced her outer lips, which still made her hips jerk and roll but provided a more subdued sensation. “Tell me all, I wish to know what it feels like for you.”

Her eyes snapped up to his when his thumb moved away, a whiny noise of protest leaving her.

Desperation on her face.

“It feels good, Oberyn.” She whispered, the leg over his broad shoulder trying to coax him to continue. “You feel marvellous. My blood has been replaced by molten metal, I can feel it burning and throbbing.”

Oberyn smirked, lightly nipping at her skin. “Your cunt?”

Watching her discomfort at the word, he chuckled but saw her nod still.

The urge to taste her overcame him abruptly, the urge which had been his plan when she told him she was too scared to have him tonight. Knowing he could show her the heights of pleasure on the tip of his tongue, ease her into it entirely.

“My love, you said you would trust me with your life, did you not?” He asked, keeping his eyes locked onto hers. She nodded again, whispering a shaky Yes. “Please, lay back and close your eyes, I wish to surprise you.”

Her brows knitted together, having half a mind to do as he asked and not beg for more of his touch. Laying back down and closing her eyes, anticipation frightening her but trusting him in whatever he had planned.

It took a moment, a moment in which she heard him shift around, his tunic rustling, feeling him move.

And then, she felt it. Warm and wet against her, his beard scratching against her most intimate parts, her legs threatening to close at the foreign sensation but his broad hands keeping them open.

“Fu- Oh Gods, Oberyn!” She cried out, his tongue circling around her clit again and again, wet, slurping noises accompanying his motions. One of her hands threaded into his hair for purchase, not daring to open her eyes and look at him.

He hummed against her, fingers digging into the flesh of her thighs, eyes trained on her parted lips, face twisted in lust.

“Say it.” He commanded, finding it amusing that she did not fully give into her desires in favour of appearing proper. What was there to be proper about when he had his face buried inside her sopping cunt? “Say it, my dove.”

Her back arched, feeling him suck at the bundle of nerves which made her cry out once more.

“Fuck!” She moaned, liking how the word rolled off her tongue. “Oberyn, fuck! Oh, Gods.”

A smile crept over his lips, doubling down on his efforts, feeling her fingers tighten in his dark locks. Focusing entirely on her clit, eating her like a man starved all while he looked out for her body’s response.

She could feel something inside of her, the pressure mounting more and more as her whines and moans turned higher in pitch, his tongue driving her closer to something. And he could feel it, holding down her hips in order to lap at her, the obscene sounds in stark contrast to the gentleness with which he pressed against her.

Opening her eyes, she looked at him, the sight making her cunt clench. His head between her thighs, with a stare of lust and determination, his eyes dark and piercing. 

It was a beautiful image.

Maybe she should have this painted instead.

“Let go, my dove.” He whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her, feeling himself hard against his breeches but biting back his own desires for her. Just this was better than the Seven Heavens, he was sure of it. Nothing would be sweeter than this, to bring her to the brink of pleasure and push her over for the very first time. “Let it take you, let it wash over you and just allow yourself to feel me.”

She did. Her body tensing up and expelling all air from her lungs, the cries of his name broken on her tongue as she tried to make sense of the intense feeling surging through her. The pressure releasing, her legs snapped shut around his head again but this time he did not stop her. 

Oberyn wanted to see the full extent of her ecstasy, remember every sound, every little movement of her muscles beneath her skin as she shook.

Needed to memorize her expression as he brought her to completion.

He saw the tears in her eyes, overwhelmed by the feeling of him, of the rush inside of her.

She felt dizzy as it faded, as he slowed down his movements until he had fully helped her through it all, pressing gentle, wet kisses against her mound and lower belly, feeling how her deep breaths let it rise and fall.

“More, please, more.” She whispered into the silence after a few moments. Quiet and breathless, his ears perking up at the sound.

Intoxicated by the way his mouth had worked her to completion, by how good it had felt. There was an understanding in her now, for why he had sought out pleasure for all these years before they had found one another.

She never wanted this to end, craving more of him, more of their unity. 

“Ah, my wife is a greedy one, I see.” Oberyn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I will give you more, my love. My wife shall have everything, I shall give you all you want for - gowns, jewellery, pleasure. I shall spoil you rotten.”

“You already do.” She moaned, his mouth back on her, hissing at the slight sting she felt. “Fuck, you do, Oberyn. You do!”

This time, his tongue wandered lower, and she threw her head back into the sheets at the feeling of his talented tongue licking around her pulsing, aching hole before he pushed inside. His nose bumped against her clit, the wet, vulgar sounds becoming louder. 

Lapping at her like a thirsty man would drink from an oasis in the desert. Like she was the life to sustain him, to keep him breathing.

He groaned against her in an unabashed fashion, letting his pleasure from this be known, mingling into the perfect symphony with her cries.

That sweet pleasure coursed through her, letting tears well up in her eyes as she tried to breathe, trying to form words in between her incoherent sounds.

Delirious and intoxicated.

