matcha-x-matcha - Tumblr blog

matcha-x-matcha · 12 days ago

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Tags: [mlw][mdni][exbf!Rex][semi-public][handjob][cum eating][attempted murder][choking for non-sexual purposes][pining][semi-blowjob][facesitting][oral (f! receiving)][missionary][condom][mating press][cowgirl][nipple sucking][i am probably missing quite a few in my taglist but it's 4am and i lost the note that had all my rex people on so :3 my bad][spitting]

"She's his emergency contact."

"Mark, you can't just call a stranger. How— how'd you even know his password?"

"It's just 8-0-0-8-5. It's not that complicated."

"What even is that?"

"It's 'boobs'."

The whispers hush down into a silence as you step into the GDA hospital room, your shoes are soft thuds on the tiled floors. The hospital smells sterile. A mixture of Life Buoy soap and hand sanitizer that makes your throat and lungs tingle and you stuff your hands into the pocket of your hoodie.

Brows scrunched into a frown as you stand beside Rex's bedside.

Your expression is the image of solemnity.

Eyes soft, lashes drooping and pouty lips tugged down into a little frown, your fingers clutching and picking at the loose threads in your pocket.

And a voice is quiet.

"I'm... Uh.. I know this isn't the time but what lipgloss is that?"

Rae's voice is quiet, bespectacled eyes focused on you and that stupidly magnificent gloss on your lips.

"It's... Uhm... 'Coochie Juice'." You internally cringe. "And I took a lipliner that's just a bit darker than my lipline."

"And how did you—"

"Overline just the Cupid's bow, and the curve of your bottom lip. Blur it out just a little, but don't fill in the corners. And then put on the lipgloss."

"Okay, thank you so much."

You go back to staring down at Rex. You never thought you'd see him like this.

Eyes fluttered shut, his head wrapped with blood soaked bandages and an IV drip feeding him fluids. His heartbeat is steady, vitals linked up to the screen beside him and you feel your expression crumple, your hands moving to cover your face.

Choked sobs slip from you and you hear the quiet 'we'll leave you two alone', before the others slip out of the hospital room.

And you swallow, inhaling sharply.

And by natural instinct, your gaze drifts towards where the plug of the ventilator remained stuffed into a wall socket and your glossy lips purse. And you reach for the head of the plug, fingers grasping snugly and you contemplate.

Is it worth it?

He's a hero.

He cheated on you with Eve.

He's a person.

He cheated on you with Eve.

This counts as murder.

He cheated on you with Eve.

Is this what you really want?

That last question stumps you and your hand slips from the plug, and you instead, plant yourself in the seat at his bedside, your eyes teary and your lashes becoming wet with each blink.

"I wanna kill you so bad." Your voice is tiny, cracking as you bring your hands up to rest on him, fisting at the hospital blankets and your vision becomes even blearier.

"You fucking asshole." You sob. "I hope you die. I hope you see the fucking light at the end of the tunnel, before you're dragged to Hell. Kratos style."

Your heart's clenching and you're resting your head on his belly, feeling the way each breath he takes makes those washboard abs constrict and flex. And somewhere, shame's lost on you and you're lifting his hospital gown.

Staring at his abs and the way his muscular hips form that delicious V shape and you let out a low, unattractive sob.

"Why didn't you get ugly?"

You think you're convincing yourself when you see the way the corners of his lips quirk weakly, dimples making a faint appearance in his chiselled cheeks and Rex takes a breath.

"Because..... I could never be ugh—" Rex is cut off, a sharp gasp ringing from him when your hands wrap around his neck.

That tinge of sadness leaves you, and the sound of his voice irks you in a way that's downright demonic, and Rex gasps. His vitals are spiking, and your eyes are narrowing.

"Die, you cheating bast— oh, ewwww."

You grimace at the tent beneath the blankets, lips tugged into a disgusted frown as you glare at him, and emerald eyes peer at you from beneath long lashes. Long, brag-worthy eyelashes that flutter and curl perfectly.

And Rex grins. Cocky and so fucking full of himself.

"Good to know it still works."

And he grasps at your hand, calloused fingers brushing over the soft flesh of your palm, tracing the lines before he looks at you. And God, you lose all respect for yourself at the way your heart stutters, breath caught in your lungs and he sighs.

Soft and sweet.

"Baby..." He murmurs softly. "What happened?"

"You got shot, I think. I wasn't really paying attention after they said you're hospitalized. I blew up a balloon and it made it difficult to listen. But..." You swallow. "In your head. Like, the back."

Rex lets a little laugh bubble from his cracked lips, before he glances at you.

"Why're so you mad at me? What... What year is it?"

His voice is soft, and your lungs constrict.

Before you remember who it is.

"Don't bullshit me." You huff, tugging your hand out of his grasp. "I know you don't have amnesia."

"Ah... Shit." Rex grunts before shifting, resting against the cushiony pillows. "Almost had you though, huh?"

The grin is charming, glinting even and he raises one of those perfect brows as he waits for your answer. But all that leaves you, is a low, annoyed groan. Before you push yourself up from your seat.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're—"

"Wait." Rex reaches for your arm and if you wanted to delude yourself, you'd say that you could see desperation flickering behind those emerald pools.

"I— uh..." He swallows hard, and your gaze moves towards where the monitor is showcasing his racing heart. "When I'm out, can we talk?"

You really wanna say no. But...

"...no."

Rex stares at you, a dead stare on his face like he wasn't expecting that.

"I'll just come over anyway."

Your glossy lips part for an argument but Rex looks pathetic enough right now. Tubed up, bruised and beaten.

"Fine." You grumble. "You dick."

And he grins. Dimples showcased in chiselled cheeks and his tongue runs across his bottom lip in an attempt to soothe the cracks and dryness.

"Speaking of dick..." His gaze flits towards the tent in the sheets.

"No."

"Please." Rex begs. "My team can't see me like this."

"Most of your team has seen you like this."

There's a dead quiet in the room, because you're right. Most of the team has seen Rex's dick, if not taken a ride on it.

"Please." Rex breathes out. "Help me out. It's been a week."

You drop back into your seat, rolling up your sleeve dramatically and you let out an annoyed huff.

"You're giving me a handjob, not cleaning a horse's dick." Rex grunts.

"Basically the same thing." You grunt, your hand slipping underneath the covers as you scooch your chair closer.

"So... What I'm hearing is—"

"You're hearing wrong."

"—that you think I've got a horse cock."

You let out a low, annoyed groan, your hand tucking itself beneath Rex's hospital gown, and your hand wraps around the thick base of him. Your eyes shut tightly, and you begin to tug.

Not even sexy stroking, just tugging.

"Ow— open your eyes— ow, shit. What are you doing?" Rex shifts uncomfortably, brows scrunching with each pinch of pain and he glares at you. Your eyes are still squeezed tightly shut, brows furrowed and glossy lips pressed into a thin line.

"Pretending you're Marlon Brando in A Streetcar named Desire." You grumble out and Rex huffs, swatting away your hand.

"Well, he'd never want you if that's how you give a handjob." Rex grunts, shifting uncomfortably and he palms himself through the scratchy blankets of the GDA hospital, his lips tugged into a frown.

