#Just trying to get back in the swing of things

[auroralwriting]

٠ ࣪⭑ state of grace

‎pairing: clark kent x reader (6.0K words)

summary: when another metahuman decides to relocate to metropolis, how is it that clark always gets swept up in situations like these? aka, how does clark kent end up falling head over heels for the invisible woman?

warnings & content: metahuman!reader, invisible woman!reader but not sue storm reader just has her powers oops, clark is actually whipped, guy is a d1 hater, significant use of swear words mostly from guy, small mentions of the cw flash show, its canon in my heart, eventual mutual pining, third person but you see both reader and clark's thoughts, some mentions of superman (2025) plot, yes i'm aware national city isn't where flash is from i just chose my favorite city

There was one thing Clark hated more than anything. Yes, more than bad pancakes and mean-spirited people. It was a creature that he couldn't contain.

Defeat is a harsh word. That implies killing—and Clark isn't about brutally killing anyone or anything. Emphasis on the thing.. because what was this thing?

It was giant, standing at the height of the buildings around them. It was sort of like that one creature Lex Luthor set free while he infiltrated the Fortress of Solitude. However, this thing was much, much different. It had zero blind spots that Clark, nor the Justice Gang, could locate. It had keen senses, almost like foresight, and was impeccably strong.

Which lead them all to now.

Hawkgirl was circling what she deemed The Abomination, trying to distract it while Mister Terrific tried to do some digging on what this could possibly be. Guy was just trying to beat the shit out of it, which was failing horrendously, but not that he would admit it. Metamorpho was trying all sorts of different things, fire, water, anything he could conjure to stop it. It also failed. Clark was currently trying to evacuate.

Why did people love to stand around when there was a giant monster crushing buildings and roaring? The world may never know.

"I don't think we're stopping it!" Guy yelled, his green wrecking ball doing absolutely no damage.

"Really?" Hawkgirl sarcastically called back. Clark could practically feel the roll of her eyes from however many hundred feet apart they were.

Once he moved one last person, Clark was back in the sky. "We've gotta distract it. Everyone, take a different side!"

They scattered—Hawkgirl veering left with a sharp beat of her wings, Metamorpho sliding into a pillar of smoke and reforming on the right, and Guy zipping overhead, grumbling something about doing all the heavy lifting around here.

The Abomination didn’t flinch.

Its head swiveled slowly, deliberately. Not like a mindless beast, not even like a predator. Like something aware. Something watching.

Clark could hear it now, the sound it made—not just the booming roars, but the low, guttural thrumming beneath it, like the growl of a world about to crack open.

"We’ve got nothing on this thing,"Mister Terrific said in his comms, breath quick. "Nothing in the archives. Nothing in the Watchtower database. Not even in Kryptonian logs, and you guys usually write everything down."

"That’s comforting," Clark muttered, eyes narrowing. He rocketed upward, cutting through the clouds, then shot back down like a missile, both fists forward, crashing into the creature’s chest with a thunderous crack.

It didn’t move. No stumble. No flinch. Just a slow pivot of its head toward him. Clark froze.

Its eyes—if they were eyes—were pure white, blank and unblinking. And in that second, he felt it. Not pain, not fear. Something colder. Something that reached past muscle and bone and found whatever existed beneath.

"Superman!" Hawkgirl’s voice snapped him out of it. She dove at the creature, swinging her mace with a shriek of battle, striking it across the jaw.

That, at least, made it move. Its head turned with the blow, just slightly, but the rest of its body stayed rooted like a mountain. "Got a reaction," she called, swooping back. "Barely."

"Keep it coming," Clark said, voice firm. He turned toward Metamorpho. "Try acid next. Corrosive. Anything."

"On it," Metamorpho replied, shifting into a sickly green gas and funneling toward the creature’s arm. It swatted the cloud away like an annoying fly and looked at him. 

That was when it happened.

The ground beneath them cracked, deep and wide. And from it, a low hum began to rise, vibrating through the air. Streetlights shattered. Windows exploded in a sharp cascade.

Clark clenched his jaw, fighting the pressure pushing into his skull. Guy grunted over the comms, "Okay, did anyone else get a brain earthquake, or was that just me?"

"Everyone felt it," Mister Terrific said grimly. "This thing’s broadcasting telepathically on a level I didn’t even think was possible."

Clark hovered in place, breathing heavy. "We need to figure out what it wants. Why it’s here."

And then, before anyone could respond, the creature’s head turned again, but this time, it seemed to freeze. It turned its head again, then again. After a moment, it was looking around like it had been blindsighted.

"What's it doing?" Clark turned to ask Mister Terrific.

"I don't know," he slowly answered, just as confused as the rest of them.

"Is it.. blind?" Hawkgirl asked, circling cautiously.

"I didn’t do that," Metamorpho muttered.

"Neither did I," Mister Terrific chimed in. "Something’s messing with its vision. Or whatever that thing uses for vision."

Clark squinted. There—near the edge of a crushed construction site—he caught the faintest glimmer. A shimmer of distortion, light bending around nothing.

And then a voice crackled on the comms. "Maybe stop standing around and hit it while it’s blind?"

Guy groaned. "Oh, fuck off. Not you!"

"You know her?" Clark asked, already diving back into the fray.

"Unfortunately."

The voice chimed in again, dry as ever. "Glad to see your grudge is still going strong, Gardner."

"She’s from National City," Guy burgudgenly explained. "Metahuman. Ran into her last month while I was tracking a dimensional rip. She got in the way."

"I fixed your mess."

"You freelanced! I had it under control!"

"Oh, yeah? What part of screaming and flailing was your strategy, exactly? My city, my problem!"

"Can we do this later?" Hawkgirl snapped. "We have a kaiju that can smell our intentions and slap us into next Tuesday."

The mystery woman didn’t respond. Instead, she acted.

Another ripple shimmered across the battlefield, barely visible. A wave of force shifted under Clark’s feet midair. The Abomination’s foot sank into the street unexpectedly—caught in a trench that hadn’t been there a second ago.

A sudden slam of a dome of force, unseen but solid, locked around the creature’s upper body. Its arms flailed uselessly against the shield.

"Who is she?" Metamorpho asked.

"I don’t know," Clark said quietly. "But she’s buying us time."

A moment passed. Then you shimmered into view, just barely. Still half-cloaked, eyes locked on the beast as you held the field steady with both hands. "I’m not going to hold this long," you said through clenched teeth.

Clark finally saw you clearly. Not one of his team. Not someone from the Watchtower. But she was here, and she was saving their asses.

"Then let’s make it count," he said.

It took an impressive six minutes and thirteen seconds to take down The Abomination. Once it was down, you walked over to the group who landed together like a clique. "Sorry," you said, slowly turning visible before their very eyes. "One of ours."

"Of course it is," Guy scoffed.

You pointed at him, giving him a look of confusion. "Says the one who couldn't stop it until I got here."

"What the fuck are you doing here anyways?" Guy said. "This is Metropolis."

"I'm very much aware of that," you replied, dusting off your hands. "I'm moving here." You ignored Guy's very passionate and loud groan. "National City has no room for me to grow in my career, so I thought I'd give Metropolis a try."

Guy scoffed, "Does Flash know you're abandoning ship?"

"Yes, he does," you confirmed. "And he's very happy for me. Plus, with all the metahumans running around National City after the particle accelerator exploded, I think it'll be just fine without me."

"Shit," Hawkgirl smiled, "I've seen you on TV. You're Invisible Woman; you can make forcefields and turn invisible."

"And she can generate, if I’m reading the residual energy signatures right, concussive bursts with enough kinetic output to level small structures." You tilted your head at Mister Terrific. "Hi, Mister Terrific," he added after seeing the look on your face.

Guy frowned, "She's not that cool, guys."

"The grown ups are talking," you shot back, making Guy's mouth fall open as he sputtered out that's mean! "And I know all of you, which is really cool. Metamorpho, Hawkgirl, Guy, Terrific, and.. Superman. Hi."

Clark swallowed.

You smiled—just slightly—but didn’t hold his gaze long. Instead, you looked back at the now-smoldering crater where The Abomination had been. "His name used to be Frank Albright. Frank here was affected by the accelerator while transporting a truck full of reptiles to National City Zoo. You.. can guess what happened to him after. I've handled him before, but I think you guys accidentally made him stronger somehow. It was like holding down a building with my hands. He's.. also never this.. big."

Clark did not hear a single word you said. He was a little busy watching the way your hair blew in the wind and the way your mouth moved as you spoke.

"You kind of did," Metamorpho said, still catching his breath. "That shield trick? That was nuts."

"She has a name, right?" Hawkgirl asked, glancing between Clark and Guy.

"Yeah," you said, brushing a speck of dust off your jacket. "But Invisible Woman’s fine if we’re staying professional."

"We’re not," Guy mumbled.

"I vote professional," Mister Terrific added quickly.

Clark stepped forward, almost a little awkward. He didn't want to butt in. "You said you’re moving to Metropolis?"

You nodded. "New job offer. Labs in the north end. It’s more theoretical than hands-on, but.. I did not get it, so.."

"And you just happened to show up in the middle of a monster fight?" he asked, not accusing, just.. wondering.

You tilted your head. "I was already here. Interview finished twenty minutes before the big guy was on every Metropolis news channel. Thought I’d walk off the nerves, grab a coffee. Then the big guy showed up and ruined my latte."

Guy let out an exaggerated groan. "She always does this. Shows up, takes over, insults me, and somehow still looks like the reasonable one."

Hawkgirl smirked. "You make it easy."

Mister Terrific pulled up his T-Spheres, scanning the area. "Well, regardless of how she got here, the data doesn’t lie. That blindfield she put around its head? Brilliant. You disrupted its sensory matrix. The force cage? Custom density modulation. Your control over energy structuring is unlike anything I’ve seen. Especially from someone unaffiliated with a league."

You blinked. "I mean, thanks, but I’ve literally emailed you twice about the research at STAR labs."

"Wait. You’re her? The gravity-lens force shell theory? That was your email?!"

"Guilty."

Guy threw up his hands. "Oh great, now he’s starstruck too."

Clark smiled a little at that. He really didn't know you, but gee, did he really want to. Everyone was making you sound fantastic. "Sounds like we’ve been overdue for an introduction."

You held out your hand, giving him your name. "I'm sort of a scientist. I just learned a lot from my friends at STAR labs. I'm really a journalist—er.. trying to be one. I'm a blogger, really."

"Clark," he smiled. "Clark Kent."

The way your jaw dropped was near comical. "Clark.. Kent. Daily Planet journalist Clark Kent? The one with all the Superman—oh my god, that's how you get all the interviews!"

Clark laughed. Not a heroic, public-facing laugh, but a real, honest one, soft and almost shy. "Sorry. I don’t usually lead with that."

"You mean to tell me the man I’ve been quoting in articles is also the man who just suplexed a building-sized monster?!"

Guy muttered, "I tried to tell her that last time, too. She didn’t believe me."

"I thought you were being sarcastic! You said, Clark Kent is Superman, like you were making a joke about his glasses! Also, why on Earth would you actually tell me who Superman is, you idiot!"

Guy threw up his hands. "Because I was trying to warn you! You were going off about how he writes with bias and how it’s suspicious he gets all the Superman scoops—like I was just gonna let you spiral into a conspiracy blog!"

"I stand by that observation," you snapped, pointing accusingly at Clark. "Because it’s true! You were basically interviewing yourself! That’s not journalism, that’s—that's a loophole!"

Clark held up his hands. "In-In my defense, I do ask myself the hard questions." It was hard to ignore how gorgeous you were. Your words had Clark's cheeks turned pink in an instant.

"Oh my god," you muttered, dragging a hand down your face.

Guy grinned like he had just won the lottery. "So, are you gonna apologize for calling me a dumbass when I told you the truth?"

You shot him a glare. "Absolutely not."

Throwing his hands in the air, Guy turned away, literally kicking a rock angrily as he grumbled to himself. Metamorpho just carefully followed behind, almost like a babysitter of sorts. Imagine that, Green Lantern has a babysitter.

"So, you said you didn't get the job?" Hawkgirl curiously continued.

"Yeah, I wasn't what they were looking for," you awkwardly responded. "I'm gonna try some other places, see what I can get. Actually, this is my first day in Metropolis. You guys know any good hotels or anything?"

And that was exactly how Clark Kent found himself with a temporary roommate.

Sure, offering you a place to stay felt like the right thing to do. You were new in town, clearly resourceful, a hero, and let’s be honest—after wrangling a twenty-foot mutant lizard formerly known as Frank, you’d earned a soft bed and some clean towels.

But now, with you sitting cross-legged on his couch, laptop open, typing furiously about metahuman media bias in urban reporting while wearing an oversized Daily Planet t-shirt he swore he didn’t give you on purpose—

Now he was rethinking things.

Because you were brilliant. And sharp. And you called Guy out without hesitation, which was... actually kind of hot. And for some reason, the way you chewed on your bottom lip while editing made it very difficult for him to concentrate on the news broadcast quietly playing in the background.

"I can try and get you an interview at The Daily Planet," Clark blurted out suddenly.

You looked up from your laptop, blinking like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. "..What?"

Clark cleared his throat, suddenly very aware of how loud the tea kettle wasn’t. "I mean—if you’re still looking for jobs. You said earlier you didn’t get the lab one, and I just thought—since you’re already writing, and blogging, and clearly have a voice—and you’ve already been published online, right? I could talk to Perry. I mean, you probably wouldn't start out as a journalist, maybe something else, but—"

"Clark."

He stopped mid-ramble.

"Thank you," you said softly, a small smile on your face. "You really think Perry would give me a shot?"

"I really think he’d be an idiot not to."

You stared at him a beat longer, then let out a breath, the kind you only exhale when something finally clicks. "Well," you said, stretching a little. "Guess I should update my resume."

Clark smiled at your words. After a moment, he asked, "How did you get them?" You looked up, head tilted at him. "Your powers, I mean. You said they were from the STAR labs particle accelerator explosion, but.."

"That’s a big question," you said.

Clark tilted his head, hands relaxed on his knees. "You don’t have to tell me."

"No, it’s okay." You set your laptop aside, drawing your knees up a little on the couch. "Just.. not something I talk about a lot. Most people assume I got lucky. That I was some random bystander who just happened to walk through a cloud of science and come out gifted."

He didn’t say anything—just waited, quiet and open.

"I was in the sub-levels," you continued. "At STAR Labs. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was following up on a tip, some whistleblower said the lab was hiding preliminary safety data. I was freelancing then, trying to get noticed, and I thought.. if I exposed them, I’d finally get taken seriously."

Clark’s brows furrowed slightly. "And then the explosion happened?"

You nodded once, eyes distant. "I was right next to the core when it ruptured. Radiation, energy discharge, everything. I should’ve died." You paused, then gave a half-laugh. "I actually did for like.. two minutes. Clinically. But then my heart jump-started itself. Literally. That was the first time a forcefield triggered—my own body keeping everything out."

Clark’s eyes widened. "That’s.."

"Yeah. Terrifying. Weird. Physically disorienting. You know. Super normal." You smiled a little, then shrugged. "After that, it took months to get control. For a while, my hair and my hands kept phasing invisible and wouldn’t come back. The STAR Labs team that remained helped stabilize me, ran diagnostics, taught me how to regulate it, but I never really fit in with them. They became friends, good friends, but really.. I was just at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Clark’s face was unreadable, but his eyes—those damn, kind eyes—held steady. "They were lucky to have you."

You gave him a look. "You don’t even know me."

"I know enough," he said gently. "You risked your life today to stop something no one else could. You didn’t hesitate. And you’re sitting here now, not demanding praise, but quietly updating your resume and thinking about a new job."

Your throat felt a little tight. "I didn’t want powers," you admitted. "I just wanted to write. Tell the truth. Make people listen. Ironically, my powers make me literally invisible."

Clark smiled softly. "Then maybe now you can do both."

You stared at him a moment longer, then looked away with a breathy laugh. "Are you always this nice?"

He looked down, sheepish. "I try."

You stood up slowly, fingers brushing your laptop as you picked it up. "I’m gonna go shower now, before you say something else that makes me question my emotional stability."

Clark grinned. "Third door on the right."

As you walked down the hall, you called back, "And don’t go reading my resume while I’m gone, Kent!"

He chuckled, sinking back into the couch. But the truth was, he didn’t need to read your resume. He already knew you were something extraordinary.

Which was exactly how you got your job as a journalist for The Daily Planet. Clark wasn't entirely sure how you got the job. Maybe it was how you called Perry Perry and not Chief from your first introduction.

Or maybe it was how you walked into the bullpen like you already belonged there, laptop under one arm, confidence under the other, and zero fear in your eyes even as every other person looked you up and down, analyzing your every move.

Maybe it was the way you handed in a trial article the same day you were hired, titled The Myth of Superhero Objectivity: Are We Getting the Full Truth? and still somehow walked away employed.

Or maybe, Clark thought, it was the moment Perry read the piece, raised one eyebrow, and muttered, "Well, hell. Someone finally decided to grow a spine around here."

Clark remembered watching the whole thing unfold from his desk, completely bewildered by how quickly you had settled into the newsroom like you were born for it. One second you were apologizing for stealing his mug—again—and the next you were in a heated debate with Steve Lombard about metahuman ethics and whether or not vigilante reporting should fall under sports or crime.

You won. Loudly.

And now? Now you had your own desk across from his. A stack of post-it notes, coffee rings already staining the edge, and a cracked screen on your tablet because apparently forcefields don’t protect against clumsiness.

"Hey, Kent." You peeked over your monitor, holding up a file. "Does Perry like exposés with footnotes or without?"

Clark glanced up from his own article, lips twitching. "With. But only if you’re prepared to explain every single one."

"I live to explain footnotes."

"You live to argue."

You grinned. "Same thing."

And Clark just smiled.

Because even if he couldn’t quite explain it—how quickly you’d become part of this life, how easily you’d carved out space in both his home and his work—he didn’t question it.

Neither did you.

To you, Clark Kent wasn't Superman. Superman was Clark Kent.

In all honesty, if just a few months ago, someone were to ask you who you liked better: Clark Kent or Superman? You'd say Clark Kent. He was a master journalist with more front pages than you could ever imagine yourself having.

Clark was also never freaked out by your invisibility. In fact, he always chuckled whenever something embarrassing would happen and you'd have to hide some part of yourself that had gone invisible. Slowly, Superman and Invisible Woman were nearly always seen working together to help save the city.

Perry’s front pages even started pairing your names.

Superman and Invisible Woman Prevent Tidal Catastrophe

Justice Pair Save Metropolis from Interdimensional Breach

Forcefield and Flight: The New Dynamic Duo?

Not that anyone knew what that actually meant. Not yet. Not even you.

