#switch fem!reader

[merelylillies]

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Note: ‘‘Ovulating every other fucking day...RELEASE ME,,

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Fandom: Hoyoverse’s Genshin Impact

Pairing: (Fem.)Reader x Malipo Kinich

Content Warnings: (NSFW) Headcanons, Praise, Slight Teasing

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Kinich in bed? Yeah, okay, I'd die happy. Kinich is extremely level-headed, always calm if not borderline disinterested. He isn't usually one for sugarcoating his attitude or sweet talking but you can bet your ass that nonchalant attitude 180s once you hit the sheets.

Personally headcannon him as a switch, leaning top, and heck, even if you're the one topping, are you actually the one in control? He'd so be the type to lean back, either with his back to the headboard or fully lying down, and watch you do your thing with unfiltered amusement in his eyes. He'd be a tease, not in the sense that he'd edge your release, but rather, he'd help it build faster than you can help it. "You doing okay up there?" he'd speak up with a barely hidden huff of laughter. "Need my help? Sure looks like you're doing just fine on your own.".

He'd keep eye contact with you, and if you blinked for a second too long, he'd be on you in an instant. "What? Is it too much?" he'd sit up, his chest against yours, quickly rising and falling, "Keep your eyes on me, cmon". If you started to get fidgety and visibly close, he'd grab your hips and help your movements meet his, "Mmm feel that?" you'd squeeze around him and he'd choke out a, "Oh I know you do..". He's the type to smile, smirk, grin, so proudly, so smugly as he sees bliss wash over you, and keep his grip firm on your hips or thighs, making sure you stay right there, so you could feel him twitch inside you when he hears you moan as you release. Want you to be fully made aware of how you make him feel.

If he found out you were into praise, oh, how he'd never let you hear the end of it. You're already struggling to breathe, and he'd just smugly let it slip past his lips; "Yeah? You're doing so fucking well.". He'd layer it on thick, making you constantly stumble over your own breaths and always finding a new way to let his words really get to you, really get you there. "Is this what you needed pretty girl?" he hums hovering above you, his small grunts near your ear as he gets closer, "Because fuck this is what I've been thinking of all day," he relishes in the small trembls traveling your spine, "daydreaming of how good you'd feel, how you'd look so good for me, and be so good for me".

He'd know. You're ovulating? He knows. You're just in the mood? He knows. Stressed? Yup. Pent-up? Uh huh. Needy? He's already smiling at you knowingly. "Don't be shy," he'd look at you intently, "I'm not going to judge you, especially not for wanting this.". I don't think he's the type to make you admit your desires outright or make you beg for it, I think if anything, he enjoys the act of being proven right enough. He'll go along with your actions if you're too shy to voice your needs, and instead will just make little adjustments to fit what you fantasized about this time. "There." He'd manhandle you into a different pose, shift himself behind you, voice near your neck, like you'd secretly wanted him to, "This better?".

Would be completely normal about taking care of himself in front of you, or casually when you're together, or sharing the same space. That's one of the benefits to his usual lack of care; if he got hot and bothered, he'd palm himself without a second thought. You just came home from your outing, and you make your way to the bedroom? Yeah, he's on your bed, hand down his baggy pants and panting, moaning every now and then, loudly. He knows you're there, he just doesn't give a shit. In fact, he'd force himself to go faster, to tease more, and just overall make his voice needier, and whinier, and if he's feeling like you need to hear it, he'll let even a whimper slip. He's well aware you get off on his pleasure as well, and would immediately beckon you over to finger you deep if you felt your core heat up watching him. He's running the fingers along your walls, thumb rubbing onto your most sensitive part as he'd speak quietly, "You liked it? I'm glad" he's chuckling, "I'll do it more often then" and the fingers are slipping in and out so easily and they feel so fucking good but all he says is "There we go," with a smitten smile.

[frudoo]

Getting absolutely ruined by Simon, his hand gripping your neck and pulling you back as he pounds into your poor little cunt from behind. His hips are all force but his lips are silk on your skin, filthy grunts accompanied by the occasional muttered praise he gives you.

But the second Johnny walks in through the bedroom door, Simon is out of you and on his knees on the floor, tongue lolled in waiting.

“Mm, ye wanna suck me cock tha’ bad, love?” Johnny hums, hooking his finger beneath Simon’s chin and forcing him to look into his eyes.

“Yeah,” Simon nods pathetically, whining when his hands are denied exploration of the younger man’s body.

Johnny’s gaze cuts over to your shivering body still arched on the bed, two of your own measly fingers stuffed inside of your pussy to try and replicate the delicious stretch that was so rudely taken from you.

“Then ye best ge’ back t’our sweet lass o’er there,” the Scot runs his fingers through Simon’s short blond hair, tugging slightly.

“Cannae leave ‘er ‘angin’, can we, babeh boy? Ye were bein’ sae guid t’er, dinnae stop now.”

[soulwrencher]

minors and men dni!

ೃ⁀➷ellie and you go costume shopping for halloween, but you take a detour to the changing room, i guess ellie's costume is wearing you on her fingers... (getting fingered in a changing room? hell yeahhhh).ೃ࿐

"costume shopping is silly?" ellie whispers into your neck, hot air tickling your skin as she scoffs at the sight of you. you are pushed into the corner of the changing room, one hand pressed against the mirror smudging it and the other digging into her back, you just got a new set of stiletto nails ellie has been begging you to get and try them out on her. however, this was not how you have been imagining to leave scratch marks on her back, it was more of a 'you and her in bed', horizontally, or you on her lap. but it doesn't matter, your mind is occupied with figuring out how many fingers are inside of you and remembering the question ellie just asked you all while trying to keep quiet. and in result of that, only a mindless 'hmm?' escapes your mouth—if the auburn-haired woman wasn't asking you a question, then it was a moan for sure.

but it only makes ellie more cocky, you know by the way she curls her fingers inside of you, the way her grip around your waist tightens, like you're her possession. her face draws closer to your neck again, repeating her question, dragging word for word over your sensitive skin, you jolt back, eyes widening in surprise as your ass bangs against the wooden wall of the changing room.

"fuck," you mutter, but ellie slowing down her thrusts and whispering an 'it's okay' before kissing you softly makes you forget about possibly everyone hearing the two of you fucking. her fingers are still deep inside of you and she has no plans of getting them out of you anytime soon and while you don't like to show it, you don't want her to stop either. in fact you are so wet, you wish you could simply absorb her, you want more, you need more. so you pull away from ellie's soft kisses and slowly start thrusting your hips towards her, desperation overcomes you and you suddenly pick up the speed, making ellie lose her balance.

you watch her cheeks turn red and ellie looks so cute all flustered, but you are too horny to keep on waiting to cum.

"keep up," you whisper, eyes rolling back as your hips rock back and forth, fuck does she feel good. she blushes a little harder at your words, there's nothing else on this world she'd rather do than make what's hers feel good, hit that sweet spot of yours and watch you fall apart at her touch. your pussy clenches around her fingers, your teeth dragging at her lips as she glides her free hand over your body to squeeze your tits.

little moans escape from you, but you aren't the only one huffing and puffing, ellie's breath stagnates with every kiss she drags from your lips to your collarbones. it just makes you want to release, all the sloppy wet kisses and her fingers pushing inside you, filling you up. ellie could swear that you were dripping down her forearm, most likely leaving stains on her sleeves she forgot to cuff. but she doesn't care, all she cares about is making you cum.

"is three okay?" she asks, you nod hastily.

ellie is watching you, holding eye contact while she inserts another finger, your mind is far too gone to hold up eye contact, your eyes roll into the back of your mind.

so she leans in, her breath is steadier than yours, lips devouring you. ellie's fingers start out curling slowly and you push your pelvic harder into her hand.

you can't help it, your body just reacts to her and you are desperate, in a way ellie rarely gets to see. and it is exactly what keeps her going, your desperation for her, the way your body moves against hers, the taste of your lips and the sound of your breath. you are perfect and watching you struggle with every thrust satisfies her immense hunger. you feel so full but so weak, you can't keep up rocking your hips against her any longer, your legs begin to shake, nails digging into her arms to keep yourself from sinking. but you start clenching around her fingers harder and faster while it's getting more difficult to stay quiet being so breathless. you nuzzle your face into her neck in attempt to muffle your moans but she is fingering you so good, how could you not gasp for air? your movements become wilder, almost there, you think to yourself as

you try to ride her fingers, but ellie won't let you have it your way. you glance at her for once, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead, rosy cheeks and sweat pearls rolling down her neck, she looks so pretty like this. she's been putting a lot of work into you so instinctively you want to reach for her face and stroke her cheekbone, however your hand makes a full stop at her nape and your expression clarifies at the realization that you're about to cum. you're out of your mind, ellie pushes her fingers in diligently, the way you clench around her fingers makes her go insane. she nibbles on your ear, "you're doing well," she says.

you roll your eyes and before you're able to leave a snarky comment, your breaths become shorter, deeper, you drag out your exhales—you're just a hot mess of needy hums. all tensed up, your back is arched, you're sweaty and breathless.

and it doesn't take ellie long to figure out how to release all of that tension, just one look at you and she knows how to curl her fingers, how to fuck you. and she takes pride in that, it takes just one right angle for you to momentarily hold your breath, look into her green eyes, "go ahead," she whispers. and you do, your eyes roll back as you exhale shakily, unclench around her fingers and your legs completely lose its strength, she makes you cum just like that.

your body is twitching, her fingers are still inside of you and she stays inside for a second before taking them out to show you how wet you are. ellie pulls you closer and sucks her fingers clean, making sure you watch before she leans in for a kiss, slipping in her tongue for you to taste yourself. you pull away, "you're getting good at this," you whisper, her eyes light up before overconfidence plasters over her whole face.

"i've been telling you," she says, but asks in the same breath if you really thought so, she's adorable.

and then she helps you pull your pants back up, you adjust your hair and pull on your clothes to make sure you look less like you just got fucked well. the two of you leave, power walking out of the store avoiding eye contact from anyone, costumes long forgotten in the changing room.

"just wait until we get home," you say, not giving anything away. you just can't let ellie get away with the games she likes to play with you but luckily, the wand and the rabbit you charged this morning were awaiting the auburn-haired woman for a long and steamy night.

[hyukascampfire]

𝓜ILK WITH YOUR COOKIES? ､. c.sb

too excited to sleep on christmas night, the last thing you might've expected was to find a very tall, very handsome man with arms full of gifts broken into your home. also, for him to claim himself to be santa claus. ࣪˒ ࿔

゛◞͈ ⧼ 🧦 ⧽ ･ 5.8k

𝓹airings ˒ santa!soobin x reader

𝑔 ; smut

𝔀arnings ˒ general smut, cum eating, breast worship, mentions of titty fucking, soobin watches reader play with themselves without their knowledge, fem!reader, cumming on belly, whiny soobin kinda, soobin is... well, santa, possessiveness, usage of the word whore

✎୭ ashlynn's note guys. please promise me you won't imagine an old man when you read this. LMAOO. this is the first day of the event! tell me how you guys feel abt it :3

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

All wrapped up in the covers, you try to close your eyes and just let it happen. You really do. The mattress beneath you is soft and embraces you with warm, oh-so-welcoming arms, and the fireplace crackles from the living room. You’d left the door cracked, only a little bit, just so that the sounds might lull you to sleep. 

Despite all the efforts you’d put into a perfectly cozy, perfectly sleepy, night, your mind wanders each time you let your lashes fall to your cheeks. You try and soothe it over with fuzzy visions of waking up in the morning to the world outside your window dusted white and your tree, all alight and sparkling, made full with gifts wrapped in swirling red paper.

Well, if you were sleepy before, you’d lost it now. 

Perhaps you’re far too excited for Christmas. Especially for your age—a full grown woman too giddy to sleep on Christmas eve? It’s ridiculous. But those warm, flickering memories of Christmas mornings with your family are close to your heart. Bounding down the stairs on bare feet to go stick them by the fireplace to defrost, pulling woolen, knitted stockings off the mantle when your parents told you to check for coal, and then after it all, finally sitting crisscrossed around the tree. The smell of whatever spiced thing your mother would be warming over the fire and the sharpness of the pine needles—you think that there is nothing better. It was such a simple time. 

You push yourself up off the bed, hair mussed with relentless tossing and turning. Slipping out from the covers, you don’t even bother fixing it. The wood flooring creaks beneath your weight. Through your woolen stockings, the ones you’d pulled on just before bed so that you might stay toasty should the fire die out, it greets you nice and pleasantly warmed. 

Down the hallway you shuffle, smoothing over your cotton sleep dress and tugging your fingers through tangles of hair. Three hours; three hours you’d been curled up in your bed, alternating between inspecting your ceiling and walls as if you’d never seen them before and trying to think sleepy thoughts. You can really only handle so much of that. 

Starting in the afternoon, as soon as the sun began yawning and blinking bleary eyes to give way to the moon, you had worked dutifully on whipping up some Christmas desserts. Baking platterfuls of warm goodies was something your mother did for your family every Christmas eve. Bowl in hand, and wafts of gingerbread and fruit cakes twirling sweet and warm up to your nose, those memories were all you could think of. Your heart aches in your chest. This day doesn’t feel the same celebrating by yourself. You’d hung garlands down from doorframes and done such a beautiful job on the tree, but you’d done it all. Alone. You’d done all your baking alone, too. 