“Oberyn, please! I’m-” She couldn’t finish her sentence, ecstasy stealing her breath away as he expertly pushed her over again, her hands pushing and pulling at his hair. Too much, too much and yet it was just right, riding wave after wave that crashed into her, washed over her.

Her hips bucked up against him, chasing his mouth as he pulled back, giving her some reprieve, hungrily kissing along her inner thigh with a groan.

“I knew you would enjoy this, my love.” He growled, nipping at her skin with his teeth and making her squeak. There was nothing more he wanted than to be buried inside of her right now, he couldn’t deny that. But he wouldn’t, instead planning to wear her out so thoroughly with his mouth that all of her worries would simply ease away. “My sweet, wonderful wife.”

So he kissed up her thigh to her knee, letting his lips wander over every inch of her, then venturing further over her calf. 

“I do, my Viper. I do.” She whispered, each kiss sending a jolt through her. Until now she couldn’t have fathomed anything to be so intense and all consuming as this. To make her feel like she was on a cloud, drifting away while her new husband worshipped her.

“I am not through with you yet. You will feel the heights of pleasure tonight, I have promised you as such.”

And before long, his mouth found her core again, coaxing another orgasm from her, her voice turning hoarse as she whispered his name over and over like he was one of the Gods. 

Maybe he was. 

With the way he moved about her body, his hands wandering and feeling while his tongue worked her up to another peak and another.

Holding true on his promises and leaving her spent when he finally decided that she had experienced enough bliss. The candles around them long burned down, shrouding them in darkness, illuminated by the faint moonlight.

Oberyn left her boneless on the bed, eyes closed and breathing hard, she drifted in and out of the comforts of sleep, faintly feeling his strong hands manoeuvre her under the covers.

“Oberyn…” She mumbled, hearing him shush her like he had done so often this night. The bed dipped beside her, his heavy form laying next to her body, pulling her close.

Still feeling like she was floating, embraced by his warmth, the happiness from earlier this night returning. His lips pressed against hers, so tender and gentle as if he hadn’t just taken her apart with only his tongue.

“Sleep, my dove. My sweet, wonderful and kind wife.” He whispered, kissing her forehead as she slowly drifted into slumber. Gratefulness and love sat deep inside her chest as she did. “There will be much more to discover. So much more.”

She woke before the sun had risen, her body aching in the most delicious ways as she moved. Oberyn’s arms still embraced her, turning around in his grasp to look at his peaceful form. 

Her husband. 

It still felt like a dream, too good to be true. Even though his strong arms around her body and his handsome face right in front of her reminded her that it was in fact real. She could still feel his hands on her body, etched into her skin like a mark. A mark she would be happy to wear until all eternity.

Her gentle fingers found the bridge of his nose, brushing over it, taking in his features. Thinking about the sight of him between her thighs, worshipping her.

How he had lapped at her, like a thirsty, starving man who had found his paradise between her legs, finally finding it after a seemingly endless journey. Drinking from her to sustain himself, taking as much as he was giving, making said paradise blossom.

She felt warm at the thought, her fingers wandering over his tanned cheek. Never had she seen him like this and she found it strange to see him without his smirk when in her presence. Always smiling, making her laugh.

Breathing in and out at a steady pace. This would be the face which would greet her until all eternity, she realized. The arms which would hold her every night, his warm, firm body pressed against hers, still clothed unlike hers. A welcome image, making her smile wider as she brushed some hair from his forehead.

“My Viper.” She whispered, leaning forward to kiss him, first on the tip of his nose, then his lips. Soft beneath hers, his beard tickling her skin.

Desire awoke in her again at the touch, the vivid feelings from last night at the forefront of her mind. His arms wrapped around her tighter, startling her as he tiredly kissed her back, awoken by her featherlight touch.

Caressing her, chuckling quietly when she drew back. His dark eyes were so beautiful, piercing even when laced with sleep. The most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, full of love and admiration for her.

“My dove, my sweet wife.” He sighed, one of his hands smoothing over her bare hip, moving to her bottom.

Squeezing it gently and making her gasp.

Fanning the flames within her, humming deeply at his ministrations. She thought about his mouth, how he had used it on her, wondering if she could do the same for him.

She wanted to, a strange eagerness to pleasure him overtaking her, her hand wandering to the opening in his robe, feeling his warm, bare chest beneath.

The thought of consummating their marriage seemed more acceptable at this moment, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to fully give into the idea just yet.

Oberyn saw the look in her eyes, recognizing it in an instant. How often he had seen this exact gaze in others, how often had it preceded the most wonderful sensations. Yet here, with her, it made him proud, made him more hungry than it ever had made him before.

Despite that, concern mixed into his excitement. She had been so scared last night, inexperienced and her head filled with terrible tales. The emotion in her eyes seemed real, but he couldn’t help but be worried.

“I wish to give back to you, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hand wandering lower, resting on his covered belly. The tips of their noses were touching, eyes locked onto another. “You made me feel the most incredible sensations, and I wish to pleasure you. Let me use my mouth like you used yours.”

His heart skipped a beat at her words, surprised by her sudden boldness. He had always known that her soul simply needed a gentle nudge to bloom and come alive. That the fierceness he saw in her every day extended into far more facettes of her being.