"He's dead." You remind.

"Yeah," he scoffs, "and it's cause you can't give a decent handjob."

You purse your lips because you don't wanna laugh at one of Rex's jokes. You need to internally remind yourself that you don't think he's funny and that you hate him, as you cross your arms over your chest, giving Rex a lazy glance.

Watching as he, very dramatically, gathers his bearings.

"So, can you get off your high horse, and give me a proper tug job?" Rex scoffs and you suck on your teeth.

"I don't owe you anything, Rex."

Your brows furrow into a frown and you watch the way Rex stares at you, bringing a fisted hand up to his mouth and he coughs. He coughs like a toddler forcing a cough.

"But I'm sick." He whines softly and you let out a peeved groan.

"You're not sick, you've been shot."

You're griping, complaining but you're shifting, spitting into your palm and sliding your hand back beneath the sheets and Rex's brows furrow, body going slack against the piled up pillows and he shifts.

"Fuck, just like that." He breathes out, hands moving to shift at the covers, his head tipping back when he feels the way your manicured and soft fingertips trail over that leaky divot, his cock pulsing in your hand. And Rex groans softly.

"Missed your tiny racoon hands." He murmurs, and you snort, pressing your face into the nearest pillow, as your shoulders shake with laughter.

And God, Rex would be lying if he said hearing the sound of your laughter wasn't something so refreshingly familiar.

The cadence of your snorts, wheezes that manage to slip from glossy lips and he watches as you straighten up again, swallowing away all evidence of giggling and Rex raises a hand. Moving it to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing along the apple of your cheek.

Your heart begins to pound, the only sound in the room being the ever increasing beeping of his heart monitor, and your eyes flick towards the screen. The beats increase steadily. And you swallow hard.

"Shit, I really wanna kiss you." Rex breathes out. "Can I?"

"No, you're not putting your community lips on me." You scoff, with a snort of laughter and he groans, head tipping back.

"Fuck, why're you so mean?" He rasps out a laugh, his hips bucking into your fist and his eyes squeeze shut.

"Because you cheated." "Ow. Ow. Ow. Loosen the hand, Juggernaut." Rex breathes out, his hand curling around your wrist and his movements stutter when he presses calloused fingers against the warm flesh of your wrist.

Feeling your pulse thrum just beneath his digits, feeling the heat of your skin against his and his dick twitches in your grasp.

Hazy green eyes watch you, heavy lashes fluttering and you take in the bruising on his face. A swollen eye, a cut on his lips, a broken nose. He looks fucked up.

"You know," you lick your bottom lip, "I always thought that seeing you look like shit would bring me closure. But... Looking at you now..." Your eyes soft, your thumb brushing against his sensitive tip and Rex moans quietly.

"Mhm?" He sighs, chest heaving.

"I realise I need to watch you die."

Your voice is eerily steady but it's not enough to make Rex's cock soften, in fact. Calloused fingers dig into your wrist and he looks at you, full lips parted to let out pants.

You know he's just so... Pliable now that he's under a crazy amount of painkillers, but still enough for him to be coherent.

And he's so pretty too. With his pretty emerald eyes, and gingery strands that poke out from where his head's wrapped in gauze.

"Just suck the tip, please." He whimpers.

"No!" You hiss. "I'm not fucking blowing you."

And he whines, letting out an obnoxiously loud cough.

"But I'm sick."

You grit your teeth, eyes flickering towards the door of his room and you let out a huff, standing up abruptly. Your sneakers make thuds across the tiled floor, and your movements are aggressive as you yank the curtains shut.

"I really fucking hate you, Rex." You grit out, plopping back in your seat and the legs of the chairs scrape against the linoleum as you scooch closer, lifting his hospital blankets and you stare at his cock.

Beads of precum rolling down the length, prominent veins protruding from behind the tanned skin and he twitches under your scrutinizing gaze.

"I know baby, and I'm sorry." He pants, shifting with excitement when he sees the way you lean forward, and your glossy lips wrap around his flushed tip.

"Fuck, m'so sorry for cheating." Rex's hands fist the sheets, his head falling back against his propped up pillows and he feels the way your tongue swirls, tracing the veins and your eyes flick towards him.

And that has him coming undone like a fucking ball of yarn.

The way your lashes flutter, the way your lipgloss leaves the prettiest ring around his cock and the way your eyes soften just a bit when his hand comes to rest on the crown of your head.

All of that, has Rex spilling into your mouth. Sweet cum painting your tongue in velvety ribbons and he groans. Low and breathy, and he frowns when you pull away with a pop, your cheeks puffed and filled.

He watches, his breaths bated as you swallow, licking the corner of your mouth before you lift yourself from your seat, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your hoodie.

"I'm gonna go tell your friends you're awake."

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"What are you doing here, Rex?" You fold your arms across your chest, resting your forearms on the windowsill as you stare down at Rex, booted feet planted firmly on your grass.

"And how the fuck do you even know where I live?"

"I used the GDA resources." He calls back, before reaching into his car window, turning up the volume and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Instead, leaning out of the window, eyes glued on Rex.

He healed up pretty nicely in just a week. The only evidence being a scar that bisects his otherwise perfect eyebrows. Voluminous gingerish strands remain pulled back into a bun, his undercut fresh and his trusty face framing pieces remain doing their job.

"I'll stand here every night for the rest of my fuckin' life to prove that I want you back." Rex calls to you, emerald gaze fixed on your form. On the way your pendant dangles, on the way your lips purse. Before he speaks up again.

"Well... Maybe not every night. I got shit to do. But every night this week?" He scoffs. "I'll do that shit."

You try not to snort at the sound of Seal, biting down on your plump bottom lip, as Rex stands with his arms outstretched. Powder blue Henley snug against his physique.

"BABY! I COMPARE YOU TO A KISS FROM A ROSE ON THE GREY!"

He begins to fumble the words, and you can see the frustration on his features, brows furrowing and you snort.

"You don't know the words." You snort, resting your chin in the palm of your hand and Rex huffs.

"Okay, fine." He folds his arms across his broad chest and it's kind of hard to take him seriously with Seal as his soundtrack.

"Of course I fuckin' don't. I'm not a sixty and my dick still works. But you know the words." Rex licks his bottom lip.

"I'm— okay, I know I'm a piece of shit but I'm a reformed piece of shit. I don't wanna die a cheating dick." And he shifts on his feet. "I'm new and improved."

And you huff.

"Yeah, this time you won't get caught."

And Rex glares at you.

"I won't go to prison if I knock the shit out of you." He seethes.

And he lets out a huff.

"Okay, I'm not entirely changed. But I'll make it up to you. I swear on my life, your life—"

"Bitch, leave my life alone."

"Well, I don't want it to be only on my life. You know that's shit's pretty worthless."

And there's a silence between you.

"I swear on Mark and Eve's collective lives."

And you snicker.

Before chewing on the inside of your cheek, watching as Rex shifts around on your lawn and you let out a breath. Heavy and your cheeks puff out when you do.

"Please." His voice is quiet, gaze lowered. "I know I'm," he huffs, "like.... A dick, or manipulative or a serial cheater and like, self-serving, judgemental and I—"

"You're ruining the moment, Rex."