So, though you don’t have the faces of family around, not even a boyfriend, to eat them with... You’ll eat tbe excess alone. You’d always been the type to go all tired with a full belly, anyway. Maybe it’ll help you get to sleep. 

The counters are a beautiful spread of your day’s work. Cinnamon cakes made even sweeter with a warm, sugary drizzling, fruitcakes of raisin and dates, glazed fruits all fat and ready to make your fingers sticky as you enjoy them, all on silver filigree platters. Beside it all, you place your candle, the lengths of it decorated with rivulets of wax melted down and then gone solid once more. You sift between them, fingers itching for something hearty. 

From behind you, there’s a shuffling. It’s slight. Firewood burnt down to nothing shifting and falling, most likely. You peruse the platters—the glimmering, glazed nuts, or mahogany cakes? You almost decide, but, with another rustle, you cannot pretend it was nothing this time. You turn on your heel. 

There, in your living room, stands a man.  

A very tall, very frozen man. With features soft, he looks as though the warmth and coldness of Christmas personified both. Wide, brown eyes return a look very similar to what you assume yours might be. In his hands, he holds a box wrapped in papers—one that looks as though it would belong so well beneath your tree. 

Frozen way down to your bone, you don’t really know what to do. Do you scream? Would the family in the home across from yours hear you? As a young, unwedded woman, and their neighbor, you think they might help you. They’d always seemed to like you well enough. How’d he even find his way into your home anyway? You don’t leave doors unlocked. 

For a few more long moments, the two of you stare at each other. Strangely, he seems just as rattled as you.

“Who are you?” you say, voice wavered in just the way someone’s might if they found an unknown man in their home. He doesn’t look scary. Not by a long shot. With warm eyes of hot chocolate and hair the fluffy brown of any girl’s dreams, he does not look scary at all. You might even say he looks delicious. 

The stranger opens his mouth and closes it a few times. When he finally goes to speak, in a rounded cheek you spy the twitching of a dimple. It’s soft in his face, just like the rest of him. His ears burn red. “You’re not supposed to be awake,” he says, a waterfall of nervous laughs falling out along with it. 

You, just as frozen as you’d been when you’d first turned around to find him there, frown. Not supposed to be awake? What is that even supposed to mean? You tug at the hem of your night dress. You’d pulled it on thinking that nobody would see you in it, and especially not a man. An intruding man, at that. It’s thin and comfortable, falling at a spot on your thigh that’s good for movement, but not for wearing in front of a strange man. Definitely not. 

“What do you mean?” you say, stricken in place. As much as your heart beats like a wild, caught animal in your chest, sending liquid energy right through your veins, you cannot move. It’s no different from the deer that, instead of darting between the trees to escape a pouncing predator, sits utterly still hoping that maybe they’ll go unnoticed. But this is not the wild, and that does not work here. You probably look more like you’re a blinking, stupid mess than anything. You say, “Get out of my house, or I am going to scream. Get out.” 

Who wants to deal with this on Christmas eve night? Somebody breaking into your home, hoping to get lucky with the presents littered under the tree? Of all the evil things, that might just be the worst. You could not imagine rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and scurrying over to the tree, just to find it utterly bare. 

He laughs again, waving a hand in the air fast and nervous. “I—don’t worry! I’m not going to hurt you! I just... uh, well, you see...” His words twist and tumble over each other, each racing to come out before the next. “This... usually doesn’t happen, and... Nobody ever wakes up,” he says. “You’ll forget about this in a moment.” 

You look him up and down. The Christmas-red suit, all suede and heavy, the heavy black boots, the cuffs of white tufted fur—you’re not stupid. Maybe shaken, but not stupid. Taking a step back, you say him with measured words, “What are you, some kind of freak that breaks in to people’s homes on Christmas to pretend you’re Santa, or something? A thief?”

Over his soft eyes, his brows shoot up. Still holding the present, he steps toward you with his free hand up to show he means no harm. “No—no, really, you don’t need to be scared. I’m... okay, you might know me as something different, but my name is Soobin. I’m just supposed to be dropping these gifts off, and I’ll be on my way. You won’t even remember you saw me.” 

And, there he goes again, saying that you’ll forget you saw him. Whatever that means. You might be alarmed by his words, and really, you ought to be. But you feel more intrigued than anything. He’s got kind, playful eyes. Maybe the kind that are meant to disarm you before stealing from right under your nose, though.  

What really gets you is that he thinks you might know him. By some other name, or whatever. You’ve never seen him, or another face like him, anywhere in or around your village. The people here do not look like that. Their faces are marred by a life spent working for their upkeep, hands flecked with the weight of their professions. This man? He looks as though he’s never lived a hard day in his life. No wrinkle or scarring—his face is beautifully smooth. You’d know any face, you know everybody here. And you do not know him. 

“I don’t think I believe you,” you say. “And, won’t remember? What’s that supposed to mean?” You hover somewhere between the kitchen and the tree, all lit up with flickering candles.

He closes his eyes, a resigned puff of a laugh falling from his mouth. Soobin shakes his head as he tells you, “Guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. I’m Santa. Claus. Santa Claus. That’s what you’d know me by.” He pushes his brown, horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “I don’t get caught. Usually. I don’t know why you were still awake.” Hot cocoa strands of brown hair dust just about his eyes as he takes your form in. 

Right from your chest, a scoff like a laugh comes tumbling. Santa Claus. Seriously, this guy is weird. And, he’s in your home. However he’d gotten in. Shuffling back a few steps for good measure, you say, “Santa Claus. You’re Santa Claus.” 

Brows knitted, he nods his head. As if it were obvious that he was Santa Claus. 

Yeah, okay.

It’s ridiculous. So ridiculous that you have to laugh again, full-chested and in his face this time. “If you don’t leave my home, I’m...” You trail off. You’re not sure what you’ll do this time, but you’ll do something. Maybe laugh a little more at him. 

His eyes drink your form in once more, lingering over the softer parts for a few long moments. Your chest, to be more specific, where you’re sure your nipples peek through where your dress moves over it. When his eyes snap back up to your face, he says, “There’s no need for that. Would you like proof?” 

You arch an inviting brow at him. You’d like to see him try to give you any sort of proof that he’s Santa Claus. That might just be entertaining.

“Well,” he says, setting a present down beside the tree. “If it’s down to that, I know that earlier this year, you and that boy slipped into the barn when you thought nobody was looking. But of course, I knew. That was the first naughty tick you gave yourself this year.” 

Stood only perhaps a step or two ahead of you now, you have to crane your neck to meet his gaze. Slowly, talking to him, you’d started loosening up. But now, you go all rigid again, your face paling. There’s absolutely no way he’d know that—considering the fact that you’d not seen him before this very moment, and that you had done a very thorough scan of the area at the time. You go to answer him, but he’s quick to continue. 

“Are those cookies set out for me?” he says, tilting his head up in a pointing gesture. “If you’re such a believer, why do you not believe that I am him?” 

There a number of thoughts and curiosities clogging rational thought in your mind. This time, instead of brushing him off with a patronizing, sneering laugh, you say, “Well. I... They weren’t... for you. I don’t believe in Santa.” 

“You don’t?” he says, brows furrowed as he looks down at you. “Not even as he stands right in front of you? Tell me: how would I know that you touch yourself in the middle of the night, when you think nobody might know, and you’re in your bed all alone? How would I know exactly how you sound while you do?”  

A strange, strangling fog curls over your thoughts and renders them gone. You don’t even know what you would say to that. Maybe he could just say that about anybody, and it might be true, but the conviction and truth hanging heavy in his gaze as he looks at you with it... You think he means it. You don’t know what that makes you—stupid, or so incredibly screwed.  

The counter at your back gives your heart a startle. Suddenly, you’ve got nowhere to escape his serious eyes. “I don’t... I didn’t...” 

His smile goes taunting. “No cookies, and lying...” he hums. “I don’t think this is the best way to behave when I’m here, dropping off your presents. I even made exceptions this year, just so I could stop by here. I don’t stop for naughty listers.” 

Your face burns. Your skin burns, under that look he’s giving you. The space between you burns, too.  

“I don’t think I was bad,” you say. It’s out before you can really even rationalize it, or any of this. All you can contend with are the furious, fiery butterflies that twist your belly up into knots. The ebbing of something consumptive and hungry between your thighs should concern you, too.  

His big, warm hands find perch on your hips. There’s not much between his touch and your skin—just your flimsy little dress. It feels just as though if he were kneading the bare flesh there, fingers digging crescents into the soft fat. Your breath does a few skips. He smells sweet like spiced musk.

“I think you know perfectly how naughty you were,” Soobin says, his face shedding every last bit of lightheartedness in exchange for something ravenous. His eyes fall on your mouth for just a blink, and then he’s looking right into you. Challenging. 

“Oh, please,” you say, pinching your brows into something falsely sweet and innocent. “I don’t think I do. Won���t you tell me, Santa?” You let the last part, his supposed title, twist out like accustion. Whether he’s Santa or not, you don’t care. Your blood whispers and begs for those hands to venture further in, right to the gnawing want that’s come alive deep in your core. It’s insane, you know that. Still, you follow its pleading.

For a short, lucid moment, his face twitches. And then he’s got your ass in his hands, swallowing it up in needy grabs, and then the cool surface of the counter is biting into the heat of your skin, and then his mouth falls over yours like the most fiery, most carnal Christmas gift. 

He eats up your gasps. His mouth is sure, but his hands are frantic and unmeasured all over you. Feeling up the lengths of your sides, sliding up the smooth of your back, cupping the back of your neck to pull you into licks and bites harder. His hands find your breasts the most, though. You can hardly even make sounds as he rolls his thumbs over your nipples and under the swell of them. He takes the weight of your tits into his hands.  

The dance of your mouths breaks off into panted, hot breaths fanning over faces. He readjusts you upon the surface without a care for the clattering of the platters. Fast and as though he’d been waiting for this, he moves down your neck in blazing licks and suckles. One of his hands takes the back of your head, and the other worships your chest. 

Against your skin, strained, he pants, “I waited just to come to your fucking house. Watched you playing around with those idiots—God, I hated to watch, but I couldn’t look away. Wanted to show you how much better you deserved to be treated. Even naughty girls deserve to cum, don’t they?” 

You’re a mewling, hazy mess, hardly able to register words. Especially ones as hard to wrap around as that. All you do is arch your chest into his hand, cheeks all flushed pink. All you want is for him to make good on that promise. Under his touches, you fully believe him. Not once had your escapades gotten you off correctly. His desperate touch brushes right over that tight ball of sexual frustration, unwinding it slowly. With each bit that he unravels you, you shudder. 

“You are a naughty girl, aren’t you? You sound so sweet when you cum. Can’t I hear it again?” he continues, each word hotter in your neck than the last.  

Your head is all light and floaty. Letting it dangle, you give him a meek and pleading, “Yes.” Every last square inch of you beats alive at the prospect of being watched in on as you desperately squirmed against your bed. By him, at that. And, that it had him all pent up like this. 

His hands fumble at the hem of your dress. Pulling it up and over of your thighs and then past your hips and then up your belly, he says, “My pretty baby deserves it. Gonna make you feel so good—wanna make you feel good.” When your dress is all bunched up over your chest, and the soft swells of your breasts are freed to the air and his eyes, a chill rakes over your blazing skin. Goosebumps raise up and down the entirety of you. 

Brown eyes gone different, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He rests a palm right at your ribcage, so eager to touch but also so eager to just... gawk. 

Pushing your posture to better display your tits for him, you say, “You… wanna touch them?” 

His gaze flickers up to yours and then back down, tracing over the sight of your hardened nipples against the soft, smooth mounds. “Fuck. Yes, I wanna touch them. Please?” he says, voice wavering. He brushes a thumb up under one. It’s an admiring, impatient touch. 

“Yes,” you whisper. A strange little secret between the two of you. “Please, Soobin.” 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He bends just enough to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth. The hot wetness against your eager skin—it douses you in oil and then sets you on fire. Your mouth drops open to allow a long, wavering whine passage. It tapers off into just open-mouthed, quiet gasps as he rolls his tongue around it, peppering kisses into the soft flesh of your breast. Below it, in the valley between, and then he kisses a path right back to your nipple. 

It’s so simple. His touch is reverent—not overwhelming. Just underneath your skin, it all tingles. It pleads for him to continue, to do more. 

Much to your dismay, he is pleased right where he is. With soft bites and drags of his nose, he ravishes your chest. And when he’s finally done and pulls away from your skin, you shiver at the brushing of cool air against the wet mess he’s left there. 

Heavy-lidded eyes find yours. Running his thumb over your bottom lip, he husks, “No cookies out for me...” He delivers a quick nip at your jawline.  

Under a brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your lower belly, you jolt with a tremor. You will your mouth into movement. “I don’t believe in Santa. Why would I set out cookies?” you say; an echo of what you’d said to him before. But this time, his hands are on you. You want to see how that might change things. 

With an abrasive scoff, he doesn’t disappoint. The corns of his lips twitch. “Let me put my hands on you. Fuck you. You’ll believe in him then,” he says, curling his fingers like bites finally into your bare, moldable hips. They receive the shape of his hands willingly. “Are you gonna thank me for making an exception? For stopping by your house, even though you’re filthy?” 

He brushes lower and lower. Keeping your voice on a tight leash, you tell him, “Please, touch me...” 