It was as if a new spirit had taken over her, leaving her more confident. 

“Please, Oberyn. I wish to give to you what you gave to me.” She whispered intently when he hesitated, still scared of the actual act itself, but more than willing to reciprocate his love and devotion the way he had shown it to her.

“My dove, this is about you, not me.” He whispered back, cupping her cheek in his large palm. Rough and calloused from years of training, years of fighting. “I cannot allow this in any good faith.”

“Please.”

The way she looked at him, so eager and determined. How could he say no? She wanted this, even if he wanted these glorious morning hours to be devoted to her only. Devoted to the beginning of their life together, the sun only starting to show the top of its face in the far distance of the horizon.

“Promise me that this wish is not borne out of any obligation you feel towards me.” Oberyn said, needing to rule out that the loving, kind spirit of her being drove her actions instead of her own desire. “This is borne from you, your own heart.”

She nodded, whispering a small Yes back in answer to his question. 

He sighed, kissing her forehead with an affirmative hum. Feeling the excitement grow within him, his cock twitching at the thought of her mouth.

What a wonderful wife he had.

But as he watched her naked body emerge from beneath the covers, his brows furrowed, seeing her move to the side of the bed, attempting to slide off of it.

Oberyn grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks and she looked up at him, confused. Looking so beautiful, with the sun slowly painting the skies behind her a beautiful purple, driving away the darkness. Her hair tousled, shallow lines on her face from sleep.

“What are you doing, my dove?” He asked, sitting up.

Her brows knit together in confusion, mirroring his gaze.

“Getting on my knees, just like you did, Oberyn.” She answered, genuine about her intentions. Watching him shake his head, pulling her towards him.

“No.” He replied, looking at her intently. “I won’t allow you to. My wife will not kneel before me.”

“But, Oberyn-” Her attempt to argue was squashed by the look he gave her.

“I am to worship you, kneel before you on the floor to show you my devotion, to show you pleasure.” Oberyn said, looking at her kneeling on the bed in front of him. She seemed more demure again suddenly, more timid. But the lust still blazed in her eyes. “Far too many wives expect it to be their place, on the floor in front of their husbands. Not you. You will not kneel on the floor today, my dove.”

Her heart warmed at his words, smiling and leaning forward to kiss him, her hands wandering to the thin robe he still wore. His words touched her, so thoughtful of meanings she hadn’t even thought about yet.

She wanted to kneel before him, just as he had done the night before, but she cared deeply for his words.

Slowly she opened his robe as she kissed him, letting her hands wander over his toned chest, down to the soft swell of his stomach. Touching and exploring like he had, her lips mirroring the paths he had painted onto her not too long ago, kissing down his jaw, to that point which had felt so good on her, below his ear.

Revelling in the way his breath hitched when she ventured down further, kissing every inch of him.

In the way his hands threaded into her hair, moving it out of her gorgeous face to watch her.

“You are a fast learner, my dove.” He chuckled and she felt the vibrations ripple through him. A smile broke on her face, feeling encouraged by him, by the way he touched her, the way he loved her.

“I am, am I not?” She giggled, sitting back up when she had reached his navel, the patch of dark hair which travelled into his breeches. Sitting back on her legs, she admired him for a moment, his tan skin glowing in the faintest orange from the rising sun, his beautiful body on display for her, almost as naked as she was.

Littered with scars like she had thought him to be, both small and large in size, some deep and some shallow. Faint and bold, her finger tracing along some of them.

Looking like one of the Gods. Made in their image.

“You look beautiful, Oberyn.” She whispered, her hands wandering to the strings on his breeches, needing to see what lay beneath them. The outline of him was prominent, leaving little to the imagination. “May I?”

He smiled, leaning forward to gently capture her lips with his own. One of his hands smoothed up her arm, feeling her nerves well up again. Attempting to calm her.

“Of course, my dove.”

She smiled, rubbing the bridge of her nose along his just as he had done, her shaky fingers untying the string. Peeling back the dark fabric, she couldn’t hold back the gasp that left her lungs at the sight of him, springing free.

She had been right to be scared, to be nervous and while she felt a strange desire at the sight of his cock, angry and leaking, she couldn’t help but feel nervous all over again.

Oberyn just watched, slowly leaning back once more, her fingers trailing through the dark, coarse hair at the base. Just letting her explore on her own, hissing softly when she touched him, featherlight as if she was unsure.

Soft like velvet, throbbing and bouncing. The dark tip glistened with something. 

She ran her finger over the prominent vein at the underside, then drew back, deciding to take his trousers off entirely first. Needing him fully exposed like she was, she tugged them down his legs, revealing his toned thighs and calves, hardened from years of training.

Like the Gods.

Wrapping her hand around him, she looked up to his face, seeing the intense gaze of his as he watched her fingers before his dark eyes met her own. Upon seeing the uncertainty in her, Oberyn gave her an encouraging smile, her touch setting him on fire unlike anyone had ever done before.