And he sighs.

"I just," he swallows hard, "I don't wanna fuck up again. Not with you."

There's the softest silence between you, and you watch him. He looks so pathetic. Maybe your closure was needing him to beg, needing him to play Silk Shirt R&B loud enough for your neighbours' porch lights to flicker to life.

"Park your car in my driveway." You speak softly, before shutting the window and you don't need to look to know that shit-eating grin's plastered on his face. Dimples in sunkissed cheeks and you hear the slam of his car door.

⋆⭒˚.⋆🌿⋆⭒˚.⋆

"Yeah, m'sorry." Rex groans, his arms hooked around your thighs, your knees dimpling the pillow beneath his head and your hands clutch at the headboard like your life depends on it.

Rex's tongue drags along your slippery cunt, a mixture of spit and slick making it glossy as his nose bumps against your clit. The friction just enough to make your hips move, wriggling and writhing on his face, your forehead braced on the hand holding the headboard while your other sinks into his hair.

And he groans, lashes fluttering, cock straining against his jeans and he feels the fabric strain even tighter than it usually is.

You're coating his face in your mess, whining when he sucks your folds into his mouth, your hand fisting at his hair.

"Shit, keep doing tha—" Your hips lift just a bit and Rex groans under his breath, forcing you closer and his words are slurred as he speaks.

"Fucking sit." He breathes out. "Lemme show you how sorry I am."

He pushes his tongue past your puffy lips, the intrusion makes you buck, toes curling in your socks and you shiver. It's a sensation that makes your body buzz, electricity crackling just behind your skin and Rex is content.

So, so very content.

The warmth of your plush thighs on either side of his head, you're sitting on his face and riding his nose like it'll earn you a prize. His hands grip your fleshy thighs, and he's trying to touch everything, palming the fatty mounds of your ass when he circles your clit.

The messy and whiny mewls leave your glossy lips, your head lolling and your brows bunching into the cutest little face he's ever seen. Especially with the way your pretty lips part and your thighs shake.

"Fuck, Rex, I'm—"

"Shhh, just give it to me." He tuts you.

And your body convulses, nails scraping along his scalp while your other hand grips for dear life, a whimper slipping from your lips and you nearly shriek when he keeps sucking on your clit, teasing the sensitive bud before lapping at your cunt. Savouring the taste of you before dragging his tongue up, all the way up to your swollen clit.

Rex has you on your back quicker than you can blink, your thighs spread and his calloused thumbs part your plush and glossy lips, watching the way your cunt flutters and he stares at you.

Watching you eagerly.

One hand reaches over his shoulder, grabbing the fabric of his shirt and he pulls it over his head, tossing it aside and he's even more glorious.

Sculpted pecs, razor sharp abs and golden skin. Dog tags hang just below his clavicle, catching the low light of your bedroom.

And his tongue drags over his teeth, his, canine poking into the wet muscle and you watch through half-lidded eyes as his hand unbuckles his belt while the other reaches into his back pocket.

Pulling out a condom and he bites down onto the ribbed foil edge while he discards his jeans and briefs.

"Do you just keep— like, carrying condoms with you?" You question, your chest heaving as you watch him, and your heart clenches at the way his grin widens, as he rips the condom with his teeth.

"Nah." He hums. "Only when I think I'll get lucky."

You watch the way he slides the condom onto his length, pinching the latex at the tip before his hands move to your thighs, calloused thumbs pressing circles into the flesh.

"And you thought you were gonna get lucky?" You cock a brow.

"I knew I was gonna get lucky." He abruptly tugs you closer to him, your thighs strewn lazily across his and he leans forward, veiny hand wrapping around his thick base. Watching the way your belly dips inward when he taps his latex-coated tip against your sloppy folds and he nudges himself at your entrance.

Pressing a kiss against the curve of your jaw as he pushes into you.

"Real fucking lucky."

You feel the way your breath leaves your lungs, your saliva pooling in the back of your throat, gummy walls fluttering around him. Your belly caves, it feels like your stomach touches your spine and he sighs when he feels the way your fingers rake through his hair.

Nails scraping against his scalp before he lifts himself up, hands moving to cradle your hips, palming the fat there with an adoring expression.

Before he swallows.

"Spread that pretty pussy." He coos sweetly, and the huskiness of his voice does something to your self respect.

It makes it disappear.

And your fingers are spreading your pussy, sensitive and glossy tissue exposed to the slight chill in your room and Rex spits onto your clit, his eyes on yours and he makes a sound in the back of his throat when he sees the way your brows twitch. Your cunt clenching just a bit more.

"How many inches are you taking, baby?" He breathes out, hand moving to rest on your waist instead, savouring the softness of your skin beneath his palms.

And you shudder. "Five..."

Rex's expression falls. And his eyes narrow, emerald gaze hardening and you watch the way his tongue pokes at his cheek, the slight bump visible.

"You think you're real fucking funny, huh?" He huffs, grabbing two of your pillows and he wedges them beneath your ass, manhandling you like it's his job.

"Yeah, I'm funn— holy f-f-fuck...—!" The wind's knocked out of you when Rex begins to pummel into that gooey spot that he found with damn near godly ease.

Your hands are pushing at his lower belly, nails leaving streaks down the tawny skin, pulled taut over sculpted abs and you're whining. Writing and trying to get him to slow down.

Because it's just too deep.

Too much.

And your brain fizzles with an idea to at least score yourself a few seconds to gather your pearls.

And you poke him in the belly button.

And Rex pulls out, brows knitted into a glare as he stares at you. Bewildered, hands moving to protect his navel and he just stares.

His brain short-circuiting and you let out a breath.

"What the actual fuck was that?" He can't even laugh as he stares at you.

"It was too much." You breathe out, winded and you lift yourself, resting back on your elbows as you stare at Rex, eyes narrowed and your body far too overheated for just a few thrusts.

And Rex's brows raise.

"Oh... Shit, you haven't been fucking?" And he blows out a breath, resting his palm on your mound and you feel the way your airways constrict when his thumb nestles between your folds. Sweet circles pressing onto your clit and you swallow.

"No, I've been busy." You hiss back, lashes fluttering and your head tips back, lips parting. And Rex coos.

"It's okay, baby." He sighs, carding his free hand through his hair, before gently pushing your thighs further apart.

"You just couldn't find someone to replicate my stroke game."

And you huff when you feel him slowly push his cock into you, guiding your leg onto his shoulder and he kisses the arch of your foot. Sweet and so, so reverent in his actions.

"Mhm." You hum. "I couldn't find someone to disappoint me the way you did."

"Don't make me choke you with this condom." Rex scowls, before pushing into you, brows knitting at the way your cunt squeezes at him, the lewd squelch makes his heart pound, and the annoyance at your biting remarks melts into nothingness when your hand rests on the nape of his neck.

And he swallows, guiding your other leg to his shoulder and Rex has you folded in half.

One veiny hand grasping the headboard, the other keeping your hips anchored to the bed as he slowly pulls out. Inch by inch leaving you until only his tip remains in your spasming cunt, and Rex sighs, pushing back into you.

"S'it good?" He questions you quietly. "No pain?"

"No pain." You nod.