He laughs, nose crinkling in tease. “If that’s how you want to say thank you,” he says, “I’ll touch you. You’d like that, huh?” 

With that, he finally brushes over your cunt. Profanities spill out from his lips with the wetness that greets him there. Your body does a start at the touch. 

“Yes, please. I love it—for Christmas, please.” Your voice is thin and pleading. 

It’s all Soobin needs to hear to be sliding you off the counter. The world spins around you in a fuzzy, nonsensical blur of warm light. Against your chest, melded against it, the counter top bites cold.

“Fuck,” he curses, the sound coming from behind you. You can feel his gaze searing a trail down the arch of your back. For the nth time, your skin breaks out into a chill. Warm, tracing fingers smooth down the length of it, starting at the center of your shoulders, until he finds the swell of your ass. “Look at you, arching your back like a well-used slut. You really are needy, aren’t you? I knew it. I knew you’d be perfect. And you’re gonna let me fuck you straight, aren’t you?” The words come out hot on your skin, now. Right into the curve your shoulder. “Maybe fuck you so straight, you’ll be at the top of the nice list next year. A pretty little saint. Huh?” 

All you muster is a stupid, pathetic nod. You want nothing more. 

On your clit, the center of your pulsating need, there’s a chaste pinch. Your body revolts, hips twitching violently in escape. The squeak that it rugs from you is equally violent.

“I’m not sure I want that, though.” There’s a rustling behind you, a clinking of silvery metal and then a brushing of thick fabric. Hot and angry and heavy against you, he presses his cock to your clit. “I think I want you on the top of the naughty list, so I can come here and have this every year.” The mushroom tip of him swirling against your needy bud—it’s so much. So much. 

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll be bad for you, Soobin. Please. I want it so much...” You push your back further into a suggestive curve; begging. He’s led you all the way to the water. Won’t he just indulge you with a taste? You don’t care how stupid or ridiculous you sound. 

His hand ventures up the outside of your thigh, smoothing over warm skin, and then around the curve of your hip, and then across your lower belly. It settles and presses there. “Do you hear yourself?” he sneers, voice in your hair. “I’ve got you, baby.” 

The suggestive, almost-there weight of his cock at your hole gives way to the delicious slide of him into you. Each inch is easy and slick. Perhaps you might worry over how utterly drenched you are, but not when all you can feel echoing through your bones and your veins is him finally filling your emptiness. It feels like mercy, more than a gift or present. 

He pulls out of you before even bottoming out. You spin as best you can to see him, brows furrowed. The look you find on his face as you do tells you everything you need to know about how intentional that was. "Soobin, please.” You look up at him through your lashes, trying to goad him with pretty bats of your eyes. Your cheeks flush pink and hot—your whole body is hot. 

“Begging for cock,” he says, a saccharine grin over his mouth. “Such a nasty whore. Whores don’t get Christmas presents. Shouldn’t you thank me for giving you this?” 

You should feel offended. Scandalized, even. No man has ever spoken to you like this, and you wouldn’t have allowed it. But, coming from his mouth, it’s a strange thing. It lays over you heavy, twisted your inhibitions to naught. “Thank you,” you say, pressing your cheek into the cool counter top to combat the burn. “Thank you, so much. Please.” 

When he starts pushing back into you, the gates of heaven materialize in the black behind your eyelids. Curling your fingers around the edge, you savor each and every inch of him once more until you can practically taste it. And then some. He’s big; bigger than anything you’d ever had from the guys around here. How are you ever supposed to go back to that? 

Finally, his hips meet your ass. He takes a moment to shift, taking a handful of your hip to pin it right into the counter. So, you do too; you grip at the edge of the counter. And then he pulls out of you. For a brief moment, you forget how endowed he is. But, of course, he reminds you with a roll. His cock drags along your walls in a way you’ve never known: full. You are full. 

“Gonna ruin you, so that no matter how many times you let them in your bed, all you’ll want is me,” he says. His hips move slow, just so that he can make sure you hear and internalize every word. “And you’ll wait all year just for this, and you’ll think of my touch when you touch yourself.” 

You can’t answer, or say anything really, around your whimpers. His hips stutter, and then he begins thrusting into you with unabated vigor. Each collision of your dancing bodies is punctuated by the hollow smacking of skin. Those sounds and others, such as your whines as his cock nudges right up against that spot that’s got your thighs quaking, and his tense pants, consume the air where the serene crackling of fire had once ruled. 

Though you do try to reel it in, you really do, his hips find a certain angle that makes it all null. You claw at the hand he’s got pressed firmly to your belly. Beneath you, your legs tremble and shake where they dangle down, and your poor abused hip bones ache against the hard surface of the counter as he fucks you into it. The cabinets clatter with it. “Soobin,” you choke. 

With his cheek pressed to the top of your head as he sloppily pounds stars into your vision, he half growls, half whines, “So—so good around me. So good. I couldn’t wait...to help you out. Thank you, baby.” 

The tremor in it, and the absolute neediness, pierces through the haze and does something to you. His free hand runs over you frantically, and his thrusts turn to something less controlled and more bare. More raw. He’d been hitting that sweet, sweet spot before, but this is more insistent. His hand presses harder into your belly to hold you through it, the other one mapping every last square inch of your skin until he’s intimately familiar with it all, and then some. “Fuck,” he grits out. 

All of it, the flame and the blinding touches, go away for a moment. He pulls out from your heat. You go to push off the counter to complain, and you make it half off, but he’s spinning you around and has you hoisted, ass-to-tabletop before you can. Where your front had been, the surface is already body warmed beneath your ass and thighs. 

“Show me your tits,” he says, nudging your thighs open. “Fuck. Will you let me fuck them next time? They're my tits, right? They fit so well in my hands.” 

Between his panted whines and the slide of his cock back into you, you just let your head fall back and obey. Your legs cascade down, twitching and threatening to snap around his waist each time he brushes against that deep, gummy spot. You arch your back into his face and pull your teeth into your mouth, watching him.

He dives into your chest without ceremony. With a hand on one of your hips to steady you against his fucking, he takes a nipple into his mouth. Soobin rolls his tongue and nips with his teeth, all while working the knot in your belly tighter. Each time your chest jumps or concaves against a bite, he pushes you deeper into it with a hand at your back. 

Your voice is hoarse. Though your moans are sweet and whiny, you sound nasty. Deep in your stomach, rumbling and threatening in a way you are not familiar with, something dangerous swirls. Goosebumps usurp smooth skin at the presence of it. As much as you chase it with your hips, your fingers thread through the strands of his hair to brace for it—readying for it to both ruin and fix you.

The sight of him, face deep in your chest, only feeds more fuel into the fire. His lashes flutter against his pink cheeks. 

“You...” you start, cupping the back of his head into you. “H—fuck... Like my tits? Want them to be yours?” 

You’re not quite sure what you’re saying. Around his waist, the muscles in your thighs are taut and your spine tingles. Your head floats. The barrier between spoken word and true thought is eroded down by it all. What is left is utterly bare. 

He releases your nipple, so hard that it tingles, in a wet pop. Pressing his cheek to it as his hips stutter, he says, all nasally, “Yes. Yes, h—oh fuck, yes, baby.” 

His pathetic whines, fallen into the air all tense like the tightness you’re sure he feels in his belly, as you do in yours, have you digging your heels into the bottom of his spine. Urging him in deeper. Closer. 

Hands finding your hips like iron against the softness of powdery snow, his voice cracks. “Wait—no, shit! Baby, I’m gonna.... Holy shit, let me cum on your belly, baby...” 

So, so very close to both exploding and imploding into violent, consuming bliss, you’re not one to deny him that. You let your thighs fall open, bracing against his biceps, and then just the slightest brush of his groin up into your throbbing clit has the world smearing into nothing around you. 

All of you, every last muscle, goes rigid in the wake of it. And then, with a brilliant, incandescent crashing of symbols and release, you cum. Deep in your thighs and up your back and right in your core, where you clamp down on him hard, you are wracked with twisting muscles. Alternating between desperate whines and being able to get no sounds out, you fight through the blistering presence of your orgasm. 

He watches you, eyes on every micro expression falling over your face, with blown eyes. And then, his hips stutter for the final time. In a frantic hurry, he slips out of you with an obscene pop. He holds his cock over you, fist working up and down it in slick, wet rolls. He lets his head loll back, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

You watch his belly go all tight, and his sweet face screw up tight. Then, from his weeping pink tip, he shoots sparkling, hot white spurts all down on your belly. It pools heavy and warm against your skin. 

Finally, he collapses boneless into your front. With his face notched into your neck, he slides his hand up and down his cock a few more times. You two pant into each other’s skin for a few long, exhausted moments. 

He finally pulls back to look you in the eyes, cheeks tinted pink and twitching with a dimple. He releases your hip with one hand, reaching behind you in search of something. When his hand reappears, he’s holding one of those cookies you’d baked hours ago.  

You go to ask him something snarky, like fucked yourself hungry? but you’re interrupted when he runs the cookie up your belly, scooping up ribbons of his cum like dipping cookies in milk. He brings it to your mouth. 

“Open up,” he says, a cheeky, lazy grin smeared over his mouth. “You like milk with your cookies, don’t you?”  

You gape at him, dumbstruck. Still, beside yourself, you open your mouth and take a generous chunk out of it. The musk of him melts down against the cinnamon and ginger snap in your mouth. You savor it on your tongue before making a show of swallowing it all down, holding his eyes. Soobin watches, hawklike, until you’ve got it down.  

“Still don’t believe in Santa?” he says, running a hand through your mess of hair.  

You’d believed in Santa the whole way through. But, he doesn’t need to know that. As he presses one chaste, parting kiss to your neck, you can only hope that Santa might make a generous stop by your place next year too. No matter how naughty you are.  

﹙⋞ ﹚... back to the 𝓂asterlist

✎୭ ashlynn's note LIKE?? come back next yr pls, soobin.

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[foreigncry]

YES FINALLY ANOTHER TOP MALE WRITER FOR INVINCIBLE, PLEASE FEED US, WE ARE VERY MUCH STARVING HERE 😭

YEAH!!! I'm starving out here trying to find a top ! male reader fic x invincible characters, I've seen a few but it's so little— I mean, bottom ! male reader fics are good enough but still...

Anyways, here's a small fic / hcs mixed together about mark and top ! male reader, pure fluff cos I'm not in the mood for anything just yet :3

To be yours, Is possible

tags: mark grayson , top!male reader , fluff x1 , sfw , fluff x2, bottom (?) mark , Top ! male reader is presented as a masculine guy with no feminine traits, multiple POVS because I'm indecisive, sorry!

AN: Mark Is portrayed as a boy who struggles to balance being a student and being Invincible! it's not entirely accurate to the comics or show, but hey, I tried my best!

ദ്ദി˙ ᴗ ˙ ) ..

Mark was given a gift by the heavens, which was you— a man who understood his flaws and insecurities, despite him being 'Invincible' and a wonder-boy in the publics eyes, he was vastly different In private, a boy who had personal issues of his own, and his thoughts battling with one another.

He was unstable, most of the time to say the least— but you loved him either way, because; that's what boyfriends are for! you love him with your whole heart, you didn't love him just because he was invincible, you didn't love him just for fame or his powers— No, you loved him as a whole. You loved the way he melted Into your touch, the way he felt around you, it just felt— right.

Now, going back— You had your arms wrapped around him, like you were afraid he'd disappear the moment you let him go, you truly loved him so much, you could burst with how much love you had for him.

“I love you, so so much. Fuck— I wanna die like this.” You said, nuzzling into his hair; the two of you were laying on the couch in the living room, both of you in your own little worlds, with mark lazily on top of you, face nuzzled into the crook of your neck— you could feel his heart beating softly, and god— this was romantic, no; this was love right here.

“love you alot too, reader.” Was all he replied, his voice filled with exhaustion, his arms around your neck, him wearing your hoodie, with the soft hum of the fan, it all felt comforting. And after all— It was a lazy and slow day, with him taking a break from being Invincible, and It was your rest day too, being a part time tutor and a student to support both of you.

You always took care of mark, and along with that— your attentive care of his injuries whenever he returned back home from a fight, usually with broken fingers, deep cuts and broken bones; yes, he can recover easily, but the process was pain filled, and that's where you come in, always helping him through it, pain killers, cold and warm baths, and cuddling, his form of medicine.

...Now talking about your public life, with you and mark as students, you were stereotyped as a 'jock'; though you mainly correct them by saying you only do sports during your free time, not all the time of course. Football? you're good at it, soccer? somewhat good but not that good to be considered as a professional, while mark? he simply exist, he has good grades, attentive in studying, but he'd get lazy most of the time, which you have to force him to do homework when the due date is tomorrow, basically— a lazy puppy and a productive puppy.

Talking about what he loves about you, he drools over your body— and you as a whole. But the part he loves you the most? Definitely your biceps, you weren't that jacked— but somewhat that could be considered as mascular, you somehow discovered mark loved being crushed by your biceps, maybe due to the experimenting you two do, or maybe something else? either way, he loves being close to you, and physical touch was one of them— holding hands? yeah, his shoulder touching yours? most definitely, he wasn't touch starved, but he does love physical touch, as it means so much to him.

Your relationship with marks mother, Debbie? oh oh, you absolutely loved her energy! how she cooks, the way she brought you embarrassing pictures of mark, and little gossips here and there, you're basically apart of the family now, she welcomed you with open arms, she was definitely supportive with your relationship with mark.