“You’re doing well, love. Keep going.” He said, his heart fluttering at her smile, his legs opening a bit wider. “Just move your hand, if you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said. Leaning down to take him in her mouth, she was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.

“You best lay down on your belly for that.” He suggested, his voice growing thinner. This woman would rob him of his last sanity and he hadn’t even felt her properly just yet. “It will be easier on your body and I will be able to see your face, my love.”

“Oh.” She replied, the simple sound making him chuckle. Shifting into position between his opened legs, feeling awkward as she did. He beckoned her closer, helping her so her arms were positioned over his hips, her elbows resting on the sheets.

So close to him, her hot breath fanning over his sensitive skin. The hunger clear in her eyes as his cock was right in front of her, still gripped by nervousness. 

Ducking her head, she pressed small kisses against his belly, then over his hip bones. Peering up at him through her lashes only to find him fixated on her, his hand coming up to gather her hair in a loose grip, just to get it out of the way. Watching how she teased him, his aching cock brushing along her cheek, trying to tame his hips which were squirming in anticipation.

Excruciatingly slow she moved back a little, lifting her head and taking him into one hand again. Oberyn’s breathing became heavier, seeing her lips descend and press against the head of his cock, like she was kissing it. Her tongue darted out, licking over the slit and grimacing a little at the taste of the pre-cum.

He couldn’t help the chuckle, warm and without malice, making her smile and giggle in return.

“Salty.” She remarked curiously, then resumed kissing him. Over and over, pressing her soft lips against the head, trailing them down the length of it. Just following what she thought was right, peering up at him now and then as if to ask for encouragement.

She moved so deliberately and gently that it looked like she was worshipping him. Worshipping his aching cock while laying in between his legs. Making his blood boil hotter than the sun, mesmerized by the sight of her.

“What a sight you are, my sweet dove.” He breathed out, fingers running along her scalp as she moved back up to the head. “My sweet wife. You are doing so well, simply keep kissing it.”

She felt warmth spread through her at the praise, the pressure in her abdomen returning. 

But this was about him.

“Does it feel good?” She whispered in between kisses, letting her tongue dart out again, giving the sensitive tip the tiniest lick.

“Divine.” He moaned, the sight of her too much. She looked beautiful, her contours slowly being bathed in orange hues as the sun rose higher. “You may take it into your wonderful mouth, my dove. If you wish.”

She nodded, doing as he said, opening her mouth just a little to take in the head, already feeling heavy on her tongue. Did she just move her tongue now as he had done with her? 

Or should she take more of him?

She decided on moving her tongue, licking at the head and experimentally sucking on it like he had on her clit, the deep groan that left him making her feel proud. Proud to be able to give back what he had shown her last night.

“By the old Gods and the new, nothing will feel more divine than this, my dove.” Oberyn moaned, his fingers twitching in her hair, clearly trying to hold back. Unwilling to scare her away, just letting her explore as she saw fit. “You feel wonderful, so wonderful. My cock on your tongue, what a sight.”

She took more of him, gently bobbing her head, knowing she was doing right when he kept making those wonderful sounds above her. Groaning and moaning with every movement, ecstasy overtaking his body.

Her own, private melody, her own song.

She wanted to hear more of it, becoming more eager, more assured with her movements, lifting her head to kiss it again, her hand spreading the saliva over what she couldn’t fit into her mouth, stroking him. Liking what she was doing, the heavy feeling of when he was in her mouth, her desire growing by the second but wanting to see what pleasure looked like for him. What his face would look like when he reached the heights that she had at the mercy of his mouth.

And as she continued, alternating between kissing him and bobbing her head on him, she didn’t feel scared or nervous anymore. She wanted him, needed him. Needed to know what his cock would feel like inside of her.

Needed to be one with him, beyond what they were doing right now. She was growing impatient, feeling so safe and so loved in his presence, here between his legs, that she did not want to wait much longer.

“My viper, I want you.” She breathed out when she lifted her head, her hand stilling for a moment. Pupils blown wide, a nearly ravenous expression on her face. “Please, Oberyn, my love.”

It took a moment for him to realize what she meant, finding it difficult to form a coherent thought with how close he was to his own peak, lost in the feeling of her lips around him.

“Are you sure, my sweet?” He asked, cupping her cheeks with both hands as she rose onto her hands and knees, her face close to his. “Do not feel pressured on my behalf-”

Slotting her lips against his, she cut him off, kissing him with such vigour he knew she was firm in her words. She moaned when he kissed her back, his hands on her body as he rose, moving her to lay down onto the silk bedding, never leaving her lips, staying connected to her.

Moving to her neck again as she laid below him, kissing and sucking at that sensitive spot below her ear.

“Oberyn, please.” She moaned, eyes half-lidded, squirming beneath his broad body. Hair splayed out like a halo around her head, tinged in orange sunlight. “Do not tease me, please.”

As he hovered above her, he took a moment to take her in. All of her, all his but not owned by him. Still as free as a bird for he would never cage her, make her submit, but this sight of her only for him to enjoy. The curves of her body, the way she breathed heavily, squirmed in anticipation and desperation.

All his. His wife.