Because Clark was still Clark. Gentle. Steady. The kind of person who saved the world and still offered to do the dishes. And you were still you. Deflecting with sarcasm, writing exposés by day and deflecting plasma beams by night, pretending like you didn’t feel something tighten in your chest every time he called you partner.

But it was there.

And every time he looked at you like you were more than just part of the job, more than a byline or a backup, you wondered how much longer you could keep pretending.

You told yourself it was just admiration. Just the thrill of working alongside one of the most iconic heroes in the world. Just the adrenaline of sharing a byline with Clark Kent, Superman.

But late at night after the rooftop rescues, the deadline sprints, the spontaneous pizza on the fire escape, there was a part of you that knew better. It wasn’t about the cape. Or the headlines. Or the city that never seemed to stop falling apart.

It was about the way he looked at you when you weren’t invisible. And even when you were.

Because somehow, Clark always saw you. Even in the silence between conversations, in the moments when your forcefields slipped, when you were too tired to be clever or guarded or strong—he saw you. And he never looked away.

"You ever miss Krypton?" You asked one night curiously, a half eaten slice of pizza in your hand.

Clark looked up from his seat across the couch, surprised. It wasn't by the question itself, but by the way you asked it. Casual. Soft. Like it had been sitting at the edge of your tongue for weeks, waiting for a quiet enough night to slip out.

The room was lit only by the lamp near the window and the flickering light of some old black-and-white movie playing in the background, but neither of you really watching it. The kind of night where the city felt quiet.

Clark leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees. "I don’t know if you can miss something you never really knew," he said after a moment, voice low.

You didn’t respond right away. Just nodded slowly, the slice of pizza forgotten in your hand.

"But sometimes.." he continued, "I think about what it would’ve been like. Who I might’ve been. Who my parents were. What they dreamed of. If they would’ve been proud of me."

You turned your head, eyes meeting his across the narrow space between you. "They would’ve loved you," you said quietly. "They would’ve been so proud."

Clark blinked, taken aback—not by the words, but by how fiercely you meant them. He offered you a soft, grateful smile. One of those half-smiles that didn’t reach all the way to his lips, but burned in his eyes.

"You think so?"

"I know so," you replied. "Because I know you. And if they were anything like you.." You shrugged. "Then Krypton was lucky to have them."

The comfortable silence between you stretched. You set your plate down on the coffee table and shifted a little closer, pulling your knees to your chest.

Clark’s voice was even softer now. "You ever think about what life would’ve been like if the accelerator hadn’t exploded?"

You breathed out a quiet laugh, but it wasn’t really funny. "All the time."

"Do you wish it never happened?"

You looked down, fingers brushing along the edge of the blanket draped over your lap. "Yeah," you softly said. "I wish it never happened.. the fact that it happened because someone covered up data and didn’t care who got hurt. But the powers?" You glanced back up at him, catching the way he was watching you again, like you were made of stars and secrets. "I think they found me for a reason. I just don’t always know what that reason is."

Clark nodded slowly. "I think you’re still figuring it out."

"I think I’m terrified of that."

He smiled again, gently this time, like it wasn’t just okay to be scared, it was expected. "I am too."

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Then, after a moment, your voice barely above a whisper, "Do you ever feel.. alone?"

Clark’s gaze didn’t waver. "I think so. Until I met you. Felt like a whole new chapter in my life. You living here, working with me, being my best friend."

The room went still. The movie in the background didn’t matter. The pizza had long gone cold. And suddenly, your heart was loud in your chest.

You swallowed hard. "Clark.."

But he didn’t lean in. He didn’t move a muscle. He wished he had. So did you.

Over the next few weeks, it was almost like the tension was building up.

It sat in the spaces between words. In the brush of your shoulders at the office printer. In the way your mugs were always side by side in the kitchen sink. In the late nights where you both stayed too long at The Planet, pretending the deadlines were why.

It was in the way Clark looked at you a second too long when you laughed. In the way your voice softened when you said his name. In the fact that neither of you ever brought up that night on the couch.

Not once. But the air changed around you.

He stopped knocking before walking into the living room. You stopped apologizing for falling asleep on the couch with your laptop open. He started learning how you liked your coffee—extra cream, no sugar—and you started keeping two spare ties in the hall closet just in case.

You never called it domestic. Neither of you would dare. But it was. Quietly, undeniably domestic.

The missions didn’t help.

Superman and Invisible Woman were a tag team now. The public started calling you the Sky and Surface. There were headlines, photos, footage. A whole Reddit thread dedicated to your dynamic, most of which you definitely didn’t scroll through at midnight while Clark was asleep down the hall.

He would hover close when you took a hit in battle. You would always know where he was before he said your name.

And still, no one moved. That was until now.

It was just some Imp from somewhere across the vast universe, but it was strong enough that you were tired. Clark was frustrated. He wasn’t angry at you. He never was. But he was frustrated because you were tired.

And the Imp—what was it this time, Mxyzptlk’s cousin?—was playing a game neither of you had the patience for. Looping physics, rewriting gravity mid-punch, and cackling like a cartoon villain as your forcefields cracked under the pressure of keeping civilians safe.

"Enough," Clark growled, low and warning.

He blurred forward, a red-and-blue streak of controlled fury, tackling the creature mid-air and sending them both crashing through a billboard high above the city. You landed below, hard on your knees, catching your breath, your fingers buzzing with strain.

"Need some help?"

You sighed, "You’ve gotta be kidding me."

Guy, along with the rest of the Justice Gang, grinned from ear to ear as they hovered above you. He looked as smug as ever. "Seems like this guy’s giving you hell," Guy replied, looking over to where Clark was trying to freeze it with his breath. 

You grunted. "He’s been rewriting the laws of thermodynamics for twenty minutes. I’m working on fumes here."

"Hey, no shame in that." Guy grinned. "I figured you could use a hand. Or five."

Hawkgirl rolled her eyes. "Let’s be honest, Guy’s just here to make snarky commentary."

"Which is emotionally vital to team morale," he fired back.

You shook your head. "Please. Just hit the damn thing."

"Gladly." Hawkgirl launched herself into the sky, a golden streak of righteous fury, and slammed her mace into the Imp’s path just as he tried to blink away.

Mister Terrific landed beside you a moment later, his T-Spheres hovering protectively overhead. He took one look at your face, pale, jaw clenched, hands still trembling from overuse, and frowned. "Stay here," he said, gentle but firm. "Catch your breath. Your field’s flickering."

You opened your mouth to argue, because of course you did. But he raised a hand before you could get a single word out.

"I know you can keep going. That’s not the point." His voice lowered, calm and even. "But you’re running on fumes, and I need you at one hundred percent in case this thing gets worse. So take the break. Recharge."

You hesitated, guilt bubbling under your ribs like static.

"I’m serious," he added. "Let the rest of us carry the next few minutes. You’ve done more than enough."

You finally let yourself sink to the curb, one knee drawn up, fingers pressing into your temples. The cool concrete felt almost good against your skin. Your forcefields wavered, then shimmered out completely. Rest mode.

Clark touched down beside you a beat later, crouching low enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "Hey, hey. You okay?" His voice was soft. Too soft. 

You nodded before you even processed the question, which probably gave you away.

Clark’s brow furrowed. "You’re shaking."

"I’m just—" You inhaled sharply, fingers curling into your lap. "I’m fine. Just hit my limit. It’ll pass."

Clark didn’t say anything right away. He shifted so he was fully facing you now, one knee on the ground, hand braced against the pavement. You couldn’t look at him. Not like this. Not with the exhaustion catching up to you and your adrenaline crashing hard.

"I’ve never seen you drop your field like that," he said quietly. "Not even when we fought Parasite."

You finally glanced at him, your throat dry. "This guy hit different."

Clark’s eyes searched yours like he was trying to read between the lines. "You don’t have to prove anything, you know that, right? Not to me. Not to them."

"I’m not," you said, and it wasn’t a lie exactly, but it wasn’t entirely true either.

He saw it. Of course he did.

"You don’t have to save the whole world by yourself," he added, even gentler now. "That’s kind of.. my thing."

You let out a weak laugh, one that cracked somewhere in the middle. Clark reached out slowly and rested his hand on your knee. Just pressure, presence.

"I hate seeing you like this," he said. "And I know you hate being seen like this."

"So let’s not be seen."

Clark couldn’t even get a moment to protest when he realized a barrier had gone around the two of you, making you invisible. He blinked at the sudden shift in light, the rest of the world fading into a soft blur beyond your invisible forcefield. Just the two of you, tucked inside a bubble of silence and bent light, the chaos and smoke of the battle muffled outside.

He didn’t speak. Not right away. Just crouched beside you, still and steady.

The hum of your field buzzed gently between your palms, the glow faint, flickering—like the heartbeat of something private. Something sacred.

"I just needed a second," you said quietly, finally breaking the silence. "Not to hide. Just.. to be. Without all of them looking."

Clark nodded. "Yeah. I get it."

Your eyes flicked toward him, a hint of surprise there. "Do you?"

He smiled, just a little. "I think we both spend a lot of time being what people expect. Sometimes you just want to take the cape off for a minute."

You let out a breath, soft and tired. "Exactly."

A few beats passed. Your forcefield crackled gently above you, and from the outside, no one would’ve guessed the world’s strongest man was sitting on a broken curb with someone who could barely hold her eyes open.

But in here? It was enough.

Clark shifted just slightly closer, the warmth of him grounding you. "You did good today."

"Barely."

"You did," he insisted, gentler now. "You always do."

You looked at him—really looked—and for a moment, it wasn’t Superman staring back at you. It was Clark. The man who made you tea when you had a migraine. The man who knew your coffee order better than you did. The man who never once asked you to be stronger than you already were.

"I think," you said softly, "this might be my favorite part of the job."

"What part?"

"This. Right now. Just.. you and me."

Clark's gaze didn’t waver. "Then let’s stay a little longer."

Clark sat close enough that his knee brushed yours. His hand was still on your leg, thumb gently moving back and forth like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You looked at him again.

Not the suit, not the symbol, not the myth. Just the man. With the unruly hair and the soft eyes and the weight of the world tucked behind a smile that was always just for you.

Your voice, when it came, was almost a whisper. "Do you ever get tired of waiting?"

Clark tilted his head. "For what?"

"For the right time."

He didn’t say anything. But his eyes said enough. So you leaned in—just slightly. A test. A question.

And he met you halfway.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, almost cautious, like neither of you wanted to break the moment you’d spent months circling. His hand slid up, resting lightly against your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his suit. And when your lips finally met his, it felt like exhaling for the first time in hours.

The kiss was soft. Sure. Familiar in a way it had no right to be.

Clark pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his smile blooming so gently it hurt.

"Your forcefield is.." You looked up to see what he meant. It was flickering, the rainbow’d look of the energy was dancing around the waves of energy.

"I’ve never seen it do that before," you whispered.

Clark smiled, forehead still resting against yours. "Maybe it’s responding to you."

"To us," you corrected softly.

His hand found yours—fingers lacing without hesitation—and you let yourself lean into him, the exhaustion melting just slightly at the edges of your ribs. "Think it’ll hold a little longer?" he asked.

You looked at the glowing field around you both, then back at him. "I think it’ll hold for as long as we want it to."

Clark smiled, leaned in again. While ignoring the swears from Guy, the screeches from Hawkgirl, and the loud grunts of the imp, the moment was perfect.

You two were perfect.

[em1i2a3]

Be Sweet

Pairing: Soft!Void/The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You’re just trying to finish your mission reports so that you can go run some errands for the Watchtower, but The Void has other plans for you.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Void being a bit overdramatic, Reader and Bob have an established relationship (therefore it’s also established with Sentry and The Void as well), Mentions of a little bruise that was consensually given to you from The Void.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up guys), Sex that doesn’t take place in the bedroom but it’s not in public either? (Kitchen sex…Nobody’s home lol), Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, The Void has an oral fixation (kind of), Dirty Talk,

Author’s Note: This was a request, I switched things just a little bit, but I was glad to get this done for ya anon :), its also RAAAAAF today y’all, get your cowboy hats on ;)

Word Count: 5,586

You were working on the last of your mission reports, perched at the kitchen island with your tablet in hand, stylus tapping lightly against the glass screen, scribbling out what you had written minutes prior so you can replace it with a more detailed response. The sun poured in through the tall windows, warm and hazy, gilding the marble countertop and the fabric of your white sundress. It was soft and simple, cotton-thin and loose in the breeze that flowed in through the open balcony window. It caught the light with every small, deliberate swing of your legs. There were embroidered flowers that dotted the hem–little blooms in pink and green that danced against your thighs as you rocked gently with the stool’s motion–something you would do when you were pondering what you wanted to say.

It was a peaceful kind of domestic moment–until it was interrupted.

Because you could feel him.

The air itself felt different when he stared. Heavy. Stretched. Saturated with heat and static, like a solar flare brushing the skin before it breaks open the sky in all its glory. His presence was coiled in the space behind you, shadows thickening near the couch, the sense of being watched so potent you could nearly taste it.

You glanced up from your work, already knowing what you would see.

The Void sat like a statue of shadow–sprawled on the far end of the couch in the common room, long limbs draped with studied stillness with a book long forgotten in one hand. He didn’t blink. He never did. Not when those faint, star-pale eyes were fixated on you like you were some precious, forbidden thing.

“Whatcha looking at, Void?” You asked, glancing back down at your screen. He hummed softly, the sound quiet and low, reverberating in the hollowness of his chest.

”Your legs…” He replied, you stilled for a moment, then turned your head fully to face him.

In the golden wash of sunlight, he stood out like an eclipse. The light bent strangely near him–not quite touching him–and all that remained in that pocket of space was black, rippling and endless, like gravity had folded in on itself around his body. The only thing visible through the darkness were those eyes–those two white pinpricks against a sea of nothing.

You felt heat crawl up your chest at the way he watched you so closely, at how long he had probably been staring and taking in every move you made.

”Any reason why you’re looking at me like I just committed a crime against humanity?” You teased, letting your foot bounce slightly, “It’s a sundress. Not a sniper scope.” There was the soft rustle of his book closing, as he set it aside with a care that felt intention–like he was preparing himself.

”Is there a reason you must torture me by wearing that particular piece of clothing?” He replied, almost like he was pained. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, warm and airy.

”Torture you?’ His head tilted at your comment.

”Yes.” He said quietly.

“I’m running errands after this first off,” You explained with a shrug, “And second, it’s summer, Void. I’m not going to walk around the compound in a sweater and sweatpants just because you can’t keep it together when I show a little bit of skin.” He let out a dramatic sigh, the kind that echoed in the hollowness of his body like the groan of a distant storm. You didn’t even have to look up to know he was gesturing–likely toward your legs, which were still swinging lazily in the golden light, only this time you were doing it intentionally.

“That,” He started, voice dipping into something indulgent, “Is not a little bit of skin.” You snorted softly.

”And also,” He continued, “I can control myself. But when you’re tempting me like this…” His voice trailed off for a moment, thickening like cooled honey, “You can’t fault me for staring.” You shook your head and let out another quiet laugh.

”You make it sound like I did this on purpose.”

”Didn’t you?”

“No.” You clicked your tongue and refocused totally on the tablet, stylus dragging across the screen as you continued to write your botched summary. “Sentry is to blame for your anguish. He’s the one who picked this out for me last night.” There was a pause. Then a groan, long and drawn out.

”Don’t worry,” He muttered, clearly suffering, “He’ll get his own scolding when I get him. That guy does that shit on purpose. He knows my weaknesses too well.” You hummed with amusement, glancing up at him through your lashes.

”Once again, you’re making it seem like this was some kind of targeted attack on your self-control.” You commented. Then you heard it–the low creak of the couch frame, the hush of shifting weight. But before you could turn, before you could add another though that was forming in the back of your mind, he was there. The shadows moved faster than your breath could catch, and he appeared at your side like smoke made flesh. One second he was across the living room,a nod the next, the space beside you was full of him–his cold presence, his gravity, and his hunger.

His cool arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his body pressing up to your back with a slow, languid intent. He didn’t grab or squeeze–just simply enveloped. The weightless press of his body against your sundress, his form a contradiction of heat and absence, tangible only where he wanted to be.

You barely had time to say anything before his mouth found your neck, as he pressed a soft kiss right behind your ear, feeling your whole body pulse at the contact.

“I’m so used to seeing you in tactical gear that seeing you like this…In something so soft and sweet…Like a pretty white dress–“ He murmured, placing another kiss, lower now, right at the base of your neck where your pulse jumped, “–Just gets me going.” You froze, tablet still in hand, stylus hovering just above the screen. He pressed his nose deeply into your neck and breathed you in like a man in mourning, like he was grieving the time he hadn’t spent touching you this way. His arms around your waist flexed slightly, his hands ghosting over the folds of fabric, curling into it possessively, like he wanted to pull you even closer to him.

“Void…” You groaned, your breath catching as his lips brushed over your skin again, “You’re losing it.” He let out a small sigh–not frustrated, nor annoyed. It was something deeper. Hungrier. Almost desperate. And then his mouth was open against your neck, his cold tongue pressing to your pulse point before sucking gently. A slow drag of his lips against your throat before pulling off and exhaling, his cool breath skating across the damp spot he left behind. Goosebumps lifted immediately along your arms and down your side, and you stiffened, as the stylus almost slipped from your grip.

”Y’know…” He started, voice vibrating with something primal just beneath the shroud of calmness he was trying to put on, “There’s one way you could stop me from spiraling further…” You squinted, tilting your heads to the side just enough to catch him in your peripheral vision. His pupils–those white, pinpricked stars–were glowing now. Subtly at first, then brighter, like the flame of a match swelling just before it touches skin.

“I need to get this report done, Void,” You said, though your voice had lost its edge. It didn’t even sound like a protest anymore. He shook his head slowly, and you felt the deliberate unraveling of his arms from your waist, as though it physically pained him to let go. The sudden loss of his touch left the air thinner, your skin prickling from the contrast. One of his hands slid to the edge of the stool while the other mirrored it, both palms bracketing your hips as he turned the seat gently, pivoting you to face him. The sun framed him in golden streaks, but none of it truly touched him, it just curved around as if it dodged his body.

“You won’t have to do a thing,” He whispered, voice hushed and low, “You don’t even have to pay attention to me.” His hand found your thigh, cool and smooth against your warm skin, sliding slowly from your knee upward. Your sundress shifted as he moved, the soft cotton folding easily under his touch, rising inch by inch until the hem sat high enough to reveal the faint bruise like splatter he had pressed into your skin–a mark he had left once months ago, because you had begged him to make you his. The pads of his fingers ghosted over it slowly, acknowledging it, like he was reliving the moment he had given it to you.