Talking about how you found out he was Invincible... It was relatively easy, Mark can be forgetful sometimes— which meant you always did everything around the apartment you two shared, and you did discover his suit thrown away at some corner of his room, poorly hidden; though, you didn't immediately freaked out, you were suspicious whenever mark disappeared and Invincible was out there saving the city. But either way, you didn't care— he was yours and nothing could change it, he was invincible? hell yeah but he's still your pretty boy.

END

Ughh, this is the end! thank you to whoever is reading this :3 ill be answering questions slow because I'm very much busy and I'm still suffering from writer burnt out, but I'll get back on track

[wlwloverwrites]

picturing cage fighter logan, all that fluffy hair, my hand just need to run through that hair…. but no no im getting off topic.

you’re watching from the crowd, memorized by him, always cheering him on. after every fight you offer to buy him a drink, then offer a helping hand to which he always refuses.

so you try a little harder, cheer a little louder, and buy two drinks instead of one. instead of offering your hand, you offer your mouth. still he declines with a soft smile.

how much can your ego take?

apparently a lot.

you curse at yourself as you push past the crowds and follow him in the bathroom. before he can reject you for the tenth time you start to beg, “please just one night, dont even have to take me to dinner or anything, im ready.”

the proclaimation should have triggered something in logan’s mind, but he sighs as he nods.

its not that he didn’t like you.

oh hell no, the man had to hide his stiff cock every time you stare at him, bring the stool closer to his, letting your knee brush his.

claws threaten to come out when you eagerly offered your mouth. he wanted to moan when you visibly deflated when he gruffs out a firm no.

he waited, he waited to see if you’d finally give up, but you never did. he waited to see if you’d offer yourself to the next fighter, but you never did.

instead, his ears perked up at the sound of your cheers and his punches were a little harder cause he knew you’d squeal louder.

so one night, with healing knuckles, he takes up your offer, only for you shy away from his touch and beg for him to take it slow.

your kisses are inexperienced, you hips roll with uncertainty as you whisper the next words that almost have him coming in his jeans.

“i’ve never done this before.”

-

READ COMPLETED FIC

Logan Howlett Masterlist

[pprettypinkprincesss]

dad!jj? dad!jj.

jj was probably petrified when you told him he's going to be a daddy, scared he'd turn out like his father.

doesn't matter how many sweet, soothing words you whisper in his ear at night or how many times you assure him he'll be a great dad, he's too scared thinking of all the ways he could go wrong, all the ways he could mess up.

when you let him hold your stomach, his worries go away, the only thing in his mind being the feel of his baby wriggling underneath his fingers. 

but that is only temporary and his fear kicks back up the second you're not right by his side; he seems to panic whenever he can’t see or feel you next to him.

the only time the worries truly go away is once you give birth. once he sees you with his baby lying on your chest, it's like all his fears are wiped from his mind.

"how's my baby doing?" he'd whisper, kneeling on the hospital bed and pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead.

"they're good." you'd whisper back, too focused on the tiny baby sleeping on your chest to look at your boyfriend.

"i meant you," jj knows his actual baby is good. he hounded the poor nurses to make sure, his worries are now about you and how you're doing. "you're my baby too."

jj is always going to worry about how his baby is doing, that's just in his nature. but now that they're born, it's time to fawn over you (even more than he already was.)

[msgexymunson]

The Code

Description: Your very first day at your new school and you've already managed to find a dealer. Not only that, but he is fine. Maybe living with your mom might not be too bad after all. 

Warnings: Making out, fingering, male and fem oral receiving, p in v unprotected sex 

A/N: I just wanted some desperate, clingy ‘I need you’ sex so here we are. I loved writing this so much I think this is going to end up in a whole universe just about these two.

6.2k words

Masterlist 

This must be the spot. 

You walk out into the little clearing in the woods. It's private, encircled by trees, with a picnic bench right in the middle. As you wonder who the hell put it there, you take in the quiet. It's bizarre; a minute ago you were surrounded by loudmouth jocks and giggling girls, sneakers squeaking and lockers slamming, but here? Silence, except for the twittering of birds and whispering wind in the trees. 

Perching on the slightly mildewed table top, you dump your bag and jacket on the seat, crossing your legs and picking your fingernails to pass the time. 

A rustle of leaves makes you snap your head up, and you see who must be the most gorgeous guy at this school. Tall, long hair, a narrow little waist you want to wrap your legs around, and judging by his clothes, he's a metalhead too. 

“Hey, you leave me a note?” 

He looks around nervously, circling the table before walking over to you. 

“Yeah, you OK?” 

He smiles, and you rethink your previous statement. He must be the most gorgeous guy in this whole town. Such a pretty mouth. 

“Sorry, it's just last time I got an anonymous note in my locker I got jumped by four jocks.” 

“Oh, well you know what they say, when a boy bullies you they really just have a crush on you.” 

He laughs, tipping his head back. 

“Well these guys must want my fuckin’ babies or some shit!” 

Giggling, you look down, covering your mouth girlishly. Eddie takes the small opportunity to check you out. You look like you've wandered in from a dream. A very wet dream. Little black Mary Janes on your feet, thigh high white socks, and a black and white plaid skirt. The strip of thigh on show is making his pants tighter by the minute. The white t-shirt is a work of art; it seems so innocent, but it's tight enough to accentuate your obvious curves, and the outline of a black bra is peeking through the thin material. He's sure it's purposeful; who wears black under white and doesn't think about it showing? 

You clear your throat and his eyes flick upward to your face guiltily. Not saying anything, you let your little smug smile and raised brow do the talking for you. This looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. 

After a few seconds of letting him squirm, mostly to see the blush flowing to his cheeks, you give him your name and explain. 

“I'm new here, some girl told me you're the one to go to for weed. Eddie, right?” 

“Guilty as charged,” he replies, bowing at you. Rolling your eyes, you beckon him forward with one finger. His grin widens as he stands right in front of you, eyes darting to your lips and back up. 

“So, you got something for me?” 

Eddie plants his hands either side of you on the table, close enough to smell your perfume. It's heady, laden with spice and promise, not the sweet scent he expected. That just intrigues him even more.

Your heads spinning from him crowding your space. His eyes are otherworldly, deep brown, full of such depth and soul that it takes a moment for you to remember to breathe. 

“For you? Of course.” 

He winks, he fucking winks, sending a swarm of insects in a whirlwind in your stomach, then sits down at the bench, slamming a battered tin lunchbox down. He gestures at the seat in front but you swivel on the table to face him, legs crossed an inch or so away from his hand. 

“So, I'll do you a half ounce for… twenty. Cool?” 

He wags a baggy at you and you make a pass for it, but he holds it at arm's length. 

“Twenty?” 

Huffing dramatically, you lean far back to grab your bag from the opposite bench. Eddie holds an arm out, one thrown over his eyes. 

“Cover your, er, modesty sweetheart.”

You realise he means your skirt that had ridden high on your thighs, exposing a triangle of your panties. It was only for a moment, but he saw. He thinks it'll be ingrained on the inside of his eyelids, burned into the back of his brain forever. They're baby pink, yet another surprise. You seem to be full of them.

“Such a gentleman.” 

Plopping your bag in your lap, you rummage through it to find a note. Eddie's eyes widen yet again. Your little denim backpack is covered in patches; Megadeath, Anthrax, Saxon. Just when he thinks he's got you figured out, you throw another curveball at him. 

“Here, twenty.” 

He takes it and exchanges it for the bag in his hands. Squirrelling it away, you smile. 

“Thank you. Fancy a smoke?” 

“Sure, why not.” 

You move to get your newest purchase out again but he waves a hand. 

“This one's on me sweetheart. For the er, pleasure of your company.” 

“Well, aren't I lucky.” Smirking at him, revelling in the pink tinge on the apples of his cheeks, you watch whilst he rolls. 

“So, you're new? When did you start?” 

“Today. Moving in with my mom and my brother for a little while whilst my dad cools off.” 

“Oh yeah?” He smiles, licking the paper with a pointed precise tongue. 

“Yeah. I got suspended, he freaked. Mom wanted her little girl back, so here I am.” 

“Oh really? What did you do?” 

You bite your lip as he passes you the lit joint, and take a couple of hits. 

“What didn't I do?” 

He laughs loudly with you, eyes darting to your chest as it jiggles. Fuck, he's already down bad. 

You make some chit chat, surface level stuff, but it shows you just how easy he is to talk to. He's confident, bordering cocky, but it's belied by the way your flirtatious comments make him blush. 

The joint is long gone. Eddie stands up, getting ready to leave. You want him to stay, you need him to, just a little longer. It emboldens you, enough to make a move. 

“Eddie, what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's mid standing when your question gets through to his brain, entirely short circuiting it for a second. 

“Huh?” 

“I said,” you beckon, and Eddie's legs move on their own accord, “what's your policy on kissing clients?” 

He's grinning then, standing in front of you by the edge of the table. As you uncross your legs, his smile only widens, slotting his narrow hips between your thighs. You take one of his hands in yours, examining his rings, before you place it gently on your leg, silently giving him permission to touch you. 

Eddie feels dazed, half expecting someone to jump from the bushes with a camera, declaring this all some elaborate prank. The bare skin of your thigh is so soft, silky smooth. His fingers dance just underneath the hem of your skirt, testing the waters, but you let him. You let him. 

“My policy? It probably goes against the Holy drug dealers code.” He shakes his head sadly, but he's still smiling, and still not pulling away. 

“Drug dealer code? What like, don't get high on your own supply?” You respond cheekily, nodding at the butt of the joint stubbed out on the table. 

Your hands snake around his neck autonomously, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves infinitesimally closer, head bending a little. 

“Yeah, like that. But the thing is,” he says as he moves even closer, whispering, “it's more like… guidelines.” 

“Yeah?” 

It's all you can manage out, breathy and weak, practically quivering at his closeness. 

His nose rubs against the side of yours, mouths almost brushing, as he whispers again, even more quietly, the breath of it diffusing over your parted lips. 

“It's a good thing I like to break the rules.” 

Then his lips are crushed against yours, your strawberry lip balm surrendering itself, finding a new home on his full lips. Your tongue licks into his mouth thickly, laced with want. Eddie responds, exploring your mouth as the kiss turns dirtier by the second. Your chest is smashed against his, thighs gripping onto his hips. 

Eddie's head is reeling at the taste of you and the feel of your body desperately pressed against him. He winds his hand under your skirt to grab your perfect round ass, jamming you even closer. To his delight you moan in his mouth, lips sliding against his, slicked in spit. 

Your heart is thumping so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Or is it his? It doesn't matter, the kiss tearing any rational thoughts away. Snaking an arm around him to dig painted nails into his back, you roll your hips into him, an ache settling into your bones. 

The other of Eddie's rough hands travels audaciously to your chest, palming it over your clothes. You don't pull away, in fact your back is arching, searching for more. 

It's only then that he notices the time on his watch. 

Reluctantly, he pulls away, taking in the way your chest heaves, how your eyes are half lidded, as if you want to devour him whole. 

“Fuck, I'm sorry but I'm late, I really gotta go.” 

Huffing, you pout, and the plumpness of your bottom lip almost makes him say fuck it, screw Hellfire, but he knows he can't. 

“I really, really don't want to go, for the record. Last thing I want to do is walk back into school with a hard on right now.” 

You giggle breathlessly, risking a little look down. He's not lying. And he is packing. 

“Do you wanna come to mine later?” 

It's out of your mouth before you even think of the words, tongue working of its own accord. 

“Are you- for real?” 

You nod comically fast. He just shakes his head, stunned. 

“You know, I'm waiting for a Carrie moment or some shit.” 

“Eddie, I'm not gonna dump a bucket of pig's blood on you, I swear.” 

“Swear? On what?” 

“On, I dunno, on that code thing?” 

He laughs, hands rubbing up and down your sides as if he doesn't want to let you go. 

“You can't swear on that, we just broke it!” 

“Alright then, scouts honour?” 

“You were a girl scout?” 

“No.” 

He laughs again as you purse your lips, deep in thought. Suddenly, your eyes widen, and you hold your hand to your heart, the other forming the devil's horn sign. 

“I swear on Ozzy.” 

Fuck, Eddie thinks he must have made you in a lab. 

“Alright, alright, you best not be using his name in vain.” 

You rummage in your bag, grabbing a scrap of paper and scrawling an address on it. 

“Here. My er, my mom's out for the weekend and my dweeb brothers got some silly club thing then he's staying at a friend's, so…” 

Eddie's eyebrows raise and disappear into his hair. If this is just some fantasy and he's finally lost it, then he can deal with that. 

“Right, I will be there. I promise. Wild fuckin’ horses couldn't drag me away.” 

You scrunch the paper into his waiting hand, and he presses another kiss to your lips, before he's apologising again, having to run back to school before the guys send a search party. 

********************

He only gets a chance to look at your hastily written note when Hellfires finished, a hell of a lot quicker than his usual sessions. The guys are put out, complaining about only managing to go for a supply run and deal with some bandits, but for once he doesn't give a shit. 

In his van, he's reading and rereading your note. Maybe he's got it wrong, your messy handwriting is difficult to read after all. Or maybe he was right before and this is all some joke at his expense. 

Hope is what gets him there, that and the traces of strawberry lip balm that still linger on his lips. He pulls up to the house and knocks on the door. 