Still unbelieving that this was reality, settling himself between her spread thighs. He was able to see her heart beat against her ribcage once more, just as he had wished to see it, pumping hard because of lust and not of anxiety.

His cock rested against her thigh, heavy and leaking and aching for her, aching to fully become one with her.

“Tell me you want this, my sweet.” He breathed, positioning himself so the head of him pushed against her aching hole. Ready to have him, inviting him in. “Tell me, my love. You want this, you want to become mine in body and heart and soul the way I want to become yours.”

She cupped his cheeks, eyes only on his as she nodded. Her heart swelling with every word that tumbled from his lips in the dawn, his handsome features lined by orange hues.

“Yes, Oberyn. I want this.” Her answer was a whisper but it did not lack in fervour. Smiling up at him, tears in her eyes, knowing what she was doing was right and that she was happy for this to be her life, with him by her side. “I wish to be yours, in body and heart and soul, connected to you until all eternity, until our hair turns grey and our bodies wither with the run of time.”

It was as if they held their very own, private wedding ceremony. Just the two of them to witness their words, to witness their love and passion and pleasure. 

“Until all that remains of us are two stars in the night sky, our names a whispered memory.” He said, kissing her, his hips slowly pressing forward.

It took her by surprise, her gasp swallowed by his mouth as he carefully pushed inside of her, a groan rumbling in his chest. 

A feeling like no other, feeling full as he stilled inside of her, his forehead resting against hers and breathing hard. The smallest laughter shared between them before their lips met again and again, his hands wandering all over her body, grabbing and pulling at every inch.

He could remain here forever, buried inside her, their lips meeting in a fiery passion, fuelled by their love for one another, the desire to feel, to be one.

Her embrace warm and welcoming, her arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him impossibly closer. She wished she could crawl inside of his skin, mentally cursing herself for having been so scared of this.

Mentally cursing everyone who had told her tales of pain and misery, of simply enduring the first night and every night thereafter. Not one had mentioned the intense love and desire, the feeling of needing another human more than she needed water to drink or air to breathe.

The feeling of completion, like she had found a piece of herself in him which made her feel whole. 

No. Like an addition to herself, an extension.

“Please.” She mumbled against his lips, her hands roaming over his back, feeling the muscles dance beneath his skin. “Oberyn.”

He understood, kissing her cheek when he moved his hips, pulling out of her almost entirely before sinking back in, and the sweet moan that left her was music to his ears.

Sweeter than any of the sounds he had pulled from her before, breathy and high-pitched. 

Looking magnificent in her ecstasy.

“My sweet dove.” He groaned, setting a slow rhythm, trying to hold himself back. Her mouth and hands had brought him close before and her sweet cunt made him feel dizzy, too close to the edge for his own liking. He needed to savour this, drag this out, for her and for himself. Wishing to remember this forever. “Tell me what you are feeling, tell me all.”

A sloppy kiss met the corner of his mouth, trailing to his jaw.

“Complete, full and complete and ecstatic.” She moaned against his skin, her nails digging into his back. Driving in and out of her repeatedly, brushing against spots inside of her that made her feel lightheaded, her toes curling. “I never want this to end.”

He chuckled, kissing her cheek.

“This is what the Seven Heavens must feel like.” Oberyn groaned, his thrusts falling out of rhythm, overwhelmed by her. Her tightness, her embrace, her warmth. “Here, buried in your sweet cunt lies paradise, just for us.”

Nodding, her lips found his again, so close once again.

Tears running down her temples, settling in her hair. Feeling nothing but him, the world ceasing to exist while entangled with him, becoming drunk off the pleasure.

Her peak reached her so suddenly, she couldn’t do much more than whimper against his mouth, her arms pulling him into her. Breathless, her body set ablaze.

The feelings so much more intense than before, feeling him shudder and then still against her through the haze in her mind. Their lips never stopping, her name tumbling from his and right into her mouth, as if he was praying to the Gods above.

Basking in the afterglow, he kissed her cheeks, her temples wet with tears, shushing her gently as she cried. Tears of joy, of happiness unlike no other.

He could not imagine himself with anyone else, everyone that had come before her paling in contrast.

The sun warmed their skin, the sky a bright orange, fading into pinks and purples at the very edges. Dipping everything it touched into its mesmerizing hues.

“I love you, Oberyn.” She whispered, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear. Stroking his cheek, tears still in her eyes, barely open from exhaustion, from bliss. “My sweet Viper, my husband.”

Oberyn smiled, slowly pulling out of her, already missing her warmth and tightness. He rolled them over to the side, carefully guiding her spent body. Admiring the beauty of her in the rays of the sun, casting beautiful shadows across her face, making her look like a fabled creature.

Glowing like the sun itself.

His Sun.

“And I love you, my Sun.” He whispered back, brushing some hair from her forehead. Seeing her brows knit together at the new name. “My wonderful wife.”

“My Sun?” She echoed his words, finding a warmth and safety in the name.

“You are my Sun, my sweet. The centre of my being, my warmth and my light.” He said, smiling gently, cupping her cheek. “Us Dornish worship our sun. She gives us food, she gives us life. A new day in her safety and guidance. She is sacred to us, without her, there would only be darkness and coldness.”

