kikithekiwi19

[kikithekiwi19]

Can I fight Rafayel in Combat for your MC/silly

Absolutely! She might even join you 💀😭

The fish kinda gets on her nerves some (most) times.

[kikithekiwi19]

Just Rafayel being down bad for MC. As he should be 😌

[kikithekiwi19]

Hiiii! I’m the anon who was asking about more cow!hybrid works, bestie! Firstly, thank you for even entertaining the idea. Now I can’t stop imagining all the Mark variants getting progressively more jealous like “why does this one get to have her??” “im better then this loser”

Like they’d 100% start fighting over reader and then reluctantly agree to some chaotic shared custody situation. And when I say share I know they’ll still fight and argue who fucks better. 😭💖

They'd so have a fucking contest 😭💀. Like they even have a scoreboard on the fridge to keep track of who's given you the most orgasms💀.

I think either Prisoner or Viltrumite Mark is tied in the lead, with OG Mark following close behind. Like, they give off the vibes that they will put your pleasure first and have you crying from overstimulation right after.

Imagine OG Mark and Viltrumite Mark holding you down as Prisoner eats you out like a man starved. Suckling greedily on your puffy clit, thick fingers stuffed in your twitchy hole.

Sobbing as the other two paw and nip at your sensitive nipples. Lapping for any drop of your sweet milk.

Mohawk and Sinister seem like the most competitive. The two are definitely the most rough. Way too impatient to wait for either of their turns, they just opt to shove both of their cocks in at the same time.

Taunting you endlessly as you tumble to an overwhelming orgasm. Tugging at your tail and ears, cooing when you whine each time.

Holy shit this is getting more and more diabolical each time.

[kikithekiwi19]

SCRUMPTIOUS. I WANT MORE.

A little slow burn wip ♡

Synopsis: You start a new job on a farm as a farmhand, but your boss seems a bit... cold. Maybe you can crack through his shell!

Pairing: Oc Farmer (?) X Chubby Reader

Warnings: None yet since it's still a wip, slight fluff (for now)

Word Court: 1.0k Words

Music plays quietly on the radio, filling the small, hot space in your old, somewhat beaten-up truck. Tapping your finger to the rhythm on the steering wheel, trying to distract yourself from the sweat dripping down your back, you slow down as you scan the area, searching for the address as you as you turn down the music. "45... no 43 Baker Street..." Finally spotting an old, but quaint, farmhouse, you bring your vehicle to a rolling stop before killing the engine. Outside stands the man you believe to be named 'N', the same one from the job posting. Standing tall, albeit awkwardly, is a tan big man who seems almost annoyed at your 'intrusion'. Rolling down the window, which is no easy feat considering the manual crank, you peek your head above the glass, putting on a friendly smile "Hey! You're N, right? I'm here for the farmhand position." Still annoyed, but less so after your introduction, the man clears his throat before answering in a gruff voice. "That's me." You step out onto the dirt driveway, pocketing your keys before holding out your hand "It's great to meet you." You're friendly, genuinely so, and that speaks through your smile. Just as you're about to put your untouched hand down before he grabs it and gives a firm shake, his hand callused and rough against yours. He gives no answer, instead silently moving to the back of your truck to help you unload your bags. "Thank you again for letting me stay here with you. I promise once I have enough to find my own place, I'll be out of your hair."

You ramble on about little things, either out of friendliness or nerves, as you follow him inside, following suit to kick off your dusted boots as you walk towards his guest room. His voice soon cuts through yours, another gruff, almost harsh sound. "You ever work on land before?" He sets your suitcase down on the ground, careful to make sure they stand straight and tall. "Of course. I wouldn't take this job if I didn't. A friend of mine actually owns some animals, mainly chickens and cows, so I'd help out with stuff like collecting eggs and milking. I also have family that lived on farms, and some that still do, so I'm used to the smells and all that. No need to worry about me gagging." Busy putting away some of your other small bags and boxes, you miss the small, almost invisible smile that graces his lips at your quip. "Come out when you're settled. I'll show you around." Almost as quickly as he introduced himself, he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him. First things first, you unpack your clothes, setting them neatly into a wooden dresser with intricate carving on the drawers. You familiarize yourself with the space, after all, it'll be your bedroom until you have enough funds for a home, rent, and bills. Sitting on the plush mattress and lying back, you stare up at the ceiling as your mind stills, finally calming down from your initial stress and worry. Turning your phone off completely and placing it on the dresser, you leave the room, ready to join him outside.

Quickly stubbing out a cigarette and waving the smoke away with his hand, he walks up to you, his hands now hanging awkwardly at his sides before being shoved in his pockets. "I don't mind if you smoke around me. I got friends that do." You try putting him at ease, likely noticing the slight expression of shame or... embaressment. "Ma said it ain't right. Not in front of a lady." You smile, subconsciously thankful for his refusal to smoke near you despite your words. He shows you around the farm, introducing you to his plump, fluffed-up dairy cows, recently sheared sheep, bleating goats, and the many chickens clucking away in their coops. He notices how already caring you are with each of his animals, stating how cute they are while maintaining a respectful distance. He tells you how he'll mainly need help milking the cows and feeding the sheep, as the chickens get mean and the goats mischevious. Once back inside and gathering your mental notes, you step into the bathroom he showed you before setting out your pajamas and a towel.

The long ride up to his land, plus being outside for several hours, has rendered you sweaty, sticky, and tired. Making sure not to take too long, not wanting to set a bad impression, you quickly clean up and change before walking back out into the main hall, where you can smell him cooking dinner. "It smells great in here." You sit down at the dining table, already told you don't need to help out, and wait politely. As you sit and wait for the warm meal, you notice your eyes start to wander. Looking around the kitchen space and the small details in the home, you spot a wooden cabinet full of expensive-looking teacups and china, clearly family heirlooms and clearly very old. Pictures hang on the walls, mainly starring a young boy and an older, beautiful woman. "You're mother?" You ask curiously, spotting a specific picture sitting on a small mantle. He briefly stops his motions before nodding, the movements brief and curt.

Reining back your voice, you sit up straighter in your seat, eyeing the plate as he sets dinner in front of you before sitting down opposite. "One of Ma's recipes." Picking up your fork and taking a bite, you smile and let out a small noise of satisfaction. "It's delicious. Your mother's a true chef." His gaze seems to perk up at your compliment, a deep appreciation and pride for his mother and her cooking clear. "I made dessert too. Apple pie." You beam again, swallowing a bit before speaking. "Also her recipe?" Satisfied with his nod, you continue eating, the silence and occasinal sounds of cutlery unusuallly comfortble depsite the being your frst non over-the-phone meeting with each other.

Now full of dinner and a warm, overly generous slice of pie, you retire to your room. Bidding him a good night and failing to notice his lingering gaze, you shut your bedroom door behind you. The soft sounds of rustling blankets and animals cooing puts you at ease, some of your doubt and worries seeming to slip away as you fall asleep.

"She's beautiful..."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know if you want to see more!

[kikithekiwi19]

Rafayel 🐟🐟

[kikithekiwi19]

First I love love love your style of writing. Especially your Invincible work. My favorite so far was the Cow!hybrid reader. Do you think you’ll write more for it? Cause I want to see the variants crashing into Mark’s house during the war and meeting her. 👀

Firstly thank you anon! And secondly I actually haven't thought of it but like why are you lowkey on to something!?

Like just thinking about all the Mark Variants being jealous that this version gets a cutie all to himself.

Probably fight over who gets to have you before settling on just sharing you. Stuffing you full of their cocks as they watch you lose yourself.

I think you've unlocked something anon. 🤭

[kikithekiwi19]

Guess who's obsessed with a new Fandom 🤭

Already made my own MC since I've rarely see any stuff on Black MC in the LADs community 💀

So I had to do it myself 💅

Gonna have to start writing for my beloved Rafayel. 😝

[kikithekiwi19]

YES LAWD

I love your body I love your taste — I love you.

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x chubby fem!reader

Tags: smut, cunnilingus, sukuna's hand mouth n stomach mouth (mentioned), canibalism (brief mention), reader isn't self conscious about their looks/body but is happy about the compliment :D

Sukuna who likes chubby women bc they have more "meat" on their bones, and without knowing he's complimenting every chubby woman he sees because he thinks it's an insult or a threath when he says "I'll devour you." And it worked. Somehow, weirding out most women. Until you came along.

"You will make an excellent meal. I'll devour you while relishing in your screams." You blushed, "Oh my — why aren't you a flirty guy." "Huh."

You never thought a handsome, buff guy like him would find you attractive, let alone compliment you so vulgarly — you didn't mind though, leaving with a wave and a wide smile.

But fuck — he never thought that a sight of a woman smiling up at him, at a threath of eating and tearing off your flesh would make him spiral into making you his wife and fulfilling that promise — in his own way.

Now he's buried between your thighs, licking at your pussy as you yelp out when he bites at your thigh. Growling as he feels the flesh around his teeth — he can't get enough. That gold band around your ring finger as you tried to shush your moans makes him go crazy, licking off your arousal from his lips as he smirks showing of those dangerous teeth he threatened you with once (without you knowing — so oblivious he thought).

Sukuna then rose from your opened thighs to sit and admire your quivering form, that dangerous smirk not leaving his face as you saw one of his four arms rise up — palm facing you as a mouth with a rolled out tongue appeared on it. "We can't let the essence go to waste now."

He placed his big hand against your cunt letting the mouth do its thing as it licked at you again, bringing you to an another bring of pleasure as he kissed you roughly. The other pair of hands holding your plump hips as they grinded against the tongue — whimpering around his lips as he didn't let you catch your breath.

When sukuna pulled away to look at your teary eyed face as you looked up at him with a faint smile, hand still pressed against your pussy. With a gruff laugh a large mouth appeared on his abdomen.

"We aren't done."

Funny how those mouths he can spawn out of nowhere can taste anything normally as his normal mouth and tongue.

© Scobeloffico : Don't repost my work, don't plagiarize it on different sites (ao3, wattpad)

[kikithekiwi19]

Riddle can't handle all of that.😒

[kikithekiwi19]

Can we see more of your art ?? 🤞🤞

Of course! Here's a few of them!