You exhaled softly, lids fluttering at the sensation, and felt your legs part instinctively on the stool. The sunlight warmed the inside of your thighs, but all you felt was the chill of his presence closing in.

“What are you going to do?” You asked, your voice barely audible–fractured by anticipation, by the heat that had begun to pool in your belly. His smile flashed in the sunlight, crooked and devastating–a rare expression that cut through the ever-present shadow clinging to him. It was a kind of hunger that dripped with beauty. A quiet plea dressed in seduction. Then he leaned forward, his cold, silky black hair brushing against your skin, leaving a chill in its wake as it tickled along your collarbone and throat.

”I’m going to get on my knees and please you…” He whispered, thick with restraint. A promise. A prayer breathed into your body. He kissed your jaw, slow and lingering, like he wanted to savor it. You could feel your throat tighten, closing around the breath that tried to escape your throat, before he spoke again.

”Because I can’t go another moment without tasting you.” The confession sent a sharp thrill down your spine.

His lips grazed your skin once more, then paused at the corner of your mouth. “All you need to do,” He murmured, “Is open your legs for me, and sit back. Then enjoy, and do your report…” His eyes flicked up to yours again, glowing brighter now with that soft, aching starlight–warm and cold at once. You could feel him vibrating just under the surface, stretched tight with the desire he was barely holding back.

“It’s a win-win.” You swallowed hard, trying to refocus, but your hands felt too light. Your skin too alive. Your thighs had already parted slightly, the space between them drawing a path of light and shadow, heat and cold. His gaze dropped briefly to your center, then back up again, and he didn’t move until you gave the smallest nod.

That was all it took.

He moved like a shadow made of silk, a ripple in the fabric of the room. One second he was in front of you, and the next, he was below you–kneeling between your thighs, reverent and unblinking. The glow in his eyes lit the space beneath your dress, casting ghost-light across your skin as he reached up and slowly dragged his fingers along the backs of your knees, urging them apart just a little more. Your hand tightened around the tablet as you peeked down at him–at the sight of that impossible shadow made man, kneeling between your thighs like you were an anomaly. His fingers trailed softly along the backs of your knees, thumbs pressing gently into the curve of muscle, coaxing your legs wider with every beat of your heart. He moved slowly, like he wanted to be careful with you, to show his appreciation.

Then his mouth descended.

He pressed one kiss to your inner thigh. Then another. Higher. Slower.

Each touch left behind a glistening mark, warm spit trailing across your skin as his cold lips dragged upward, wet and tender. You could feel your muscles twitch in response, tension building in your belly, your legs parting a little more in silent surrender. His voice vibrated against you when he spoke, low and breathless.

“God, you smell so sweet,” He rasped, kissing again just beneath the crease of your hip. “I want to lose myself in it every time.” You shivered, your head tilting back slightly as he pushed the dress higher, careful and methodical, bunching it gently around your waist so he didn’t ruin how nice and smooth the fabric was. His hands were so tender, so deliberate–never rough, never rushed. His fingers brushed your hips as he tucked the hem into itself, just enough so he could see you fully, and when his gaze landed on the soaked cotton between your thighs, he let out a soft, trembling sigh.

“Look at you,” He whispered, in awe. “So wet already…”

He leaned forward and licked you through the fabric.

A long, slow drag of his tongue over the damp lace, the coolness of it shocking against your soaked center. The cotton clung to you, stuck to your folds with spit and arousal, and he mouthed at it like he didn’t care that it was in the way–like it turned him on more, tasting you secondhand, his hands gently massaging your thighs in slow, adoring circles as he worked his mouth against you.

Your eyes fluttered shut, hips rising off the stool just slightly in response, instinctive, desperate. His tongue flattened against the soft cotton and dragged up again, this time pausing to suck gently. You let out a soft whimper. It was so gentle. So careful. And it was driving you mad. You put the tablet down.

“Please…” You breathed, voice strained. He groaned low against your center, the vibration sinking into you.

“I know, baby. I know.”

His hands slid higher, fingers curling around the waistband of your underwear. He paused–just long enough for you to nod–and then slowly he began to tug them down. You pushed yourself up slightly off the stool, helping him, lifting your hips so he could ease them down your thighs and off completely.

He didn’t toss them aside.

He held them for a moment–just looked at them. At the translucent wet patch he’d caused. He brought them briefly to his lips, and kissed the center before finally setting them down next to your tablet with quiet care.

When he looked up at you again, his eyes were glowing–burning.

“Keep your legs open for me,” He said softly, his breath catching, “And don’t think about anything else but how good I’m going to make you feel.” You nodded–barely–and leaned back against the edge of the marble counter, shifting your hips forward slightly, your breath already uneven. The tablet was forgotten. Time was irrelevant. All that existed now was him, kneeling between your thighs like a worshiper before an altar, the sunlight breaking gently across his dark figure like some divine contradiction.

His hand slid beneath your knees, cool palms gliding over heated skin as he lifted and draped your thighs over his shoulders. His grip was soft, like you were porcelain that would shatter if he dared to touch you too roughly. He pressed kisses to your inner thighs again, following the wet trail he had left for himself, as his tongue teased its way up your skin, until he buried his face completely between your legs.

The first pass of his tongue made your back arch–not because it was hard or fast, but because it was tender. Slow. The contrast of his cool mouth against your molten center sent a rush of sensation through your whole body. He moaned softly, the sound vibrating against you, and you felt him tighten his grip, squeezing your thighs gently as if anchoring himself there, holding onto the moment. His tongue moved in slow, adoring strokes–lapping up everything you gave him like a starving man nursing from springwater.

“Fuck…” You whispered, your voice already trembling. He looked up at you from between your thighs, lips glistening, his eyes glowing like eclipsed stars.

“You always make the best sounds…I’m so devoted to you, Y/N…” Your breath caught. One of your hands reached for him, threading through the silky black strands of his hair, smoothing it away from his face, holding him there. He pressed deeper into you, tongue swirling, his lips suckling gently at your clit like it was all he ever wanted to do.

“You were made for me,” He breathed between kisses. “This perfect fucking pussy–” He groaned, “–And this little dress, and these thighs, and your voice–” He nipped at your clit lightly, just enough to make you gasp. “You’re driving me mad and making me better at the same time.”

“Void…” You whimpered, hips twitching as he moaned again, slow and pretty, almost pained.

“You’re everything I crave,” He admitted softly, “Everything I could ever want. I could live on you. Just like this. Forever. You’re my fucking lifesource.” His tongue found its rhythm–languid and worshipful–each pass of it punctuated by small, open-mouthed kisses. Your other hand slid across the counter, reaching for something to ground yourself with, but all you could find was him. So you gripped his hair tighter instead, gently guiding him, your moans tangled with his name.

“Please…More,” You begged, legs quivering on either side of his shoulders.

He obeyed like a man possessed.

One hand left your thigh, trailing down, knuckles brushing lightly over your folds before his fingers joined in. His touch was careful at first–two fingers sliding through your soaked heat, gliding easily with how aroused you were. He dipped them inside, and your whole body shuddered.

“There you go,” He said softly, like he was praising a miracle. “So good for me. Always so perfect, so open when I touch you like this.”

His fingers curled with practiced skill, brushing against your walls as his mouth latched around your clit again. It was overwhelming–the cool glide of his tongue, the warmth of his breath, the slow stretch of his fingers curling deeper. Every motion was deliberate, drenched in adoration. You whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

“That’s it, baby,” He whispered, pausing to kiss your clit before sucking again. “Let me feel it–give me everything. I need it.”

“Void…Jesus Christ, you’re always so good at this…Eating me like I’m yours.” You gasped, voice breaking into something breathy and beautiful. He moaned loudly, and the sound echoed through you like a command.

”You are mine,” He mumbled, “Every time I lick you…I claim just another piece of you. But now…I want you to say you’re mine while I make you come.”

“I’m yours,” You gasped, legs starting to tremble, the pleasure mounting in waves. “I’m…Void…I’m yours–” He curled his fingers harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot. His lips sealed around your clit and he began to suck, gently but insistently, in rhythm with the way he pumped his fingers. The praise didn’t stop.

”So perfect,” He whispered, “So sweet…My good girl…My favourite thing in this entire world. My fucking altar.” That pushed you over the edge.

Your hand flew to his, gripping it tightly as the orgasm surged through you–hot and overwhelming, like light bursting behind your eyelids. You cried out, legs locking around his shoulders, your hips jerking. He held on. He stayed there.

Sucking. Licking. Worshipping.

He didn’t stop even as you shook, even as your breath stuttered. He moaned against you, and the sound was ecstatic–like he was tasting something forbidden and divine. He let your pleasure flood over him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the underside of his nose. And when you finally sagged against the counter, blinking down at him through the haze, he slowly pulled back.

The sunlight struck his face.

And you were glistening on him.

Your arousal shimmered on his mouth, streaked across his cheeks like the aftermath of a kiss from a god. His lips were parted, breathing shallow, and his eyes–those white, glowing stars–were soft with awe.

You smiled, dazed and radiant, before leaning forward slowly, sliding your fingers through the silky strands of hair that felt damp against your skin, your lips grazing his cheek. You kissed him gently, then ran your tongue across the heat of his cheekbone. His breath caught in surprise.

Then he giggled.

A sound so quiet, so rare, it barely had form–but it was there. Light and breathless, startled by the ticklish trail your tongue left behind.

“I love when you laugh,” You murmured, brushing your nose against his temple before continuing your path–cheek to jaw, jaw to chin, soft fluttering kisses that made his fingers tighten ever so slightly around your thighs.

Then you reached his lips.

“My sweet love…” You whispered between kisses, each one delicate and sweet, “My starless sky…My favorite boy.”He shuddered like you’d carved the words into his skin. His free hand lifted and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking the softness of your jaw as he looked up at you like you were sunlight he never earned.

He pulled back just slightly, and in that brief distance, whispered, “You’re wonderful. A fucking…Apparition. You’re not even real sometimes. You’re just…” He trailed off, eyes burning with affection and want. “You’re everything.” You smiled, brushing your lips against his again.

“Well,” You started, breath teasing his mouth, “This apparition wants her starry-eyed man to fuck her.” His eyes flickered. You kissed him again, just once–slow and full of promise–before pulling back with a small smile.

“Since there’s no point in continuing to work,” You added, arching an eyebrow, “When you’re such a huge distraction.” He hummed like you’d given him a gift, tongue peeking out briefly to taste your words lingering on his lips.

“That can be done.” He murmured. And with one last kiss to your inner thigh, he slowly slipped his fingers from inside you–your walls clenching around the sudden loss, aching to feel full again. He stood in a single, smooth motion, hands sliding under your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly from the stool. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his hips automatically, your arms loose around his shoulders, forehead brushing against his. He stepped forward, nudging the tablet and your soaked underwear off to the side of the counter with careful precision. Then he placed you onto the marble.

The stone was cool against the heat of your skin, and your dress was still bunched around your waist, but none of it mattered. Not with him standing between your legs, not with the sun at his back and your scent still clinging to his mouth.

“You want to do it right here?” You asked with a laugh, letting your heels hook loosely behind his back.

He tilted his head slightly. “We’ll clean up afterwards,” he said, voice low and silken. “It’ll be spotless. Nobody will know anything happened…”He leaned in, his breath brushing your lips, eyes molten white as they flicked down to your mouth. “Except us.” You let out a soft, breathy laugh, arms sliding around his neck as you pulled him in closer.

“You don’t have to do much convincing,” You said. “I like how desperate you are. Can’t even bear to carry me to our bedroom.”

“Why should I?” He murmured, his nose brushing against yours. “I need you now.” You let out a soft laugh, the kind that trembled at the edges with anticipation, before pulling him down into a kiss that turned far from sweet.

It was hungry.

Hot and spit-slick, teeth grazing, lips catching–like the two of you had been starved of this for far too long. His mouth met yours with urgency, with reverence disguised as desperation. You could feel the growl buried low in his throat, pressed into your teeth as your tongues slid together, tasting, taking. The kind of kiss that stole your breath even as it fed you something else entirely.

He exhaled harshly through his nose against your cheek as his hand dropped between your bodies. You didn’t break the kiss–not even when you felt him shove his sweatpants down just to his knees, the rustle of the fabric barely audible between your bodies. He was too focused, too gone. His other hand gripped your hip, pulling you flush against him, your thighs spread wide around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt him, cool and hard, the slick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. The tip was already wet with pre-cum, and it spread across your folds as he dragged himself through them slowly, coating you in his need. He groaned low into the kiss, like the heat of you burned through the cold that clung to his skin.

And then–without ceremony, without fanfare, but with the kind of restraint that bordered on trembling worship–he began to push inside. You broke the kiss with a gasp so sharp it caught in your throat. Your head tilted back, lips parting, eyes fluttering shut as the stretch of him filled you inch by inch.

“Fuck…” You whispered, breathless, back arching slightly as he eased deeper. He immediately ducked to your neck, his mouth wet and open against your skin. He peppered kisses along the curve of your throat, sucking softly, dragging his lips along your pulse, his breath cool and shaky as he moaned against the warmth of your skin. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, pulling you tighter against him with each inch he sank into you, anchoring you to his body like he couldn’t bear the thought of space between you.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails dragging across his skin. Your thighs tensed around his waist as if your body was trying to hold him in place, as if it needed to keep him inside.

He was thick. Deep. The stretch of him felt divine. Your bodies adjusted together in that perfect, unbearable way, just like they always did. When he bottomed out–when he was fully seated inside you, hips pressed flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt–you both stilled.

You could feel him pulsing inside you, like a heartbeat, in tandem with your ragged breaths.

“Christ…” He groaned against your throat, like a man struck down by a vision, “Always feel…So fucking good.” You pulled his face up with one hand at the nape of his neck, kissed him again–not as rough this time, but full of weight, full of that silent desperation that made your limbs tremble. He kissed your bottom lip slowly, savoring it, then moved to your top one, sucking gently, nipping, giving both equal attention like he was memorizing you all over again.

And when he finally pulled away, breathless, lips still brushing yours, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Made for me,” He whispered. “Fucking made for me.”

His eyes–white and glowing–searched your face like you were a miracle, lips parting like he was tasting your breath.

”Can I start moving?” He asked quietly, and you nodded, almost frantically.

”Please.” You breathed out. He started slow–deep, rolling thrusts that made your whole body slide slightly along the marble counter, the slick sound of your arousal filling the space between your bodies. Each motion was careful, worshipful, but brimming with tension, like he was trying not to lose himself too fast.

You clung to him, moaning into his mouth when he kissed you again, swallowing every sound you made as he began to rut into you a little harder, the slap of skin meeting skin echoing softly in the kitchen.

“You feel so fucking good,” He groaned, voice shaky against your lips. “So hot and tight around me…Like your body has an imprint of me inside it…”

“It does,” You whispered, kissing him again, messily this time, your mouths sliding together, open and wet and aching. “Because I’m yours…Only yours.”

He let out a strangled moan, his hips jerking harder, deeper.

Your dress was still bunched around your waist, your chest rising and falling with every breathless sound you made. One of his hands slid under the fabric, splaying across your lower back, anchoring you as his thrusts gained pace, hips snapping forward as he buried himself into you over and over again.

Then, as if pulled by some magnetic urge, he ducked back to your throat.

His mouth latched onto the column of your neck, lips sucking and tongue dragging slow and filthy against your skin. You whimpered as he sucked harder, marking you, the heat of his mouth clashing with the cool breath that followed. Saliva ran in a slow trail down the side of your throat, soaking into the neckline of your dress where it clung to your damp skin.

You shivered beneath him, and he growled softly, “God, I could eat you alive…You taste like heaven and fuck like sin.” Your hands roamed everywhere–clutching his shoulders, raking down his back, threading into his hair again just to hold him close. Every part of you was stretched wide open, exposed and vulnerable, but it felt safe–like no one else in the universe could have you, like you belonged only here, under this sun-drenched kitchen light, spread open and moaning on the countertop.

He pulled back just far enough to look down.

To watch.

And so did you.

You both looked between your bodies–his cock disappearing inside you with every thrust, coated in your arousal, your folds wet and swollen and clinging to him like your body didn’t want to let go.

The image made your breath hitch.

He saw it. Saw your face tremble with the weight of it.

He groaned, curling one arm tighter around your back while his other hand lifted–slowly, reverently–to your chest. He pressed his palm flat over your heart, feeling it pound wildly, and you covered his hand with your own, fingers trembling as they laced between his.

“That’s for you,” You whispered, voice breaking. “It’s yours.”

“Fuck…” He moaned, trembling, eyes wide and awestruck. “I feel it. I feel you.”

You squeezed his hand and rolled your hips up to meet his next thrust.

“I’m close,” You gasped. “So close–don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

His pace stayed steady, passionate, fucking you through the coil building low in your belly. Every deep thrust pushed you closer to the edge, until your breath was catching and your eyes were fluttering, until you were gasping his name like it was the only word left in the world.

“Let go for me,” He begged, his voice cracking, forehead pressed to yours. “Come on, baby, please.” You did—with a broken moan and a full-body shudder, your climax tore through you like a sunburst. You clung to him as it hit, your walls fluttering around him, milking him, pulling him in even deeper.

He followed almost instantly.

With a soft cry, he buried himself to the hilt and stayed there, rutting into you a few more times as his cock pulsed inside you, filling you up with his cool streaks of cum. His body trembled with each small thrust, like he couldn’t stop chasing the feel of you, the intimacy, the perfect fit.

And then stillness.

He let out a breathless whimper, still inside you, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Then he kissed you.

A real kiss. Long, slow, warm–like thanks and surrender and devotion all in one.

When he pulled back, his forehead dropped to yours, eyes fluttering shut, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his spit-slick mouth.

“Sorry I distracted you from finishing up the mission reports…” He murmured, voice hoarse and thick with affection.

You let out a quiet laugh, your hand still resting over his.

“They can always wait,” You admitted. “Especially when it comes to you.”

He chuckled softly, pressing a lazy kiss to your lips. “Always good to know that,” He said, grin crooked and boyish now, the afterglow softening what little features you could see, his eyes, maybe the little crinkle in his brow. “I’ll bring it up the next time I distract you.” You smiled, fingers threading into his cool soft hair again, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

”Hopefully I don’t forget.” You commented, as he hummed.

”You probably will…But I’ll be sure to remind you every time I see you.” Then he leaned in and gave you a slow, wet kiss.

[reverain]

୨♡୧ when you try to hold his hand during a walk ( it's cold out ) . . .

ft. isagi, rin, nagi, reo, sae, ness & kaiser.

fluff. early relationship → da boys being silly and sorta awkward. 0.6k wc. thank you for reading ♡

isagi flinches at first. sorry, hold on one second, his mind is reeling because that's the exact scenario he's been thinking about this whole time! poor boy can barely focus on looking ahead knowing your hand and his own are less than an inch apart... so, to see what he thought is going to remain a hopeful wish manifested to life? he's so happy that he squeezes your hand with twice as much enthusiasm in return.