Her heart soared at his words, a sob leaving her, overwhelmed by his gentleness and his affection.

“You are my Sun now. Without you, my life would be dark.” He continued, brushing away her tears, filled with nothing but unbridled love for her in this moment. “And I am your Moon. Shining brightly only in your light, in your presence. Cold without your warmth, without your bright smile.”

She couldn’t find words to match his, everything she thought of seeming inconsequential.

But he was not done. His heart so full for her, as she laid in the light of the rising sun, embracing each other's spent bodies.

“Before you, my life was nothing but the chase for pleasure, to forget what I have lost.” Tears welling up in his eyes as well, a sight she had never seen before, raising a hand to wipe them away as they fell. Knowing somehow he was talking about Elia. “But now, with you by my side, there is no more need for such chases. All the pleasure of the world lies within you. In the warm heart beneath your ribs, your gentle kiss and sweet embrace. In this sweet cunt between your legs.”

She giggled between her sobs. Of course he couldn’t just not mention it.

But she felt sadness, her heart breaking at the thought of his dead sister. Of this sweet, loving man drowned in darkness and sorrow, trying to find something to take away the pain her death had caused.

He hadn’t talked of her much just yet, the memory too painful.

Hoping that he would now, after he had found a light to guide him out of the darkness.

“I wish to show you the world, to experience all the world has to offer us with you by my side. To give you all the children you wish for, tiny viperlings in the image of us.” More words which brought forth more tears. Ever the poet, ever spilling his aching heart. “All that will heal my broken heart. Healing it further as you have already begun to heal it, my Sun, unbeknownst to you. Every moment spent with my daughters, treating them like your own, giving them your love, all of that put another broken piece back into place.”

“Oh, Oberyn. My Viper, my Moon.” She whispered, wiping away more tears as her own continued to spill. Leaning up to kiss them from his cheeks, brushing her nose against his. “I do not have the words to explain what I feel for you. They feel inadequate to everything you have just said.”

Oberyn chuckled, moving to kiss her lips, those sweet, soft lips.

“There is no need, my Sun. Your touch and your smile are enough to let me know just what you’re thinking, what you are feeling. Let me worship you as you ought to be worshipped in this moment.”

Pressing their foreheads together as they lay in the glowing sun, tangled limbs and tangled souls warmed by it.

Just breathing, just feeling.

Connected in their very beings, basking in each other’s presence.

The love they felt was enough to sustain them for a hundred lifetimes.

The Viper and his Sun.

In a bond formed of love.

[blueberri-blu]

Hey Pookie! I saw your bio and totally get that you might not respond (or even feel like responding), but I just wanted to wish you good luck on your finals! I’m a bit younger, so my finals aren’t going to happen for a couple of months yet, but I can imagine how stressful it must be. Just make sure to take care of yourself—get enough rest, eat, drink water, and all that good stuff! When you’re back from your hiatus, I might send in a request (don’t worry, nothing freaky like that)

Awww thank you so much! I am finally done with finals and passed! I hope you're able to get through yours easily and wish you luck! Feel free to send your ask!

[blueberri-blu]

Here’s me with request #3! (Hey it rhymed!)

For my third request, I want it to be ROTTMNT Donnie x Reader where the reader has illogical powers and Donnie is studying them to figure out why they have them. Chaos ensues.

Please include writing prompt 17 and make the relationship between Donnie and the Reader be platonic.

Of course! Absolutely loved this idea! Also, I'm so sorry for responding so late, I've been stuck with exams :c, anyway, here's what I came up with:

Chaos —✧۝

Prompt 17: "Damn it, why aren't you obeying the laws of physics?"

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So... You guys were all in the mystic library

And you decided that a book titled Guabancex

You thought it was interesting and decided to grab it, obviously

I mean, how were you supposed to know, really

It looked like a completely normal book

Nonetheless, the weird black and grey swirls of -what you thought- were magic didn't seem all too normal

Or safe

—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧

You and the Turts are at April's place, just happy to have been able to save Mayhem

However, you weren't feeling good

And once Mayhem was out

He was all over you, sniffing you, and cuddling you

You were very confused to say the least

Then... You sneezed

And suddenly there was a huge rain cloud over all of you

And you were all soaked

That's when all of them turned to look at you

Only to see this symbol on your forearm

"y/n..."

"Yea...?"

"what. Did. You. Do."

"haha... whatdoyoumeandonnieididntdoanything"

"uhm... Raph thinks that you aren't telling the truth"

"Yea... Uh... Amigo, you don't usually just achoo and then boom! Tormenta"

"It was really cool! But uh... Yea I don't think humans can usually do that"

"haha..... Uhm so maybeitouhedareallycoollookingbook"

"and... What did this book say, exactly?"

"I uh, I think it said Guabancex?"

"THE DEITY OF CHAOS FROM THE TAINO MYTHOLOGY?!"

"uh... Maybe?"