Got some Mireya and Riddle Sketches and my own personal oc's.

[kikithekiwi19]

SWEET MILK!

❝Old MacDonald had a farm, I give him a titty, tryna keep him calm!❞

Synopsis: The GDA has a new hybrid integration program. The Grayson's volunteered to take you in. In the process, you get to know their son really well.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Chubby! Cow hybrid! Reader

Warnings: Teasing, fem reader, thigh riding, nipple play, lactation kink? (Marks a little freak, drinks titty milk), cock drunk, unprotected sex, breeding kink, Marks a little meanie, finger sucking, creampie, lots of praise, Marks a little perverted, little overstim if you squint.

AN: This healed something within me. 😌

Word Count: 1.5k

The GDA hybrid program was a simple way to assimilate the minimal hybrids left into regular society. Your volunteer family, the Graysons, were a thoughtful bunch.

Fuss over your needs and make sure you are well accommodated. Especially their son. Mark was considerate. Thoughtful, kind, the whole package.

Always checking if you were comfortable, asking simple questions about your day; offering you your favourite snack if it didn't.

You failed to notice his heated gaze admiring your tits straining against your shirt or the curve of your cute belly.

The twitch of his jaw, anytime you leaned too close, giving him the perfect view to look down your shirt.

Or when you pranced around in nothing but an oversized shirt and shorts, the way he’d hope for just a glimpse of your ass when you bent over.

Touches that lingered far too long; hands brushing the curve of your waist, your cute ears and tail.You never noticed. As much as he'd like you too.

You thought nothing of it. Sure he was at your beck and call for anything, but that was just him being hospitable. Nothing more. Even if you wished for the opposite.

Your obliviousness both charmed him and irritated him to no end. God he wanted to smother his face against your plush body as he bullied his cock into you.

It was a shock to you when he cornered you in your room. Capturing lips in a feverish kiss, tugging you onto his lap.

His warm hands cupped your heavy tits. The rough pads of his fingers swiped over the stiff peaks. You exhaled, eyes locked on his. Giving your nipples a squeeze, Mark's gaze transfixed on the pearly liquid dribbling down.

Mark swiped his tongue over his bottom lip. His breath hitched, “You wouldn't mind if I…” his voice trailed off. Letting the suggestion hang.

His eyes lidded, clouded with desire made you squirm on his lap. You nodded simply, your voice dying in your throat under his leering stare.

He brought his face closer to your chest, hot breath fanning your sensitive skin. He wasted no time latching on, moaning as sweet milk hit his tongue.

Suckling greedily, his lidded gaze never broke yours. Heat crawled the back of your neck, ears flattening as you pushed your chest closer revealing in the buzz of pleasure.

You moaned helplessly, hands threading through his hair. “M'fuck…Careful, they're sensitive.” Your hips began rolling against his thigh. Faltering a tad.

Your breath staggered, sheer sweat dribbled down your furrowed brows. You gnawed at your bottom lip, the slow draw of your hips against Mark's toned thigh made you shiver.

The delicious friction against your panty clad clit made you whine. Your ears twitched, picking up the faint groans that tumbled from his lips.

Mark's grip on your waist was strong, blunt nails digging into the fat of your hips. “So pretty baby, your pussy so desperate f'me.” He hummed around your nipple, choking back a moan.

He could feel your heat gliding against the fabric of his pants. The rough material seems to sedate your egging desperation for release.

“Not right, ngh, we shouldn't be doing this Mark.” You whined, tail swishing behind you rapidly.

He released your left nipple, milk smearing his lips. “You say that but you're humping my leg like a desperate little thing.”

“Shh, just suck on my fingers baby. We won't get caught if I keep your little mouth busy, hmm?” he cooed, shoving two digits into your mouth.

Your cries were muffled. Your tongue sucking lazily around Mark's fingers. “See? Nice and quiet once I put that mouth to use.”

You only mewled around his fingers, hips rutting faster against his thigh.

The dual stimulation sent you tumbling towards your orgasm. Your thighs tremble, riding out pleasurable high.

Your moans were muffled, only helpless squeaks around his fingers.

Mark whistled lowly, “Look at that, made a mess on my thigh baby.” Admiring the wet stain you left behind. His other hand traced the outline of your cunt through the fabric.

You cried around his thick fingers, drool dribbling from the corner of your mouth. He pulled his fingers out with a loud pop. Your hips jerk away from his feverish touch, hands flying to his wrist.

“C'mon, not even a little peak? Don't you wanna be my good girl?” he cooed , voice low and sweet. So sweet.

Your grip loosened, embarrassment pumping through your veins. Mark wasted no time tugging your soaked panties aside, groaning softly at the sight of your sticky folds.

Spreading them far enough to see your twitchy clit. “Look at how gorgeous she is. And you wouldn't let me see her.” He mused. Already tugging his pants past his hips, his lips captured yours in a deep kiss.

It was heated, driven by a carnal need to swallow your moans whole. Your hands threaded through his hair, tugging him impossibly closer.

His hands drifted lower, cupping the fat of your ass, forcing you to grind your hips against his length.

Pulling away, a string of saliva connecting your kiss swollen lips. “Ride me. Wanna see you bouncing on my cock.” Lips ghosting the juncture of your neck, kissing your fluttering pulse.

Aligning his tip with your entrance, your hands grip his shoulder blades, allowing him to sink you down on his length.

Both of you gasp, the stretch was dizzying. Thighs quivering as your pelvis met his, taking him all the way. “So full..hah..feel so full Mark.” Your pussy clamped down making him hiss. It took all his strength to bust right there.

God you looked so pretty and he handn’t even fucked you properly yet! Your warm hole just sucked him in greedily, you were practically asking for it.

“Shit…yeah? Feel me right here?” His hand pressed down on your lower belly, pliant flesh under his thick fingers making you shutter. Your tail twitched as you tightened your hold on his shoulders.

You lift your hips until only the tip is kissing your entrance before slamming back down. The obscene plap plap plap as your ass bounced on his lap.

Your grip on reality fizzling out the more his length bumped the deepest parts of you.

Fat tears fell down your cheeks, babbled mewls fell from your lips. Mark only hummed against your skin, murmuring about how pretty you looked above him. Hands guiding the flow of your hips as you work yourself on his cock.

“S’good…fuck...your doing so good.” One his hands drifting to your tail, tugging on it. You cried out, velvet walls clenching around him unconsciously.

“Ah, you like that? My sweet cow likes getting her tail pulled? Naughty little thing.”

He tugged again, watching your mouth go slack. Your speed wavered, feeling your thighs burn from keeping yourself up right.

Mark only smirked, “Keep going baby, you can do it.” Wiping the stray tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“Can’t do it..hah..too much.” He only hushed your cries with a kiss.

“S’okay I’ll help you, just hold on baby.”

He barely gave you a chance to respond before pistoning his cock up into your pussy. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulder blades.

He barely registered the pain, transfixed on your face, screwed shut in pleasure. His attention flickered to your tits bouncing in face. He popped a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

Your body shook at the dual stimulation, feeling a knot in your abdomen threatening release.

“Gonna cum..ahh..f-fuck!” His hand trailed down in between the two of you, his thumb rubbed your clit in taut circles.

That’s all you needed, your vision blurred as pleasure coursed through your veins.

Hot and overwhelming.

Your cunt gushed around his length, it didn’t deter him at all. Mark’s hips only struck harder, helping you ride out your orgasm.

He pulled away from your swollen nipple, gulping down the last remnants of your milk. “Look at that, creamin’ around me baby, shit.”

“Gonna cum again f’me, h-hah, n-need to feel you cum around me again.”

Mark was babbling at this point, utterly lost in your warmth. “L-Let me cum inside you baby. P-please.”

You could barely comprehend what he was saying, body going limp as he overworked your sensitive pussy.

“N-no more. Too much.”

His lips brushed your skin, “Please, just one more. M'almost there.”

Your pussy clamped down weakly, your third orgasm of the night fast encroaching. His hips stuttered, pulling you down until he was buried deep.

Groaning through gritted teeth, hot spurts of cum painted your walls. A pathetic whine slipped past your lips, cumming around him again.

Both of your breath mingled together. Chests pressed against each other, while you both rode out the high.

“Are you okay?”

You blinked away your tears, nodding limply. “You fuck my brains out and thats the first thing you ask me?”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, “Sorry if I was too forward. His hands trailed down the curve of your spine.

“Forward is an understatement.”

He gave you an apologetic smile. Pulling out his softening cock, getting a warm cloth to clean you up.

You nuzzle into the sheets, lidded eyes following his every move. “If you liked me, you could have asked me out.”

“What?”

“Should have asked me out.” You huff.

“I would have said yes.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

[kikithekiwi19]

MY SHAYLAH!!

Mireya lives in my head rent free. Honestly, as she should 😌

[kikithekiwi19]

Omg finding your Mohawk mark x chubby reader fics was the best thing ever bc like we DO need more mark variant’s fics with a chubby reader 💔

Aww thank you 😊 Like LITERALLY, there is a need for more Mark variants x chubby reader.

The whole reason why I started writing on here, gotta be the change we wanna see.

[kikithekiwi19]

Would you care to revisit cow hybrid reader with Mark? Im a sucker for cow hybrids ouuuggghhh

Same anon! I love cow hybrid reader, I'll definitely be revisiting it.🤭🤭

[kikithekiwi19]

TRIGGER : DUBCON— SMUT ! This is Mohawk mark.. he’s not a super nice guy lol.

This is my first ever dubcon so I’m like super nervous about it lmao

Cw: AFAB reader. I mention the reader wears panties n a bra and he does cup your breast (describing as fitting in his hand but no description of size)

Kinks are ; fingering, biting, degrading (whore, slut and things of that nature) praise.

Summary: You’re a supervillain Mohawk mark… takes an interest in… :0!

This literally came to me in a fucking DREAM yall (yes apparently i dream fanfic now!) so if the plot is bonkers.. don’t blame me — er well.. blame my brain which is still blaming me okay whatever enjoy

Guys.. I’m so nervous to post this idk why..

Your powers are undefined ; but you are strong enough to *hurt* mark. 

If you like this I’ll post the second part. So repost and leave a comment letting me know what you think! I read everything sent to me :)

Your mom is a supervillain.