“am i holding your hand too tight? or... could there be a specific force magnitude suitable for this...”

“nope, you're doing just right, yoichi.”

“...o-oh, good to know!”

rin freezes up. embarrassingly, humiliatingly (his own words) — did you put a spell on him? are you trying to assassinate him? just the slightest brush of your skin against his and his legs just stop dead in their tracks against his will. you're about to say something when he suddenly picks up the pace and marches ahead—hand still intertwined with yours by the way—to preserve the last bits of pride he has left. whatever, just don't look at his face (the sprinkles of red on his cheeks are betraying him).

“rin, you almost made me trip twice.”

“your sense of balance needs more work.”

“...?!”

nagi welcomes it so naturally you second guess yourself whether the two of you have done this before (nope, you haven't). he seems indifferent but really, it's only because he isn't the type to overthink things. his thought process is simple; it's freezing out (just feeling cold is a hassle already...), you're technically offering him extra warmth and he likes you a lot — so sure, why not? although you'll notice later on that someone's hand starts getting heavier and it's not yours. (spoiler: you end up half-dragging this giant guy home.)

“...are we there yet?”

“seishiro, how did we go from holding hands to you clinging onto my back? and no, not yet!”

reo reciprocates instantly! or perhaps, a teeny tiny bit too eagerly? judging by the way he's doing his best to push down the urge to let out a cheer. it's a milestone worth celebrating in his eyes because his cute darling partner wants to—no, wait, correction: is holding his hand! he doesn't even care about the cold anymore, you're all he needs (dramatic). if you remark about how the branded coat he has on is actually doing him more good than you are, he'll fight to disagree.

“i just got the smartest idea. why don't you put your hands in my pockets? my coat is pretty comfy!”

“we're gonna look so crazy.”

“...and free! c'mon!”

sae lets you. that alone speaks for itself because to know sae is to know his sense of exclusivity. he is selective, careful with what or whom exactly he allows into his world—that's what makes permission from him taste so sweet. he's let you in and now, by giving you permission to hold his hand (he's cold to the touch but you don't mind one bit), it means you're treading one step deeper into his elusive world. with the way his fingers seek out yours to interlock a moment later, it might not be wrong to think that he wants you there too.

“you're shivering. come closer.”

“...huh? oh, ahem, okay!”

“...cute.”

ness gasps or more accurately, squeaks. you've knocked the wind out of his lungs, his head feels dizzy, his hand is shaking like a leaf—it's too much, gosh, what if he's too much? he stutters out an apology by instinct, face down as he waits for the sound of ridicule. but it doesn't come, no, laughter does instead. your amused laughter as you coo: “alexis, you're so cute!”. ...is he? his soft heart skips a beat. oh, how easily you got him under your spell. you would make an adept magician, he thinks with flushed cheeks, and you'd be his favorite too.

“s-sorry if my hand's sweaty. my sweat and tear glands are pretty weak, haha...”

“that's okay. do you wanna swing hands together?”

“...! i'd be really happy to...!”

kaiser has this smirk on his face. perfect at first glance but plastered shabbily across his lips like clothes put on in a rush when you pay close attention. he's tense, taken aback by the contact but pretending otherwise. physical touches have become complicated for him; unexpected ones trigger his defenses and intimate ones are strange in that he's never dealt with them before. it's a mix of both in this case which leaves him at a loss but he knows this one thing, at least: he's willing to give it a try. with you.

“sorry, michael, i didn't mean to—”

“...'s fine. i'm cold anyway, so let me leech off you for a bit, yeah?”

“if that's okay with you, then i'd like that.”

“...why do you sound so happy about it? ha, someone's reaaaal infatuated with me.”

© reverain, jul 2025. do not repost, translate, copy or feed to AI. comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[not-yuyu]

⸻ Whatever you say. Johnny Storm X Fem!reader.

SUMMARY ⸻ Johnny Storm never thought he'd end up like Reed—until his pregnant wife told him he wasn’t going on that mission. Superpowers? Useless. Against her? He never stood a chance.

PAIRING ⸻ Johnny Storm X Pregnant!Fem!Reader

WARNINGS⸻ Fluff, pregnancy, mood swings, Johnny being tamed. [English is not my first language].

Johnny never thought he’d have anything in common with Reed Richards, beyond the political and professional bond that tied them together by obligation.

He had married his sister. Johnny had watched him crawl after her out of love, like a loyal dog following its owner. He always found it pathetic... and yet, absolutely hilarious. He mocked him every chance he got, mercilessly and without filter.

Until you came along.

Oh God. When had his world turned upside down?

The first time he saw you, everything stopped. Not for dramatic effect, but because, honestly, he couldn’t breathe. You were beautiful, yes—but not that generic kind of beauty everyone fawned over. You were unique. With a light, easy smile that chipped away at his ego and a steady gaze that wasn’t the least bit impressed by fiery suits or intergalactic stunts.

You laughed at his jokes, but turned him down without hesitation every time he tried something more. You even placed your hand on his back once, gently guiding him to the door like a hostess politely trying to get rid of a persistent guest.

And that... that drove him absolutely crazy.

He couldn’t stand that you didn’t like him. Couldn’t bear that you didn’t care who he was. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch—loved by the media, idolized by fans. And you? You were immune. Immune to his ego, his fame, his game.

So he set out to win you over like his life depended on it.

He dedicated every heroic act with the Fantastic Four to you, shooting cocky glances at the cameras as if you were watching from the other side. He left flowers at your door every single day—white roses, your favorite, even though you never told him. (He’d asked your sister.)

He invited you to dinners at restaurants that made magazine covers, planned surprises, ran every errand you asked of him with a smile… even when you asked him to walk your neighbor’s dog because you were too busy.

And in the end... you fell for him, too.

Not overnight. It was slow, sweet, almost imperceptible. A full year of persistence and devotion. When you finally said yes, Johnny felt like his soul had caught fire.

And then you got married.

Johnny Storm had never been happier. He showed you off like you were his greatest accomplishment. He mentioned you in interviews, held your hand on the street, and kept you tucked against his side at every family dinner. Always with that ridiculous smile on his face.

He remembered perfectly the day Susan and Reed announced they were expecting. He celebrated like a proud uncle, full of hugs and jokes. But when you two got home, alone, he’d let out a malicious chuckle as he shrugged off his jacket.

" Reed finally put the collar on " he laughed. Now Susan can do whatever she wants with him.

You, standing in front of the mirror, let out a sharp breath that caught his attention.

" If I were you, I’d ease up on the jokes "you said calmly, taking off the gold earrings he had gifted you for your anniversary.

Johnny chuckled, lounging back against the headboard with his legs crossed and that smug smile on his face.

" Hey, if there’s one thing you love about me, it’s my jokes. "He winked. "Why so serious?"

You didn’t respond right away. You placed the jewelry on the wooden shelf with a faint click and let out a quiet sigh. Your back was still to him, but he noticed something in your posture. Something… different.

His smile slowly faded. His heartbeat quickened, a nervous thrum in his chest. You turned just slightly—enough for him to see your face.

" I didn’t want to tell you today "you said softly "I didn’t know about Reed and Susan, and I didn’t want to steal their moment. But...

Johnny sat up instantly, the blankets falling off as he leaned forward. His eyes widened in alarm.

You looked down at your belly. One hand moved gently to rest over it, protective, instinctive.

"We’re going to have a baby."

●●●

At the time, he didn’t fully understand it.

But now, with every step you took, with every mission that involved even the slightest risk to you, Johnny did unthinkable things. He acted before thinking, reacted with a kind of intensity he didn’t know he had. His protective instincts had kicked in so hard, he was almost unrecognizable.

And still, if you scolded him—if you so much as raised your voice or frowned in disapproval—he obeyed without argument. Every word that came from your mouth carried the weight of a divine command. It didn’t matter what he was doing—if you asked, he dropped everything.

So there he was now, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, frowning, touching his face like he expected to find an answer in his reflection.

"Am I still me?" he muttered to himself, unsure.

He still had the fire, the ego, the urge to fly at top speed through the skies. But there was something new now. Something that softened him every time he looked at you. Something that made his fingers tremble every time he thought of you—and of the small life growing inside you.

He left the bathroom with a distant look in his eyes. His feet carried him instinctively to the living room, where the family usually gathered at that time of day. The air was filled with soft conversation, the smell of fresh coffee, and a comforting domestic hum.

You and Susan were on the couch, flipping through maternity magazines, discussing crib brands, biodegradable diapers, and baby names that weren’t “ridiculous,” as you’d said. Ben was in the kitchen, back turned, stirring something in a pot with a wooden spoon that looked tiny in his massive hand.

But there was no sign of Reed.

"Where’s Reed?" Johnny asked, glancing around like he half-expected him to pop out from between the couch cushions.

Susan looked up for just a second.

"In the lab, you know that," she replied in a neutral tone.

"Again? What’s he working on now, teleportation?" Johnny smirked, remembering his brother-in-law’s latest failures with that tech. One of his prototypes had once sent a toaster to the Negative Zone.

"I think so... maybe," Susan replied, not looking up from the baby stroller catalog.

Johnny scoffed softly and began to move toward the stairs—but before he could take the first step, your voice stopped him.

"Johnny."

He turned instantly, like you’d summoned him. His eyebrows lifted with a mix of attention and tenderness. Then he smiled, remembering how you’d been especially sensitive that week. According to you, he was “too serious lately,” and it made you nervous.

"Yes, babe?"

You looked pleading, with a slight furrow in your brow and your hands resting on your belly.

"Could you bring me a glass of milk? I’m really craving it."

"Of course," he replied without a single complaint, his voice soft—like you’d asked for everything and nothing at once.

He walked to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed the milk carton. The quiet click of the cap closing was followed by a teasing huff. Johnny looked up—and there was Ben, leaning on the counter with a smirk he knew too well.

"What?" Johnny asked, frowning. "What are you laughing at?"

"You," Ben replied, not even trying to hide it.

Johnny poured the milk into a glass while watching him warily.

"I remember the stuff you used to say before we went into space… bragging about how you had thirty girls a week," Ben chuckled. "You swore you’d never serve anything to a woman unless she was wearing red lingerie and heels."

Johnny pressed his lips together, biting his cheek to keep from laughing. He rolled his eyes dramatically, grabbed the glass, and turned toward the living room, ignoring his friend’s cackling.

"People change, Ben."

"Oh, I can tell!" Ben shouted from the kitchen. "Now you’re warming up milk like Nanny of the Year!"

Johnny ignored the comment and gently heated the glass with his fingers, just enough to make it warm without cracking it. He returned to you with a determined stride, like he was carrying a sacred offering.

"What’s Ben laughing at?" you asked as you took the glass, raising a curious eyebrow.

Johnny shook his head, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

"You know Ben. He laughs at anything," he replied with the soft smile that lately, only you could bring out of him.

You turned back to Susan, who just shrugged without looking up from her magazine. Johnny took the moment to walk toward the window, but then you called him again.

"Johnny, wait…"

He turned back once more, patient, ready for anything.

"Look at this," you said, turning the magazine toward him. Your eyes sparkled with childlike excitement. "I want to buy this crib for our baby girl. Let’s go now!"

He let out a low, affectionate laugh, even as Ben’s voice still echoed in the back of his mind.

Johnny nodded, letting go of any other plans he might have had for the day. If you wanted to buy a crib, then that was the only thing that mattered.

"Then let’s go get that crib."

●●●

And despite everything, Johnny never thought he’d end up resembling his brother-in-law so much.

Not until that day.

The alert didn’t seem like a big deal. A minor threat in the city, they said. The villain wasn’t particularly strong or dangerous. Any other team would’ve sent a single member. If Ben went on his own, the matter would be resolved in minutes.

Everyone knew that. Everyone understood it.

Except Johnny… and Reed.

“We’ll finish faster if the three of us go,” said Reed in his usual rational tone, like he was discussing just another experiment.

Johnny didn’t reply immediately. He stayed silent, his gaze drifting ever so slightly toward you, sitting in the living room. He could feel the tension radiating from your body more intensely than his own flames. It surrounded you like a dense, silent, implacable atmosphere.

And he knew what was coming.

“No. You’re not going,” said Susan from her seat, not raising her voice, but with an authority that left no room for debate.

Johnny turned slightly toward her, just as Reed frowned.

“That guy’s weak, yeah. But he’s smart. He wants all of us there to make things complicated,” Susan added, crossing her legs with elegance. “Ben can knock him out in one hit. Can’t you, Ben?”

“I don’t know anything…” muttered Ben from the kitchen, shrugging while pretending to look inside the fridge.

“And that’s why we’re not all going,” declared Reed, like he’d just solved a math equation. “You’ll stay here with y/n”—he gestured briefly in your direction.

You still hadn’t spoken. Your eyes were fixed on Johnny, studying every muscle in his face. He avoided meeting your gaze, but he felt the weight of it like a chain around his neck. Because he knew if he looked at you directly, he’d surrender.

And he loved you as much as he feared you.

“You’re not going,” Susan repeated, more serious now. Reed scoffed in frustration, turning to her.

“Then Johnny and Ben can—”

The sentence died in the air.

Everyone went silent when they saw you getting up from the sofa with some effort, one hand resting on your round belly. The mere act of you standing was enough to make everyone—except your husband—turn to you with a mix of surprise and expectation.

Johnny swallowed hard as you walked toward him, step by step, until you stood in front of his tense body.

“Johnny…” you said softly, taking his forearm. He thought, naively, that you were going to give him permission. That you were going to say you trusted him, to go and come back quickly and safely.

But then he saw your expression. Your eyes were firm, your face serious, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Let’s go to our room.”

Johnny barely had time to glance at Reed before he felt your fingers tightening around his arm. Reed also tried to look at Susan, but she was already approaching, mimicking your gesture. She took her husband by the arm and dragged him toward the opposite hallway.

Ben burst out laughing.

“Could you be any more married?” he muttered between chuckles.

Johnny and Reed exchanged a confused glance, barely managing a resigned look before being literally dragged away by their pregnant wives.

As they walked down the hallway toward the bedroom, Johnny couldn’t stop thinking how ironic it all was. He, the eternal heartthrob, the golden bachelor, the superhero adored by thousands… being led by the hand like a scolded teenager.

And the worst part wasn’t even that.

The worst part was that he didn’t mind.

In fact… he liked it.

A lot.

He glanced sideways at you. You walked beside him with a determined stride, gripping his arm like you could physically stop him from escaping fate. Your face still wore a seriousness that both unsettled and aroused him.

“So… I can’t go?” he asked in a low voice, almost with a restrained smile.

“No,” you answered sharply. No nuance.

Johnny sighed in resignation. He wrapped his arm around your back, gently caressing the curve of your side, right where the baby bump was starting to show clearly.

“Whatever you say.”

I'm so down for this man omds

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Sinnners has me in a fucking chokehold!!!!!!!! like giving me so many ideas for a black reader.

Sinners x Batfamily type shit where reader sneaks out at night to go perform at the juke joint without their knowledge. Then process to get caught, then is barred entery from the juke joint when they try to confront reader, because who the hell are these people and you shouldn't be some shady place in the middle of Gotham at night.

Now they get barred because they white as hell and what are a bunch of rich white folks doing in the rough neighborhood at night, hmmmmm suspicious!!! Or alternatively our Sinners gang knows what the fuck is up with neglected readers home life and are like hell no, don't let them MF's inside or imma start swinging. Them folks inside that juke raised you with all the sense that family in that manor couldn't. Or Both!!!!!

Southern black reader who has a Cowboy Carter vibe to them. Rodeo queen who has never known life outside of the ranch they were raised in. Its giving southern belle?????

Vampire Hunter reader, because lets be real them native vampire hunters low-key ate down in sinners. you and your family/friends were raised in the hunting business's. Now your taken to Gotham to live with you father, and as a vigilante you are now trying to hunt the batman because your so damn sure he is vampire,like come on y'all.

Maybe vampire Hunter reader is a dhampire on some Blade type shit, its not uncommon lore for half vampires to become monster hunters. Or maybe get into some enemies to lovers shenanigans with a vampire lover.

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG POOKIE!!!

"LET ME TASTE YOU"

Bio: Part one: Vampire hunter reader who is a dhampire and obviously my girl is Black. The next half will be cowgirl!reader.

Vampire hunter! Reader who uses twin pistols to hunt down their prey, holy bullets drenched with holy water and loaded with customized 14mm armor-piercing rounds with casings from pure Macedonium silver, making them highly effective against both vampires and a regenerator. Holy words engraved on the barrel, when recited, lead to excruciating pain upon the unholy victim. Exploding shells that pack a serious punch. The reader has other weapons, but the twin pistols are their favorite; they really like boasting about them to Jason, who's just a bit jealous. The reader has a full set of holy weapons tucked away in a special briefcase, including dual blades if they ever run out of ammo. You and Azrael like to swap weapons every now and again. Also, your guns are really, really, really heavy; you can only pick them up with dhampire strength. It's fun to see the boys struggle to pick up the guns.

Vampire hunter! Reader who's kinda dense doesn't even know that your own father is the vigilante Batman, who you've been tracking down and trying to kill for months. You're always complaining about it to Alfred, who can't help but laugh at your misfortune. "You know Bruce is Batman, right?" Tim tries to prove it to you so many times, but you just don't believe it. That man is a vampire, and he's stalking the night. You always see him around dead bodies (he's investigating) or how come he's always disappearing when someone comes around (no one really knows). Well, you're still gonna hunt him down, and you'll do whatever it takes. Bruce, on the other hand, is happy to do this father-daughter bonding time with, "Look at this stab wound [Name] gave me with a stake; she's just the sweetest thing." He's literally bleeding out. "[Name] tried to attack me this time on patrol; she's getting better at sniping." A bullet grazed one of his bat ears. "Great job, sweety, just a little bit to the left next time!" He's yelling out to you on the rooftop.

Vampire hunter! Reader who doesn't really need blood in order to survive, but in order to heal a little faster, half a pint of blood does the trick. You keep it at the back of the fridge just in case. Last time, Damian almost drank it, thinking it was juice. Thank goodness you stopped him. But sometimes the bloodlust is hard to control, and you just need to feed. But don't you ever worry, your boys are on the way for help. But you always have something to say about their blood. "You need more iron in your diet," you say after feeding off of Tim's wrist. He quickly grabs his arm back. "You should eat more greens, Jay," you say, drinking from his arms. You can definitely see how his face scrunched up. "You should stop going to that bakery on twenty-third, Dickie." He's stopped letting you feed off of him because of that, but you do enjoy Duke's blood, even if he's trembling while you're biting at his neck. Poor boy is petrified, but he really wants to help you.