And then he begins fucking you into the mattress.

The backs of your knees remain caught in the crooks of his elbows, warm hands gripping your hips and pressing you into the soft, puffy sheets, his hips smacking against yours in a way that's brutally unforgiving.

You watch through hazy eyes, nails digging into his bulging biceps, gaze flickering between his ecstasy-ridden face and where he's splitting you in half.

"Yeah," Rex groans softly, "keep watching."

He pants out a moan, head lolling and you watch the way his Adam's apple bobs.

"Watch me bust this pretty pussy open."

And he spits down your clit, the warm saliva making your belly clench as the glob trickles down your sloppy folds.

And Rex grins, his jaw clenching and he bites down on his bottom lip, watching with lovey-dovey eyes as your hand finds its way between your thighs, fingers sloppily teasing your clit. And he breathes out a laugh, chest heaving and dog tags bouncing off his toned chest.

"DJ Bean-Flick's in the booth, huh?" He snorts, the sound of his laughter echoes in the quiet of your room, turning into a whine when he feels the rhythmic spasms of your cunt. Milking him while your legs shake, your orgasm ripping through you like some kind of tidal wave.

Pussy gushing around him, glistening in the dim light and he groans, pulling out of you and he manhandles you.

Aggressively, roughly forcing you to sit up and he rests back against your headboard, lounging, and he pulls you onto him, guiding you to straddle him. And he watches the way you sink down onto him, inches disappearing into you and he moans at the sight.

Your hands move to rest on his broad chest, your hips lifting slowly, before you slam back down, and Rex tuts you.

"Lean back, baby." He huffs. "And on your feet."

And you groan, following his instructions with petulance.

"You sound like an expert." You breathe out. "You have a —hah— confession, Rex?"

And he snorts, hands move to grasp the headboard, you watch the way his biceps flex and he snickers.

"Why would you wanna hurt your feelings like that?"

Your face falls and your eyes narrow, arms moving to cross over your chest, lips pressing into a thin line.

"This is your audition back into my life, by the way." You frown at him. "Just in case you didn't know."

And Rex grins, a laugh slipping past his perfect lips and he rocks his hips up into you, the action so abrupt that your hands immediately move to his chest to support yourself.

"That's what you get when you try to start shit with me." Rex brags. "You mess with the bull, you get the horns. You taught me that."

You scoff. "Well, I taught you wrong. It's, 'you mess with the bull, you get covered in bullshit'."

There's a silence between you and Rex stares up at you.

"Please don't shit on me. I know I've got a strong stomach but—"

"I won't shit on you." Your laughter bubbles so easily from you, lips curling and your cheeks flushing deeper. Your dainty hands splay on his chest, your hips rolling against his, face hovering just above his and you let out a wistful sigh.

"I can't do it on command anyway." You add and Rex laughs. Loudly.

Dimples deep in his honeyed cheeks, hands gripping the headboard tighter because your hips keep rolling against him in that was that has him pressing against the plug of your womb, and you have the nerve to make him laugh too.

"There's something fucking wrong with you." He breathes out, before his arms move to wrap around your waist, bringing you closer to his torso and Rex's feet find purchase on your bed, his lips pressing against your pulse.

Before trailing lower and lower, until he finds the neckline of your shirt and he huffs.

"Take this shit off."

There's something so lovely about watching the way the muscles in your arms move as you pull your shirt overhead, and his eyes catch on a pretty pendant.

Not the one you've been wearing so boldly, no, one you've kept hidden so neatly underneath your clothing.

A pretty, cursive 'R' that dangles lower than your other necklace, and Rex's gaze flicks up to yours, his throat tightening and his belly blazing with warmth and a feeling that might make him come faster if he acknowledges it for too long.

"You still wear this?" Rex hums softly, bringing up a hand to brush his thumb over the letter.

And you purse your lips, "Fuck you."

"I didn't even do shit." He snorts before pressing a kiss over your collarbone, nipping at the skin before he hums.

"Grab the headboard."

Rex doesn't wait for you to have a steady grip before he's fucking up into you, bruising your cervix and grinding your swollen clit against his gingery happy trail.

Lips wrapping around one of your pert nipples, hot and wet muscle dragging against the nub and your brain turns to mush.

Coherence and any thought of self-respect leaking out of your mouth in broken moans and a cacophony of mewls as you're kept in place. Unable to do anything but take everything Rex gives you, taking every thrust, every suck and every 'fuck' that's breathed against your skin in a steamy puff.

And Rex swallows hard.

Teeth tugging on your other nipple, and he just loves the way you look.

Fucked out, your tongue lolling and your eyes finding permanent residence staring at your brain with the way they're rolling back and Rex feels his orgasm approaching faster than ever.

The burn just below his navel, the tightening of heavy balls and he whines.

"Fuck, m'gonna nut—"

He pants, like a dog, burying his face in your neck once he's deemed your nipples swollen enough and his teeth sinks into your shoulder. You feel so good.

He can feel every ridge of your gummy walls, he can feel the way your slick cunt milks and spasms around him like it's got a personal vendetta against him.

And Rex ruts into you.

Chasing that elusive dragon of an orgasm, the warmth of your body seems so much more intense than it did at first and Rex's heart pounds.

And when he feels that dam burst, his hands are bracketing your hips and he's lifting you off him, pearly cum spraying across your cunt, a shredded condom around his shaft and you're whining at the warmth.

Hips twitching and your face pressed into the curve of Rex's neck, inhaling that smoky musk, your brain a puddle.

"D—did the condom break...?" You sigh, and he nods, swallowing audibly.

"At least now I know I can't use two year old condoms." Rex sighs, lowering you back down onto his body, his still-hard cock resting in the crease of your ass and it takes you a while to register his words.

Your head raises and your eyes narrow.

"Was that condom expired?"

"Pfft. No." Rex huffs. "It expires next month."

⊹🌷♡taglist♡🌷⊹

@lucky-beheaded ; @jasontoddswhitestreak ; @queen-of-gotham ; @tamaranblaze ; @enchantedstarfish ; @sophsthebest ; @supersecretxreadersideblog ; @feral010 ; @keeeenbeeaan ; @strawbiemilk420 ; @l1zard-l3ague ; @coldvirginbitch ; @allycat4458 ; @couldeatthatgirlforlunch ; @heavenequals ; @blckbarbiedoll ; @custardpuddingprincess

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matcha-x-matcha · 13 days ago

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[Reverse Robin AU] Big birds and their baby birds

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matcha-x-matcha · 14 days ago

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Was so out of it today I forgot the word for motivation and told my friend in full confidence, "I don't have the me want do."

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matcha-x-matcha · 20 days ago

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♤. my first b i g post since the witch hunt coming soon to hopefully make up for my inability to be active.

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matcha-x-matcha · 22 days ago

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our favorite single mother

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matcha-x-matcha · 1 month ago

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torso muscles study (+an excuse to draw messy hair)

ref image under the cut!

^found on pinterest, so unfortunately i don’t know the original photographer, sorry!

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matcha-x-matcha · 1 month ago

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Happy Birthday Ninjago!!!