You found out when you were younger. On accident.

Of course, you first assumed she was a hero—what with her fancy get up—but, then, you saw the news. And surprisingly quickly, you realized that this wasn’t the case.

At least, she did it for a cause, though she did occasionally swipe a few shiny artifacts for herself. If the British museum could steal precious artifacts and be praised for it, why couldn’t she?

Despite this, didn’t change your family dynamic.

Your mom was still a kind woman who instilled within you a sense of justice, taught you the value of family, to be kind to others. Your mother was saint in your eyes, even if she could be… impish to others.

So, imagine your surprise when she comes crashing into through the back door of your house, bloodied and bruised. Suffice to say you aren’t very fucking impressed.

“Oh my god mom! Are you okay?? What the hell happened?!”

Your legs move faster than she can react, you haul her up with one arm walking her to the couch.

“Language, baby. And I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“No! Fuck that—sorry.. but mom, this isn’t a flesh wound, who did this to you?! Tell me!”

Your hands shake her slightly, as her eyes trail from yours. This is the part she never lets you see.

“Mom. Please?”

“I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

Your mom slowly lifts before you push her back down.

“No. I got it. After I patch you up, I’m goin’ to find that bastard and put him in the ground.”

Your mom groans as she bites your name from her lips, “No! This is exactly why I don’t let you see me like this, I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. You’re a good kid.. you don’t need a record. To always have to look over your shoulder. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been beat, darling.”

“Mom. Following in your footsteps would an honor.”

Your mother sighs, her mouth opening to speak you hold your hand up to stop her.

“But, I understand you don’t want me to and I respect that. But mom, there’s no reason for them to .. to beat you halfway unconscious like this! It’s not like you’re killing anybody.”

Your mother scoffs, “Baby, I don’t even have a bruised rib, if anything that new hero took pity on me.”

“New hero..?”

Your heels dig into the floor as you turn toward your mother, med-kit gripped in your hands.

There’s only one new hero you knew. Same one caused destruction on a daily basis, if you didn’t know he was a superhero, you would have probably assumed he was a villain too.

Now that your mom’s getting older, she’s not as fast as she used to be. You find yourself helping her out more than she cares to admit, which meant even more close encounters with that fuckface.

You try to keep your peace, but it slips away from you the second you see her bleeding, holding a towel to the new gash on her scalp.

“That fuc-freakin’ dick head in— in ..invin— god what is his dumb ass name?!”

“Invincible, darling.”

“Yeah, him! He did this to you mom?”

Your mom is quiet again, staring through the window.

“Mom. So help me god.. if that’s who hurt you—“

Your mom’s head quickly whips away from the window, her body tensing before relaxing.

“Baby.. it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s not worry about it. Come on, just patch me up—“

Anyone else wouldn’t have caught it, but you know your mom.

You bolt to the window before she let out a sound of disapproval.

That blue fucker hovered around your neighborhood, scanning the multicolored rooftops, most likely looking for your mother. Your eyebrows furrow.

Not the first time you’ve seen him, fought him.

Your mind zips back a memory of your mom on the news, running like prey from him and his merry little band of freaks. Your fist became fury as you tore through those streets, you couldn’t get a good hit on him though, didn’t matter at the time, you were only there to make sure your mom escaped, she did so you left.

Words were exchanged— hot and heavy and that was just the first time you fought him.

But this is different. This is your home, an advantage, no masks or multi-colored friends to help him.

“Don’t do anything stupid. We shouldn’t alert them of our home base!” Your mothers words hissed from her mouth, but your ears were brick walls.

The house shudders as you speed out the door, your shoes leave skid marks on the pavement as your head whips around before locking your eyes on him.

“Hey! You fucking corpo shill!”

Invincible’s head ticks as he searches for your voice.

“Over here, dumbass! Shouldn’t you be less of a directionally-challenged asshole from that high?”

Your grin splits your face as he spots you,

“Damn, who pissed in your cereal?”

“Same person who gave you that fuck ass haircut.”

His smirk made your blood rise as he hovered just above you.

“I actually quite like my Mohawk, makes me look sexy, don’t you think?”

His fingers tangle through his hair, brushing it slightly out of his face. You can admit, he’s… Hot.

At least, good looking, his skintight suit accentuates his curves and abs.

“Really? Do you also think it’s sexy to beat up old women too?” Your fist tightened, your stand widened.

A breath gets caught in throat as a chuckle slips out, “Hmm, I don’t remember beating up any old women,” his finger taps his bottom lip.

“Buttt, I do remember chasing an old hag through the streets, why? You know her?”

“Old… hag?”

“Ooo, I take it you do, huh?” His head tilts, as your eyes twitch.

Your name falling from your mom's voice causes both you and Invincible heads to snap to her.

You watch as Invincible’s tongue swipes over his lips, “Oh, there you are, been lookin for ya—“

His body shifts towards your mom, his eyes no longer focused on you, good. More words rush out from his mouth towards your mother, you can’t make them out though, the blood from your adrenaline pumps sucks the air quiet around you.

Your fist whirls back, as your body slugs its weight into the punch.

Your soft skin collides with the hard jaw of Invincible, a mini sonic boom blasts the dust away from both of you as your eyes lock with his, and he stumblea backwards as his neck tweaks.

“That.. actually hurt..?”

You don’t wait for him to catch his breathe, another strike to the gut then an uppercut.

No words, just movement.

Compared to him, you know you're not evenly matched, but if you just keep moving..

Keep moving.

His hands catch yours, fingers clench in a crushing grip. “Whoa, I wasn’t expecting that. You— you got few punches in there!”

You tug your arm as you try to gain distance,

“Tsk, nah can’t get away—“

Shit..! Think— think!

You dash into him, closing distance fast as your head reels back.

CRACK!

Your skull connects with his nose, blood sprouts his nose as you rip your wrist away.

“Mom! The garage door.. Open it! We can—“

Your body slides up the driveway as the force of Invincible’s punch whips you back. His arms wrestle you down you, pinning your body onto the concrete.

“Nuh-uh, none of that working together bullshit!”

“Fuck you!” Your body writhes underneath him,

“Ooh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Heat blooms in your lower half, as his half-lidded eyes rake over you.

“You‘re fuckin’ disgusting!”

“Yeah baby, but what are you?” His hands slide up your neck, tracing over your trachea before his fingers grip in an unwavering hold, your head stretches back as you try to gain more air, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. Your hands desperately try to scratch at his face, and his fist raisea.

“I ain’t into hittin’ innocent people but you don’t too innocent to me to right now, heh.”

“Invincible!”

His head tips up as yours tilts back, your mother.

And your savior, your P-f High power gun gripped in her hands, red beam instantly knocks him backwards.

“Fuck! My eye!”

You scramble to your feet running towards your mother, you don’t get far, your enemy is already tackling you to floor of your garage.

“Goddamn, you're slippery!”

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ idiot!”

“Mm, an idiot that’s got you pinned”

“Really? Because to me looks like you’re the one who's pinned.”

A laugh bubbles out from you as watch him scan the room.

Your garage was your solace, your place to work—also conveniently your weapon’s locker, your automatic weapons beams train on his back.

Your head tilts, “What now, Invincible..? You move, this whole place lights up.”

“Think I’m afraid of some fuckin’ guns?”

“Mm, no, but these babies are pretty high powered, wouldn’t want my neighbors to get shish kebabs by a stray laser, now, wouldn’t ya?”

“Darling, don’t be rash, we don’t— we don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

Your mom's voice is ice to a searing wound.

His palms squeeze the curve of your wrist, “Yeah, darling. We don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

“Mom, close the garage door, now.”

Your eyes don’t leave his, they can’t.

They fester in you, piercing darkness that you both mirror.

“Howdy neighbors! What’s goin’ on here?”

Both you and Invincible break eye contact. His head turns to look behind him, his grip loosening allowing you to sit up, his hands still rest on your wrist though.

It’s your neighbor, Holly.

You all blink, your mother is the first to speak, briskly walking past you both.

“Oh hi, Holly! How are you?”

“I’m just doin just fine, just wondering what all the commotion was about, ‘n I wanted to make sure y’all were okay!”

Holly’s hands clasp together, as she begins side stepping your mother to let herself inside.

“Oh! Uh, we’re just fine. Ms. Holly.” You try to raise a hand to wave at her but his hand won’t budge causing you to scowl, mouthing ‘let me go!’

“And who might this be? I ain’t seen you around here before!” Holly grinned, you’re not sure if you’re relieved or pissed, such a nosey neighbor.

“Oh..! Him? He’s.. uh just.-“

“Boyfriend.”

“Wha—“

His knee inches against your crotch, a muffled gasp slips through his fingers as his hand covers your mouth, mustering a disarming smile.

“Sorry, she gets so embarrassed when I actually say it. “

Your tongue slithered against his palm, his eyes wince with disgust but his smile remains constant. His knees push deep into your crotch, a shudder rings through your body.

“I — uh.. we were wrestling.. that’s the noise you heard earlier.”

“Oooh” Holly eyes light up, “Hmm, what’s with that get up? If I didn’t know any better looks like you're wearing that, what’s his name? Invin….”

Invincible’s eyebrows twitch; you take the opportunity to bite his fingers making him yank away.

“Yeah, you mean Invincible! He’s a big fan boy, aren’t you?”

His eyes shoot darts at you, his smile disappears as he faces you.

Your mother pipes up, “We— uh, just got back from the comic con in town! So, he was dressed up! And that’s why I’m so beat up looking, yup!”

“Aww, you two are a bunch of nerds, huh? How cute!”

“Yup.” You let out a high-pitched laugh, “Hey, sweetheart. Help me up, would ya?”

His teeth graze his lips as his mouth twitches into a quick frown, “Sure can, baby.”

He damn near yanks your arm out of its socket as he pulls you to your feet, you trip over your own body, but Invincible steadies you, his hands gripping your waist as you find your balance.

His lips grace your ears in a seemingly loving gesture to your neighbor.

“If you think I’m goin’ to let you leave my grasp after the shit you pulled?”

His fingers squish into supple skin, strained air hisses through your throat,

He pulls back to gaze upon you, lips slightly apart, your heart fluttering in unnatural rhythm.