Country girl! Reader, who is an upper-class girl with 40 acres to her name and a big house for the beautiful porch view of the sunset. Cowboy hats, denim jeans, and leather boots are something of the regular to you, but long, flowy sundresses can do just fine. Just imagine you going to Gotham to visit your dad and his one too many kids just to be disappointed about how the city looks. I mean, it is nothing like in the movies that make the city look all polished and glossy. The streets are dirty with grime and paper wrappers. You were getting pushed and shoved that way as you crossed the street. Your taxi driver looks sketchy when he smiles at you with his golden tooth, but when you get to the manor, you didn't expect the house to be so Gothic. You thought it was some cute little mansion or just a big house. That was the sky, said the mansion, but this looks like something that could be found in R. At least the interior is a little bit roomy and homey. If you ignore the multiple paintings staring right at you, that's okay; you will make the best of it. A country girl in the city never turns out wrong or right?

Country girl! Readers who use too much country slang like you will call something another thing, and the boys will look at you completely confused, or you will use a figure of speech that does not even correlate with the entire sentence. "Why aren't you cute as an apple pie on Sunday morning?" You say, complimenting Damien. He has no clue what that means, but it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. He will probably end up bragging about it to his brothers. It's raining really hard outside of Gotham, and I don't know why you just say, "My goodness, the devil is beating his wife." Duke is looking at you, absolutely confused. "Most people say it is raining cats and dogs," but you do not. The reader definitely has a sudden accent that has a very nice twang to it. It's pleasantly and sweet like maple syrup, but it can be as deadly as a whip when you want it to, and sometimes you used to slam to your advantage by chastising the bats without them even knowing. "Well, bless your heart," they think it is out of concern, or you are feeling sorry for them, but deep down you are really being impolite, and they can never tell, which is a super nice part about it. 

Country girl! Reader who's taking the bags to Houston, Texas, only to realize that the poor things can't handle the heat. Jason is groveling on the ground; Tim is already turning red as a lobster; Bruce can hardly breathe. Only a few of them can survive just a little bit before the heat kicks in, wondering how you're able to last in the sun for so long without literally sweating to death. Damian enjoys being out on the farm more than anything. You let him pet the horses your grandpa got for you a while ago, even talking about a horseback ride. You took the boys out to the bar for a nice drink. Tim is surprised they even serve him a beer, even though Dick is refusing and taking the drink away from him. You just laugh at it all but don't let them get too drunk because Dick tried to ride a mechanical bull and got thrown across the bar. You had to show these boys how it was done; I mean, you didn't have a record in the state for nothing. You're taking them down to their first rodeo and realize those boys living in Gotham made them completely incapable of dancing. You have to teach them the bare minimum of the steps, except for Duke—he picks it up quite easily. You even take them to stores to get their own custom-made hats with their names on them. Yeah, it's going to take a lot for them to leave Houston after having so much fun, but Gotham calls. The city is dark; also, Tim has a sunburn, and they really need to go home. God bless his heart.

[revelboo]

May we request a IDW gladiator Megatron x Reader?

Sure! 🔞

Prize

Gladiator Megatron x Reader

• Staggering forward when the chain attached to your wrists is tugged, you stumble and hit your knee and hip when you’re yanked forward on the platform. Crying out when your captor wraps the chain around his fist and hauls you off the ground by your wrists, dangling you over the open pit below as you struggle, legs kicking. Arms avenging, it feels like he might pull your shoulders from the socket. Can’t understand the guttural, mechanical snarling of the alien language as you’re dangled in the air naked, but whatever your captor is saying has to be bad. It’s been nothing but bad since you came to in a crate. And as you wonder if he’s going to drop you, you look down and see more of the robotic monsters staring up at you and they’re armed with weapons, optics glowing as they study you.

• An organic? Lip curling because that’s no prize at all, really, Megatron vents, turning away. Who’d want that? Had hoped for extra rations. A weapon. Something worthwhile. Hears another gladiator asking his companion if he thinks you can take a spike, his friend laughing as he says ‘not and survive.’ And his jaw clenches, rumbling softly as he glances back up at the tiny, squirming shape and his servos tighten into a fist. Knows what it’s like to be thrown away, to have all of his choices taken away, his voice ignored, that anger what drives him.

• Gasping as you’re tossed into a cage, you curl up in a corner farthest from your captor as he lifts a fist, snarling alien gibberish and there’s an answering roar from the pit. Just want to go home. To wake up from this nightmare as you draw your limbs up against yourself, your ragged breathing loud in your own ears. Hear the snarls and roars, the violent crash of metal against metal from below. And the screams. Maybe they’re fighting for the right to rip you to pieces. Maybe you’re food. Shuddering and stressed, you dry heave.

• Wielding his drill and his servos, his denta, he doesn’t hold back, because his opponents won’t either. And above it all, the aristocracy watches the savage fights and gossip, sipping energon when he’s starving, they all are. Barely getting by. Hates them so much. Imagines they’re his opponents, that it’s their energon being spilled. Their plating crumpling under his fists. Because one day, it will be. Everything shifts, becomes a heated, red haze of violence and survival. Snarling as he lifts his head, realizing there are no more opponents. That he’s won.

• Screaming as you’re dragged from your cage, you fight like a mad thing as you’re shoved into a different box. Swinging freely over the pit. And you scream even louder when it drops sickeningly. Realizing you’re being given to those monsters. That you’re going to die here and no one will even know what happened to you. Scrambling into the corner when your cage hits the ground hard enough to make you cut your lip with your teeth. Can’t breathe as huge peds appear and a hand grabs your cage, lifting and tipping it. Trying to grab at the bars, you scream when you slide out and land in the monster’s palm. He’s just staring down at you, his face marked up with red paint, his frame spattered in something neon and faintly luminous as you hyperventilate and he clears his vents loudly, servos curling around you as he flashes his denta in a snarl.

• What’s he supposed to even do with you? If he tries to turn you loose, you’ll starve. Or get killed horrifically by another bored gladiator. He’s not even sure if the overseer that gifted you will bother to provide him food for you. Most likely he’d given you as a prize expecting you to die quickly. Venting tiredly as you tremble nonstop, chirping softly while you squirm around like you’re trying to get free. Like you’re so terrified you might throw yourself to your death from his hands. How’s he supposed to keep you alive? Maybe ending you quickly would be the kindest option? Can feel the frantic tattoo of your heart as he closes his servos around you and carries you to the communal berths for gladiators as your chirping gets louder.

Next

[daryldixouns]

fix it, felix! - sam winchester

summary: sam is your personal handyman and you want to do something nice for him, too.

content: fem!reader, soft dom!sam, smut, established relationship, oral (m!receiving), throatfucking, praise kink, slight bimbo energy

word count: 1.6k

a/n: just a dumb little idea i had... absolutely zero motivation but this pretty gif of sammy made me want to write

You don't call for him until the faucet drips for the eleventh time. Yes, you're counting.

"Sammy... could you come here for a minute?"

You're sprawled out on the couch of your shared apartment, enjoying the last few sips of your iced coffee until you hear the echoes from the sink. The faucet has been acting up for a while, but Sam's been out of town on a hunt and you have no idea where to start.

"Started dripping after you left last week..." you trail off when he enters the room, his footsteps heavy but familiar in the hallway. With a dainty shrug and a point towards the kitchen, you leave the rest up to him.

Like usual, he's in a flannel. The kind you want to unbutton and crawl into just to be closer to him. His hair shifts a little when he nods, sitting perfectly at his shoulders. You like it that way.

He stops in front of the couch, looking down at you sipping your drink. "Yeah, and what about you, little miss? A wrench is too manly for you to hold?"

Hmph.

You blink. A blush creeps up on your cheeks as you sit up.

"You know I don't know how to do all that boy stuff."

"Boy stuff, huh?" he laughs, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "Alright. I'll take care of it."

He's done in seven minutes. Yes, you're counting.

Sam is always on top of those things. If something's rattling or the air's hissing too loud in the apartment, he always knows just what to do. You don't have a clue about most things, but he doesn't mind. The princess treatment you get from him is unbelievable.

Sometime within those seven minutes, you get up and hoist yourself onto the counter to watch him work, legs swinging where they dangle over the edge.

"You're so good, Sammy," you drawl as he tests the knobs a few times. No leaks. "Thank you."

He wipes off the wrench and sets it aside, turning to you with a smile. Inside, he knows that most of the things he does are just simple fixes — a screwdriver here, a nail and hammer there — but by taking care of the place, he's taking care of you, too. That's the real goal.

"Easy fix, no problem." His hands drop to your thighs and his thumbs begin rubbing small circles on your skin. He really, really loves moments like this. "But you're right. Let me handle the boy stuff."

You don't know why that makes you squeeze your thighs together.

As you take the long, final sip of your coffee, your eyes flit all across his face, landing on the soft smile that he's wearing. Maybe it's the amount of caffeine you've consumed, but you have a really strong urge to bite his bottom lip.

Instead, you hum mindlessly. "Yeah, 'kay. I'm good at something too, you know."

His brows raise, amused. "And what's that?"

"Saying thank you."

Sam huffs, tapping your thighs twice like he's trying to snap you back to reality. "You already did, sweetheart. Is your brain all loopy from that sugar-bomb of a coffee? You really shouldn't drink all those—"

He's cut off when you hop off the countertop and sink to your knees between his legs.

"No, silly." You lean forward, resting your cheek against the faintly present bulge in his jeans. "I meant really saying thank you."

His expression softens when he looks down at you kneeling pretty before him. Now he understands.

"Oh, baby... you don't have to do that," he says, even as he feels himself twitch beneath the denim.

Your face nuzzles his hip and you're already reaching for his belt with shaky fingers. "But I want to," you insist, looking up at him with wide, glossy eyes, too captivating to deny.

"You're so good at everything." Your voice is quiet, practically mumbling into his jeans. "You always do nice things for me, makes me feel special... I just wanna make you feel good, too."

Damn, that makes him ache.

His fingers slip into your hair, only tugging lightly but enough to make your pleading eyes meet his again. He can tell how much you mean it, how badly you want this.

"Go ahead," he finally murmurs, giving you all the permission you need to start fumbling with the buckle.

Your heart leaps and you quickly work to pull his belt from the loops, your manicured nails that he'd paid for clinking against the metal buckle. With your bottom lip caught between your teeth, you unzip his jeans and tug until they're out of your way.

You let out a satisfied hum when you see how much he's already straining against his boxers. You press kisses to the shape of him through the fabric, making his breath hitch.

"Sweet girl. Love it when you do that." His thumb brushes your cheek, making you squirm from the praise.

Your eyes twinkle when you finally reach in and pull him out. "So big, Sammy," you whisper.

Your fingers wrap around the base and you stroke him twice, leaning in to kiss up the side of his length. His inhales sharply when you give a kitten-lick to the tip, his grip in your hair tightening.

His cock is heavy on your tongue as you take him all the way in, your hand working what you can't take. You meant what you said — he's big, and your lashes flutter every time he nudges the back of your throat.

The way you maintain eye contact makes him throb in your mouth. It's the way you kneel in front of him, staring up at him through your lashes, making little sounds and rubbing your own thighs together while you suck his dick like it brings you as much pleasure as it does him.

It honestly does.

Sam lets you find a rhythm, his fingers tangling in your hair but not pushing. "Fuck, baby, like that," he breathes, watching your lips stretch around him each time you bob your head. "Just like that..."

You hum at the praise, the noise muffled as you keep going. The vibration makes him grunt and his hips thrust forward, only once, but you still gag at the sudden change.

He tenses. You can feel it. His self-control is slipping.

You pull off his cock, a string of saliva keeping you connecting until you lick your lips. "You always gotta do everything yourself, don't you?" you pout, head tilted like a puppy.

He exhales, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. You're just... you're too good at this. How'd you even get so—"

"It's okay, Sammy. I can take it."

You stroke him again, then let your hands slide to his thighs. Your eyes tell him to take what he wants and without another word, you open your mouth, tongue out and inviting.

He whimpers.

"You're such a good girl," he says, and then he's pushing back into your mouth. Your lips close around his length again and he curses under his breath. "My perfect girl."

Slowly, his hips move forward, his hand in your hair holding you steady. He starts with slow thrusts into your mouth, watching you closely, not pressing too deep yet. When you moan like you need him to do more, his restraint snaps.

"Alright, baby. I'll give it to you."

He starts moving a little faster, deeper, hitting the back of your throat with every roll of his hips. He doesn't falter when you gag, just gives your hair a little tug to remind you to breathe through your nose.

"That's it. Fuck— letting me fuck your throat like a good girl." His praise comes constantly, and it sends heat between your legs every time. "Look at you..."

Your jaw is relaxed, your throat as open for him as possible as he continues to use your mouth. You're drooling on his cock, spit dribbling from your lips that he doesn't bother to wipe away. It makes him groan, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he regains composure.

This is your favorite place to be. Head empty, mouth full, bruises on the brink of blooming across your knees.

His movements get sloppier and you know he's close, his breaths turning ragged when your nails press into his thighs. "You want it?" he asks, your watery eyes giving him enough of an answer.

"God, you're gorgeous. Gonna come, baby, f— gonna—"

So he jerks forward again, deeper, deeper until a single tear slips down your cheek and drives him over the edge.

His hips stutter when he comes. He spills in warm spurts down your throat, onto your tongue, and you swallow it all. Your eyes close in contentment, moaning when you taste him, flattening your tongue under him as you gently take over again and ease him through it.

"Honey..." His voice breaks when he speaks again. He pulls back and lets you breathe, his own chest heaving.

You sit there on your heels like an angel, your lips shiny until you wipe them with the back of your hand. You help tuck him back into his boxers before you stand up with his help, his arm hooked under yours.

"I didn't hurt you?" he asks, just to be sure.

He cups your face in his hands as you shake your head, your expression dazed but happy. "Never. Better that way."

"Yeah, you liked that, didn't you? Dirty girl."

You nod and he grins, landing a kiss on your forehead that makes your heart soar. You giggle, still catching your breath. You feel accomplished

"Told you I know how to say thanks..."

[teliphone]

Idk if you take requests or anything but I just wanted to ask you if you could make a kang no eul as a stalker hehe

Warning(s): Slight Smut, Stalker, Manipulation

Stalker!Noeul who sits and waits in her van for you. It’s getting dark, and she worries about where you could be. She swings the bottle of alcohol to her lips and gulps it like water. A drip rolls down her neck. She uses the back of her hand to wipe it. Her eyes never leave the street in case she misses your arrival. Once she sees your car pull up to the driveway, her body electrifies in excitement. She imagines herself in your house, pulling you into a tight hug once you enter. She takes another gulp of alcohol as bitterness stirs inside. She deeply wishes she were part of your life. For now, all she could do was watch and daydream. 

Stalker!Noeul who watches you through the window. It’s strange, since you do feel a presence watching you. You always look over your shoulder or at the window. You blame your paranoia, but you swear you never felt this before. Noeul takes note of everything you do that she can see. What time do you wake up? What do you like to eat? What hobbies do you have? Her favorite is when you’re feeling horny. Your hands would squeeze your chest, causing her to bite her lips. She wishes she were there to touch it. To feel your soft skin under her fingers. She loves to watch you spread your thighs apart. Her eyelids become heavy and her breathing slows. Your finger drags up your slit to rub your clit. You tilt your head back onto the bed, letting out a moan. She clenches her thighs together as she feels herself getting turned on. 

Stalker!Noeul who succeeds in entering your house without you being there. Silly you for forgetting to lock the door. She immediately enters your room and lies in your bed. She rubs her hands on the material, letting it sink into her memory. So that she could pretend she’s sleeping with you. Then she would go to your clothes. She sniffs them, falling in love with your scent. Of course, she would steal your panties. You would notice a few pairs missing, but not enough to send alarms in your head. You think you lost it somewhere. 

Stalker!Noeul would start saving money to buy a house right next to yours. She already planned it out. The house would have a clear and perfect view of your windows. This would make it easier for her to analyze you. 

Stalker!Noeul who searches you on every social media platform. She disguises herself as a fake person and follows a bunch of people you know. Just so that when she follows you, you’d see your friends following back, and you’d feel safe enough to follow back. 

Stalker!Noeul will try her best to coincidentally bump into you everywhere gradually. At the grocery store, cafe, work, clubs, bars, restaurants… anywhere. She has successfully manipulated you into thinking it’s fate. She does it so often over time that you become comfortable asking her to be your friend. You’re extremely excited and shocked to find out she has the exact same interest as you! It is truly fate! A sly smile appears on her lips. Proud of herself for studying the things you like. As more time goes by, you invite her over to your house for a small girls' night.

Stalker!Noeul who pretends she drank so much wine during the girls' night that she can’t drive home. She slurs words and stumbles on her steps towards the door. You rush to her, holding her hips. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and places her face near your neck. You tell her she can’t leave the house drunk and offer her to stay the night. You let her borrow your sleeping clothes. She blushes when the material touches her skin. During the night, she would try to sneak into your room to grab your phone. Only to fail when she can’t access your phone password. She’s going to have to try it again next time. 

Stalker!Noeul who would listen to your paranoia and concerns. She assures you that nothing is watching you and that you’re safe with her. She pulls you into a hug, secretly sniffing your hair. 

[floretteluv]

HMM? ⋆˙⟡ ♡ h. haddock x fem!reader

summary : sometimes Hiccup doesn't realize how attractive he is when he tries to explain things to you.

word count : 1.04k words

tags : not-so secret relationship, post-httyd2!hiccup, suggestive content, heavy petting, hair pulling, making out, reader likes hiccup's hands, getting caught (sorry gobber)

a / n : why am i such a horny hormonal goblin at night when i write these lmao

"Well, Gobber made the second version of the tail fin when I was asleep for— how long was it again?" Hiccup had asked, mid-sentence as he turned to you, sitting on the Blacksmith's Forge anvil, swinging your legs.

"Several uh— weeks. . ." You were honestly surprised you were aware enough to answer, as you were very distracted.

He hummed a thanks, though.

He's been explaining to you how he made Toothless' tail fin prosthetic, but here you were, just listening to him—but none of his words had processed in your head.

Sometimes you're just baffled at Hiccup, how he can be so oblivious to how much he affects you.

"Yeah, and then after that, I just made small tweaks to the pulleys and cables so it's as smooth as possible—just like what I'm doing right now." He finished, his eyes still on the prosthetic on his table, finishing cleaning one of the gears that go around Toothless' tail.

". . . Mhm," You hummed, still zoned out, your eyes zeroing in on his hands.

His long fingers work quickly and precisely at every nook and cranny of the metal part, as if a performance for your eyes.

He has really nice hands.

Not that you didn't know that already; they've been on you for more times than you can remember, and that was enough proof that you liked them.