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀໒⠀ ⠀in your eyes⠀⠀─── ა ྀིྀི

⸺ Summary ; What was meant to be your end became the spark of something new. ⸺ Authors note ; Yandere! platonic! batfam x Neglected! fem! reader. usage of y/n. English isnt my first language. wc: 2,2k. Not beta read. ⸺ directory ; previous , next

Humans are made of flaws. It’s what makes us… well, us.

Even knowing that, people still cling to the idea of perfection. The fantasy that if they just did enough, if they just were enough, then they’d finally earn something real. Love. Worth. A name spoken with pride.

That’s what happened to you that night.

You forgot you were human.

Forgot that flesh bleeds, that bones break, that desperation isn’t the same as strength. You let your need—to be seen, to be chosen—walk you straight into your undoing.

And it did undo you. Piece by piece. A building full of traps, a wound too deep, an explosion rigged to wipe away every trace of who you were.

You died.

Or at least… that’s what you thought.

Because then came the aftermath. The silence after the collapse. The smoke curling from the ruins. The pressure in your chest, sharp and cold. The ache of something returning.

And you don’t know if being dead would’ve been kinder than what came next.

Than what you were about to feel. About to remember. About to face.

Because waking up was not relief.

It was only the beginning.

By the time you woke up, it wasn’t to the soft chatter of nurses or the steady pulse of hospital monitors. There were no beeping machines beside you, no sterile scent of antiseptic or distant footsteps echoing down tiled corridors. There was no gentle voice reassuring you that you were safe. That you had survived.

There was only quiet.

And a room.

It greeted you like a memory too carefully reconstructed. The walls were painted in that muted tone you always liked—somewhere between beige and soft gray, like the color of rain. The sheets were tucked the way Alfred used to do, crisp but never suffocating. There was even a familiar throw blanket draped at the foot of the bed—one you’d long forgotten you owned.

For a moment, still tangled in the haze between sleep and waking, you thought you were home. In your room. Back at the manor, tucked beneath the illusion of safety.

But as your senses sharpened, unease settled into your bones.

No, this wasn’t the manor.

It was too still. Too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t exist in a living house. There were no distant voices. No muffled conversations from the hallway. Not even the faint rustle of wind against windows.

This wasn’t a home.

It was a replica.

Designed to soothe you. To pacify. To trick.

The thought hit hard, sitting heavy in your chest like stone. Someone had recreated your space—not perfectly, but intimately. Someone had studied you closely enough to know what comfort looked like through your eyes, and then used it against you.

A groan escaped your lips as you shifted upright, pain flaring bright and immediate at your side. Your muscles screamed in protest, and the dull, rhythmic throb of the wound returned in full force, pulsing like a reminder of your failure. Your hand instinctively reached for your side, only to meet the texture of thick bandages. Tightly wrapped. Recently changed.

Someone had taken care of you. Dressed your wounds. Tended to you.

But not out of kindness.

You blinked away the haze and scanned the room more carefully now. The desk in the corner was arranged exactly like the one in your old room—books stacked neatly, a cracked mug that looked too much like the one Damian once painted for you in a rare, quiet gesture.

Even the air felt wrong. Filtered. Artificial. Like it had been scrubbed clean of anything real.

Your eyes fell to the bedside.

A small pile of folded clothes sat there, waiting for you.

Not hospital gowns. Not scrubs. No sterile slippers or ID bracelets.

Just your clothes.

Your favorite hoodie. The worn out one with the faded lettering, sleeves too long from years of overuse. A pair of sweatpants soft from hundreds of washes.

It wasn’t just comfort.

It was familiarity weaponized.

Whoever had brought you here wanted you calm. Cooperative. Disarmed. And they had known exactly how to try.

You didn’t move for a long time.

Just sat there, staring at the stack of fabric, the subtle creases, the way the room seemed to breathe with you.

It should’ve been comforting. It should’ve made you feel safe.

Instead, your skin prickled with cold.

This wasn’t healing.

It was control wrapped in softness. A trap lined with things you used to love.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, and suddenly you weren’t sure which hurt more—your body, or the quiet certainty blooming inside your chest.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the slow, aching creak of the door as it swung open. The sound alone felt intrusive—too loud in the quiet, too casual in the aftermath of something that should’ve killed you.

Your body stiffened beneath the sheets. Muscles pulled tight in instinctive defense. The dull ache in your side flared as you shifted, but you didn’t make a sound. You stayed still. Eyes low. Listening.

There were no footsteps at first. Just the soft hum of air and the faint clicking of metal against skin—rings, maybe. Or a watch.

Then a voice drifted in, smooth and strange and terribly at ease.

“Oh good. You’re awake.”

You didn’t recognize it. Not immediately. It wasn’t one of theirs—not Dick’s or Tim’s or even Jason’s. And it certainly wasn’t Bruce.

Something about it sent a quiet chill up your spine. The kind that didn't scream danger but whispered it. Slowly. Patiently.

You kept your head turned, refusing to meet his gaze. Half hoping that silence might act like armor. That if you didn’t look, this wouldn’t become real.

But the stranger didn’t wait for permission to continue.

“Rough night, wasn’t it?” he mused, a grin threading beneath his tone. You could hear it. Sharp and self-satisfied. “Little bat fell into a trap.”

The floor creaked beneath his weight as he moved closer. You didn’t look, but you could feel it—the shift in the air, the warmth of another body approaching, like static brushing too close to your skin.

Then the mattress dipped beside you, sudden and unwelcome. He’d sat down. Right there. Like this was nothing. Like you were just two old friends sharing the silence.

And then, his hand reached out—fingers threading lightly through your hair.

It wasn’t comforting. It wasn’t even cruel. It was something you couldn’t name.

“But it’s okay,” he said softly, as if soothing a wounded animal. “We’ve all fallen from grace.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Or what we thought was our grace.”

You inhaled through your nose, slow and sharp. The pain in your side throbbed again, grounding you. Anchoring you to the moment. To the room. To this stranger who spoke like he knew you. Like he had any right to talk about what you’d lost.

And still, you didn’t look at him.

Not until the silence stretched too thin.

Then your voice, hoarse and cracked, finally broke free.

“Don’t pretend to act proud.” The words hit the air like flint. “I know you thought that night was pathetic.”

Your eyes flicked toward him, finally meeting his.

He was smiling.

Not wide. Not exaggerated. Just enough to twist something in your gut.

You didn’t know this man. But he knew you.

Worse—he understood you.

He leaned back slightly, exhaling like you’d just confirmed a theory.

“Pathetic?” he echoed, brows raised. “No. No, I wouldn’t say that.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. Studying you like a painting that didn’t quite match its frame.

“I’d say… predictable.”

“But it’s okay. We’ll change that.”

The words hung in the air like smoke—thin, cloying, impossible to grasp but suffocating all the same. His voice was calm, almost casual, like he wasn’t speaking about dismantling someone’s sense of self. Like what he promised wasn’t a violation wrapped in comfort.

But it didn’t feel like assurance.

Not to you.

If anything, it felt like warning dressed in silk. Something heavy behind the softness, something sharp beneath the smile.

Change?

That word scratched at the back of your mind. You didn’t like the way he said it. The certainty. The ownership. The implication that there was something in you wrong enough to be rewritten. Reshaped. Fixed.

Fixed.