A snort fills the air as you feel heat rise to your cheeks under his watchful eyes. What are mere seconds feels like hours before he turns to face Holly once more.

“My name is Mark, Miss Holly. Pleasure to meet you.” His hand stretches out to her as the other rest comfortably on your waist, tucking you practically under his arms.

Holly grasps it before he bends down to kiss it, winking at her.

Fucking bastard.

“Ooh, you sure know how to pick em’, neighbor! I like this one.” Holly’s giggle makes bile rise from your throat but you chew it down.

“Ha, yup sure do..” You pat his chest, grinning at Holly.

“So, Holly..” Your mom’s voice snaps Holly out of that cutesie reverie, “We’re about to go inside so—“

“Oh! Yes, that’s what I also wanted to say! Remember, the neighborhood get-together is starting soon, so I wanted to give your complementary picnic blankets!”

Holly skips over to your mom, pulling two fluffy blankets from her purse before plopping them in her hands.

“Oh, um! Holly I’m.. well since inv— Mark! Is here I’m not sure we’ll be able to come..!”

“Aww well, I’m sure he’d wanna join, it’s fun for the whole family! Right, Mark?”

You clear your throat before attempting to speak,

“Well, H—“

His hand squeezes your hips, wince of pain oozes down your spine, making your knees almost buckle. You lean on Mark for support; he welcomes your weakness.

“Yeah! I’d love to go, but I definitely need to change out of … this costume, heh. Come on baby.. let’s... refreshen up inside, hm?”

Your eyes muster as much displeasure as they can as ushers you to the garage door.

“Wait!”

Your mom's panicked shrill spooks Holly, as she looks between you to her,

“Don’t worry, we won’t be too long. Right?”

Mark’s unnerving smile irks your mother.

“Yeah, it’ll be quick, mom. Promise..”

Your words heave out of you, your lips uptick into smile, trying to ease your mom's anxiety as Mark drags you into the hallway.

Mark flips you against the wall, pinning you by your waist, as he towers.

“You know I was jokin’ when I said you wanted to fuck me. Didn’t think it was true.”

“Fuck you!”

“Mmm, really wishing it into existence, huh, darling?”

“Fuck yo— you don’t get to call me that!”

“Aww, but your mommy does? Why can’t I? Hm?”

You throw a right hook, which is easily caught and pinned next to your head. “It’s crazy how making you horny just makes you sooo weak.”

Your ears burn with shame, “What— what the hell are you on about, dude?!”

His knee rest just under your crotch again, bumping ever so slightly.

“Your mom’s still out there, as that— what’s ..that bitch’s name again? Holly? Havin’ to listen to Holly’s incessant yapping worried about her child being beaten to a pulp. But really, you’re in here about to get your back blown out. Isn’t that funny?”

His knee grinds into you, light pressure, enough to spark a little pleasure, not enough to get off.

Your hand free hand shoots to his shoulder to push him away. But that’s not what happens, your nails dig into his shoulder as you grind back into his knee, chasing more simulation.

Your mouth twitches as you reach his eyes, fury meets with lust.

“Shit, look at you.. all wound up like this? Are you always this sensitive?”

His words growl against your neck as his teeth nip against your skin.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His tongue leaves a long stride of saliva up your throat before sucking and your hips stutter as the hickey forms.

“Ah! Not there, you asshole!”

“Shut up, you’re not the one in control right now.”

Strings of saliva fall against your hot skin as he admires his handiwork, his fingertips brush against the blooming bruise, a low involuntary rumble levels out of you as you track his movements.

“So fuckin’ hot. Open your legs f’me.”

Your head twist away from him, the chagrin of it all has you gulping for words.

“Come on, be a good slut for me.”

Eons pass as your legs inch open, your eyes can’t meet his anymore, all that rage replaced with guilt, with desire.

“Look at that. Is that a wet spot in your pants already?”

“I— ..I don’t”

“You don’t, you don’t what?” Mark mocks you, his fingers fiddle with your waist band.

“G-god! Just get on with it.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Wh-..what are you, the tone police? Just.. fuck, just fuck me already. If you’re gonna do it, do it!”

“Beg.”

“I—... I am not begging!”

“Damn, I guess I should go ahead and call for backup.”

Your eyes widen as you neck snaps back to trace his features.

“What?”

“I mean, I know where you live now, and your mom? She’s gotten away with a lot of shit over the years. She’s like you, slippery. Imagine the praise I’ll get for catching her, imagine the years she’ll get for all the stolen merch.”

Your eyes search his for doubt, none found.

“Please..” Your eyes cast downwards.

“Hm?” You hear his grin forming.

“Please..fu..”

“Come on, you’ve been sayin’ it to me all day. You can do it.”

“Ple— please fuck me..”

His growl of approval has your body shivering as his hand shoves down your waistband.

Your body jolts, his fingers slither to your clit.

“Invincible!” Your hands settle on his shoulders again your head struggles to stay upright.

“Mark.”

“H—huh?”

“Name’s Mark, scream that instead of invincible.”

“I’m not callin’ you a fake ass name, Invinc—..!”

“Good, cause it’s not fake.”

“Wait. You really told Holly, your real name? How fucking stupid are you!”

A sharp gasp keeps you from hurling more insults as his fingers pinch your clit.

“Sure fuckin’ did, don’t worry bout forgettin’ it either, You’ll be screamin’ it in a minute.”

His fingers don’t ease you in, they’re coarse as he rubs harsh circles against your aching pearl, a whimper continually rips through your throat as Mark peppers it with bites and slobber.

His other hand roams your body, shifting itself under your top and into your bra, the swell of your breast fits perfectly in his hand as he pinches your nipples, and a burst of moans tremble through your mouth as he tweaks your pebbled buds.

“Yeah, let me hear those slutty moans.”

“Invincibl—“

The stinging pain of Mark’s teeth sinking into your shoulder makes your hips buck against him as you whine. Your nails dig into his skin, trying to mirror the pain he’s inflicting.

“It’s Mark.”

“Fuc—fuck you...”

His chest crush against yours, your arms weakly try to push away as his hand snatches your chin down to look at him.

“Open.”

You squint, a silent challenge. His fingers press harder against your clit, you bite your lip as a moan threaten to pry your lips open.

“Stubborn, huh? Fine.” His voice was flat, unimpressed with your sudden reigniting confidence.

Mark’s fingers travel down your lips, spreading the growing slick down to the opening of your cunt.

The feeling leaves goosebumps crawling underneath your skin.

A horrifying, sinking sensation that leaves you shuddering in breaths.

His eyes bore into you,. Watching. Observing every twitch of your lips, your panicked inhales. His fingers trace circles around your entrance before ramming two fingers into your hole.

Your head whacks the wall; a crack forms under the divot you’ve made against it. Your mouth stretched as you pound your fist against his chest. Your back arches as his fingers stretch open your cunt, “Invic—Mark!”

He seizes the chance; his lips hold yours captive as his tongue shoves down your throat, drool drips down your chin as your pink muscle weakly fights back.

Your vision grows spotty as the air from your lung wheezes out of you. Your hands squeeze his shoulders as muffled whimpers are swallowed whole by him.

Your silent plea of mercy are heard as the audible pop of your lips separating fills the room.

Your eyelashes flutter, your pupils dilate stare at him, as your rhythmic pant flows out of your swollen lips.

“Fuck. Look atcha. I’ve barely done anything, and you’re in shambles.”

“You’re fuckin cra—ah..!”

His fingers curl in your sweet spot, “Hm? What was that?”

“Mar..mark!”

“Yeah. That’s better.”

Your pants are ruined, more of your slick trickles down as his fingers pump, there's an undeniable, wet shlick your pussy makes as his digits are plugged into you over and over.

Your knees buckle as you slump back, mumbling his name like a mantra, as he continues to bully your aching hole,

“Mark! Mark— pleas..ah!”

“Please what? Is this all it takes? One fingerbang and you’re ready to surrender? Fuckin’ weak.”

A pathetic whimper sobs shakes through your body as he shoves you harder into the wall, his fingers gaining a new angle, sinking deeper into your cunt.

“Be a good fuckin’ whore and cum for me, seems to me that’s the only thing you’re good for.”

Your hand raises; your nails scrape his cheek as you slap him.

“ ‘m I’m not— mhn! Not weak!”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, his thumb finds your clit again, rotating those rough waves of pleasure.

“Sh—I can’t!”

“Thhhattt‘s it, on cum on these fuckin’ fingers,”

You feel euphoric as that delicious hot pressure bubbles from your core, your eyes roll into your skull as his psychotic laugh echoes through your mind and a rapturous wave of pleasure is replaced with overwhelming dread as he doesn’t stop.

Your hips jerk involuntarily as his fingers drills you through your high.

“Mhm! Maarrk! Plea—! Sto..ah!”

“Come on, give me ‘nother”

“Nooo..!” Your fingers grip his wrist, as your head shakes furiously.

“You can take it, you’re not weak remember?”

“ ‘m not!”

“Good. Take it then.”

The squelch of your cunt is all you can hear as Mark’s lips captures yours, as your body tenses, your head attempts to pull away from his.

His free arm grasps the back of your neck your lips smash together, stealing your breath.

Your legs give out as your second orgasm hits you like a truck.

A Mark-shaped truck.

“That’s it, fall apart.”

Mark’s fingers stretch your cunt out with one last stroke, your hole twitches around nothing as he pulls away.

“All fucked out now, hm?”

A soft growl rumbles from you,

“Nothing to say?”

His tongue glides up his arm, encircling his fingertips as your juices mixed with his saliva as you watch him deep throat his fingers.

“Gross.”

Your arms wobble as you use the wall to inch yourself up. Your feet trip as you try to make your way into your room.

Mark snatches you up before your ass hits the floor.

“Fallin’ for me already?”

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

“Didn’t your mommy teach you manners?”

The garage door whips open as your mom screams your name.

“Speak of the devil.” Marks brows raise,

“Could I get some clothes, lady? Can’t show to the neighborhood bash in my ‘wrestling gear’.”

“You—“

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m fine, you should go get the clothes. Maybe we still have some of dad’s old clothes?”