—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧۝—✧

"Y/N WHAT THE ACTUAL FU-"

It has been a few weeks and your powers are so random, that they are driving Donnie insane

He has a whole spreadsheet filled with the occasion, what you were doing, and what power emerged

It seemed like the most common one was weather and/or water related powers

But other than that, they were completely random

Donnie had you in his Lab, hooked up to... Who knows what

"look, if I can find the pattern... There is always a pattern... It's the basic unit of... Everything!"

"uhm, don?"

"Donnie! It's fine! If anything you should find out the course so that you can make something to suppress it!"

"No. Y/n. I must, nothing is spontaneous!"

"Yea no, that's fine but uh ... Donnie I'm floating"

He turned to see you floating as if gravity didn't exist

"exasperated sigh, damnit, why aren't you obeying the laws of physics!"

"oh! OH! Y/N! YES! YOU'VE TRULY HELPED ME!"

Donnie stayed in his lab for 2 weeks, finally giving you a bracelet that could help you tell when a power was going to show up.

So although Donnie in the beginning, tries really freaking hard to understand them... Later on he'll just accept it.

I am so freaking sorry for how long this took me, I was stuck with finals and some personal things going on, so I'm really sorry if this isn't as well written. But! I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Thank you for your request <3

[blueberri-blu]

hi! can i please request a frenchie fic where the reader is a former member of the seven? with whatever angsty prompt you like. thank you!

okay i am so excited for this and i may sob writing this! i kinda took inspo from this tiktok edit of frenchie and kimiko. oh and this is the prompt im gonna use, "listen to me-" "No, no!" "my dear, i swear, that isn't what i meant." "oh yeah? i don't think so. you were pretty loud and clear back there." | request info here!

you were fuming, was he right? were just another piece of shit supe like the rest of them, like a-train, like the deep, like homelander?

his voice cuts you train of thought when he tries to reason with you has you pack what you could into a duffle.

"listen to me-" his accent thick.

"no, no!" you yell just trying to tune out his voice.

"mon coeur, i swear, that isn't what i meant." he pleads to you.

"oh yeah serge? i don't think so. you were pretty loud and clear back there." you say as you move towards your nightmare.

"please please just look at me." he reaches for you hand.

you turn and look at him tears glossing your eyes as you try and scowl.

"mon amour, please i didn't mea-."

"please just fucking stop!" you yelled at him. "this who i fucking am! i'm a fucking no good piece of shit supe right? i was a fucking fool to think that maybe just maybe my mentor would do the right thing! but you can't fucking judge me when you still follow order from butcher like his fucking lap dog!"

"that's cruel and you know it." he says.

"that's right it is. you're right i am. but i'm fucking right. he treats you like shit and he doesn't care about you and he's on some fucking vendetta and he doesn't care who gets hurt. I want to hurt homelander as much as he does! but i would never put you or anyone else on in fucking danger! so yes i might have slipped up but i owned up to it and made sure everyone was fucking safe! while that fucking cunt could two shits if a supe like me sends up dead. so i'm fucking done." you shut your eyes and clench your fist digging you fingers nails into you skin.

frenchie takes you and into his and gets on his knees.

"if you need to be mean, be mean to me. if you must inflict pain, perhaps i can endure it so you don't have to suffer." he pulls your fingers away from your palm.

"please don't leave. not like this." he looks up at you with pleading eyes.

[blueberri-blu]

I'm finally done with finals! Feel free to send in some asks, I currently have 2 I'm working on, so I'll make sure to try and get them out by tomorrow!

[blueberri-blu]

had to scrap the original post because i fat fingered and posted too early 😔 but in any case, my pleasure anon!! and tysm for the request, queer requests are my favorite!! I'll just be doing Donnie for this post, but keep your eye out for a separate post for Leo :3

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Rise Donnie + Nonbinary Reader content warnings: misgendering

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Donnie wasn't particularly surprised.

It's not like he could explicitly tell, mind you, but neither of the two of you had ever cared much for restrictive labels; and this was true in both your relationship and your personal identities.

That wasn't to say you didn't care for any labels. Donnie took a lot of pride in the ones he chose for himself. It made it that much more heartfelt, when he finally regarded himself as your partner. It was so deliberate of him.

And it... sounded so much better, than boyfriend or girlfriend. You liked being partners.

It was only after his family took to incessantly calling you two boyfriend and....

ugh. It made your stomach revolt just thinking about it; having the term ascribed to you and him. It just wasn't right.

It was only then in the moment of dysphoria that you realized the nature of your identity clearly enough to tell Donnie about it.

"would you still date me if I used different pronouns?"

He looked down at you, where your head had been thrown into his lap.

"we're dating?" He lifted his goggles, a brow cocked upwards in your direction. You grabbed his face in both hands.

"Quit dodging the question."

He rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure how that would affect me or our relationship. Just send me the full set... Or sets. I've gotta edit some things."

That was that. No questions. No fuss.

...Maybe a part of you was disappointed there wasn't... y'know, more. But Donnie's means of showing support were unconventional. His nonchalance was far more a good sign than a bad one.