You answer, still in your clothes from earlier, though Eddie notices immediately that you've taken off your bra. It throws him for a moment, the shape of your nipples singing a melody directly to his dick, but he recovers. 

“You live… here?” He asks, completely surprised. 

“Yes?” The way he says it you almost question if you're the one in the wrong house. 

“And your last name is…?” 

“Henderson.”

“Fuck.” He laughs it out, biting his lip. 

“Is that a problem?” You're entirely thrown by his reaction, but gesture at him to come in, closing the door behind him. 

“Dustin’s your little brother.” He says it like a known fact.

“How do you know Dust for Brains? Wait-” 

You step backwards, both hands held to your mouth in shock. 

“You're Eddie?? The Eddie??” 

“The one and only, sweetheart.” 

“Shit, Dustin does not shut up about you. I thought, well I thought you'd be some nerdy, awkward loser.” 

“Well, I'm a lot of things.” 

Laughs erupt from you in an unstoppable volcano. 

“Dustins gonna kill me.” 

Eddie shakes his head. 

“No, Dustins gonna kill me. How come he's never mentioned you?” 

“He's not exactly my biggest fan. Plus, he probably wanted to avoid- this.” 

Eddie deflates a little, the hope of kissing you again dwindling by the second. 

“If you want me to go-” 

“Oh hell no,” you grab his hand, keeping him there with you, “this is hilarious, he's gonna freak. I can't wait. You wanna drink, or something to eat? Or we can just-” 

“Wait, you seriously don't care?” 

“Nope. You're too hot.” 

Eddie blushes, not used to girls being so brazen with him. Smiling, you tell him to take a seat and grab some beers from the fridge. He takes his jacket off and throws it on a chair. When you return, you're laughing yet again as you hand him his beer. 

“How the hell did I miss that?” You point. He follows your eyes, to the Hellfire t-shirt he's wearing. 

“Too busy staring at my pretty face?” He suggests, winking at you. 

Settling down next to him, you flick the TV on to some random b movie. Nonchalantly, you place a hand on his knee, stroking the little bare patch of skin as you look at the film playing. 

“Maybe I was too busy thinking about what's underneath it.” 

You say it offhand, a casual statement, but it's got Eddie nearly choking on his mouthful of beer. 

“Shit you are nothing like your brother, are you?” 

Turning to smirk at him, you respond, “I fucking well hope so.” 

Then Eddie's thoughts fly straight out the window when your hand lands on his chest, nails raking him through the fabric. Suddenly, the temperature of the room is stifling, or is it just the feel of your body against his? He reaches tentatively to cup your cheek, rubbing a calloused thumb on your chin, eyes boring into yours for confirmation. Breath hitches in your throat; you lean in closer, gaze flickering to his perfect mouth and back up. 

“Are you gonna kiss me or just stare at me, Eddie?” 

You smirk, but it's wiped from your face immediately by his mouth smashing into yours. It's so forceful you have to fight to keep upright, hand fisting into his shirt as some sort of anchor. 

As you pull away, his eyes widen, wondering if he did something wrong. He looks like a little puppy. 

“Easy Eddie, we've got all night.” 

All night? Eddie has decided that he must have got hit on the head today. Maybe he was jumped after all, and now he's in a coma, playing out some elaborate fantasy. 

He settles back into the cushions, swigging his beer and failing to focus on the movie playing, his leg restlessly bouncing. 

You look perfectly at ease, knees curled up on the seat. What he doesn't know is that your heart is pumping blood so fast that you're starting to feel a little dizzy from it, purposefully slowing your breath to keep your calm. 

Once your beer is finished you've decided that enough is enough. A part of you wanted to take this slow; he seemed like such a nice guy, as well as being into your kind of music, and hot as sin. Unfortunately, it seems your pussy has other ideas, already banging its own heartbeat like a dinner bell. 

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He tries to make it sound casual, but he's wound so tight it's almost a strangled noise. Nursing a semi since he saw you in the woods earlier, now it's straining against his jeans in a futile attempt to be near you. 

He looks so damn nervous, and it gives you the confidence you need to swing your leg over his and straddle him. Eager hands land immediately on your hips, thumbs pressing hard to keep you there. 

This time, you lean in. Your kiss is fire, tongue burning hot and heavy in his mouth. Eddie groans into the kiss, rolling desperation from his mouth to yours. He's breathing so hard it's whistling through his nose, clouding your cheek with condensation. 

It almost feels like a competition, both tongues duelling, determined to unravel the other. Lips swollen and blood filled, your mouth tries to keep up with his, spit gathering at the edges. You'd be self conscious about it if you weren't so damn turned on. 

Eddie's hands roam all over, grasping at your ass under your skirt, slipping inside the thin material of your panties at the back, until he runs a thumb just next to your underwear but this time dangerously close to your sex. You moan onto his tongue, your own hands winding into his hair, pulling harshly to spur him on. 

He can't concentrate on the hard tingle your fingers cause to run all over his scalp, not when slips his fingers past the cotton barrier and he runs them up and down your slippery slit. Mind entirely encased in a pink fog of lust, you realise your mumbling in his mouth. 

“Please, please, please-” 

The corners of his mouth turn up at the sound, thumb seeking out your clit to rub circles on and around it, your arousal causing it to slip and slide. You're dizzy, hot all over, pussy aching for something inside. 

Eddie's obsessed with the feel of you, the heat emanating from your cunt, but most of all with the sounds you make. They'd be pornographic, if they weren't so fucking real. Needy, hoarse moans, peppered with little gasps and whimpers that are making his cock twitch with each slip of his thumb. 

Gliding a finger inside, he watches as your head rolls back, a strangled groan falling from your kiss bitten lips. You're practically riding his hand, bouncing your tits so close to his face that he's in a trance. As if you can hear his prayers, you pull your shirt off, fighting with the tight material until you can shake it off your arm. 

He sees the glimpse of a tattoo, a snake wrapped around a dagger directly in your cleavage, which he momentarily thinks is really hot, but then he's gone. Your bare chest is a masterpiece, perfect tits jostling with each bounce of your thighs. He latches his mouth to a nipple, tonguing and sucking on it like he needs it to breathe. In fact he almost forgets to, pulling his mouth off to take a gasping breath and latch onto the other. 

He drags his mouth away when he feels you tightening impossibly hard around his fingers and leans back just in time to see the show. Your climax is violent, grinding into his fingers hard and rough until suddenly you're screaming his name, nails breaking the skin of his neck as you cling on for dear life. Your release engulfs your body in a flash of fire, singeing each nerve and causing you to convulse in his grip. Eddie can barely move, his fingers straining hard to work you through your orgasm, so much so that the tendons of his arm hurt, but he doesn't care. He keeps on curling them until you physically grab his arm to still him. 

His dripping fingers are released with a sucking sound as he grins at you smugly. Not for long though, not with your chest heaving like that and the way you're biting your lip. You yank at his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and relishing in the exposed skin by lathing your tongue over his collar bone. 

“Nice tats.” You breathe onto his skin between sucks and nips. 

“Same to you,” he stumbles out in a gasp as a particular sharp bite to his neck shoots a lightning bolt of heat down his spine. 

“You haven't seen all of them,” you reply, nibbling at his earlobe. 

He's never wanted to hunt for tattoos more in his whole life. 

“Fuck, you are a dream.” 

His teeth bite down on your shoulder and you whimper, grinding down on his rock hard bulge. Enveloping his lips in another urgent kiss, and another, until you can break away long enough for one word. 

“Bedroom?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ yes.” 

He stands, still holding you, knocking a beer bottle to the floor. You cling to him with your legs as he walks backwards, sending a table lamp flying in the process. It's inconsequential; your head is fighting through a cloud of need, nothing can find its way through but touch and taste. 

In the hallway, he slams your back into the wall, pressing you hard against it as he writhes his tongue in your mouth again. A picture frame falls, you just about hear the tinkling of glass but it's not important. That's tomorrow's problem. 

Unhooking yourself from his clutches for a moment, you drag him by the front of his jeans and yank him into a doorway, gasping for breath, grasping at flesh. You practically punch the lightswitch to turn it on, the thought that you need to see him just about making it through the horny mist. Once inside he barely has a chance to take in his surroundings before you're falling to your knees and undoing his belt with impatient fingers. 

“Woah, baby, you don't need to-” 

“Shut the fuck up Eddie I wanna blow you.” 

Eddie rubs his hands over his face and then compulsively strokes his neck just to keep some composure. If he thinks about your words for a second longer he's sure he'll bust right in his pants. 

You work his fly and pull his jeans and boxers down swiftly, his turgid cock flying free and whacking his stomach, decorating it with a pearl of precum. It feels heavy in your hands as you rub him up and down, watching the soft skin move with each pass, like silk wrapped around a steel bar. 

Taking him into your mouth, you twirl your tongue around his head, licking up its salty sweetness, sucking lightly. Eddie groans, torn between covering his eyes and holding you in place, so he does a bit of both, until you start taking him deeper and deeper without gagging. 

His eyes snap open to see you staring straight at him, nose nestling in his coarse pubic hair, eyes wide and wet and innocent, mouth stretched full of him, and he feels his balls tighten. 

“Fuck stop stop, please.” 

He practically bends in half to get you off of his dick. Giving him a smug smile of your own, you delicately wipe the spit gathered at the corners of your mouth with a thumb. 

“You OK there champ?” 

“You are gonna kill me sweetheart.” 

He's heaving, trying to control his breath, eyes darting from your face, to your bare chest and back up. Standing up, you unzip your skirt, allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving you in your tiny pink underwear with a very noticeable wet patch, and your thigh high socks. There's another tattoo hiding just out of sight, playing peekaboo over the top of your panties. 

Something about seeing you so innocent and yet so naughty flicks a switch in his brain. Before he can think he's pushing you backwards and you hit the mattress behind with a thud, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. 

Which is fucking perfect in Eddie's opinion because he needs to taste you right now otherwise he might die. 

You both fight to take your underwear off, but he covers your hand in his own when you start rolling your socks down. 

“No. Leave them on.” 

It's husky and dominant, a steely look behind those soft brown eyes you haven't seen yet. Well. Filing that away for reference. You lay there sweetly, propped up on your elbows to watch as his tongue squirms against you, making out with your cunt just as passionately as he kissed you. 

He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks and for a moment you can see God. 

“Holy fuck! Eddie!” He groans back, lost in the taste of your cunt. He wants to write a poem about it, a song, a fucking haiku, anything to immortalise the prettiest pussy with the sweetest flavour. 

“Eddie, get up here!” He's not listening, licking and sucking, almost getting as much pleasure as you are, but you need him inside you right now before you combust; you're sure of it. 

In the end you grab a chunk of his hair and pull him upward, sliding him over your trembling body, and you hold his face an inch from yours. 

“Eddie, I need you to fuck me, now.” 

His leaking tip is rubbing against your swollen clit; he takes it in his hand to line it up, when somewhere out of the pussy drunk haze he remembers something important. 

“Do you have protection?”

“I'm on the pill, is that-” 

It clearly is OK. It's possibly the best four words Eddie's ever heard. 

Your unfinished sentence morphs into a drawn out moan as Eddie pushes inside you, stretching you out until he's fully sheathed. As you whimper and whine at the feeling, Eddie stops, just for a moment, to hold your cheek and press a soft kiss to your lips. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

For some reason that takes you entirely by surprise, eyes wide and wet at his honesty. 

“Yeah? You're really handsome, Eddie.” 

The smile he shoots you is warm and genuine, lighting up that animate face of his with an inner glow. You roll your hips upward and take joy in the fact that he wasn't expecting it, eyebrows knitting in shock as a litany of swear words spill from his mouth. 

Your smirk is short lived when he hikes your leg around his waist and starts thrusting devastatingly deep, so deep it's like he's in your guts trying to root out the source of the burning desire at the pit of your stomach. 

“Holy- oh God, Eddie!” 

Moaning loudly, you press hot, cushy kisses to him between your stream of noises, forehead resting on his. Eddie's smiling, he can't help it. Just the joy of being with you like this, the feel of you losing it because of him, and the tightness of your pretty cunt have him in paradise. 

“Feels- feels so- oh fuck- so good, inside you, sweetheart. So fuckin’ tight, I-I can feel you shaking, you close?” 

Words escape you. All you can do is cling to his back and nod, nails clawing into him with shivering intensity. Eddie thrusts into you harder; all you can do is cling on for your life, arms and legs nearly suffocating him. The telltale tingle of your release is nearly burning your skin, prickling over each downy hair making it stand on end. 

The heat is immense, tension gripping your legs as you quake, and writhe, and whimper, until your climax flies out of you, shooting out of every pore and forcing tears from your eyes. Your vision turns bright white for a moment, until all the tension leaves your muscles and you flop back on the bed. 

Eddie doesn't understand how you keep on getting hotter, but it doesn't matter. You let him inside of you, raw, and his head is still reeling from that. Each little sound, each flex of your constricting walls is pushing him to ecstasy; in fact he's staving it off so he can enjoy you like this for a little while longer. 

Getting up on his knees, he pulls you toward him by your thighs, guiding you to roll your hips as he pumps into you. This angle is so much better; he can see all of your incredible body laid out before him, tits bouncing with each thrust. Your small hand finds his forearm, just holding it lightly, as you whine. 

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.” 