Your mother’s face lights up in anger.

“I am not giving him your fath—“

“Please.. mom?”’

“Baby, bu—“

Mark’s costume wrinkles as you grip the material, his hands mirror yours, hands stroking your waist, unwavering smile.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. He— he won’t hurt me.”

A silent signal of trust.

Your mom obeys, brushing past you both, a glance over her shoulder before vanishing into the hallway.

Your eyes settle upon him again, scowl plays on your features as a smirk played across his.

“Why are you still here? To torture us?”

He tuts, “Why so morbid? I just wanna be your pretend boyfriend for a bit, babes. Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

His eyes lower, flicking between to your lips then back to your eyes, your breath holds as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Here.”

You both jump as your mother’s voice sliced through tension.

Your mom’s arms outstretched, your dad's clothes neatly folded in her hands.

“Bathroom is down the hall, door to the left, get cleaned up there.”

Mark turns on his heels, his hand hovers over the clothes, grin playing on his lips as he leaned,

“Thank you, mom.”

His head turns to you in an owlish manner, “I’ll back back, babe.”

You stand next to your mom as you watch him skip down the hallway, the creak of door shutting sends rush of release.

Your mother’s arms wrap around you hastily,

“Are you okay, baby? Her hands stroke your cheek, moving your head, stretching your neck.

“Oh, these bruises..! Did he—?”

Your face feels hot as your mother runs her fingers over your hickies, you usher her hands away, cover your neck as you avoid her gaze.

“It’s fine, mom! We uh.. talked things through. Af—after a bit…”

Your mother’s eyes trace the new crack forming in the wall.

“I see..”

Her eyes snap back to you, “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just wants to go the block party with me? He said if I don’t .. do what he wants he’ll rat us out.”

“Shit.”

Your brows fly up, hearing your mother cuss, is unprecedented, your hand rubs her chin as she exhales.

“Okay. Plan, we do what we he wants to today, then we get the hell out of dodge and move base again.”

You bit your lip,

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“I just don’t know what he wants. Why he’s toying with us..”

Your mom tilts her head back, her eyes close.

“My guess..He wants to be entertained.”

“What’s a man gotta to do get some food? Maybe we should head to the block party early, babes.”

Your father’s clothes fit him surprisingly well. He almost looked.. like a regular well adjusted human.

Piercings now adorned his face as well.

A brow piercing, double looped ear piercing, and snake bites.

“You have piercings?” Your face quirks to the side as you scan his face.

“Yeah, take em out when I’m doing patrols, why you like?”

His grin makes your temperature rise.

“Shut up.”

…

Part 2

[kikithekiwi19]

ooooomigosh ur writing is so cool and pretty! i was wondering if you could writing something, anything really, about mohawk mark and that suuuuuper annoying mimicking trait of his. i feel like he’d mock yn’s whines and moans right back to her, loud and scarily accurate. or even holding it against her in general? like “oh that’s not what you were saying last night-” yk?

MOAN LIKE A BITCH!

❛❛He want a quickie, let him lick me, then I started gaspin'!❜❜

Synopsis: Mark loves teasing you, especially with how loud you get when he has you bent over.

Pairing: Mohawk Mark x Chubby! Reader

Warnings: Heavy teasing, female reader, vaginal sex, slight edging, overstimulation, mdom, mean dom, fsub, some degradation, minor praise, public sex (they're in a washroom, so it technically applies), fingering, dumbfication, cock drunk.

AN: I 100% agree anon, he'd be so annoying to fuck. An absolute meanie. But like still hot while doing it??? I think I have an issue. Also THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!

Word Count: 1.1k

Mark made it a point to rub in just how much he pleased you. Prick gets off by how embarrassed you get when he dicks you down. Especially how loud you'd get.

That's why he has you bent over a stingy washroom sink. Skirt bunched at your waist, tits pressed firmly against the cool porcelain.

Panties pushed aside—perfect view of your drenched folds glistening under the low light. The faint sound of music drifting in the background, party long forgotten.

His hot breath grazed your ears, his hand trailing down the curve of your spine. Feather light touch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Must have been fantasizing about this, hmm? I mean, you didn't even wear shorts!” His hand stopped at your fat cunt, he gave it a tentative tap. Spreading your slick folds, admiring your pussy.

You shivered, lips clamped shut. He continued, collecting your essence on his fingers, rubbing along your puffy folds. “C'mon, not even a little whimper. I know you love it when I play with this pussy,” he huffed.

A wicked grin spread on his lips, his body hunched over yours, smearing sloppy kisses down the juncture of your neck.

Hot breath fanning your skin makes your breath hitch. His index finger swiped over your aching clit causing you to gasp.

“I know you can give more than that,” his fingers toyed with your sensitive clit, your lips wobbled, your restrain snapping like twigs.

You moaned, you already knew you were done for. He mimicked it, almost perfectly, “That's how it's supposed to be. Moaning like a bitch for me.”

Two fingers probed your quivering hole, sliding in with ease. “So wet, and I've barely touched you.” The intrusion was tantalizing.

His movements were slow. Agonizingly slow. You could feel your resolve fizzling out, you rolled your hips against his hand. The delicious feeling of thick fingers pumping into you sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine.

Your breath staggered, soft moans tumbled from your lips. “Aw, is the slut enjoying my fingers? Gripping em’ tight,” he cooed, angling them higher to curl at your g-spot.

You jolted, whining at the added stimulation. “I asked you a question. You're a big girl, aren't ya? Use your words.” fingers bumping at your sweet spot, making your legs tremble.

“I love it… Love your fingers, Mark. M’fuck,” you slurred, feeling heat crawl up your cheeks as the little pride you had left withered away.

“I love it, love your fingers, Mark. Of course you do, I’m the best.” his finger picked up their pace, fast and overwhelmingly good.

Broken moans fell from your lips like a waterfall, Mark only huffed with pride. The familiar knot in your stomach tightened, walls clamping down on his fingers.

“Mark, I'm gonna cum…please!” He quickly withdrew his fingers with a wet plop. You groan, looking over your shoulder, lips pursed in a scowl. “I was close!”

Mark cocked his head to the side, a lazy grin on his lips. “So impatient, you’ll cum, eventually” Harshly slapping your ass, he unbuckled his pants, fabric pooling at his ankles.

“I mean, I’m curious to see how long you’ll last.” Tip of his cock aligned itself against your slick hole. “Y'know, like a fun little experiment.” He mused, pushing in.

You gasped, you could've cummed right there from the delicious stretch of his thick cock. An angry red tip is already reaching the deepest part of you.

“See? Won't it be better to cum on my dick sweetcheeks?” he cooed, rough palms slide over the expense of your ass. Rolling his hips in slow thrusts.

Your mind reeled, hands gripping the delicate porcelain beneath you. “Yes, God yes.”

“Already breathless and I haven't even fucked you silly.” drawing his hips back for a particularly harsh thrust making you gasp.

He continued, each swift roll of his hips grew rougher. Until the echo of skin slapping and breathy moans bounced off the walls.

“Isn't this better, baby?” Mark's grip around your hips was bruising, his smile taunting.

Your thoughts practically melted with each languid stroke of his cock. He only snorted, “C'mon, tell me my dicks better. I know you can do it f'me, baby.”

His words flew over your head. Not even attempting to register his words. The clawing feeling of your orgasm approaching.

Your silence drew him to pause mid thrust. Sudden loss made your fogged mind clear

“No! Please, just keep going!” You whined, hips grinding against his, a feeble attempt to get any friction.

“Please, just keep going. Then answer my question. My dicks better ain't it?”He cackled, pinching your ass cheek.

“Yes! Your dicks, ahh, amazing,” you squeaked. The torturous start and stop was evermore irritating.

His pace was brutal, damn near knocking the air from your lungs. Your grip on reality slipped from your fingers, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. The familiar knot of release forming in your abdomen, only to quickly dissipate.

You whimpered at another ruined orgasm. “Please, Mark. Wanna cum…please let me cum!” You babbled. Hands clawing at the porcelain beneath you, the cool touch only ebbing your frustration further.

His fingers swiped at your clit in fast circles “You really wanna cum?

“Yes! F-fuck yes….gotta c-cum.”

“Then cum.”

Your legs buckled, vision splotchy as your orgasm crashed into you, a high pitched cry of ecstasy.

Mark didn't stutter, even as your pussy clamped down, gripping him like a vice. “Look at that, did my slut enjoy herself?”

You nodded your head haphazardly, “yes, yeah…so much…m'fuck.” Even as the waves of your orgasm subsided, his frantic movements continued.

Your hips jerked away, pleasure becoming overwhelming. “No! Shit, ngh, too much! Mark…too much!”

“You wanted to cum, didn't you baby? So cum again f'me.” He cooed. Your second orgasm hit you like a train, you withered beneath him.

It went on, you've lost track of how many orgasms he's given you. Relentless abuse of your poor cunt muddled your mind further.

“C'mon slut. Just one more for aah, me. Can't you do that?” you moaned meekly, pussy clamping down weakly against his pistoning cock.

“There we go, cream on my cock one last time, hah. Shit…just one more, m'so close.” Mark babbled, his resolve teetering as his cock twitched.

He grumbled, thick spurts of cum painting your walls. “Fuck, your pussy milking me dry, sweetheart.” You groaned, both your releases smeared against your thick thighs.

Your legs crumbled beneath you, Mark held you up with ease, “C'mon, you've had multiple orgasms and I only had one. Seems a little unfair, huh?” Littering sloppy open mouth kisses along your soft jaw.

Curse him and his ridiculous libido.

[kikithekiwi19]

♡ You can be the Boss ♡

CEO!Bruce Wayne x Chubby/Plus sized!secretary!fem!reader Oneshot (?)

Cw: AFAB reader, office AU, power imbalance, age gap but not mentioned much, dominant!Bruce, “sir” kink, Pet names (Sweetheart, pretty, pretty thing), desk sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, overstimulation, light D/s, possessive!Bruce, he's a bit condescending then soft, aftercare, unspoken feelings, mutual pining, this is so inappropriate, freaky ass boss

Intern Note: Wrote this under candlelight while Dracula yelled about taxes. He doesn’t know I have Docs open..