You were naturally oblivious to the lengths he went to at home to get everyone on the same page. It was a quick turn-around, seeing as Shelldon was keeping a mic out for him.

That's not to say a single one of them wouldn't be supportive. But they were... forgetful.

Lucky you, your partner was very proficient at reminding them. By the next time you came to the lair, it was "(deadname) who?"

"You didn't have to tell them for me," you huffed at him when you finally retired to his lab.

"I haven't the slightest clue what you're talking about," he yawned, trying too hard to feign nonchalance and wrapping right back around to being obvious. "you're just so androgynous, they must've figured it out on their own."

"Your family couldn't figure their way out of a cardboard box," you squinted at him.

"I know, right? Just goes to show how obvious it is, I suppose."

You tried to fight the smile, smothering it with your hand as your brows remain furrowed.

You leaned over, nudging your head into his arm affectionately. A silent exchange of affection passed between you two as he nudged you in turn.

"shut up."

[blueberri-blu]

Hiii! I'm 🫐 ano, this is my first time requesting >~<, I absolutely love your fics! and if you're up for it I have a rise!Donnie x fem!reader request!

So yk how Donnie is generally touch averse, well what if his s/o was too, like his s/o's love language is just spending time together, so they'll parallel play (s/o playing quietly on their switch while Donnie works) occasionally making conversation. Could I get some hcs on this please?

If not don't worryyy it's ok, I totally get it^^ ily, and I hope you're doing well and taking care of yourself!

Of course I'm up for it! Ilyt anon!

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HEADCANNONS

-i feel like at some point. After getting used to all this, he'd start going to the room where you are, plop down next to you and continue what he was doing. He isn't even aware of this, it just comes naturally to him.

-always has something for you on him. If you're bored, oh look he has a switch, if you're hungry, oh look! He has a snack prepared. All this planned by him, so you wouldn't have to go leave to get them yourself.

-Always has you leaning on him if he's just doing something boring. If you're mad at him, he'll just plop down next to you and gently push your head towards his shoulder for you to lean on.

-you two have fallen asleep on each other at least once.

-overall, he enjoys time with you, he has all he could need in a room. You. And so do you, courtesy of shelldon. He probably has a spot in your bed that you have dubbed as your comfort space. He doesn't dare move in it. He wants you to have enough space to be comfortable. Only if you're snuggling with him, will he hug you and tug you close.

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Loved this one!

Your's truly,

MysticMidnight

[blueberri-blu]

LIBRARY

Master post of all my writings. TW: dark content + NSFW I MDNI I all my readers are female by default unless specified otherwise.

All characters are depicted mid-twenties and older. Any bitching about this matter equals instant block ♡

Art inspired by my writings is more than appreciated, but please add in your description the link to my post, or submit it to my inbox ♡

Please don't spam like, reblogs and comments are appreciated!

Ao3

✪ Popular posts SFW + NSFW

Who fell first and who fell harder (across the mutant verses)

How would they sound in bed? (across the mutant verses)

How would they fuck your brains out? (across the mutant verses)

Hard crush (Leo and Raph crushing on you, 2007)

How would they eat you out? (2007)

Turtle’s favorite sex positions (general verses)

Turtles when they're mad at you! (general verses)

✪ Short thirsts and HC

Grown-ups HC (2007)

Lovely things they do for you (2007)

Realizing they are in love (Bayverse)

Red flags! toxic hc (general verses)

Their significant other is a nightwatcher fan! (2007) I p2

Biggest insecurities are when it comes to dating (Bayverse)

Their O faces I NSFW I Bayverse

Marking HC I NSFW (general)

Cock warming HC I NSFW (2007)

How to blow Donnie, a guide! I NSFW (2003)

Soft toy play | NSFW (2007) Leo centered

Raph has a wet dream about you | NSFW (general verses)

Needy!Leo fucking you stupid (all verses)

✪ Seasonal Specials

You know, hot Valentine, kinktober, no-nut-November, creampie December...

✪ Dark Library

Compilation of dark fics, requested, or otherwise!

✪ General suggestive and smut stuff

Ghost Bridal (2007)

18+ I NSFW I Mating cycles I 10 years after the 2007 movie I You lend a hand with his mating season

Yum, baby yum (general verses)

18+ I Making out Headcanons that are not precisely written in hc format I suggestive I General verses

Ninja's Heartstrings (2007)

18+ I The first part of a trio smut I suggestive? I You're in love with Leo and Raph but refuse to choose just one.

Snap call (2007)

18+ | You send him nudes while he is on patrol, and Raph isn't quite happy about it. | Nightwatcher Raphael x fem reader

I wanted you to be my first (general verses)

18+ | Short thirst of their first time with f!reader

What do they love in bed? (2007)

18+ | General preferences

First time churring (2012)

18+ | Title is pretty self-explanatory

✪ Fluff??? Here???

Raph is mustering the courage to confess his feelings, but nothing goes as he plans after your birthday party.

Would they love you if you were a worm?

✪ Pieces of art from my writings:

Red Night

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Updated: 02/May/2024 | All content published here belongs to oozedninjas™ Do not repost my work.