Like you were broken to begin with.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t. Not when your throat had gone dry with something colder than fear. Something heavier. A dull, growing realization.

Did he expect to keep you here? Caged between false comfort and padded restraints, like a pet too skittish to trust?

The thought made your jaw clench.

Screw him.

There was nothing in you that needed changing. Nothing that needed fixing. Not for him. Not for anyone.

"You must be so confused," he said next, tone syrupy-sweet, like he was the kind one here. Like he was the caretaker.

He wasn’t.

Still, his hand moved again—ruffling your hair, fingers slow and deliberate. It was the kind of gesture meant to be gentle, meant to soothe. But from him, it felt wrong. Off. Like a performance. Like a parody of something that was never his to give.

It was the same kind of touch a father might offer his daughter after a recital. If the father had stolen the stage and burned the auditorium down after.

And still, his voice pressed on. Smug. Measured. Certain.

“The Bats didn’t look for you, you know?”

You didn’t react.

Not immediately.

Because for a moment—just a moment—you didn’t understand what he meant.

Then the words processed.

They filtered in like water through cracks, soaking slow, but deep.

“They didn’t send out an alert.”

The room shrank.

The walls, once still and cold, suddenly felt too close. Too tight. Your fingers curled slightly against the blanket beside you, gripping at nothing.

“Didn’t comb through the wreckage. Didn’t light up the sky.”

The air in your lungs turned thick. Sticky. It felt like you were breathing through oil. You couldn’t look at him—not directly. Not yet. You kept your eyes locked forward, but his words followed you.

“They didn’t even mention your name.”

Something inside you reeled.

You wanted to deny it. Wanted to scream that he was lying. That of course they were looking for you. That Bruce had mobilized everyone. That Dick hadn’t slept, too worried for you. That Alfred had kept your room ready, lights on, just in case—

But your mouth didn’t move.

Because something in you hesitated.

And that hesitation hurt more than anything else.

You didn’t speak, but your silence said too much. Said everything. He saw it—recognized it.

And smiled.

“Perhaps they think you’re no good.”

The phrase came soft, almost apologetic. Like he was doing you a favor by saying it aloud.

But it hit like a blade anyway.

And for the first time, you felt your breath catch—not from pain, or fear—but from something else entirely.

Something worse.

Doubt.

“You’re lying.” Your voice was sharp. Defensive. Immediate. “They didn’t even know I tried to be a vigilante.”

It was the truth. Or—at least, it had been your truth. The excuse you clung to. The only rope keeping you from free-falling into something worse.

But he laughed. Not cruelly. Not mocking. Just... entertained. As if you were a child who said something naïve, and he couldn’t help but indulge it.

“Oh, but dear,” he said, almost fondly, “wouldn’t they realize you’re gone?” He tilted his head slightly, watching your face like it might give something away. “Wouldn’t at least one of them realize you’d attempted to become a vigilante?”

His voice dropped, lower now. Slower. “In order to earn their gazes?”

That hit something.

Something too tender. Too raw.

You didn’t answer.

Because what could you say?

Dick had known. Maybe not the details, maybe not your plan, but he’d seen the restlessness building in you. The questions. The envy. The late-night training sessions that weren’t really just for “self-defense.”

He’d told you to stop. To turn back. To let it go.

But he didn’t stop you.

And the others? Bruce? Tim? Jason?

Wouldn’t someone have noticed your absence?

The silence stretched. Long and accusing.

“You think they would’ve done the same,” he murmured, voice soft now. Measured. “If it had been him?”

A pause.

“Dick?”

Longer pause.

“Damian?”

Your fingers gripped the blankets. Your throat closed up.

Then came the final blow.

He leaned in. Slowly. Like a whisper that knew exactly where to land. His breath was warm against your cheek as he spoke:

“Of course not.”

You clenched your jaw hard enough to ache.

He was trying to break you.

And you knew it.

You knew the game. The tactics. You weren’t some naïve kid plucked off the street. You understood manipulation. You’d seen it done.

But the problem wasn’t that he was trying.

It was that he didn’t need to try that hard.

Because the cracks were already there, weren’t they?

Tiny fractures spidering through your ribs. Questions you never wanted to ask yourself.

Why hadn’t anyone noticed?

Was he right? Were you forgettable? Disposable?

He just knew where to press. And he did it with precision. Patience. Like he had all the time in the world.

You weren’t broken. Not yet.

But you were bleeding. And he could smell it.

"Who even are you." You asked—voice cracking, breath heavy.

Taglist: @noone1233nobody @mazixxss @ememgl @chocoredpanda @astraeasworld @cxcilla @4mrplumi @welpthisisboring @oliviaewl @simpingpandas @galaxypurplerose @randomlyappearingartist @cupid73 @whereis-vivi @cynniee @yhin-gg @shqyou @bakuraloverr

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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Old sketch hm

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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Invincibutts

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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matcha-x-matcha · 2 months ago

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Early Morning Meetings

Summary: your brothers have no boundaries, guess it’s time to teach them a lesson.

Pairing(s): Platonic Batfamily x fem! reader, Kyle Rayner x fem! reader.

A/N: 18+ nsfw themes, minors evaporate! Published on my phone so unedited.

You've always been a light sleeper, even before you'd been inducted into the bat brand of paranoid lifestyle that had you jumping at shadows, living in Gotham would do that for a person.

The second you hear the slightest clatter of movement, you're up, eyes flickering open as you're already mid-roll off your bed. Beside you, Kyle sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the potential intruders in your apartment. A slight pout on his face as he unconsciously reaches for the body no longer sleeping beside him.

There's a creak, the whine of the broken cabinet door you'd yet to fix alerting you to the definite presence of an intruder. Cursing, you ran a hand down your face, reaching for the bat you conveniently kept at the side of your bed.

Phone in one hand with Oracle on speed dial and bat in the other, you swing your bedroom door open. You step out into the kitchen, winding the bat back over your shoulder ready to rain down hell, only to groan at the sight of two of your brothers.

Not wanting to wake Kyle, you close the bedroom door quietly before slumping into the seat beside Tim. Damn that man and his ability to sleep like the dead.

"Hello people who don't live here." You groaned, "And by that, I mean what the fuck are you doing in my apartment at..." You blearily blink the sleep from your eyes, swearing when your phone light blinds you, "2:18 in the fucking morning!"

"Having breakfast." Dick hummed through a mouth full of dry cereal, his silhouette illuminated by the still-open fridge door. "You're out of milk, by the way."

"I know, you finished it yesterday. And close the fridge you animal, you'll ruin my groceries."

"A baseball bat? Really?" Tim squinted in judgement.

"Oh, I'm sorry, the next time suspicious individuals break into my home at fuck ass o'clock, I'll get the Glock I keep under my pillow."

Tim eyes you warily, slightly hesitant. "You don't actually have one of those, do you?"

"Of course not", You scoff, interrupting Tim's premature sigh of relief, "I've got a colt - Dick seriously, close the fridge door!”

“I can’t see though.” He whines and you stare at him in sheer disbelief.

“Turn on the fucking lights?” One of the world’s greatest detectives your ass.

The sound of a door swinging open catches your attention and you nearly apologise for waking Kyle when you notice it’s not your bedroom door opening.