He doesn’t touch you. He hasn’t—not once. But he watches.

And when he’s alone in that glass-walled office with only the hum of fluorescent lighting and the soft tap of your heels across the floor—he thinks.

Not about work. Not about the board. Not about Gotham.

No.

He thinks about how your blouse clings when you lean. How your pencil skirt always rides high on your thighs when you walk too fast. How your lipstick matches your nails. How your necklace dips into the crease of your cleavage when you tilt forward to hand him papers. And how oblivious you are to all of it. You’re not trying to flirt. You’re not playing innocent. You’re just… you.

Sweet. Competent. Tired. Always tired lately. You stay late when no one else does. Bring him coffee without being asked. Speak softly when his jaw is clenched.

You’re the only person in the building who doesn’t flinch when he raises his voice. You’re the only one who sees him when the rest of the city only sees the suit.

He hates it. He wants more of it.

The couch in the shared office is worn at the seams. You sit there after hours now—blouse unbuttoned just one button more than usual, like you’d loosened it without thinking. Your skirt tonight is different. Not the usual pencil fit. This one’s looser, longer. Falls past your knees in clean, soft lines.

It hugs the swell of your hips when you sit.

You’ve kicked off your heels. Set them politely beside the couch. Your legs are crossed, but not primly. You’re too tired for that. There’s a crease at your waist from sitting too long. A little smudge in your lipstick where you’d bitten your bottom lip.

He notices everything. Every. Single. Thing.

You look up suddenly, sensing something—maybe his gaze lingering too long—and give a quiet little smile.

“Everything okay, Mr. Wayne?”

He doesn’t answer. Not right away.

Because no. Nothing is okay. Not when you’re sitting there, looking like that. Not when he’s been fantasizing about tearing that skirt off with his teeth for weeks.

He clears his throat. Shifts behind the desk. You don’t notice. Of course you don’t.

He watches your eyes drop back to your notes, lashes low, and for a second, he can see it— You. Bent over his desk. Your necklace pooled on the floor. That sweet mouth of yours parted, moaning his name. You, ruined. Undone. All for him.

His cock throbs in his slacks. And he breathes out hard through his nose.

Control.

He still doesn’t speak. Just stands, walking slowly toward the couch. You don’t look up this time.

He stops just a few feet away. And then, finally— He says it. Low. Rough. Measured.

“You have no idea, do you?”

You blink. Look up.

Confused. “Sir?”

“The way you sit. The way you dress. The way you lean across my desk like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

Your lips part.

And for the first time tonight—maybe ever—you don’t speak. The air is heavy. Still. You’re staring at him, wide-eyed. Not offended. Not frightened. Just… processing.

Your thighs shift. The fabric of your skirt pulls. He watches it.

“You keep looking like that,” he says, voice quiet, dangerous, “and I’ll stop pretending to be a better man.”

Your breath hitches. But you still don’t move. You just watch him. And maybe now—finally—you know.

He doesn’t touch you. He still doesn’t touch you.

But when he turns back toward his desk, his hands are shaking. You go home with his voice still echoing in your head.

You shouldn’t. It should’ve faded in the cab, or in the elevator, or somewhere between unlocking your front door and kicking off your shoes. But it doesn’t.

You keep looking like that…

You unzip your skirt, toss it over the back of a chair. Your blouse is half open. You don’t remember unbuttoning it. You sit down on the edge of your bed like you’re waiting for something, hands limp in your lap. Your necklace presses warm into your chest. You reach up. Touch it. Slowly.

His eyes had followed it. Had tracked every sway and shift and little accidental show of skin.

He had looked at you like you were something he could taste. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. And he’d meant it.

He didn’t say it like a man trying to flatter his secretary. He said it like a man fighting every part of himself not to ruin her.

You breathe in, deep. Then out.

Your hand is still at your collar. Thumb brushing the edge of your necklace. Your pulse is louder than the city outside your window.

You lie awake most of the night.

Not because you’re in love. Not because you want him to sweep you into his arms and confess something tender.

But because you can still feel his stare. Because for one solid moment, you felt like prey. And you liked it.

And you know—if he ever stops holding back? You’ll let him.

You arrive the next morning five minutes early.

Lipstick reapplied. Skirt tighter. Necklace tucked just a little lower.

You don’t speak of the night before. Neither does he. But when you hand him his coffee, and your fingers brush—he looks at you. And smiles. Just barely. But it’s the kind of smile you’ll think about for days. Not soft. Not kind. More like a secret. Like he knows something you don’t.

You straighten the files in your arms even though they don’t need it. Your fingers tremble only a little. You don’t speak. You don’t have to.

Because everything feels different now. The air. The carpet under your heels. The faint smell of his cologne already clinging to the hallway before you even reach his door.

You sit at your desk. You type. You file.

You feel his gaze more than you ever did before. Not constant. Not indulgent. Just… present. Taut. Pulled like wire. Like he’s holding back.

And that’s what kills you the most. He hasn’t said anything else. He hasn’t done anything. But every moment, every quiet interaction— The brush of his hand when he gives you a folder. The pause when you glance over your shoulder. The way his voice drops half a step lower when he says your name— It all tastes like something that already happened.

Even though it hasn’t. Yet.

You don’t know when the line will be crossed. Maybe it never will.

But when the sun sets again—when the others go home and the floor empties out and the silence returns—he’s still there. And so are you.

But you’re not soft tonight. Not tired. Not gently fading into the couch like before. You’re busy. And furious.

Your jaw is clenched, a little muscle ticking near your cheek. Your eyes scan the reports on your screen like they’ve personally offended you. And your nails—painted in that same muted, perfect shade—are digging into the palm of your off-hand hard enough to leave little arcs of red.

Someone didn’t format their department files. Someone else duplicated a data pull with wrong timestamps. Someone signed off on a quarterly draft you now have to fix before the board sees it tomorrow.

It’s all coming down on you. And you should’ve gone home. Should’ve had time to think about the look he gave you yesterday. The low rasp of his voice when he told you not to wear that skirt again. The weight of your name in his mouth. But no. You’re stuck here. Grinding your teeth.

Because no one does their goddamn job.

And he hears it. From the other room. The tight typing. The sharp shuffling of folders. The little curse you whisper when a spreadsheet crashes and doesn’t autosave. He doesn’t come out right away. He waits.

He tells himself it’s to give you space. But really—he’s just watching. From his office doorway, tie loosened, jaw set.

He’s watching the way your shoulders tense under your blouse. The way your skirt rides up slightly when you shift in your seat. The way your hand rubs the stress out of your own wrist like it hurts to even exist in this building tonight.

He should offer help. He doesn’t. He just listens. Watches. And wonders if you’re as worked up about him as you are about the files.

You don’t notice he’s watching until you stand to grab another folder—fast, too fast—and drop a pen from behind your ear.

You bend to grab it. And he’s there.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, hand outstretched toward the pen. Your fingers brush the floor, then curl back. You straighten slowly.

Bruce is in the doorway. Tie loosened, eyes dark. He’s looking at you like you’ve just crossed a line. Like he’s trying not to follow.

“Don’t bend over like that,” he says quietly. “Not when I’m standing here.”

Your breath catches. His voice isn’t harsh. It’s low. Flat. Controlled. Like there’s something behind it he’s keeping caged.

You blink at him. “It’s just a pen.”

“It’s never just anything with you.”

Your mouth goes dry. He doesn’t move. He just stands there—tension in his jaw, hands in his pockets, gaze pinned to you like he’s memorizing every part of this moment for later.

And then, like it costs him, he tears his eyes away.

“Leave it,” he says, voice tighter now. “Get it later.”

He doesn’t walk away. Doesn’t look at you again. Just returns to his side of the room. The same one you share. You stand there.

Jaw tense. Breathing shallow. And something inside you just tips. You speak. Stepping back a bit.

“I’m not trying to bother you,” you mutter, not even looking at him. “I just—god, I’m frustrated.”

You’re still holding a folder—creased now in your grip. He steps closer with you noticing, you're too busy rambling to notice he's backing you against your desk.

“It’s like everyone clocked out early and left me with their unfinished trash. And now I’m the one stuck cleaning it up, again, because no one else knows how to follow a format. I was supposed to go home. I was supposed to unwind. I was gonna eat something that wasn’t coffee and fantasize about—”

You cut yourself off. Jaw flexing. Hand curling into a fist. “I’m tired. I’m so tired. And I know that’s not your problem, I just—”

You pause. You feel it before you hear it. The air changes. The weight of the room shifts. He’s in front of you. Close.

You hadn’t heard him move. Your voice falters—but you keep going, like momentum will protect you.

“I’m trying not to be dramatic, I just—I’m doing everything. Everything they don’t. And I’m not asking for praise or anything, I just—I don’t think I can keep doing this if I’m the only one who—”

You stop. Because you can feel him now. Standing right there. His chest barely brushing yours. His heat soaking into your chest.

And then—

“Yeah?” His voice is low. Against your ear. Just one word. “I'll fix that.”

You gasp. He doesn’t give you time to think. He leans in. Kisses the cuff of your ear. Then lower.

A soft, deliberate press of his mouth beneath it—where your neck curves into your shoulder. Warm. Hot. Careful. Like a secret he’s finally allowing himself to tell.

You inhale sharply, lips parting. “Mr. Wayne, what are—”

But you don’t finish. Because his teeth graze the edge of your jaw—just enough to make your knees lock. And still—he hasn’t touched anything else. Not your waist. Not your hands. Just his mouth. And the sharp, electric silence between you.

His teeth catch the sharp line of your jaw—lightly, deliberately. You breathe in. Fast. Shallow.

“Sir, I don’t—” Your voice cracks. “W...wait…”

But your legs are already pressed together. You’re not pulling away. You’re breathing hard, like he’s the one who backed you against the desk (he did)—like he’s the one chasing you (he is), even though you’re the one who led yourself here (gaslighting you right now). He doesn’t say anything. Just leans lower.

His breath is hot against your skin. You feel it first—then the drag of his mouth along the base of your throat. Slower now. Unforgiving.