"Hey." The brunet boy called out, snapping you out of that trance you put yourself in.

"Uh— Hmm?" You shake your head, as if physically shaking yourself out of your slightly impure thoughts, smiling at him cheekily.

He looked at you now, leaving the work he was doing behind him and walking up to you.

"Were you even listening to what I've been saying?" His voice was joking, but there was a tone to it that seemed to be serious.

"I was," You replied, to which he replied with a tilt of his head that said it all: 'Really, now?'

Hiccup walked closer to you, now in between the space from your legs.

"What? I was listening—" You pleaded, his hands reaching your hips, while your hands land on his arms.

"At first. . ." You meekly added, looking down as if you were ashamed of it.

"There it is." He says in conclusion. You could feel his thumbs sliding over your sides, making you feel weirdly tingly.

"Hey, don't blame me! You just had to look all. . ." You struggled to find words, thinking of one that wouldn't make that sentence any less embarrassing to say out loud.

"Look all. . .?" He asked, teasingly.

"I— never mind that, you seduced me," You rolled your eyes.

"I seduced you? I wasn't even doing anything!" He scoffed a laugh, genuinely surprised at what you were saying.

"You seduced me with that stupid intelligence of yours." You objected, poking at his sides.

"Hey!" He stepped backward to retreat from your jabbing.

You laughed, trying to reach him from your perch.

"Would you just," He suddenly walked back closer, grabbing both your hands in one of his.

"Stop that." He smiled.

You were stuck in his grasp; his body close to yours as your legs were on either side of his, your hands in his hold.

If you weren't playfighting right now, this would be a whole other situation.

"So. . ." Hiccup said, his face looking like he wanted to say something.

"So?" You asked.

"Are you. . . Still seduced?" He asked shyly, his eyebrows furrowed, slightly bashful as his words reached his ears.

You laughed out a reply, to which he only rolled his eyes at.

"What? You said it first," He reasoned, his hold finally letting go of your hands, setting them free.

"Sometimes you say dumb things, Hiccup." Your fingers reach the back of his neck, making the boy internally shiver.

"I thought you liked my intelligence." He muttered, his hands now made their way back to your hips, pulling your a little closer to him, your body's touching one another.

"Oh, shut up." You finally close the distance between you, your lips meeting one another, moving in rhythm that feels familiar.

The accidental clanking of teeth just makes you smile, your fingers reaching up to scratch the back of his head, gripping a few locks of his hair and pulling.

He makes out the sound of a slight groan and a whimper, which spurs him on even more.

Hiccup's hands had roamed your body, his hands making repeated slides under your bust, which just makes you even more hot and bothered.

The situation turns a little more heated, you leaning back on the anvil, Hiccup leaning over you, his lips still on your as you explore one another.

Hiccup's body on yours, his hands roaming everywhere, feels right. Like they were supposed to be there.

"Aye! I— Uh," Gobber's surprised voice had made you knock your head into one another, disorientating you both.

"Uh— Gobber! What are you—" Hiccup stands up straight, rubbing his forehead as he pats himself off from any imaginary dust.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was just about to get some pliers, Grumpy's got a bad cavity." The blond Viking had awkwardly walked past you sheepishly fixing yourself up.

"Oh, okay. Mhm, You— you go do that." Hiccup cleared his throat as he stumbled through his words, a hand going through his hair nonchalantly.

"Aye, I'll be going now." He nodded to the both of you, to which you thanked Thor he didn't say anything more as he walked out.

"Don't break anything while I'm gone, ya lovebirds!" He shouted from afar, making sure everyone in the vicinity had heard him.

"Oh, Gods. . ." Hiccup's hand had made its way to his forehead in exhaustion, tired.

"I guess that means we dont have to hide it anymore, at least." You shrugged, jumping off the anvil to stand on the ground, leaving a hard thud!

"I just thought they'd find out about us on better conditions," He expressed, sitting back down on the chair he was on earlier, going back to cleaning the gears for Toothless' prosthetic.

"Better conditions being. . .?" You towered behind him, your hands reaching his shoulders.

"Well, me devouring you—on the Blacksmith's Forge, no less."

"Aww, you called that devouring me?" You joked.

"Don't start, I'll devour you on this table if I could." He muttered, focusing on the work at hand.

"What if I wanted you to?"

"Then i'd have to take you back to my home."

lowkey dk how to feel ab this, hope y'all like it though :P

did u like the fic? if you did, drop a note and don't be afraid to tell me what you think!

thank you for reading ~ !

[v4rkas]

CUDDLING WITH GENSHIN BOYS — ALHAITHAM, WRIOTHESLEY, NEUVILLETTE, AND CHILDE

— ALHAITHAM:

Alhaitham doesn’t care for his nine to five job.

His job is something that is a necessity for the sake of proper functioning as a self sufficient adult, and being a self sufficient adult is an inevitable part of life, therefore, he cannot avoid his job. He cannot survive without it, in fact. But there are times where Alhaitham wonders if he really needs this job. He wonders if he really has to waste the time he does in his small, cramped office, when there’s a large bed with a good amount of pillows to reside in instead.

Reside in with you.

“You’re quiet,” you poke his nose. He scrunches it, giving you a glance from the corner of his eyes.

“Aren’t I always?”

“Well, yes,” you giggle, snuggling closer into his side as your chin plants onto his chest. “But you’re quiet-er. It’s unsettling.”

“Unsettling,” he repeats, lips quirking into an amused smile. “That’s a little of a rude thing to call someone who’s simply trying to relax, wouldn’t you say?”

You shrug. Your legs swing over his and you curl closer into him as you all but merge yourself at his hip. “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“What method do you prefer? I have a handful I could try.”

“Try one where you’re not staring off to space,” you say dryly.

Alhaitham laughs. He doesn’t laugh very often during his work day, nor does he smile, but when he comes home and feels your body slot next to his, he more than makes up for the lack of stretching the muscles in his face seem to get through the day. You’re warm, and close, and feeling you like this is worth a miserable nine to five job.

“If it were plausible, I’d quit my job and stay here,” he says with a sigh.

“Me too,” you smile. And then, you poke his nose again and giggle when he scrunches it again. “But we’re adults, so we can’t do that.”

“Lovely,” he says flatly, tightening his grip on you.

— WRIOTHESLEY:

Wriothesley likes to nibble. You direct your attention anywhere else for a moment, and you’re rewarded (or maybe punished) with a nibble.

“Quit that!” you shriek, trying to shove away his face as his sharp, white canines try to attack your cheeks. “Wriothesley, quit that!”

“Quit what?” He has the nerve to laugh. His lips stretch and show the pearly whites that harass your skin openly, and you pause for a moment at how handsome it makes him.

“You know what,” you accuse.

“Nope,” he winks, “I don’t.”

“Stop biting me!”

“Then stop ignoring me,” he bargains.

He slumps over your body again, his eyes staring up at you expectantly. Sometimes, you think he was a puppy in his former life. Sharp teeth, quick senses, and two wide, dangerously cute eyes.

You sigh and bring your fingers back into his hair as he perks up happily. And again, your theory is proven when his tail all but wags at the gesture.

“Biting me is not an acceptable form of communication,” you give him a scolding look. He gives you a cheeky little grin that makes you roll your eyes.

“Ignoring me isn’t either,” he counters. “That’s not communicating at all.”

You huff at his smart little mouth, and he happily presses closer to you and closes his eyes, cherishing the careful threading of hour fingers in his hair.

“You’re like a puppy,” you snort, “always need to be pet.”

“I’ll be your puppy if you stop ignoring me,” he says, sighing in content.

— NEUVILLETTE:

Neuvillette likes mortals. He finds the way of their life rather beautiful. They cherish things that are small and fleeting, things that he has grown accustomed to treating as mundane.

“Look,” you point excitedly at the window, “there’s a rainbow!”

He glances over. Indeed, it’s a rainbow, each color blurring into the next just like your bodies in his bed.

(You look sad, you had murmured when he came home.

It’s nothing, he’d whispered softly.

But you knew. Somehow, as if the rain dampens his mood, Neuvillette is gloomy during the bad weather. You knew the moment he’d walked in and insisted that something as simple as snuggling would ease his mind.

Perhaps it is that simple, he’s realizing now.)

“The wonderful thing about Fontaine being a nation with so much rain is that we often see rainbows,” you murmur. “It makes it worth enduring.”

“Is that so?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” you smile, hugging him tighter. “It’s a sign that good things are always on the horizon, wouldn’t you say Monsieur?”

“You need not call me that in our own home,” he flushes, earning you a soft giggle.

“You’re right,” you laugh, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “My love, wouldn’t you agree they’re worth the awful storms?”

“Yes,” he nods, agreeing as he leans closer into your body. You’re right, he realizes. Snuggling does, indeed ease the troubles of his mind—there is often a rainbow every time you do.

— CHILDE:

Snezhnaya is cold. Ajax, you think, purposely makes things colder.

“Why is it so freezing?” Your teeth chatter as you press even closer to him, rubbing your cold feet against his calves.

He chuckles, smug and giddy all at once. “It’s Snezhnaya, love. What did you expect?”

“Don’t be smart, Ajax,” you shoot him a flat look that tells him you’re highly unimpressed. “Of course it’s cold, but it’s never this cold. It’s almost as if the temperature is—”

You pause. It dawns on you and you throw him a nasty glare that he at least pretends to look sheepish about.

“Why are you looking at me like—”

“Ajax, my darling,” you say sarcastically, “you wouldn’t have happened to fiddle with the heating, would you?”

“Why, I’d never,” he says a little too innocently.

You slap his chest, and he laughs, curling a thick, muscled arm around you tighter and bringing you closer against his warm chest. It’s sturdy and built like a place you can take shelter in when you’re cold—even if it is the reason you’re cold in the first place.

“Aren’t I attached to your side enough?” You glare, “you don’t need to risk killing me of hypothermia for this.”

“Nonsense,” he gasps, “you’re never close enough! There is no such thing. Now come closer so I can keep you warm.”

“Keeping me warm is quite the bold claim,” you say dryly, “considering you’ve practically frozen me on purpose.”

thanks for reading!

[pearltapes]

◜DORM ROOMS !◞

requested & rewritten! "Could you possibly write reader getting caught sneaking back in her dorm room by either Mina or Jirou, and they were with either Kirishima, Bakugou, Todoroki, Kaminari, or Shinsou?" not proofread, fem! reader

◜Shoto Todoroki◞

I feel like both Mina and Jirou would try to find you once they realized they hadn't seen you around for a bit. Probably ask Denki and Kirishima if they'd seen you anywhere, and that'd be how they find out Todoroki was nowhere to be found either.

As the best friends they are, they'd wait in your room, just snooping around your belongings till you got back, definitely raiding whatever food you have stowed away for yourself.

When you got back from your date with Shoto, the two of you were greatly surprised to find the girls spread out on your bed with a pile of snacks between them.

The moment they saw your hand interlocked with his, however? Snacks? Forgotten. Minas Voices? Squealing. Causing you to flinch into his side, blinking rapidly.

You usher him from your room quickly so they don't interrogate him. While Mina and Jirou asked a thousand questions.

Only the first date, and the whole dorm floor already knew, just from how loud Mina got.

◜Katsuki Bakugo ◞

I feel like not only would Mina be waiting in your dorm room, but so would Kirishima. The two would entwine their brains for a few minutes once they realized both their best friends were MIA.

Admitted their best friends found each other attractive.

They were seated side-by-side on your bed. Facing the bedroom door, waiting to act like detectives when you get back.

What neither of them was expecting was for the two of you to stumble in making out, hands all over the other. A scream of pure shock from Mina scared the two of you apart.

After a moment of processing, Kirishima and Mina apologized profusely, quickly rushing out of your dorm room, feeling horrified and shocked from the scene they witnessed.

◜Hitoshi Shinsou◞

Mina had rushed straight from the girls' bathroom to your dorm. The tampon dispenser was broken, and one of your classmates was in desperate need of anything—and she knew for a fact you kept some supplies tucked away in your dorm.

To her surprise, after swinging your door open, she saw you on your bed, making out with a boy. Not only was it a boy from a different class, it was Shinsou—the guy she thought you'd be least into.

She let out a low whistle, congratulating you for finding a boyfriend, before grabbing two tampons from your drawer and deserting your dorm room again.

Leaving both you and Shinsou confused about what had just happened.

◜Denki Kaminari◞

Jirou was one of his best friends—so naturally, she knew he had a thing for you. Being one of your friends, she knew it was reciprocated but wanted to see if nature would run its course and force the two of you together.

When she couldn't find either of you one day, she thought, 'Finally,' and went to hide in your dorm, hoping to scare both of you.

Lights off, seated calmly at your desk.

Once the two of you finally got back, hand in hand, she was really happy for the two of you! Then Denki chose to kiss you, the image forever burned into her brain of seeing his tongue slither from his mouth.

Cleared her throat really loud, effectively scaring you both. Letting out an "About damn time" before escaping back to tell Momo everything she saw.

◜Eijirou Kirishima◞

Mina noticed you were nowhere to be seen and overheard Bakugo looking for Kirishima. Cue her brain putting it together. Hiding away in your room, sprawled out on your carpet, staring at the ceiling in silence.

The two of you coming back from your first date to find her making angels on your carpet... was an experience, to say the least.

She felt bad learning she disrupted the movie marathon that the two of you had planned. Slipped away with a bag of chips and giggling to herself.

Finally, after months of mutual pining, the two of you had accepted you were into each other.

[formulafanfics13]

you know those videos on mclaren’s insta and tiktok where osc and lando teaches/explains us stuffs and for some reason they are sooo hot so can i please get maybe oscar (your bf) teaching you how to play padel and then it turns into smut cause you’re so turned on you can’t concentrate or smth

love u<3333

-💌

youre holding it wrong - OP81 🔥

Masterlist

summary: oscar insists on teaching you how to play padel during a quiet afternoon in monaco. it starts with a few tips, a lot of teasing, and a tennis skirt you absolutely wore on purpose. but once he starts touching your hips to correct your stance, you’re soaked and distracted and the only thing you’re focused on is getting him to fuck you against the wall.

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, semi-public sex (they’re alone at the court but outdoors), slight dumbification, bf!oscar, soft but filthy vibes

it’s sunny and quiet when he grabs your wrist and tugs you down the stairs to the private court below your apartment, the padel racquet already swinging in his other hand, messy curls tucked under a cap, too casual to be real. you’re barely wearing anything. a little white tennis skirt with built-in shorts, a fitted racerback top, your hair pinned out of your face, lip balm on, glossed and glowing. you don’t even care about the game, not really. you just like how his eyes darken when he looks at your thighs.

he tosses you a spare racquet and says “just try it, babe. it’s fun. i swear.”

you roll your eyes, but you let him show you. of course you do. the problem starts when he steps behind you to correct your grip. you’re already flushed from the sun, and the court is hot and quiet, tucked into the hillside above the monaco port, the only sounds the low buzz of traffic and oscar’s voice behind you. soft, amused, patient.

“no, you’ve gotta hold it lower down,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand, adjusting the way you grip the handle. “yeah. right there. and bend your knees a little.”

his fingers trail down to your hips as he straightens you. his touch lingers too long. your breath catches.

he doesn’t notice at first. not really. not until you swing and miss again and pout at him and he blinks, watching the way your chest rises under your top.

“you’re distracted,” he says flatly.

“you’re distracting,” you shoot back, and then it hangs there. sticky. obvious.

he walks toward you slowly, racquet lowered, sweat glistening at his collarbones where his shirt clings, and when he stops in front of you, his eyes sweep down your body, shameless.

“you know you look way too hot to be actually playing,” he mutters. “you did this on purpose.”

you shrug, smirking. “and if i did?”

he doesn’t answer. he just drops the racquet. you hear the clatter. and then he’s pushing you gently backward until your back hits the wire fence at the far end of the court.

“oscar,” you whisper, eyes wide but teasing. “someone could see.”

he leans in until his forehead is resting against yours. “no one comes here. they’re all down at the marina. i locked the gate.”

your pulse jumps. his hand finds the hem of your skirt. he lifts it slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

“you wore the shorts,” he murmurs. “good girl.”

you gasp, quietly. he sinks to his knees. his hands tug at the waistband of your skort until he’s peeled it down just enough, enough to get his mouth on you, enough to lean in and lick over the damp patch in your underwear and groan, like he’s surprised you’re already that wet.

“fuck,” he mumbles into the cotton. “you’re soaked.”

you whimper, hands sliding into his curls, tugging his cap off and dropping it somewhere behind him. he noses the fabric aside and licks a stripe up your slit.

your knees buckle.

you gasp his name like a prayer, barely able to stand as his tongue flicks over your clit, then sucks it into his mouth, lips soft, tongue slow and purposeful, fingers digging into the backs of your thighs.

“oscar, oh my god-”

you’re shaking. the court is bright and exposed, but the way he’s sucking you like he’s starved, like he needs you, like he’s wanted to do this since you stepped out in that fucking skirt, makes the whole world go blurry.

he hums against you, fingers digging deeper.

you cum with a quiet cry, thighs trembling, spine arching off the fence. he catches you when you fall forward, your hands clinging to his shoulders, his shirt damp with sweat and sun.

he stands slowly, dragging his hands up your sides, and kisses you like he has all the time in the world.

“still wanna learn?” he murmurs, lips brushing yours.

you nod, breathless. “later.”

he grins. “yeah. later.”

he turns you around. pushes you back against the fence again, this time with your chest pressed to the wire and your cheek resting on your forearm. you hear the zip of his shorts. the soft hiss of his breath.

“keep quiet, baby,” he warns, pushing into you with a low groan. “or everyone on the hillside’s gonna know you’re getting fucked on a padel court.”

you moan anyway.

[anonymous-dentist]

No sign of Newt going into year 8,000. Go figure.

But Lukey keeps having flashbacks, and Pangi keeps having dreams, and neither of them talk to each other about them because? Why would they? That’s crazy

But…

“Tell me about us,” Pangi demands, curled up with Lukey on the sofa. “From, like, before.”

Lukey cradles a steaming-hot cup of bone-marrow tea in both of his hands. Pangi’s head is on the couch’s armrest, and his legs are over Lukey’s. Nonchalantly

“What do you want to hear?” Lukey asks

Everything, Pangi thinks.

“You decide,” he replies instead

Lukey hums for a moment, fingers drumming against his cup as he thinks

And then, “The day we tried to blow up Heaven, you killed a guardian angel. I don’t recall his name, but his death was what alerted the guards to our actions.”

He snorts and gives Pangi a fake-irritated look. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges. We’d have succeeded if you hadn’t killed him.”

Pangi frowns. “Why did I do it? I had to have had a reason, right? I don’t just kill people for no reason, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Oh, you had a reason,” Lukey sighs.