It's high pitched, mumbled and nearly incoherent. He's not even sure you know you're doing it, but it's what pushes him over the edge. He feels the tightness in his balls as his length grows impossibly hard.

“Sweetheart, where-” He manages through gritted teeth. 

“Please cum in me.”

Eddie's four new favourite words. He grips hard to your thighs, hard enough to bruise, as he groans and swears his release out. You feel it deep inside, throbbing out of him, when he finally collapses forward. You hold onto each other, tongues rolling into each other's mouths, kissing and kissing and kissing. You kiss until it hurts, until your mouth is chapped and sore, until you need air, and water. 

“Fuck, Eddie, that was… sorry, if I er, came on a bit, strong?” 

Eddie just laughs, pressing his body as tightly against yours as he can. 

“Please don't ever apologise for wanting to fuck my brains out.” 

You laugh, kissing his cheek.

“When you put it like that, fair enough. Right, get off me, I need to clean up.” 

“I can take care of you-”

“Yeah, and I'm a grown woman who needs to piss, so please?” 

You roll your wrists, flinging your hands in desperate circles. He surrenders, pulling off you and rolling onto his back, more than happy to watch your naked form sway out of the room. 

Eddie does a little wiggle dance when you leave the room, punching the air with glee. He starts looking at your room, since he had no time to see it earlier. There's a tin on the bedside table that looks remarkably similar to what he has at home, and an honest to goodness lava lamp next to it. Unable to help himself, he flicks it on at the plug, waiting for it to warm up. 

“Sweetheart, you mind if I roll?” He calls out. 

“Sure, my shits on the side table, just light the incense on the dresser.” 

Eddie seeks his boxers out and puts them on for his modesty, though it seems you may be a little, lacking, in that department. Not that he's complaining, far from it. He's obsessed with your demeanour, your confidence. 

Once the incense is lit, he rolls a joint, fussing over it to make sure it's perfect for you. Just as he pulls the little twisted paper end off, you walk back in. 

You'd taken the time to go to the restroom, clean yourself up, and find his t-shirt that was abandoned in the TV room. The hellfire logo is tight across your chest, the shirt barely covering your sex where you stand. The smile you shoot to him is absolutely smothered in sin. 

“That's, fuck, you do not play fair, sweetheart.” 

Eyes wide, eyebrows round and innocent, your mouth falls into a perfect o. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about baby.” 

Eddie can't speak. If he does, he'll give everything away. How wonderful you are, how that tightrope of dirty and sweet that you walk with ease twists his insides up. How he never wants to go home. 

Instead, he passes the unlit smoke to you, and holds out his zippo like a sacrificial offering. You sit side saddle on the bed, knees together, barely covering your throbbing core, as you take the rolled joint gratefully and spark it. Once you've had a few tokes you pass it back. 

“So, this was…” He widely gestures his arm, like it can encompass everything he's felt over the last few hours. 

“You wanna leave, Eddie?” You ask. A genuine question, cocking your head to the side, as he takes a few pulls of the smoke and hands it back. 

“I thought, well, I thought you'd want me to go.” 

“Eddie, I said we had all night. If you're done with me then-” 

“Oh, oh fuck no, I thought you'd be done with me!” 

You giggle and climb into his lap as he grasps at the flesh of your ass desperately. 

“Then stay. Stay with me.” 

Your mouth presses kisses to his jaw as your hand winds itself into his boxers, seeking out his hardening length. Eddie hisses through his teeth. 

“Fuck, I'll stay, as long as you fuckin’ want, w-whatever you want, Holy shit!” 

Laughing, you puff on the smoke with one hand, and tease him relentlessly with the other. 

For the second, third, or maybe even fourth time today, he's thinking he's in way over his head, but he can't find it in him to care. 

********************

Eddie blinks hard, squishing his eyes shut, then opens them again. Nothing has changed. There's still an unfamiliar fabric hanging on the ceiling in front of him; some rainbow tie dye mural with a painted mariguana leaf in the middle of it that he's never seen before. When he turns his head, he sees a lava lamp, still on, running bubbles of fake lava up it too loose and fast, and then he remembers. 

Flicking the switch to stop the lamp's heat, he turns over to see you. You're snuggled into the crook of your own elbow, face perfectly at ease. Your pretty mouth has the hint of a pout to it, daring him to plant a kiss. 

He wants to do something for you. Anything. Right now, he'd throw a parade, organise a concert to sing to your cunt, hold a benefit to make you believe how hard he's fallen for the colour of your eyes, but maybe making you a coffee in bed will do. 

So he wiggles out of bed in his boxers, and puts his jeans on for good measure in case your mom decides this is a good moment to turn up, and starts busying himself with the kitchen appliances. There's an ancient coffee maker that shakes and sputters to life. Whilst that is going on, he takes a slug of milk out of the carton in the fridge. 

That is, until he sees Dustin from the side of his eye. 

Dustin looks very confused. His eyes trail from the messed up couch cushions, to the beer bottles on the floor, the out of place lamp, and the broken picture frame, and finally land on Eddie, still bemused and befuddled. 

“Eddie… did you… break into my house?” 

Dustin clearly doesn't believe his own conclusion as his eyes scout across the available options and still come up empty. 

“Sup, Dust Buster!” 

Dustin swivels to see you exit your new bedroom, still wearing Eddie's hellfire t-shirt and a pair of panties. You perch nonchalantly on the kitchen side as Eddie grins, making his way between your knees. 

“You've got to be fucking kidding me! Eddie!” 

“Henderson, honest, I didn't know until-” 

“Until you were in my fucking house???” 

“OK fair, but it was a bit… late then. Sorry dude.” 

‘Sorry? What about the code?” Come on, she's my sister! And you!” He says, pointing at you accusingly, “you were in school for one day. One! Then you sleep with the one guy I look up to!” 

“The codes, more like… guidelines. Don't shit your pants, you've still got Harrington, Jeez.” 

“Well, you shouldn't be such a- a scarlet woman! A hussy!” 

Uncaring, you shake your head back and away, laughing at the names. Eddie, however, is not having any of it. 

“Hey, Henderson, you better show your sister some respect.” 

“Yeah? Or what?” He dares, forgetting who he's talking to. 

“I might be fucking your sister, but I'm still your DM. You want your green adventurers running into Tiamat next session?” 

The way he curves his lips, the confident stance he's giving, it stirs tiny fires in your gut and dares unthought of kinks to come out and play. 

“Alright, alright, don't TPK us, I'm leaving, alright?” 

Dustin turns on his heel. Before he disappears entirely, you make out the start of him begging, ‘Lucas, do you copy, I have a Code Red! Repeat! Code Red!” 

“so, what now, Dungeon Master?” 

“Mmph,” Eddie sounds out, low in his throat, “ whatever you want, scarlet woman.” 

Taglist- If you want to be added or removed, please PM me!

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @joejoequinnquinn

[vinnyvamppp]

Runway Walk

"Let me see your runway walk, make your heels click, make the runway talk, c'mon."

A/N: The way... I got carried away with this word count. Can ya'll tell I've been holding back when it comes to Dick Grayson? Thanks to a fellow creator here for helping my creative flow with scrumptious fan art. You know who you are.

Warnings: Door-Knocking Time Pressure Smut™, Canon Violence Mentioned, Porn WITH a Plot, Fingering, Clothing Kink (Suit & Costume Removal), Desk Sex, Switchy Energy, Slight Powerplay, Emotional Tension, Dick Grayson Being Hot, Reader Being Sarcastic, Past History, Smut, Etc.

Synopsis: With twenty minutes to curtain call, a locked dressing room door, and a desk sturdy enough to ruin, you're about to discover there's nothing more dangerous than a man in a suit… especially when you designed it to come off.

Dick Grayson x Fem!Stylist!Reader

WC: 2.7k

The auction was hidden beneath the illusion of extravagance. Above ground, it was a high-profile Gotham fashion event—glittering with elite influencers, foreign investors, and too many champagne flutes balanced on too-thin fingers.

But below the stage, behind mirrored walls and beneath silken drapes, was the truth: a rotating selection of stolen tech, rare weapons, smuggled magic, and “exclusive clientele” that were, apparently, too powerful to touch. And right at the center of it all was you and Dick Grayson. You and him. And the walk that would undo everything.

The first time you saw Dick again after months of silence… He was ten minutes late, annoyingly calm, and wearing the wrong pants.

"Let me guess," you said, not even glancing up from the rack of hand-stitched blazers. "You stopped to rescue a cat from a burning building. Or flirt with a barista. Or maybe both?"

He laughed, that familiar sound that used to rattle your self-control. “You forgot ‘stop a black-market weapons deal in the Diamond District,’” he said, easing into the dressing area with the kind of grace that should’ve been illegal. “But yeah, the cat was cuter.”

You finally turned to look at him. Mistake number one. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, probably on purpose, and his smile had that particular tilt to it: a mix of charm and apology. And those damn eyes. Ocean-blue and too damn knowing. They flicked to your hands, your mouth, your outfit—absorbing everything like he always did.

“What?” you snapped, folding your arms. “Forget what I look like when I’m not yelling at you?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s actually my favorite version.” You held his stare for two seconds longer than you meant to. Then you turned back to the rack. “You’re here to play runway model, not walk memory lane. Get your ass into the fitted pants before I change my mind.” He whistled low. “Still mad I ghosted, huh?”

“I’m not mad,” you said sweetly. “I just find it fascinating how a grown man can leap across rooftops, dodge bullets, and still somehow be deathly allergic to returning a text.” He winced slightly. Not enough to satisfy you, but enough to keep the fire burning.

"Look, I didn’t want to drag you into the mess," he said, softer now. "There were things I couldn’t explain, and I figured it was safer—" You cut him off with a wave. “Don’t care. Don’t want to hear it. You walked away, remember? Just like you always do.”

His smile faltered, then faded entirely. “…You always watch me leave,” he said, almost under his breath. You hated that it hit you. Right where he knew it would. And then he smirked again—pivoting, as always, from vulnerability back to charm. “So what do you think?” he asked, striking a pose in his current pants — the wrong pants, mind you. “Do I pull these off?”

“Not even a little,” you said flatly, snatching the correct pair from the hanger. “Put these on. And try not to break Gotham’s collective brain when you hit that runway.” He took the pants, brushed your fingers on purpose, and leaned just a little closer. “If I do,” he murmured, “you’ll take the credit, right? Since you’re the one dressing me to kill.”

You pretended his words didn't make you shiver, but now wasn't the time.

You stood at the edge of the bustling prep area, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing with last-minute changes. But none of it mattered. Because when Dick Grayson stepped onto that runway, tailored midnight-blue suit hugging every line, eyes cutting through the crowd like headlights, the world paused. It was straight out of a movie.

He moved like he owned the moment. Like the spotlight was just another streetlight to dance under. Nothing in your training prepared you for the sight of him. Every step is fluid, lethal, and smooth as silk. He wasn’t a model; he was a weapon, and he was wearing your design.

You swallowed hard. Goddamn him…

It was a slow burn of motion and magnetism, his body sculpted by shadow and spotlight. The suit— your suit—fits like sin itself. It's a dark navy with obsidian threading, subtle enough for the naked eye but glimmering under a flash. Cut low at the chest, hugging the lines of his torso, a whisper of rebellion against traditional formality. And he’s looking at you. Not the crowd, not the buyers, not the high rollers holding hidden paddles for illegal bids. But you.

As he walks—no, prowls—down the runway, his gaze never strays. Every step was a conversation: Do you see me now? Did you miss this? Are you still pretending you don’t want it?

Your breath catches, your heart racing as if going into a heart attack. The world blurs around the edges. That was until—chaos struck. Just as he reaches the end of the walk, the lights flicker once. A coded signal. You know it immediately; the auction is beginning.

“You didn’t tell me they were selling an energy core designed by WayneTech,” you hiss, dragging him into a side hallway behind a curtain of velvet. His back hits the wall. You’re close, too close, but you don’t back off, rather inching in. He exhales, lips twitching. “Was gonna tell you after the encore.”

“Dick.”

“Hey,” he says, voice lowering. “It’s not like I planned for them to use a fashion show as a front. But now that I’m here… we improvise.” You glare at him in silence. He doesn’t flinch; his eyes slowly flick to your lips. “I saw you watching me,” he says softly. You scoff, but your voice wavers with little confidence. “You were strutting like a damn peacock.”

“And you liked it.”

“…Shut up.”

His smile turns devilish. “You always get like this when you’re turned on and mad at me.” You shove his chest, not hard, but enough to let him know you're not playing. Except your hands don’t leave his suit, and his don’t leave your waist. For a moment, everything stills. Again. What is up with this? Then he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“I only have a few minutes before I have to intercept a buyer in the west wing,” he murmurs. “But if you don’t want to wait anymore…”

You inhale sharply. "Don't tease me," you whisper. "Not unless you mean it." His voice drops. The flirty edge disappears, and what replaces it? A raw and unfiltered longing. “I’ve always meant it,” he says. “You just never let me prove it.”

His hands slowly slide around your waist until your back hits the wall, too. There’s no air between you now. Only months of missed calls and unspoken confessions, but you want to kiss those pink lips. You want to take his damn suit off piece by piece— you designed it, after all.

He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, and stops. “Say the word,” he murmurs. “And I’ll forget the mission for one night. Just one.” Your hand's fist is in his lapels. You hate him, but, god, you need him.

BZZZZZT.