"What the fuck guys, it’s 2 in the morning." Jason’s voice is husky with sleep as he yawns, trudging into your kitchen and planking down beside you like nothing was wrong.

"Jason! What the fuck are you doing here?" You can practically feel the oncoming aneurysm. Why had you wanted brothers again? Maybe you could go back in time and convince Bruce the Wayne’s were a single child household. That could be nice.

"I was sleeping in my room." He groused.

"It's not your room, it's a guest room, and guests are supposed to let their hosts know they're here!" You hissed. Fingers twitching as you fought the urge to reach across and strangle the little shithead.

"Am I not a guest? Ergo, my room."

"Ergo." Tim mocked, barely dodging the spoon Jason had taken from Dick's hand mid-bite and thrown at Tim.

"Jason!" Three voices sing out in varying levels of despair.

Dick looks at the leftover contents of his bowl appraisingly, shrugging before tipping the ceramic back like a drink. Predictably, bits of cereal fall over his face and the floor you’d just fucking mopped yesterday.

“Murder is illegal and you love your brothers very much.” You whisper to yourself under your breath. Tim surreptitiously scoots his chair away from you.

"Baby?" A groggy voice called out, and you would have smiled at how cute your sleepy boyfriend was as he stumbled toward you, burying his face in your neck, if it weren’t for the laser focused stares of your younger brothers.

“Kyle?!” Dick choked.

“A Lantern?!” Tim moaned in despair.

“Don’t start this game with me Timothy. You won’t win.”

“People?” Kyle mumbled, finally looking up with sleepy eyes. “Baby, why are there people in our apartment.”

“Our?” Dick’s falsetto voice was honestly a little impressive.

“Because my brothers are animals that don’t understand boundaries.” You told Kyle, ignoring Dick’s ongoing stroke.

“Isn’t he unemployed?” Jason muttered with narrowed eyes, to which you flip him the bird.

“So are you fuckface! Also, I’m literally a millionaire.”

“So what he’s your sugar baby?”

“Please don’t call me that.” Kyle weakly moaned.

“He’s unemployed? How’s he going to help support you?” Dick was tugging at the roots of his hair now.

“Um wow? The 1950s called, they want their brand back.” You scoffed. "Besides, unlike you and Jason, I have no interest in cosplaying being poor. Kyle and I are both living on daddy’s money.”

Tim holds his hand up for a high five, which you grant, as Jason groans. “Please don’t ever call Bruce daddy again.”

“Oh I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable, Jason?” Kyle snorted against your neck, still draped over the back of your chair and hugging you as he left you to deal with your family’s bullshit.

“Stop touching my sister Rayner!” Dick was practically vibrating now.

In response Kyle reached up and squeezed your tits, causing all three of your brothers to start screaming once again as you smack his hands away. He’d definitely regret that when he woke up fully later, but for now your brother’s horrified reactions had given you an idea.

It’s a terrible one, but your head’s starting to pound a little and you’re beyond cranky and tired and you just want them gone.

Fuck it. You pull your shirt off, leaving you in just a pair of Green Lantern underwear.

Predictably, they scatter like rats, with Dick slamming into the still open fridge door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Jason screams as he stumbles blindly toward the window, Tim screeching about his eyes as he falls backward off the chair.

“You’ve all got about three seconds to get the fuck out of my apartment or risk witnessing me fuck my boyfriend right on this table.” You warned, already pulling a startled Kyle into a bruising kiss.

You moan loudly and obnoxiously, smirking in victory when your apartment is vacated in less than 10 seconds.

You may have just signed Kyle’s death warrant, but you’d make it up to him now, and later.

Kyle wakes before you. He’s never up before you. In the first few months of seeing each other he’d been convinced you didn’t sleep.

Frankly it’s only your love of garlic that has you beating the vampire allegations.

He’s awake before you and that means something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Turning his head to the side, his soul nearly vacates his body at the sudden sight of blank white eyes and a terrifyingly familiar black cowl.

He blinks and the bat spectre is gone. Kyle doesn’t fall asleep again. He doesn’t want to even blink for fear of suddenly seeing a bat shaped apparition.

You sleep on blissfully unaware. Even while Kyle becomes increasingly convinced he’s being menaced. You don’t even stir, because the presence of your dad isn’t a threat but a comfort.

Kyle wants to cry. You’re so lucky he loves you enough to put up with your psycho family.

He blinks and he swears he sees the afterimage of a looming Batman standing at the foot of the couch.

Ok so maybe, he loves you enough.

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matcha-x-matcha · 3 months ago

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NINTENDHOE

Dick Grayson x fem!reader x Wally West

tags: AFAB reader, oral f!receiving, spit, hair pulling, they’re both down bad, Wally’s a loser, college AU

a/n: press the x(xx) button to continue..

wc: 2k | masterlist

“No no no, this is rigged! I should’ve won that round,” Wally all but whines, his head hitting the back of the couch with a small thump - only to be met with an eye roll from you and Dick.

“Maybe you’re just bad at combos, man.” Dick scoffs under his breath.

“Maybe you’re both awful,” you mumble, shifting around to get a little more comfortable in your makeshift mess of pillows.

Both of them whip their heads around, staring at you like you’ve kicked them in the balls or something.

“..I won that round, though.” Dick stares at you, glancing down at the controller in his lap and then at Wally.

“I’ve never seen a Mortal Kombat match take that long, you’re both.. awful.”

“Okay, but I’m better than him.. I still won.” he reminds you, almost petulant as he stares down at the controller.

“If either of you two were any good, you’d still have your shirts on.” you point out, giving the two of them a once-over - Wally’s cheeks heating up under your almost scrutinising gaze.

You’re technically right, the three of you made a dumb bet.

Each time someone loses a round, they lose a piece of clothing.

The fact you’re the only one still fully dressed just proves your point.

“Seriously?” Wally’s lips purse into a thin line, staring down at his shirt and hoodie on the floor in a heap, awkwardly running a hand through his tousled red hair, “Is your goal to get us naked?”

“Course it is,” Dick interjects, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling - “she’s just a prude and won’t do it herself.”

He’s spouting bullshit and all three of you know it.

See, it’s not like you’re not willing to take your shirt off - you just haven’t had a reason to.

You keep winning.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and laugh at us, then there’s like.. zero incentive to keep playing,” Wally complains, reaching out to give your shirt a little tug before you swat his hand away.

Pinching your temples, you glance between the two of them with a groan - then up at the fighter roster on screen.

“..I’ll kiss whoever wins.”

You’ve never seen them lunge for their controllers so urgently - you’re almost convinced one would pull a real-life fatality on the other, far worse than the ones on screen.

Naturally, Wally has the red controller, Dick went for the blue.

With another sigh, you lean back a little as you watch the two of them choose their fighters - spamming the x keys so hard you’re worried they’ll get jammed.

And then it kinda dawns on you.

You’ve bet your mouth on a game of Mortal Kombat.

“No no no, what the fuck!” Wally whines, more than half tempted to thundercunt the controller at the poor TV - “He keeps rigging this shit!”

“I know my way around a joystick, unlike you.”