And then—his lips part. Teeth. Tongue. Pressure. He bites. Not hard—but deep enough to leave a mark. Right at the base of your neck. Where no one will see it until you change. Until you’re home. Until you’re alone again, staring in the mirror and pretending this didn’t happen.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It shakes on the way out. Your hand clenches the edge of the desk behind you. Your head tilts back just slightly—inviting, even though your mouth says the opposite.

“We can’t—” But you don’t move. And neither does he. His lips linger over the bruise. Warm. Possessive.

His voice is barely a whisper: “You should’ve gone home an hour ago then, sweetheart.”

His lips drag lower, slower this time—like he’s tasting the skin he just bruised. Like it’s his now. You can’t think. Can’t breathe right. Your body is hot and tense and aching in all the wrong ways, and still—you don’t push him back.

Your head tips farther. Your hand tightens on the desk. The words we shouldn’t die in your throat, drowned by the heat curling in your stomach. You squeeze your thighs together. He notices. Of course he does.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice like crushed velvet. “You’re trembling.”

You are. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because his mouth is back—just beneath your jaw now, soft and slow and dizzying. Your breath hitches. Your lips part.

“We shouldn’t…” you whisper, uselessly.

But it doesn’t even sound like you believe it. He huffs a quiet laugh against your skin—dark, satisfied. And his hand finally finds your waist.

It’s firm. Warm. Spanning your side like he’s meant to be there. You don’t flinch. You melt.

Bruce exhales through his nose, slow—like he’s holding something back. And then—he leans in again. Lips ghosting along your jaw. A kiss. Hot. Precise. One second too long.

“If you really don’t want this…” Another kiss—closer to your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. You just look at him.

Those wide, soft eyes—fuck, those eyes. All hesitant and glassy, like you’re about to cry but don’t know why. Your breath stutters. Your thighs clench tighter. He can see it. He can feel it in the way your hips shift, just slightly—like your body’s already aching for pressure.

And your mouth?

“Sir…” A whisper. A whimper. “Don’t stop…”

Your chin tips higher. Your neck tilts—offering him more. Giving him room. Like you want him to bite again. His grip on your waist tightens.

God. His thoughts are a mess. Vile. Addicted.

She’s probably soaked under that skirt. Soaked and trembling and standing here like she doesn’t know what she’s asking for. Cute little secretary, all pretty and sweet, probably ruined already from a few fucking kisses. Thighs pressed together like that’s going to help. Like she doesn’t want me to reach down and see what she’s hiding.

His hand flexes against your waist—thumb brushing over the soft curve of your belly. Fuck. You’re trembling.

“This is so…” you breathe. But your voice is barely there. And you don’t pull back.

Your plush stomach rises and falls with every shallow breath. He can feel the flutter of butterflies beneath it. The tension. The need. And all he wants is to see if you're as soft under your skirt as you are under his hands.

That spot—just beneath your ear, delicate and warm—and he mouths at it like he’s been dreaming of it. And when his lips drag over that exact place—

You whimper. Soft. Uncontrolled.

Your hand flies up to your mouth, eyes wide in horror.

But he’s already heard it. Already felt the way your thighs tensed. Already hard at the thought that he pulled that sound from you. He huffs—low and wrecked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your throat. “That’s how I want you.”

His hand rises, sliding along your waist—fingertips brushing your ribs, up, up—until he presses a kiss to the swell of your chest, right above your neckline. Then another, lower, near the center. Right where your necklace rests against your skin.

“Pretty thing,” he whispers, voice dark. “Shaking like I haven’t already made you mine.”

You gasp. But you don’t stop him.

And when his hands shift—gripping your hips now—you barely have time to breathe before he lifts you. Effortless.

Like your softness means nothing to him. Or rather—like it means everything.

He sets you on the edge of the desk, lips still on your skin, kissing up the curve of your chest. And then—he drops to his knees.

His hands find the hem of your skirt. Your breath catches.

“Let me see,” he murmurs. Not a question. Not a command. A need.

He lifts the fabric slowly—palms gliding up the soft skin of your thighs, kissing every inch as he reveals it.

The plush give of your legs. The way they tremble. He kisses above your knee. Then higher. Again. Your thighs twitch. He presses another kiss—closer now.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’ve been hiding all this from me?” Another kiss. Higher.

“You think I haven’t noticed? Every curve. Every step you take in those skirts that ride too high on your thighs.”

You’re breathless now. Flushed hot. Soaked. And he’s still kissing. Not your core. Not yet. Just your thighs—soft, plush, trembling beneath his mouth.

He starts at your knee, lips parting over the skin with obscene slowness. One kiss. Then another. Then a trail of heat dragged upward, like he’s mapping you out inch by inch.

You twitch when he reaches the tender inner part. You can’t help it.

Bruce groans—quiet, but deep—and presses his thumbs into the crease where thigh meets hip, parting your legs just enough to make you gasp.

“You’re already shaking,” he mutters against your skin.

You cover your mouth, trying to keep the whine in.

“Sir…” you breathe. Barely audible. But it makes him pause.

He lifts his head slightly, breath grazing over the front of your panties. “Say that again.”

You hesitate—swallowing hard—because he hasn’t even touched you properly, and your body’s already betraying you.

“Sir,” you whisper.

Bruce groans like he’s the one falling apart. And then he mouths over the fabric. Not removing it. Not yet. Just pressing his tongue through the soaked lace—tasting the heat, the slick.

“God…” His hands squeeze your thighs, thumbs brushing the edge of your panties like he’s contemplating tearing them. “You’re soaked through, sweetheart.”

You try to respond—try to say something coherent—but his mouth is back, pressing in, lips dragging along the soaked seam like he’s savoring the fact that you’re already ruined and still dressed.

“These are in the way.”

And with that—he hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties and pulls them down, slow.

Dragging the damp fabric down your soft thighs, watching how the slick clings, watching it stretch before snapping back—leaving you bare and glistening. He stares like it’s the first light he’s seen in years.

“Fuck…” he swears. “Look at you.”

Then—he leans in. And licks one long, deep stripe through your folds. Your whole body jolts. A breath caught in your throat.

“Sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever tasted,” he rasps. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

And then he’s gone—mouth sealed, tongue working, hands pinning your thighs open. He doesn’t ease you into it. He dives in.

Tongue curling. Lips dragging. Nose brushing your clit with every groan he lets out against your soaking core. He eats like he means it—like he’s starving. Like this isn’t just something he wants—it’s something he needs. You let out a sound—half gasp, half whimper—and slap a hand over your mouth, cheeks flushing hot. You’ve never had this before. Not even close.

No one’s ever been down there for you—let alone a man like him. With his mouth greedy, his grip bruising, his voice hoarse from how much he wants to stay between your legs.

“Sir,” you whisper, but it’s shaky—like you're falling apart just trying to say it.

Bruce groans into you. The sound vibrates right through your clit. Your thighs twitch, instinct pulling your knees inward—but his grip tightens, holding you open with one large hand as his other smooths slowly over your trembling belly.

“First time?” he murmurs, voice wrecked, lips brushing against your soaked folds.

You nod, eyes glassy, thighs trembling harder.

“Thought so,” he growls, pressing a kiss right over your clit.

Then another.

Then his tongue slides deep again, slower now—but more intentional. More possessive.

“You’re too sweet not to have been touched like this,” he mutters against you. “Too fucking soft.”

You’re whimpering now. Not because it hurts. Because it doesn’t.

It feels too good.

“W..we shouldn’t—” you gasp, but your hips roll toward his mouth like they know better. “Not here–”

He chuckles. Dark. Muffled. "Yes, here.."

And then—he sucks.

Mouth wrapping around your clit, tongue flicking until your hand is gripping his hair, thighs pressed to his jaw, your whole body tense and fluttering.

“Sir—ah—Sir, I—”

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow.

He groans again—filthy and full—like he’s tasting every single noise that falls out of you.

“That’s it,” he pants, breath hot, lips dragging over your slick skin. “Cum on my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

And you do.

You fall apart with a sharp cry, hand still over your mouth, legs shaking, soaked and ruined and barely keeping it together as he rides you through it, licking up every drop like it’s his prize.

He pulls back slowly, tongue heavy in his mouth, lips slick and red from where he’s just been. You’re still panting. Shaking. He doesn’t move far—just enough to look at you.

Your skirt is bunched around your waist. Your blouse clings to your chest. And your thighs are still parted, trembling, the inside of them wet with him.

“I can—” you start, voice quiet, “I can return the favor, Sir.”

He breathes hard through his nose. The way you say Sir nearly breaks him.

“No,” he says. A little too fast. A little too raw. “Don’t.”

He presses one hand to your knee. The other slides up—slow, firm—until his fingers trace the heat between your legs. You jolt. Breath catching.

“This isn’t about me,” he murmurs. “Not tonight.”

And he doesn’t stop touching you.

Even after you’ve come on his tongue—hard, ruined—he stays there, face still between your thighs, fingers dragging through the slick mess he’s made.

He watches it. Watches how it glistens between your folds. Watches the way you twitch every time he brushes too close to your clit.

You’re still in your blouse. Still in your skirt.

Your thighs are bare now, trembling under the heat of his breath.

And Bruce? Bruce is still on his knees. Still in that expensive suit. Still hard behind his zipper, jaw tight like he’s holding something back.

His fingers are slow at first. Sliding over your slit. One thick finger pressing just enough to feel how soft you are inside.

“You ever been touched like this?” he murmurs—not teasing. Just curious. Just ruined.

You nod slowly, breath stuttering. “Yeah… just not like this.”

He hums. Dark. Low. His fingers stroke again, dragging slick over your entrance.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’re used to boys, huh?”

You don’t answer. Not when he’s already pushing a single finger inside—steady, controlled. You gasp, hips twitching forward. His mouth presses to your thigh.

“You feel that?” he breathes. “How easy you open up for me?”

You nod again. Barely. His name trembles on your tongue, but you can’t form it.

He curls the finger once, then again—deep—and your whole body jolts. He kisses your other thigh. A little harder this time. Closer to where his finger is moving. His mouth is warm. Wet.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters. “Can’t stop thinking about how you’re gonna feel around my cock.”

Your breath stutters. “Sir—”

His tongue drags a line up the inside of your thigh. His finger doesn’t stop. If anything, he adds another—thick, smooth, stretching you open until your knees shake. You feel full—not overwhelmed, just aware. Like he’s studying how your body reacts to every thrust, every curl, every filthy flick of his wrist.