His earpiece crackles. Oracle’s voice, cutting in sharply. “Nightwing, buyers’s on the move. You have sixty seconds.” His forehead drops to yours. Frustrated and desperate. “Damn it,” he sighs.

You close your eyes. Try to calm the fire in your blood and the thrill that sent a heartbeat to your core. “…Go,” you whisper. “But you better come back.” His fingers skim your cheek. “Always,” he promises. And just like always, he walks away. But this time? You follow him with your eyes. And when he turns back, just before vanishing into the dark… He’s still watching you.

…

There are exactly twenty minutes until you're supposed to walk onstage and take your bow as the head designer. Which makes this —him— the worst idea. But when Dick Grayson slams the dressing room door behind him and shoves his earpiece deep into his jacket pocket, you know the decision's already been made. He’s out of breath with his cheeks flushed and hair tousled. “That’s it,” he pants. “I’m done pretending I can focus on anything else tonight.”

“You intercepted the buyer?” you ask, stepping back just enough so he couldn't hear your heart rattling within your chest. “Yeah,” he nods. “Swapped the intel. Knocked out two guards. Didn’t get shot. High score.”

“And your reward is barging into my dressing room?”

His smirk goes crooked, and his head tilts. “No. My reward is you looking at me like you’re two seconds from tearing this suit off with your teeth.” You blink and then scoff. “You’re delusional.” He closes the space between you in three long strides. “Then make me hallucinate harder.”

It's exciting, hands in hair, mouths crashing excitedly together. The heat between you is like fabric and friction and fire. His suit jacket—your suit jacket— rustles under your fingers, the tailored lines warping as you grab him and pull. “You're wrinkling my masterpiece,” you mutter against his mouth with a hiss. “Good,” he growls. “Maybe you'll have to make me another one.”

His hands are everywhere. Gliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, then up to your throat, not choking, just holding—possessive, reverent, but lost. When he backs you into the mirror, you gasp, and he drinks in the sound of oxygen. But the moment he reaches behind his neck and tugs hard at something hidden under the collar, you pull back.

And immediately burst into laughter. Because under the elegant suit? The Nightwing suit… is still on. “Tactical layering?” you snort, head dropping. “Seriously?” He groans. “I didn’t have time to take it off.”

“You never have time, Dick. Not to call, not to stay, and apparently not to remove your ridiculous birdsuit.”

“Hey,” he says, mock-offended, breath still shallow. “This is iconic.”

“It’s clingy.”

“So are you.”

“Oh, shut up.”

You hook your fingers under the utility belt and drag it down, peeling the skintight suit from underneath the runway outfit. It's an awkward, tangled mess of Kevlar, spandex, and silk lining. “God, there are too many zippers,” you mutter, shoving one sleeve down.

“Bet you say that to all the vigilantes.”

“Only the hot ones.”

He huffs out a laugh, and then you're both quiet, staring at each other, the tension thick with want and everything unspoken. His voice drops. “You don’t have to pretend this is just a quickie, y'know.”

“Then stop acting like it has to be.”

He kisses you again, but slower this time, a little deeper. His fingers trail up your sides, under your shirt, sliding fabric away from your skin. “I want all of you,” he whispers against your jaw. “Not just this. Not just tonight.”

“Then prove it,” you breathe, undoing his suit pants. “Right now. Before they call my name.” He pauses for a moment before flashing a toothy grin.

“Oh. So this is what it's like to date a designer.”

“I’m not dating you.”

“You’re definitely about to fuck me.”

“Semantics.”

The next five minutes are a blur of kisses too hot to be gentle, fingers fumbling with fabric, and you swearing every time a perfectly placed seam rips. His mouth is everywhere—throat, collarbones, behind your ear, whispering things that should not be this tender when he's pressed between your thighs like a man possessed.

“I knew this suit was dangerous,” you pant, rolling your hips against him. “You designed a weapon,” he groans, breath-catching. “I’m just… following instructions,” an excuse hidden behind smiling cheeks.

The desk creaks, another light flickers, and your hair is a mess. His gloves are somewhere on the floor. And through it all, the two of you move together like this has been coming for years. Because it has. This isn’t just a release; it's a reunion of sorts. It's: You left. It's: I still waited. It's: This isn’t over when the zipper comes up.

"How fast can you come?" he mutters, breath hot against your collarbone, as he hikes your leg up onto his hip. You arch toward him. “You offering to set a record?” He grins something sharp and teasing, but there’s heat in his eyes. Not just lust, but aching… and maybe yearning.

His hands slide over your thighs, palms rough from training but gentle now. His fingers barely brush the seam of your panties, and you jolt with just the slightest twitch of your hips. He smiles against your throat—a wicked, reverent thing. "There it is," he murmurs. "Still know every little switch that flips you." Your panties are pushed aside, and he exhales sharply as his fingers stroke over your puffy, slick folds—almost in awe. As if golden gates had just parted for him, and all his desires lay in his wake. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re soaked.”

"You're late," you hiss before getting cut off with a kiss. Your teeth clash as tongues tangle in slippery heat. He slides two digits inside you without warning, and your breath stutters against his mouth. You can feel the desperation in his touch and the urgency in his movements.

His fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot deep within that makes you see stars. You moan, your hips bucking against his hand. His hand almost went numb as it basked in the silken warmth of your cunt as its nectar coated his palm. His forearm shifted beneath your weight, every stroke caressing a new inch. Every few pumps—his fingers take a new shape to stretch you out. Every second is being savored. "You gonna let me fuck you on this desk?" he says, voice thick. "Or should I put you on your knees first?" You bite his lower lip. “I’ll decide,” you whisper, pulling him in by the lapels.

He’s thick and hot in your hand when you reach for him. His cock is heavy, flushed, and already leaking at the tip. There's a slight purple hue, like his balls would bust if he didn't have you here and now. He groans low when you stroke him, your thumb circling his head, dragging down the length. His hips twitch against your touch. He chuckles—almost instinctively —as his nerves short-circuit, his eyes twitching. “Bossy,” he murmurs. “Always had a thing for your hands.”

“You're not exactly subtle yourself,” you smirk, squeezing a little harder. Causing him to suck in a breath. His hand tightens around your thigh. His thumb circles your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a rhythm that’s driving you wild. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in your abdomen. Shivers scale your spine, your head slamming back against the mirror as hushed, yet pornographic moans crawl from your lips.

"You gonna sit up here and look pretty, then?" he rasps, stepping between your legs and lining himself up against your entrance. The head of his cock teases at your slick, not yet pushing in—just pressing, waiting. You glance at the clock, and there's seven minutes ‘til curtain. “Hurry,” you breathe.

“You don’t tell me twice.”

He rasps, sinking into you slowly enough to make you claw at the desk, his hips grinding against yours, messy and hungry. There's a slight pop from the ring of muscle, blanketing him in a new warmth. It's thick and deep, stretching you full. You both groan at once. Your hands scramble for purchase at the edge of the desk, the lapels of his suit jacket—anything as he buries himself to the hilt. Makeup products clatter loudly on the floor, yet fall silent between the labored gasps you share. His hands are everywhere. Gripping your thighs, shoving fabric aside, palming your ass hard enough to leave bruises, desperately parting anything in his way.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, causing him to still with his cock pulsing inside you. “Too much?” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your cheek with a gentleness. “No,” you breathe, digging your nails into his back. “Move.” He obeys. The pace starts rough and frantic, almost the kind of thrust born from months of unresolved tension. The desk rattles beneath you, your back arching with each push. His hands grip your hips, then your waist, and then one rises to cradle the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you through it. It's like he doesn't know what to do, yet he does it all so well at once. The silk lining of his jacket burns against your bare skin, sliding rough where your body’s slick and trembling.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growls against your mouth. You moan, dragging your nails down his spine. “Bet you say that to all your stylists.”

“Only the ones who fuck me like they own me.” You clench around him—hard, juices sputtering—and he gasps. “Shit. Don’t do that or I’ll—”

“Already close?” You tease, sweat beading at your temples. “Grayson, I expected better.”

He pulls out almost completely, letting the tip of his cock rest against the rim, then slams back in hard enough to jolt a moan from your throat. “Keep talking,” he pants, “and I’ll bend you over the chair next.” His thrusts are slow and deep, just to tease, but hungry. His lips find your throat, ghosting over your pulse. Your chest, where one hand cups your breast, mouth latching to a nipple as he rolls his hips against you, every movement built to ruin you. You groan, clinging to one another. “Say it,” he whispers. “Tell me you still want me.”

“Fuck, Dick—”

“Say it.”

You kiss him instead—all teeth and tongue and breathless confession. “I wanted this every night you left.”

His forehead drops to yours. “Never again.” You’re so close. And he knows it. He can feel it in the way your legs lock around him. The way your velvety ridges contract around his cock. The way your pussy kisses every vein, caressing him like he never left. His jaw tightened, truly trying his best to remain quiet.

Yet, the desk thuds against the wall with every frantic thrust, papers scattering, a mug crashing to the floor. It's a riot of noise. Panting, gasping, the cascading sound of skin colliding—and Dick’s voice, low and rough in your ear: "You gonna come for me right here, baby? Gonna soak my cock while half of Gotham waits for your big debut?" At this point, you're driven back against the mirror with each pummel of his pelvis. There was a tension and risk bleeding in every frantic breath that made it impossible to think. The door rattled once, perhaps someone brushing past or trying to enter. You stiffened upon instinct, but Dick's pearly whites beamed against your neck. "You make the prettiest fucking mess, y'know that?" Oh, this fucker. He's trying to embarrass you.

The rhythmic rocking of his hips begins to take a new shape, purely focusing on making you cum. Wet strings of arousal strung to his pelvis, his cock absolutely smothered in combined juices. He could practically taste it. He wished he could take his time with you—spread you open and suck on that clit ‘til you’re limp and shaking, pleading and praising him. But none of that mattered, not as he watched his dick disappear and return wetter than the last.

Just as your orgasm builds and tenses, he reaches between you, rubbing your clit in tight, expert circles. “Come for me,” he breathes. “I want to feel you lose it. Right here. Right now.” He grows frantic as his hips stutter when slamming into yours with desperate but bruising force, and you cling to him, your legs trembling, your climax burning so close you can't form words. Dick buries his face in your shoulder, "Cum for me. Fuck, please — let go — I need to feel you lose it on me," He says, voice ragged.

That mind-numbing restraint snaps within. A sudden heat unfurls within as your body lurches forward into him. Your guttural groan is muffled by his shoulder as you cling to him—pulsing around his cock. He follows with a broken sound, knees nearly buckling and hips still rolling as he spills into you. He purposefully nuzzled himself—hoping he could view it drip out later. His dick felt raw.

Now, it's just silence and sweat and eyes boring deeply into one another. You slide your fingers through his hair, still trying to come down. “…You ruined my underwear,” you whisper. He smiles against your skin. “You ruined me.”

A knock. “Designer to the stage in three minutes!” You both groan. His head drops against your shoulder, and you bite back a laugh. “I have to go,” you whisper. He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. “Can I see you after?”

“Not this time.” He presses one more kiss, softer than all the rest—to the corner of your mouth. “Break a leg,” he murmurs. You adjust your shirt, and he zips up before you toss him his wrinkled suit jacket. He catches it midair, grinning as he helps you fix your clothes, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he zips you up and tucks himself back into the damn suit.

You both look wrecked. Perfect. And as he slips out the back door—one last look over his shoulder, he says, “You're still the best thing I’ve ever worn.” You smile, smitten, before calling out to him. "I know you'll be watching, and you better stay close. Because next time? I'm on top."

A/N: Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! This is my first DC related post.... woooo Dick Grayson the man you are.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Bound by Desire

I've Got a Feeling (1)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

A/N: I worked on this all yesterday and some the day before when the idea came to me. Please Enjoy~

The sun filtered through the curtains of the bedroom windows and the skylights. You had never appreciated the morning before, but as you wake up under silk sheets; your sleep shorts and tank top it feels right.

As you stretched out you felt a set of arms wrap around you, pulling you close and breathing you in. A smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning Pchelka.” The husky voice you'd come to know as Natasha whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good morning Daddy.” You have a purr to your voice as she kisses over your shoulder and up your neck.

Small noises making their way out of you as her hand glides down between your legs. She rubs you over your shorts only increasing the need and ache between your legs.

“Tasha! Honey bee! Breakfast! Come help with setting the table!” Wanda called up the stairs.

You didn't want to, but a whine came out of your mouth and a chuckle from Natasha.

“Mommy is calling Pchelka. Guess you'll have to wait a little longer.” She whispered in your ear making another whine come out.

“Please Daddy…so achy…” you turned slightly to look into her dark green eyes. Pleading with your own for her to give in, but you knew better by now.

Her hands slipped away from you as she got up. “No Pchelka. Mommy's calling and you know not to keep her waiting. Head down, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

A pout on your face as you got out of the sheets, another shiver overcoming you as your feet hit the cold hardwood flooring. You headed down to find Wanda still cooking, by the smell of it she had turkey bacon. You learned early on that Wanda liked anything that was a healthier option.

You moved over to her, leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Good morning Mommy.” You felt her smile as you kissed her cheek.

“Good morning my precious girl. Did you sleep well?” Her arm wraps around your waist and gives a kiss back to your cheek.

“I did Mommy, but then Daddy started to tease me when I woke up…” you complain, giving the same pleading eyes to Wanda.