Dick’s snide comment makes Wally tense, burying his face in his hands - with a reaction like, you’d swear he’d lost everything dear to him, not the chance of a kiss.

“You owe me.” Dick almost sing-songs, caging you against the cushions like an oversized lapdog, unable to wipe the smug grin off of his face.

“He literally fucking cheated!” Wally insists, batting his eyelashes up at you as if that would change anything.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Wally,” Dick mumbles into your shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Wally for a second as he mouths at your neck, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

“Be nice.” your grumble snaps him out of it, along with a small yank into his messy black hair, “you won one kiss, not the lottery.”

“Same thing.”

Before you can get a word in, his mouth is on yours - his hand on your knee tightening and spreading up over your thigh as he angles his head, the grin against your lips unwavering as he stares at Wally.

There's something in the way he's got his fingers on your leg, thumb swiping over the inner seam of your shorts and making your skin under his touch.

“Cut it out!” Wally frowns, tossing a pillow your way before folding his arms across his chest.

“Watch and learn, West.” Dick huffs out a laugh, sliding his hand up your thigh to try tug at your waistband.

His laugh soon turns into a muffled yelp when you tug at his hair once more, unimpressed as you stare at him.

“The deal was one kiss, you’re getting too cocky.”

“But-“ Dicks brows furrow, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“No.”

That earns a small chuckle from beside you two, Wally hiding his smirk in his hand.

“Maybe you’re better with a joystick, but you lack in other departments.”

Dick grumbles once more, fingers involuntarily curling into the thin fabric of your shorts a little harder, not tearing his gaze away from Wally.

“Excuse you, I’m better at eating pussy than you could ever be.”

His defensiveness makes you snort, glancing at Wally who’s trying not to howl in laughter and then back at Dick.

“..he means a joystick on a controller, not a-“

“I knew that.” Dick blurts out, gnawing at the insides of his cheeks - too flustered to look at you or Wally for a moment.

“..I’m still better.”

“No the fuck you aren’t.” Wally’s brows arch, sitting upright, almost outraged.

No way in hell is Dick better at that. Wally hasn’t got a foot to stand on but his ego won’t allow it.

Sure, he may have the upper hand when it comes to a fighting game, but game when it comes to getting laid? No way in hell.

“Literally take a walk on campus and ask any girl.” Dick insists, his confidence in that department unwavering.

You’re just watching them at this point, watching their expressions shift as they throw jabs back and forth - far more interesting than some pixels beating the fuck out of eachother.

“The only thing these girls on campus will tell me is you’re a whore, Grayson.”

Okay, he can’t exactly deny that accusation but he doesn’t need Wally to signify it to him.

Dick’s face flushes for a moment, his hand still lingering on your thigh.

“You’re just an insufferable virgin! When’s the last time you talked to a woman?”

Now that catches your attention,

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little divorce here but are you fucking kidding me?” your sudden scoff shuts them up for a moment, the room silent.

Wally shifts in his seat, Dick clears his throat.

Neither of them says anything, their differences seemingly swept to the side for a moment before they both whip their heads around, staring at you.

“No.”

“Please?” Wally stares at you like he’s about to break down and sob, he’s got that sad puppy look down like it’s an art.

Dick isn’t far behind him.

“C’mon, just let us settle this.”

That’s all it took for them to coax you into this, your back now arching up off of the blankets.

You can’t exactly tell which mouth is which, not when they’re both desperate to prove something, Wally’s hands shaking as he holds your thighs open.

“Told you I’m better,” Dick pants against your pussy, his grin bordering on feral as he thumbs at your clit, your poor cunt already a mess.

“Nuh-uh,” Wally shakes his head, words muffled as he drags his tongue against you. He’s gripping your thighs tighter like someone’s trying to take your pussy away from him.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

He tries to, anyway.

His jaw is starting to hurt but he doesn’t care. Wally’s busy trying to prove himself to Dick - to you, desperately grinding his hips against one of the throw pillows.

“Uh-huh,” Dick mocks, nosing at his jaw as he slowly pushes a finger into you - just to hear you whine.

Wally shakes his head, his breath heaving - hands moving to paw at your hips to try and get you as close to his face as possible.

“I’ll make her cum faster.” he insists, barely sure who he’s trying to convince this point.

Dick huffs against your inner thigh, bumping the side of his head against Wally’s.

“That’s cute, I’ll make her cum harder.” he shrugs, dragging out that last word as he runs his tongue over your clit, “right?”

Dick probably expects you to back him up but you’re just too dazed to answer, staring down at them through glassy, half lidded eyes.

Wally just lets out a needy whine into your pussy, one hand moving from your thigh to try and shove his face away.

It’s hard enough that he’s trying to prove himself - Dick isn’t making it any easier.

“You’re doing it wrong.” He pants against Wally’s jaw, his free hand joining yours in his messy red hair to tug at it, forcing him to lift his head to look at you.

“You don’t wanna disappoint her, do you?” Dick almost coos, his grin only widening when Wally’s back arches.

“No,” Wally pants, grip on your thighs almost bruising as he stares down at your throbbing cunt, the embarrassing boner he’s got going on is almost too much to handle at this point.

“Didn’t think so.” Dick sighs, his lips ghosting across Wally’s flushed cheek as he guides his head down, the hand pulling at his hair guiding his face.

The shaky “fuck” you manage to slur out has him grinning, his grip on Wally’s hair tightening.

“See?” he murmurs, pulling Wally’s head away so he can drag his tongue along the inside of your thigh, his breathy moans muffled by your skin - “speed ain’t everything.”

Wally’s breath is coming in ragged pants, desperately trying to ignore the ache both in his jaw and in his cock as he desperately mouths at you - you doubt you’d be able pry him off of you if you tried.

“Shuddup,” he pants, the condescending tone of Dicks voice paired with your little whines making his head spin.

“Cmonn,” Dick mumbles, his lips brushing against Wally’s as he lets a small glob of spit land on your clit, pulling Wally’s hair back.

“You can just admit I’m better than you, it’s okay.” he sighs, voice full of fake sincerity - the sounds from both of their mouths against your sopping cunt beyond obscene.

It’s like you’re not even there, which is pretty fucked up considering they’re arguing over your pussy.

“Can you two shut the f-fuck up,” you manage to groan, one of your hands grabbing at Dick’s hair, the other at Wally’s.

You don’t care which one of them is better, as long as someone makes you cum.

Wally stares up at you, panting.

He wants it to be him so fucking badly, you have no idea.

“Sorry,” Dick glances up at you with a grin, strong hands quickly finding your hips as his fingers press into the sides of your ass - almost delirious as you desperately grind your cunt against his face.

Wally’s lips twitch into a shaky frown, barely able to from a coherent sentence as he cranes his neck up to try mouth at you again, only to be cut off by Dick’s mouth pressing against his - spitting your cum into his mouth as he stares up at you through his lashes.

Wally doesn’t even flinch, leaning his head back down to drag his tongue over a stray drop of slick down your thighs, chest heaving as he pulls back to look up at you.

“..no, no! I haven’t fucking lost,” he’s pleading, insisting.

“It’s best of three right?”

a/n: ..can I get a hell yeah?

thank u for reading!!! I’m very normal I promise

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