“They didn’t take their time with you, did they?”

You don’t answer.

Because he’s right. You’ve had sex. But not like this. No one’s ever knelt for you. No one’s ever worked their fingers this deep, this slow. Kissed your thighs like they meant it. Like they wanted to. Like they couldn’t help it.

You’ve been touched. But not like this. Not like he’s savoring you. Not like he’s grateful to be on his knees between your legs, with your skirt hitched up and your body flushed, trembling, real.

And maybe that’s what hits you hardest. Because you’ve always been soft. And you know what the world does with softness—it tolerates it. Avoids it. Looks past it.

But Bruce? Bruce is looking.

His mouth presses another kiss to your thigh. His hand, large and warm, spreads across your waist like it fits there. Like it belongs. Not clutching. Not pawing. Just holding—firm, steady.

“You have no idea,” he mutters, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this.”

You almost laugh—but your breath hitches instead. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. Your skin. Between your legs.

“I’m not—” you start.

But the words vanish when his fingers move again, deep and slow.

“Not what?” he murmurs. His lips ghost up your thigh. “Not like the girls you think I’ve had?”

Your chest rises. Your hands grip the edge of the desk behind you.

“You think I’d be on my knees for anyone else?” He curls his fingers inside you—just right—and your whole body jolts.

“No. Just you.”

He leaves a few marks on your inner thighs.

“The way you sound, the way you feel—fuck, the way you look in these skirts…”

You moan softly, and he eats it up. Kisses the crease of your thigh. Moves his hand from your waist to your hip, grounding you.

“You’re not some fantasy. You’re real. And you’re gorgeous.”

Your thighs tremble.

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t give you time to hide or deflect or turn your face away. Because he’s not worshipping the idea of you.

He’s touching you.

And wanting you.

Two fingers, deep, curling just right. His thumb strokes lazy circles over your clit. Not fast. Just enough. Just perfect.

Your thighs are shaking now. Your grip on the desk is white-knuckled.

“That’s it,” he murmurs behind you. “Just like that.”

Your skirt’s still bunched up at your hips. Your blouse still clings to your back. You’re mostly dressed, but it doesn’t matter—because you’re coming apart anyway.

You moan—soft, sweet, wrecked. And Bruce watches every second of it.

“So good for me,” he breathes, voice tight. “Letting me feel you like this…”

You choke on a sound—his name maybe—but your body does the rest for you. Your walls clench around his fingers, trembling through it, hips twitching as your orgasm hits hard and helpless.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me have it, pretty.”

He works you through it, slow and patient, fingers never leaving you until you’re whimpering from the aftershocks.

And when he finally pulls them out—slick and glistening—he doesn’t speak for a moment. He just looks.

Then, quietly: “Can you take me?”

You blink stars in your vision, still catching your breath, hand over your mouth.

“Are you up for it?” His voice is lower now. Rough. Like he’s asking, not assuming. Like this is the moment he’ll stop if you ask him to.

You turn your head, breathless and hot. “Please, Sir…”

It breaks something in him. You hear it—in the low groan that leaves his chest. In the clink of his belt coming undone. In the way he swears under his breath like he’s been waiting years to hear you say it.

“Fuck…”

His trousers slide down. His hand wraps around himself once—just to take the edge off. And then—he steps closer.

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, cock dragging through your slick folds. “Gonna fuck you nice, I promise.”

You feel the head of him press against your entrance—thick, hot, aching.

“Still so soft,” he whispers against your cheek. “Still so wet for me.”

He slides in slow. Thick. Heavy.

Stretching you inch by inch, so full you can barely think—barely breathe. Your soft thighs twitch against his sides. Your fingers dig into the muscled skin of his arms, holding tight.

“Fuck,” you whisper—half-shocked, half-wrecked.

Bruce groans low in his throat, forehead nearly pressed to yours.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “You feel it, don’t you…”

And god, do you.

He’s so thick. He’s not even moving yet, and it already feels like he’s splitting you open—dragging along every nerve, pressing deep where no one’s ever reached.

His hands settle at your waist, sinking into the soft give there—not just steadying you, but grabbing you. Like he needs the feel of your body under his palms just to stay grounded.

You let out a shaky breath. Your arms reach up, instinctive, wrapping around his neck and pulling him closer—needing the weight of his chest, the warmth of his breath against your mouth.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he exhales, broken.

You moan in his ear when he grinds in just a little deeper, adjusting the angle. He groans again—this time lower, rougher, like he’s biting back a curse.

“You’re—fuck—you’re wrapped around me so tight,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So goddamn wet.”

He pulls back—not far—and then pushes in again, slower this time, letting you feel the entire stroke.

Your jaw drops. Your breath stutters. His grip shifts lower, kneading at your thighs now—thick, plush, spreading just for him.

“That’s it…” he coos, lips brushing your cheek. “You take me so fucking well.”

You feel everything. The press. The weight. The stretch. And he’s deep. So deep.

You whimper into his neck, and he keeps going—praising you, rambling, sounding like he’s drunk on every squeeze of your cunt.

“You’re made for this, you know that?”

“Sitting at your little desk every day looking so sweet—so soft—had me fucking aching.”

“You don’t even know what you’ve been doing to me…”

You clutch at his shirt now, pulling him flush to you—skin to fabric. Your blouse-covered tummy soft against his stomach, his shirt riding up just a bit. Your thighs bracket his hips, needy and open.

“Sir—”

That nearly breaks him. His hips stutter forward and he groans, face buried at your throat, his hands tightening on your waist like you’re the only thing holding him to earth.

“God, you feel so good,” he grits. “So warm—so fucking perfect.”

You’re soaked around him. Still fluttering. Still stretched and trembling and so full. He fucks in deeper, slower—like he’s trying to savor every slick squeeze, every flutter of your soft body wrapped around his cock.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he breathes into your neck. “Coming into this office every goddamn day wanting to ruin you.”

His hips roll again.

You can feel him everywhere. Your tummy flutters with every slow thrust, and your moans shake as you cling tighter to him—your nose buried near his ear.

“I’m never gonna forget how this feels,” he whispers. “You, like this—around me.”

He rasps out, breath trembling. “Fuck, sweetheart—you’re gonna break me.”

You’re close. He can feel it—your body fluttering around him, tighter, warmer, soaked with every slow roll of his hips.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “That’s it, baby…”

He draws back and thrusts deep again, hips grinding into yours, the soft curve of your belly pressing flush to his abdomen. His hands grip at your thighs, your waist—anywhere he can touch—sinking into the warmth, the give of your body, pulling you down onto him like he wants you to stay there.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he breathes, nose brushing your cheek. “Gonna fall apart just like this?”

Your walls clamp down around him and Bruce grunts—deep in his chest—still holding your hips, still fucking you through it like he can’t stop, won’t stop until he’s wrung every last flutter out of you. His cock twitches inside you, hot and thick.

“That’s it,” he pants. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

Your body trembles—legs shaking, thighs pressing to his sides—and he groans at the way your cunt tightens around him. He barely slows—just enough to lock his hips deep, deep inside you—his voice breaking on a moan as he buries his face against your cheek.

“You’re gonna make me—fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum—”

His hips stutter against yours, thick inside you. He angles deeper, hitting that soft spot again, and your body arches, a gasp ripping from your throat. The heat bubbling in your lower stomach coils tighter—white and pulsing, about to detonate.

You’re a babbling mess. “Sir—Mr. Wayne—” Another gasp hits you like a wave. “Bruce—”

That does it.

A guttural groan tears from him. His fingers, probably leaving bruises on your plush hips, thrust deeper. Your hands bury in his hair. His name spills from your lips over and over. And it absolutely undoes him.

His hips stutter again, slower now, dragging out every last flicker of sensation from you. And when he presses into that spot one more time, it breaks you.

Your body tightens around him. The orgasm hits—hard—white heat pulsing through your veins, your back arching, thighs clenching around his waist. A breathless cry escapes you as you fall apart completely.

He groans as you squeeze around him, his own release chasing yours. A low, wrecked sound spills from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, pulsing deep, warmth spilling inside you. His forehead drops to yours, damp hair sticking to his skin, chest heaving.

For a while, it’s just the sound of your breathing. Both of you wrecked. Sweaty. Trembling. Tangled in sheets and each other. You close your eyes, still catching your breath, and feel his hand brush over your thigh—gentle, almost absent-minded.

“You okay?” he asks, voice rough from use.

You nod against him, soft. “Yeah.”

Bruce exhales slowly, like something in him loosens at your answer. His forehead stays pressed to yours for a moment longer, eyes closed, before he finally shifts—carefully. He draws back, pulling out of you with a hiss between his teeth. He stills the moment your body jolts at the sensitivity, a large hand cupping the back of your thigh to ground you.

“Easy,” he murmurs.

You breathe out a shaky laugh, eyelids fluttering. “I’m fine.”

“Still,” he mutters.

He slips off his suit jacket—crumpled somewhere on the floor—and grabs a clean handkerchief from the inside pocket. It’s monogrammed. Of course it is. He’s quiet as he cleans you up—not rushed, not clinical. Just… gentle. Attentive in a way that makes your throat tighten.

When he’s done, he reaches for your underwear, sliding it back up your legs slowly, then smooths your skirt down, fingers lingering more than they need to. He doesn’t say anything. But there’s something reverent in the way he does it. Like this is more than just habit. Like you’re more than just a distraction.

He stands, tucks himself back into his slacks, fastens his belt with a sharp click, then glances down at you—still half-draped over your desk, body spent.

“Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “I’m taking you home.”

You blink. “But I still have to finish—”

“No.”

His voice leaves no room for argument, but it’s not unkind. “You’re done for today. You’re off tomorrow. I’ll handle everything else.”

“Bruce—”

He leans down, kisses your forehead like it’s something he’s wanted to do for a long time. His hand smooths your hair back, eyes searching yours.

“Let me take care of you.”

And for once… you let him.

So...how we feeling..? First time writing for Dc.. hopefully I dont get a stake to the heart for this.. Also dont tell me if its bad, let me cringe later.

-The Intern