He sips at his tea before elaborating, urged on by Pangi opening his mouth to complain

“We both had a friend, you see,” he explains, voice wavering only slightly, “by the name of Pili. He and I… we had our differences, but you two were very close. You did everything together.”

Pangi racks his brain and comes up with absolutely nothing, big shocker

“Pili died,” Lukey bluntly says, answering Pangi’s question before he can even ask it. “He rebelled against Heaven’s ideals and even attempted to kill the King. As such, his demand of a duel against the Archangel Clownpierce was granted. You and I know that nothing can truly kill an angel, but his soul was shattered into oblivion by the archangel’s weapon.

“We watched it happen, we were in the stands as the only two to hope for Pili’s survival. Everyone else cheered when he died. A few even descended upon his body and picked it clean of his belongings.”

Lukey’s hands shake slightly as he raises his cup back to his lips.

In a low voice, he continues: “The angel that you killed was one of those who disrespected Pili. You had sworn long before that to slaughter every last one of those so-called angels, and… you did. He died, and you got your revenge, and Heaven still stands because of it.”

Pangi is stunned silent as Lukey takes a moment to drink. He vaguely watches the movement of Lukey’s throat as he swallows.

But then, strangely enough, Lukey lowers his cup into his lap and smiles, almost smitten-looking as he finishes the story:

“And you were beautiful. I may have been angry at the time, but I wouldn’t change a thing about it. I’d happily be sent back to the Null if it meant I could watch you fight like that again.”

There’s a softness to his smile, a unique sort of glitter in his eyes as he recounts the battle to the best of his ability. His hands move as if trying to reenact the swings of Pangi’s axe, tea splashing onto the carpet

Pangi, captivated by the sheer love in Lukey’s voice, applauds when the story ends

With cheeks slightly pink from embarrassment, Lukey sinks back into the sofa

“Lukey,” says Pangi, dead serious, “get your shoes on. We’re going to ask Bad to build a gladiator pit, now.”

(The light in Lukey’s eyes is worth way more than any amount of future teasing Pangi’ll get for this, he can already tell)

In which Pangi, the Crown Prince of Hell, is having a lovely stroll near his favorite lava river when some fucking guy falls out of the sky and lands right on him. He’s in all white, completely unconscious with a faint purple tinge to his skin

This dude is dead, which wouldn’t be as crazy as it is if it wasn’t for the fact that Pangi is like 99% sure that he’s a fallen fucking angel

With nothing better to do, Pangi hikes the angel over his shoulder and start bringing him to his place. Cause it’s either this or his, ew, j*b, so yeah

[bullet-prooflove]

Shawnstown: Colours - Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthis @julius-ceasar @flu3rm0r3 @thinemineours

Premise: Shawnstown is an AU universe, where different Shawn Hatosy characters have found a home over the years for different reasons within their journeys. This is not in line with any of the current ongoing storylines for these characters.

Learn More Here

Summary: Jack tries to ask a favour...

Companion piece to:

When Is A Search Not A Rescue - Jack latest search operation yields more questions than answers.

Masterlists:

Andrew Pope Cody

Sammy Bryant

Charlie Reid

Clayton Emerson

Jack Abbot

Stan Rosado

Jack does not want to get out of his car. He does not want to get out of his car because he knows as soon as he steps foot on Anna’s porch she’s going to find some clever way to murder him. To be honest she’d be well within her rights too because that decision he made three months ago, it hasn’t stopped having consequences, not for her.

He grips the steering wheel, staring at the house where he’d spent Sunday mornings in bed with a beautiful woman, laughing with her, loving her.

That’s over now but Jack, he still feels it. Everytime he catches a glimpse of her on Main Street or hears her voice at a town meeting, it makes his chest hurt because he knows there isn’t a chance in hell the two of them can never go back.

He sighs as he reaches into the glove box, removing the photocopied versions of the letters that were found scattered outside Sheila’s car. He’d returned the original set to Charlie for Forensics to review when they eventually got on the scene. His prints are already on file for elimination for when their searches turn into something more problematic like this one.

He tucks the paperwork under his arm before he forces himself out of the car, hissing through his teeth at the ache in his lower back.

He’s been on his feet too long. An eight hour search on uneven terrain has exhausted him and the twinge in his hip reminds him that he needs to switch out his prosthetic from the multi-axial ankle to the flat foot now that he’s on steady ground again. He has it in the trunk of his car but he doesn’t want her to glance through the window and see him sitting there because if she does he knows she’ll refuse to answer when he knocks.

He drags himself up the concrete steps to the white door. There’s a sunflower wreath adorning it these days, her favourite flower. He suspects it’s something Aubrey has made.

That’s good, he thinks as his fingertips chase over the petals. It’s good that she has someone to talk to about this whole mess with.

The door swings open when he raises his hand to knock. His gaze comes to rest on her as she searches for the keys to the Jeep in the depths of her purse.

She’s wearing that brown suede fringe jacket she’s had since the 90s over a pair of worn out Wranglers. Her platinum blonde hair is loose, falling across her face into an edgy layered bob just like the one out of Halsey’s music video for Colors.

The only reason he’s seen the damn thing is because Ani, Scotty’s niece had kept watching it on repeat when he was keeping an eye on her as a favour.

That song though, the meaning of it, it’s not lost on him.

He’d watched the vibrancy leak out of Anna after her last search, the colour in her fading into grey. That’s why he did what he had to do.

When she looks up and sees him standing there, she reacts the exact way he expected she would, by trying to slam the door in his face. He manages to jam his foot in the gap, so she tries to slam it harder and that’s when she realises which leg he’s using.

“It’s not fair that you can use the prosthetic against me.” She informs him, leaning against the door frame. “What do you want? I’m on the way out.”

“I gotta favour to ask…”

She lets out a laugh. It’s a bitter sound that carries across the porch, twisting at his insides as she steps over the threshold, yanking the door closed behind her. He listens for the lock clicking into place before he follows her down the stairs onto the paved pathway.

“Why would I be doing you any favours Jack?” She retorts as she heads towards the battered Jeep. “You kicked me off the SAR team, which led to me being forced to take a leave of absence from my job. I have literally just started back this week and now you turn up asking for a favour. You are fucking unbelievable.”

Anna unlocks the Jeep, climbing inside but Jack catches the door before she can close it. The look she gives him, he’d be burning alive if he believed in things such as heaven and hell.

“It’s not my favour, it’s for Charlie-”

“Oh the other Judas who almost ruined my career.” She shoots back, trying to tug the door from his grasp. “Whatever it is you can tell him he lost all that good will when he went to the town council and had me forced onto mental health leave.”

She tears the door out of his grasp, slamming it closed. He reaches for the handle again but she hits the lock, shutting him out. The engine roars to life and he steps back as she pulls away from the curb, leaving him standing there on the sidewalk.

He debates getting in his car, going after her but he knows better than that. Instead he returns to Anna’s porch and holds up the folder he has tucked under his arm up to the doorbell camera. The chiming on her phone will drive her crazy enough to watch the video later on, he can guarantee it.

“This contains the final words of a dead woman.” He says into the camera pointing at the folder. “We think she was murdered out by Oakpine Woods, you wanna know more? You know where I am.”

He makes a show of sliding it underneath the doormat before he raises his hands and backs off, retreating to his car. He picks up his phone from the passenger seat and dials Charlie’s mumber. He can hear talking in the background and guesses that Forensics have arrived are on the scene so he keeps it brief.

“She took off but I’ve left the letters for her to look through when she gets  back.” He tells the other man as he inserts his key in the ignition. “Trust me, if there’s one thing that woman can’t resist it’s a mystery.”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the Shawnstown taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[roseate-rose]

Okay this is a different thing than the other thing I was talking about but I DID write some extremely self indulgent problematic feedist slop below, loosely based on a scenario I’m sure We’ve all imagined,, (probably? I hope?) and I’m describing it like that because I’m SHY so everyone has to be REALLY niceys to me about it okay. Okaye here it is

The morning should have been ordinary.

It’s instinct, stupid and small: a sleepy stretch, a shift toward the edge of the mattress, the thought of water humming faint in the back of your skull. Just for a second, you forget, and think it’s easy—just swing your legs over, plant your feet, stand.

Your body laughs in your face.

The first push barely moves you. Your palms sink deep into the sheets, wrists trembling as you lever yourself upright. Your belly surges forward like a tide, heavy and swaying, rolls stacking thick along your ribs before spilling soft into your lap.

You freeze, momentarily shocked by your own form. You normally try not to notice, but god, when did it get this… vast?

You manage to swing your legs over the edge with some effort, bracing your swollen feet against the hardwood. A breath, a heave — sweat beads at your hairline, your knees shake, and you drop back on your bottom, falling back against the pillows and taking short, gasping breaths.

It feels like you ran a mile. For nothing.

“Hey baby?” Your voice cracks, once you can breathe without wheezing again. You swallow hard. “Can you help me up?”

The silence that follows is wrong. Heavy. You glance over, heart skittering like a trapped thing.

He’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes raking you slow from crown to toe. That smile—the one that first lured you in, filled your chest with honey and spice—curves sweetly across his face.

“No,” he says softly. “Not this time.”

The words land like a fist. You laugh—high, brittle, desperate. “What? What do you mean?”

He tilts his head. Almost pitying. Almost sweet. Almost. “Aw, baby. Have you really not figured this out yet?”

Your stomach knots. Not hunger—something colder, crawling under your skin as he prowls closer, slow as a storm rolling in.

He stops at the foot of the bed, gaze dragging over you in appraisal. When he speaks, it’s harsher now, no smile in his voice.

“Look at yourself.”

You shake your head. “I don’t—”

“Look,” he says again. Sharp. Final.

Your eyes drop, facing the truth you’ve been hiding from. The massive, quivering, undeniable truth.

The swell of your gut pools heavily over dimpled thighs draped with rolls. Creases ladder your sides like soft-serve ice cream, pale and endless. Your arms pillow thick against your ribs, hands half-swallowed in the spill. Even on your face, puffy cheeks push into your field of vision. Everything is swaddled in it, this obscene excess.

A whimper cracks in your throat. You look away out of habit, a habit built on months of denial. Of ignoring every sign this was coming, every extra treat and worn-out seam.

“Say it,” he murmurs, voice low. “Say what you see.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. “I—can’t.”

“Then I’ll say it for you.”

The mattress dips as he climbs up, caging you under him. He grips a handful of sensitive flesh, pulling a gasp from you that shakes in his hands.

“Fat.” The word drops like molten lead as his fingers dig into the swell of your belly, hefting it slow until you feel the drag in your spine. “Greedy. Lazy. A soft, spoiled pet. Do you even remember the last time you were truly hungry? The last time you got out of bed by yourself? The last time you even thought about a vegetable?”

Your cheeks burn hot, and you shake your head, feeling tears start to prick under your eyes.

“Of course you don’t.” His laugh knifes through you, low and sharp. “You just kept getting fatter and fatter and playing dumb all the while. Because every time you felt that little pinch of guilt, that little nagging voice that maybe this isn’t normal — you drowned it in sugar and smoke. Every time you could’ve stopped, you begged for more.”

“I—I didn’t—”

“Then who did?” His hand brushes under your double chin, pressing your face up until your eyes crash into his. “Who made you eat like this? Who made you smoke your pretty little brain away? Who made you sit on the couch and do nothing but stuff yourself and sleep it off for weeks on end?”

Your breath shreds.

“I didn’t do this to you, sweetheart.” He smiles again, cruel and oh so sweet. “You did this to yourself. Sure, I never said no, but neither did you. I only ever gave you exactly what you wanted, andn nothing less. Isn’t that right? And that’s the best part, you see — I made being a dumb, fat pet easy, but you… you made it inescapable.”

“Please, no,” you whimper.

“Oh yes.” His other hand slides deeper under the crest of your belly, lifting until the sheer weight drags a grunt from your lips. “Sweetheart, we’re just getting started. You think this is big? This is nothing. You’ve got miles left to grow. And do you know what i love the most about it?”

His lips brush your ear, breath hot, almost burning.

“You’re starving for it.”

As if willed, your stomach growls—loud, obscene in the silence. Shame bursts across your ribs and trickles low into your pelvis, drowning out his laugh.

“Do you see this?” The laughter is still slick in his voice as his hand fists another roll, squeezing until it spills between his fingers like dough. “This is what you begged me for — every pound, every inch. You built this with your own greed. Say it.” His hand grips your jaw, thumb digging into the plush curve of your cheek. “Say what you are.”

You choke, throat raw with holding back tears. “I’m fat,” you mumble as they finally slip down your burning cheeks.

“I can’t hear you, sweetie, you have to speak up.”

Your lip trembles harder, and the second comes out even quieter, a whisper more than a sob. “I’m f-fat.”

“And?” He asks, softer now, catching a tear with his thumb.

“Yours,” you breathe.

“That’s what I thought.” His kiss is soft and tastes like salt.

There it is, the sweetness that you know. Your chest flutters as he pulls back, just enough so his breath can brush your lips.

“Now say what you want.”

Shame claws deep—and yet the truth coils lower, molten and monstrous.

“More,” you whisper, and his grin is like a sickle.

[rottingworship]

Beg and Bargain

The Proxies x Fem!Reader | Chapter Ten

[Masterlist]

Summary: You wake up in a motel room and the punches just keep rolling in. Between your old life and your new one, things keep stirring up. Thankfully, you have someone to help take the edge off.

Warnings: 18+! slight smut, slight slut shaming, handjob, blowjob, cum swallowing

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Nothing much to add today, other than I will be trying to update my ao3 this weekend! I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. divider by cafekitsune

You wake up in a bed. You are on top of the covers. Your eyes squint open and you are looking at a ceiling you are not familiar with. You sit up. Your head is not hurting as badly anymore, and the room is in fact not spinning.

The sun is coming up.  You look over and notice another bed. Kate is asleep in it. She is curled up, under the covers. Her hair is everywhere, and she seems to be shirtless. Despite being asleep, she does not look very peaceful. Kate sleeps like she is ready to wake up at any second.

You do not want to wake her, so you quietly stand up and tiptoe to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror and let out a soft gasp. You are still bloody. Dried blood is caked onto your face, covering your nose down to your neck. You decide it is best to clean that up. You begin to wash your face and watch as the sink and the water turn bloody. All you have is water at the moment, and some bar soap on the sink that does not look like it needs to be near your face, so just water will do.

As you finish cleaning and scraping blood off of your skin, you hear movement behind you. You dry your face and turn towards the noise. Kate is sitting on the edge of the bed. Her back is to you. She is pale and thin. Her long black hair hangs down beside her face. She wears nothing but underwear. You can tell she is topless now.

“Kate?” Your voice is soft. “Are you okay?”

Kate scoffs. “I should be asking you that question.”

You smile softly. Maybe she is not so bad. You walk into the room and stop. You do not want to test any boundaries at the moment. “You know, for someone who thought she was going to bleed to death from a simple nosebleed, I think I’m alright.”

Kate wants to laugh. You see her shoulders move up; she makes some sort of noise and looks back at you. “For someone so helpless,” Oh, there she goes, “you really were helpful last night.” She smiles at you. Even her smile is unsettling.

You nod at her. “I have my moments.”

After that, there is silence in the room. Not too heavy or awkward. A silence you can be thankful for. Until the door of the motel room swings open. You and Kate both tense and you look towards the door. Toby walks in holding a coffee in each hand. He slams the door and looks at Kate. He gasps.

“Put-Put them u-up, slut!”

“Hey!” You are quick to correct him. “Do not call her a slut!”

“Yeah,” Kate stretches and yawns, “if anyone’s a slut, it’s her.” She points at you. She is smiling. You cannot tell if it is because she is being funny or because she wants to start shit. Probably both.

You gasp. “Come on!” You stomp your foot. “I’m not-” You stop. “I’m not arguing with you.” Not again. You focus back on Toby. “Where are Brian and Tim?” As you ask, Toby hands Kate a coffee and then points at the door conjoining your room with the one next door. You only nod. “Did you happen to get me a coffee?” You give him a soft smile.

“No.” Him and Kate speak at the same time. “Yuh-you were a-asleep. How-How am I-I-I sup-supposed to know what cuh-coffee you like.” He has a point. You cross your arms.

Kate sips hers and growls. “Did you put something in this?” She glares at him. Toby smiles. “What did you put in it!?”

“S-salt.”

Kate stands up and turns towards you. You are baffled momentarily. You look away from her breasts and that gets harder as she steps closer to you. You are looking directly at the ceiling now, and Toby is laughing at you.

“Here's some coffee.” She places it in your hand, and you have no choice but to grab it. You do not want it to fall and make a mess. “Enjoy it.” Kate grabs her clothes and heads to the bathroom.

You look back at Toby as she closes the bathroom door and you tap the cup in your hand. “Where’s the coffee at?” Toby begins to walk towards the door. “I can get it myself.” You reassure him. “Just tell me where it is.”

“N-No.” Toby shakes his head.

“Toby! I’m not going anywhere. You can’t trust me yet?” You get closer to him, keeping your voice low, “I killed two more people for you. For all of us! I cannot leave. I promise, I will be right back. I would like some air and peace and quiet.”

Toby’s jaw clenches. “G-Go out, an-and to your le-left. Th-there is a-a lobby.”

“Thank you, Toby. I will be back.”

As you leave, Toby walks towards the door joining the rooms together. You leave the room and walk towards the left. There is an area for check ins. You assume that is the lobby. You enter and notice there is a whole breakfast area. A young woman is at the counter of the lobby. She smiles at you as you walk past, and you give her a soft smile back. You walk over to the coffee machine and notice it looks… Not user friendly. You struggle with getting the coffee.

“Ma’am!” You wave at the clerk. “How does this work?” You point at the machine. Maybe you should have let Toby come with you.

“Oh!” She leaves from behind the desk and makes her way towards you. “You pick the type of coffee you want, and it will make it.” You notice her eyes go to your chest and she tenses. Your eyes wander down to your shirt and you notice dried blood. Fuck. You grimace. “Rough night?” She laughs.

“Oh, just a bad nose bleed.” You smile. “You know, it’s so dry and all.”

She nods. “Which one did you want?” You point to the setting. “Espresso?” You nod at her. She quickly makes your coffee for you and heads back to the desk. You look back down at your shirt and notice just how bloody it is. Damn, you really did bleed a whole lot.

You pick up the styrofoam cup and turn. As you do, you see Kate coming in. The clerk greets her and Kate grunts. You note that she is not good at human interaction. As you begin to walk off there is vibrating in your back pocket. Your phone. You scramble to grab it. You have not talked to anyone in days.

Val.

You stare at the screen. Your hand grips the phone. You sigh. You lock it and look back at Kate. She is pouring herself some plain black coffee. Your phone begins to buzz again. Your jaw clenches. Again, it is Val.

You answer it.

“Hey, Val!” You force excitement.

“You quit your job.” She states it. “I called to check on you once your vacation was over. And you quit.”

Kate is now standing beside you, listening. Waiting for you to fuck up. “Val, I’m okay.”

“Are you having, like, some mid-life crisis?” Her question makes you pinch the bridge of your nose. Mid-life? “That man you were with, when you came to the apartment… Did you like, elope or something?”

Kate is watching you as closely as possible. “Val… I’m okay.” You stress it.

“John’s friend, Ethan, came by looking for you. He was really worried.” Chills run down your spine. The hair on your neck stands on end. You want to hang up but that would look worse on you. “He said John’s dead.” Your hand clenches the phone. Your eyes are staring through Kate. “Did John hurt you?”

“Val…” You do not know where to start. You are sure you cannot control her over the phone. “He left me. He left me while we were on vacation.” Your voice breaks.

Val exhales, you can imagine the shocked look on her face. “Sweetie, I’m so sorry… I know you must be heartbroken.” She believes you. “Please, do not make any rash decisions because of him. You can come home at any time. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks.” You are hurt. Everything hurts. “Bye, Val. Love ya.”

“Love you.” She hangs up.

You look down at the floor and shove your phone in your back pocket. You feel a wave of uneasiness washing over you and tears prick your eyes. You are thinking. Kate seems to be thinking too. You grip your coffee in your hand and tear off towards the main entrance of the lobby. You are fuming. Kate stays behind you, following close, yet saying nothing. She is smirking though. She is smug.

You realize you do not have a room keycard and slam your fist into the door. “Open the fucking door.” Your jaw is clenched. And tears are threatening to spill now more than ever. Brian opens the door, and you push inside. Kate slides in behind you and closes the door.

Brian looks between the both of you. “Did you say something to her?” Brian asks Kate.

“No!” You snap. “Val called and my dumbass answered!” You throw one of your arms up, before gripping your coffee between both hands tightly. They all look at you with concern now. “She asked me if I was having some mid-life crisis!” You try so hard to not cry. “More like an end-of-life crisis! And then she said fucking Ethan stopped by her house looking for me. Probably snooping… He knows I’m not staying with her.”

Kate is the first to speak. “Would she say anything about your abilities?” Her head tilts. It makes you uneasy.

“No.” You shake your head. “No way. I’ve known Val forever! She’s been super secretive of what I can do.” You know she would never tell something like that to some stranger. “Val’s never told a soul.”

Kate’s eyes narrow. “You’re too sure.” She takes a step closer to you. “We have no clue what she said to that man. How does she feel about you now that you’ve left her alone? It’s completely possible she turned on-”

“No.” You stop her. “She would not do that. I know her… I’ve known her for years… She couldn’t do that to me…”

Kate hums. “Doubt it. You killed two more people last night; we are all capable of shit no one suspects.”

She is right. You crumble. Your bottom lip pokes out and you cannot stop the tears any longer. You left your best friend, you have a kill count, you have feelings you do not even want to begin to navigate for the people who you are stuck with for potentially the rest of your life, and someone wants you dead. In fact, they are going out of their way to make sure you feel pain in any capacity.

Kate shrugs and sits on the bed. Your eyes follow her. “You look like a kicked puppy,” She sneers.

You’re the one that kicked me. You want to throttle her. You do not have the strength to do anything close to that, so instead you look to Tim, Toby, and Brian. Kate groans. She obviously has feelings she does not want to navigate either. Toby pats you on the back, slightly unsure of how to help you. Brian and Tim only watch you though.

“What am I supposed to do?” You look between them. “I’m at a loss. I just want out…”

“Out?” Kate’s head snaps up and you almost physically recoil at this action, “We are so far passed ‘out’, it’s not even funny!” She stands up and looks at you, her hair hanging in her face. “You’re stuck. Here. With us. Being fucking controlled by some… thing. This is life now.”

She is so matter of fact. Your stomach flips. You must look sick, because Toby removes his hand from you and takes a step back. You, however, do not puke. You stand there, staring at Kate. Your eyes do not leave her. Her face contorts.

“And I thought we were getting to be on good terms,” You spit out at her, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

Kate rolls her eyes. “I’m barely on good terms with these dipshits.” She motions towards the men. She stands up and gets in your face. “Why would you be an exception?”

“Because-!” You start, about to blow the fuck up. Brian places a hand on your shoulder, trying to help you calm down. “Fuck, I don’t want to be an exception.” You speak quieter, teeth bared, “I just want you to be nicer, in general. But obviously that is not going to happen.”

Kate growls and walks off. She enters the room, the one connected to the one you are all in, and leaves you with Brian, Tim, and Toby. You flinch when the door slams and Brian grips your shoulder a little tighter. You look at him and give him a small smile.

“You handled that well.” Brian smiles at you.

“I handled it like a crybaby, like always.” You pouted. “But it’s whatever.” You shrug. Brian takes his hand from your shoulder, and you look at Tim. “While we’re all here, I have a-”

“Pr-proposition?” Toby perks up. “Four-Foursome?” His eyes are bright.

“No.” You cross your arms at him, shaking your head. He seems to think it was worth a shot. “I have a question. Why are we at some motel?”

“When you killed those cops, Ethan had to have been close by.” Tim starts.

“We-we could no-ot risk him foll-following us home.” Toby continues.

You nod. “Okay, can we at least go buy some necessities if we’re going to be here a while? I need a change of clothes. And a toothbrush.”

Brian is the first to offer to do anything. “I can go to the store. You can come too if you want.” He gives you a soft smile. He is trying to nurture some sort of relationship between the two of you. You give in, and quickly. Tim hands Brian the keys and the both of you head out towards the parking lot. Toby goes to protest but Tim is quick to shut him up.

You get in the car with Brian and as you sit down in the passenger seat you remember this is first you’ve been alone with any of them since Toby fucked you. You feel slightly uneasy. You place your hands on your lap and look straight ahead. Brian gets in and starts the car. He can tell you are uneasy. He immediately pushes your buttons.

“So,” He starts, causing your eyes to cut towards him, “was he good?”

Your eyes almost pop out. “Was he-? What!?” You hiss at him. “What kind of question-”

“Just curious,” He shrugs. “Y’know, Toby isn’t very experienced. He couldn’t have been that good.” Brian is smiling at you. He knows he is irking you. This causes you to roll your eyes. “I can keep a secret.”

Doubt it. You cross your arms and look out of the passenger window. “That is none of your business. Anyway,” You huff and mumble the last part, “not like I’m that experienced either.” You pull into yourself; you want to hide and never come out ever again. You are on fire.

“I bet I could show you a hell of a time. I bet, no I know, I’m even better than Tim.” He smirks at you. You feel like you are in hell now, with how hot you are. How would he know that as fact?

“Brian.” You push him to stop. “Now is not the time. I just want to get to the store.”

“Oh, so another time?” He laughs. Genuinely laughs. You huff, unable to tell if he is laughing at you or the situation. You hope it is not at you.

You shake your head and wish now more than ever to just disappear. The rest of the ride to the store is silent. The radio is even turned down. Silence fills the car, and you are stuck in your own thoughts until you reach the store.

You reach a small grocery store and Brian parks the car. He gets out first and you climb out slowly. You close the car door and look at Brian, who is walking ahead of you. He does not seem to fear you leaving them. It is nice, compared to Toby being stuck up your ass. You follow behind him and shove your hands in your jean pockets. You look horrible, you are sure. When people begin to stare, you are more certain.

“Brian,” You are as close to him as possible, “let’s get this shit and get out.”

Brian nods, “Anything for you, princess.” Your knees almost buckle the way he says it. Princess. That is new. He sounds condescending when he says it, but so sweet at the same time. His smile as he talks to you is not helping either.

You are on fire again. You look down at the ground and try to ignore him. Brian walks towards the small clothing section, some leggings and oversized shirts sit there. That is all they seem to have. It will do. You pick out a cute pair and let Brian lead you towards some necessities, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and deodorant. You pick enough out for the five of you and the two of you walk towards check out.

“Hm, they actually have cashiers here.” You almost want to self-check out. But there are only two lanes open and both have cashiers. You walk up to one and place your items down. She begins to check you out, and as she goes to ask how you are, she notices how… horrible you look.

“Oh my,” She whispers.

You give her a soft smile, “Rough night.” She nods and gives you your total. Brian pulls out his wallet. You are quick to pull up your phone. “Can I pay through my phone?” You ask. When she nods, you pull your phone out.

Brian looks at you, confused. “I was going to pay.” He reassures you.

“I got it.” You smile at him. You grab the two bags from the cashier’s hand and begin to head to the door. Brian is hot on your trail. You reach the car and get in. He is quick to get in the driver’s seat. He starts the car, and you ask him a question.

“Do you think we can go to the laundromat?” You look over at him. A wave of confusion seems to wash over Brian, but he does not falter for long.

“Yeah, of course.” He nods. The car passes the motel; you see Toby sitting outside with Kate. You watch her point at the car and see Toby stand up. You cannot see much, but you can tell he looks upset. Brian’s phone begins to ring almost immediately and hands it to you. “You can answer it.” You nod and answer his phone for him.

“Wh-where are you g-going!?”

“Laundromat.” You answer.

He groans. “Why?” He sounds more upset than ever.

“My clothes stink, Toby.” He hangs up. You gasp and put the phone down on the middle console. You pout. “He hung up on me.”

Brian laughs, “He’s just like that.” That’s reassuring, you want to roll your eyes, but you do not. You know how Toby is by now, but that does not make anything easier. Not really. Brian pulls into the laundromat, that seems more vacant than anything. There is a single car outside, besides Brian’s, and the owner is in it.

The two of you get out of the car and you begin to walk into the laundromat, your new clothes and a toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. You read the sign on the front door. ‘Do not leave machines unattended.’ You walk in and notice several machines are running and they are, in fact, all unattended. You cannot help but laugh.

“People don’t like to read, huh?”

Brian laughs now, “You like to follow the rules, don’t you?” It is a simple question, one he knows the answer to. And it runs all over you.

You stop dead in your tracks. “Brian,” You hiss at him, “I do. But, if I were good at it, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Brian shrugs. “In that case,” He gets closer to you. His face inches from yours. You are frozen. “I’m glad you aren’t good at it.” He looks around, “Now, how are you going to wash your clothes while wearing them?”

I’m going to shove my whole body into the washing machine and hope to God that it gets me away from this. You snort. “I’m going to change into my new clothes and put these in the wash, silly.” You make it sound obvious.

Brian nods, his mouth forming an ‘o’ and he backs up from you. You wander to the bathroom and Brian is on your trail again. You stop at the bathroom door and watch him. “I’ll wait here for you.” He stops in his tracks and lets you go into the bathroom.

You change your clothes as quickly as possible and wad up the clothes in your hands. You brush your teeth and start to feel human again. You step out of the bathroom and stand before Brian, wearing the leggings and shirt you just bought. You walk past him and head towards the change machine.

“You got, like, a ten-dollar bill?” You ask him. “I don’t have my wallet.” You admit.

Brian clicks his tongue and pulls out his wallet. He hands you a ten and five. “Here, we’ll have to buy the detergent and dryer sheets as well.”

“Thank you!” You grab the money and put it in the machine. As you stand there, Brian is almost breathing down your neck. Your eyes cut towards him, and you swallow hard. “Need something?” Your voice wavers, you wonder if you really want to know.

“Just thinking,” Brian’s eyes meet yours. “If I had found you…” He pauses. “If I found you in the woods, instead of Toby-”

“Yes.” You cut him off.

“How do you know what I’m about to ask?” His head tilts.

You shrug. “I can only assume you were going to ask if I would have fucked you if you got to me first.” You look back at the change and grab it. “Am I right?”

He nods. “Yes.” He swallows hard. You see him swallow hard. You can hear it. He is right beside you. You are tenser than ever now. Your breath is stuck in your throat and your eyes are staring straight ahead. Brian is peeking over your shoulder, staring at you. “You are tense again. Why?”

“Brian,” Your eyes shut tight, “I don’t know. I just, I can’t stop thinking about the recording- You recorded me in the woods.”

“And Toby chased you with hatchets, yet you let him fuck you.” He has you there. “And didn’t you forgive all of us? Clean slates and what not?” And there too. You want to relax, but you cannot. You try to shake off the feeling of unease, but you are completely unable to.

You nod at Brian, “Yes, I did.” You grab the last bit of change spit out by the machine and walk past Brian and towards the laundry detergent dispenser. You put in a few coins and get some detergent. You get your clothes into the washing machine and stand in front of it. You cross your arms, and try to find something, anything interesting about the product in front of you. You sigh when nothing catches your attention. So, you have to focus back on Brian.

Your eyes cut towards him, he’s standing there with his hoodie on, you notice the shoulder does in fact have blood on it. You inwardly groan. “Come here.” You motion for him to come to you. He eagerly listens. “There’s blood on your hoodie; do you want me to wash it?” Your arms fall to your sides.

He takes it off, and as he lifts it over his head, his shirt comes up. You can see his stomach. You have to keep from staring. Brian seems to catch your eyes darting from his stomach towards the washing machine that you stop from cleaning to throw his hoodie into. He hands it to you, and you mumble a thanks.

“Shouldn’t I be saying thank you?” He asks, smirking at you.

You shove it into the washing machine, “In that case, you’re welcome.” You do not smile at him. You do not look at him. Instead, you lean over the washing machine and look at the spinning clothes from the top. Your hands grip the machine. You are white-knuckled.

Brian places a hand on your shoulder. “Are you-?” You turn towards him, violently. Your eyes hit him, and you look absolutely out of it. Your hands flex and relax, before flexing again. You swallow hard and you watch him. “Are you okay?” His voice is low even though there is no one else in the building.

You need something. You need touch. You need him. “Can I-” Your jaw clenches, and you turn back towards the machine. “Never mind.” Your eyes screw shut, and you shake your head.

“No,” He is stern. “What do you want?” He moves closer to you, leaning down to your face. Your eyes open and cut towards him again. “What do you need?”

“Can I kiss you?” You ask. You bite the inside of your lip.

“You don’t even have to ask.” His voice is low, breathy.

Within seconds you are cupping his face and bringing him even closer to you. Your chapped lips press to his and your eyes are shut. Brian’s tongue presses to your lips and you part them. You are holding him as if he is a lifeline. His tongue lazily slides into your mouth, and you need more. What he is giving is almost not enough. You move to pull away from him, and Brian bites at your bottom lip.

You shudder as he pulls back and your eyes hit his, wide with dilated pupils. You want to pounce on him. “As fun as it would be to go at it in a laundromat… Can we go to the car?” Your voice is soft, barely a whisper. With fear of someone hearing and of rejection.

Brian does not answer. Not verbally. Instead, he grabs your arm and you are being pulled outside, towards his car. Your stomach flips as Brian pulls you into the backseat. You shut the door and look at him. You are staring in confusion of what to do next, and with want. You want him. Badly. You look crazed, staring at him like that.

Your heart is thumping against your chest. Brian’s stare isn’t helping much at all. His eyes are dark with lust. He wants to ruin you.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, and you swallow hard. “What now?” Your hands rub up and down your thighs.

“What do you want?” Brian is trying to coax it out of you.

“You.” Your voice breaks.

That’s exactly what he wanted to hear. Brian scoots closer, closing the little distance that was between the both of you. Brian kisses you again, he’s holding your face this time, leaving your hands free. You maneuver slightly, changing your position to leaning over him. It is not comfortable in the backseat, but you do not care about comfort in the moment. You just need touch.

It is messy. Brian’s teeth scrape your lip, and you moan. He cannot keep from nipping and sucking and you are only trying to get a hold of his belt. Once you finally find the belt buckle, Brian seems to understand. His hands drop from your face, and he is immediately helping you undo his belt. He shifts slightly, pulling away from you momentarily.

“Hand or mouth?” Brian asks, he is barely holding on.

You look around. There is not much room. “Hand.” Your fingers wiggle at the statement. Brian nods. That seems to suffice. Brian is already hard as you pull his boxers down.

Brian is now needy. He wants, no needs, nothing more than for you to get him off. As you lean back down to kiss him, and your hand begins to slowly pump up and down his cock, Brian realizes something. You are gentle even in times like this. Seconds ago, you looked ready to jump him, and now, even having the chance presented to you on a silver platter, you are being so soft.

Brian moans into your kiss and you move from his mouth to his neck. You gently nip and suck at the skin. Your hand is pumping the precum from the head of his cock up and down the shaft. Brian is a mess under you. He moans and bucks his hips into your hand. You press your lips back to his slightly parted ones. His hands grab and grope at your ass.

“You want this recorded don’t you? So you could view it later.” Brian groans, ‘yes’ pushing past his lips. “How long have you wanted this?” Your hand pumps slightly faster. You are curious.

“I don’t-” He is finding the words. His hips buck and his grip on you tightens. “Since I saw the recording of you and Masky in the woods.” He moans, pressing a fervent kiss to your lips.

You kiss back with just as much want as him. Suddenly, the grip on you is bruising. You let out a soft yelp and pull back. “Brian-” You look at him, hand stopping momentarily. “That hurts.”

Brian loosens his grip. “Sorry,” He mumbles, and presses a kiss to your jawline. “Got carried away…” His hips rolls, he is begging for you to continue, he is so close.

“Brian?” Your voice is a whisper again. “I don’t want you to make a mess-”

“It’s okay!” He is frantic. “Fuck- Please-” He begs, “I’m close!”

You, without thinking, maneuver around some more. You are uncomfortably positioned once more, but this time your face is away from his. You are hovering over his cock. You place your mouth around him and take as much of him as you can into your mouth. Your position restricts most movement, but you can bob slightly.

The warmth of your mouth has Brian coming undone almost immediately. His hands grip at your hair, nails digging into your scalp. His hips jolt and he lets out a soft groan, he comes, causing you to gag.

You swallow. Brian moans at the sight. You sit up, face hot. You move back beside him and look nervous again. “I could fuck you,” Brian offers. “Here. Right now.” Your legs cross at the thought. “I have to transfer the clothes over to the dryer.” Your entire body is hot. What am I doing? Your brain is running faster than ever. What am I becoming? You are not sure, but you think it is normal considering your circumstances. You do not think about it much more.

“They don’t have to know-”

“When we get back,” You start, “I’ll- You can fuck me at the motel.”

Brian lights up before his eyes darken. “They’re still at the motel. Toby wanted a foursome.”

Fear rises in you. “Just you.” You panic. “They can watch… But I just want you.”

Brian is ready to get back. “Go switch the clothes out.” He urges you to go back into the laundromat. “As the clothes dry, we can fuck around some more.”