“Oh my poor little girl. I bet you're all achy right?”

Your lip is shaking in a pout, all you want is their touch right now. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look. Leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Please Mommy…so achy…” you bury your face between her arm and chest. She pulls you back out, gently by your chin.

“Dorogoya, be a good girl for Mommy, get the table set, get me out the juice and after breakfast we can discuss your neediness.” You wanted to protest, but knew that would result in a punishment instead of a reward. So you got to doing as asked.

Their dining room is elegant and bathed in soft morning light streaming through tall, arched windows draped with sheer, ivory curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the room. The polished mahogany dining table is set by you with lovely plating and sparkling glassware, ready for a refined breakfast. Elegant high-back chairs, upholstered in rich, deep blue velvet, are neatly arranged around the table. A vase of fresh flowers that Wanda changes weekly, a mix of white lilies and pale pink roses, sits as the centerpiece, adding a touch of natural beauty to the sophisticated setting. The atmosphere is serene and inviting, perfect for a leisurely morning meal.

You smile at your handy work before bounding back through the curved archway to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks when you see Natasha's arms wrapped around Wanda's waist, as they share an intimate moment it makes something bubble inside of you. Your hands curl into fists and then out a few times.

“Hey!” It's bubbling over before you can stop it. “I set the table and I come back to this!?” Your voice is a shrieking tone. Wanda and Natasha looking at you. Though Natasha wants to stop this before it starts Wanda stares you down.

“Y/N. We were having a moment just like you and I were before you went to set the table, remember?” Wanda's voice is gentle and motherly, it always was. You know logically she's right and besides, they're married you're just some college girl they felt sorry for.

You look down at your fingers that are now absentmindedly dancing together. “M’Sorry Mommy…” You manage out. They deserve each other, you're just here to help. Eventually they'll get bored of you and then you'll be back to your old life living in an apartment that's two sizes too small and way too expensive.

“It's okay dorogoya, come get the juice and we'll have breakfast. Come here and give Mommy a hug first.” She calls, ushering you over as Natasha takes the plates of bacon, pancakes, and eggs to the dining room.

You trudge your way over to Wanda, burying your face into her chest as her arms encircle you. Her hands rubbing your back lightly in an attempt to quell the feelings rising inside of you, but she couldn't help the feelings she didn't know about. You weren't about to tell her either as she soothed you with kind words of reassurance without ever actually mentioning the words ‘I love you.’

°○°○°○°○°

She filled you perfectly. Her strap was made for you and though earlier this was all you wanted, now it was somehow feeling suffocating. Your thoughts from earlier never stopped. They'd been going through your head all day. You'd just wish it would stop as you tried to concentrate on the pleasure your Mommy was giving, but it wasn't helping.

Thoughts racing and suddenly it's all feeling like too much and you're pulling at your restraints. “Red!” Everything stops and in a whirl you're set free. Wanda tries to scoop you up, but you stop her. “Space.” It wasn't often you asked for that as you got off the bed in a hurry, running to your room.

You curled up under the sheets, tears falling as your body shook. You heard the soft knock at the door, thanking yourself you had locked it.

“Dorogoya please let me in, I just want to talk.” Wanda's voice called for you lovingly, making you clam up more. You didn't want to talk, you wanted to be silent, words felt too hard right now. “Y/N…please let me in…” you heard her voice crack ever so slightly.

You had never gone non-verbal around them, you had never brought it up either. You internally cursed yourself for this as you sat up, wrapping a blanket around yourself and plod over to the door, twisting the lock and moving back to your spot in the middle of the bed.

You heard Wanda slip in behind you, her soft steps on the hardwood. The bed sinking beneath her weight. Judging by the feeling she sat away from you towards the pillows.

You couldn't look at her, but you heard her take in a sharp breath before speaking. “I'm not sure why you called red darling, but whatever the reason is I'm glad you did call it when you needed to. I know we're still getting used to this. It's only been a month so I'm sure we're going to have bumps along the way. I'd like to fix this if possible.” Wanda's trying to make things better and still you can't answer her.

You finally sit up facing her. She's in a scarlet robe, she must have thrown it on quickly once she took off her strap. There was only one time you had called red and it was from lack of reassurance.

Wanda had been using a lot of degrading on you in a session and not enough praise. You ended up calling red and crying in her arms for a bit.

You point to your throat and making a silent scream, trying to let her know you can't talk as she looks at you a little confused. Then you added a zipped lip to it and it clicked.

“You can't talk right now, okay, that's fine. I can work with that until you can. So yes or no questions?” She asks with a little head tilt and you give a nod.

“Was it something I did?” You shake your head. “Was it something you did?” You tilt your head from one side to the other, contemplating before pointing to your brain. “Okay your head, was it bad thoughts?” You give her a nod.

You're scrunching up the blanket in your hands, worried about what's to come next for you. Tightening back up a bit before she shifts forward just enough to reach out for your chin. Such a gentle clasp she has as you tilt up to meet those sea glass eyes.

“Darling whatever those bad thoughts are saying I can promise you they are untrue. I know that's hard to believe because you haven't told me about them, but I know they're untrue.” Her honeyed voice always wrapped around you. It made you feel so safe. Like nothing could hurt you.

The tears fall freely as you crawl into her lap, koalaing your way around her. She soothes you the whole time, rubbing your back and humming a light tune, every so often a bit of Sokovian comes out in the song.

You could have stayed like that for hours. It almost felt like you did, yet at the same time it felt like mere minutes.

“M'Sorry Mommy…I just…bad thoughts…felt suffocated…” She kept rubbing your back, not forcing anything out of you. “I just…feel like you and Tasha are gonna get bored of me…you have each other and…and…” your voice started cracking as more tears fell.

Wanda wanted to intervene; she knew exactly where those thoughts were going, yet she let you talk. Knowing it would be best to let you get it out. It was already eating you alive.

“Just want to be important…want to be special…” Your throat stung as you choked back sobs to keep it together long enough to speak.

“Oh my precious little honey bee. Mommy was right, those thoughts aren't true. You mean so much to Daddy and I. You are our perfect little girl. The missing piece to our puzzle. We wouldn't dream of letting you go.” She always knew what to say, making your tears fall more.

She pulled you back just enough to wipe the tears. A small apologetic smile gracing her lips. “I know my words only go so far, but I will always make sure to let you know you are loved by us. You aren't something we're tossing away.”

You smiled before pressing your forehead to hers. She took the opportunity to give you a little peck.

“Thank you for the reassurance Mommy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.”

“That's okay honey bee. I'm glad you were able to tell me. I do worry about you not telling me things. I know you like to carry everything, but I'm here and so is Nat. You can tell us anything.”

You simply nod against her, re-resting yourself onto her shoulder. A soft content sigh falling from your lips. You knew the bad thoughts would come back, but now you know you can always talk about it.

Taglist: @itsalwaysskorpioszn @boredandneedfanfics @godhatesgoodgirls

[breathinlove]

i know you ellie williams smut

sinopse: pure smut, just porn.

cw: nsfw/smut, switch ellie and reader, making out, clit stim (r and e), face sitting (r!receiving), tit play (e!receiving), fingering (e!receiving), tribbing/scissoring. not explicit if reader is fem or masc.

it starts with making out on your bed, why the fuck is brent faiyaz still playing? she's talking to you and you're on fours on top of her, while she leaves you in underwear only.

"you're so pretty." leaving kisses from your cheek to your ear as her arm wraps around your back, pressing you down so your stomach finds hers.

she sucks on your earlobe, her hand's rubbing your pussy over your underwear and your hips tense up. you're moaning against her ear as your face lays next to hers. she's humping your thigh, panting against your ear.

she must be delusional because her fingers keep trying to fuck into you even with your underwear still on... forcing you to ask her.

"ellie, please." you squirm as she rubs your clit, thigh pressing on her pussy.

"damn..." she grunts, pushing her hand down your underwear, fingers ghosting your mound, clit and slit.

your stomach tenses, she hears and feels you breath in. she kisses the side of your face and you can already feel the unbearable heat of your bodies pressed together, but right now you can only try to sit on her fingers. her other hand's on your hip and ass.

"sweet girl..." she's thrusting her clothed pussy up on your thigh, her heart's racing against you. your hands find her sides, caressing her softly.

"please." you grind on her hand and she's rubbing your clit, grinding her clothed one on your thigh.

the heats too much for her so she grabs you by the hips up to the waist and you whine.

"get up for me, babe" she asks, with a raspy voice and sweet tone. you nod as you lift your head from the pillow.

as soon as she sees your face she's kissing you, hands traveling up to cup your cheeks as you get up. you start kissing her neck, she makes the sweetest noises and your pussy's nearly burning.

"come on, let me taste that pussy." she's taking your underwear off. "sit on my face." as she gives your clit a slap.

you nod, kissing her lips. she slides her head off the pillow, lying straight down. you crawl up her face as she holds your legs, hips and waist. clit pulsing as soon as you can feel her breath on your pussy, she holds onto your thigh pulling you completely down on her face. her other hand rubbing her own clit, full on moaning agaisnt your pussy.

"good?" she mumbles against you once she's licking and kissing your pussy and you giggle.

"yeah... you feel so good ellie." and she's sucking on your clit so hard that it makes you clench around nothing.

"uhh.." you whine "fuck.. ellie."

she's flicking her tongue up and down your clit between sucking, her pussy making wet sounds under you both.

"feeling good....els?" you tease, she slaps your thigh giving you a positive hum. "you're gonna... gonna make me cum." and she's mumbling nonsense and sucking your clit.

she's sucking so hard you think she's trying to milk you, your legs shake uncontrollably. your hands on her hair and face. ellie feels your hips jerking and she flattens her tongue as you start riding her face.

"i-i'm cumming, i'm gonna cum ellie" you moan she grabs your ass, moving you back and forth on her face as you cum.

she's running her hands up and down your thigh as you get off her face, her eyes lazily half closed.

"thanks babe." she's thanking you? she's still moaning as her fingers are still on her clit.

"let me take care of that, okay?" and she's nodding. "take your hand off that pussy." she sighs and lifts her hands up on top of her head like you like it.

you're now in between her legs, taking off her remaining clothes, kissing her neck and down her collarbone. you suck on her nipple, pinching the other. she's thrusting her soaking pussy up against your knee.

"stay still, ellie." you let her nipple go, licking it. "you're drenching my knee."

"babe... fuck me, come on..." she asks, kissing your forehead. your hand finds her dripping entrance.

"please... i need you." she grunts just a second before you fuck two fingers into her.

you kiss her tits, licking them and sucking her nipples again as she moans.

"move... now please..." she whines and you take your fingers almost all out before fucking them deep into her again.

you're pounding her pussy hard and slow, making out with her tits and she's moaning and crying loud as fuck. gripping your hair and pulling it hard, gritted teeth as she grunts.

"gonna cum all over your fingers."

you start fucking her faster, looking up to her. she's nearly screaming your name, legs shaking and pussy dripping while she cums. you fuck her through it, hugging her hips as you do.

“i need to feel this wet pussy on me…” you mumble and she lifts her upper half. she looks so cute.

“come here.” she calls out, reaching for your leg. you kiss her as you crawl up.

she puts her own leg over your shoulder, caressing your waist and hips.

“fuck yourself on my pussy…” she rubs your clit as she lies back on the bed. you slot your pussy against hers “goddamn…fuck.”

“uh huh…” you moan back feeling her soaking wet pussy on you.

you start moving your hips once you feel your clit right on hers. your eyes fixate on her face, closed squinting eyes and mouth agape as she moans. you slap her hand as soon as it finds her lips.

“let me hear you.” you slap her tits, making her scream and roll her hips with you.

your both too sensitive, you holding her hips and her yours, pulling each other closer at every thrust. her clit's throbbing against yours and you feel your stomach tensing. she knows you're cumming, she thrusts her hips up. she's quick and precise with it.

“cum… cum on my pussy…” she's desperate for it and you know you're going to give it to her. but she doesn't want to wait so she grabs you by the hip, slotting her pussy on yours forcefully as she holds you down.

“w-wait.” you moan and she grabs your ass.

“i'm not waiting.” she slides your back and forth on her pussy. “cum with me.”

“yes… yes.” you moan breathlessly as you cum with her, falling on top of her.

she holds your back and you take her hair off her face, kissing each other.

a/n: guys this is my first smut, if u hate it ill kms ♥️

[misswynters]

Wine

aemond targaryen x wife!reader

[WARNING: switch!aemond, implied mommy kink?, riding, lactation kink but with wine?, let me know if there are any mistakes

[requested: by @demigoddessqueens (everyone say thanks)

[a/n: both you and aemond are switches and this is the first time i’m writing this type of thing :3

Aemond knelt before you in the privacy of your chambers, his tall, imposing figure somehow made small by the sheer humility in his posture. The low, flickering light of the hearth cast long shadows across the room, turning the walls into a canvas of shifting shapes. But the only thing that mattered was the man before you—Aemond Targaryen, Prince of the Realm, brought to his knees by his own desires, and by you, his wife.

The tension in the air was thick, palpable, as if the very walls of the room held their breath, waiting for the inevitable. Aemond’s single eye, the vibrant violet of old Valyria, locked onto yours with an intensity that could have melted stone. But tonight, there was no fire in his gaze, no dragon-like fury—only a deep, aching need.

You stood above him, holding a goblet filled with the finest Arbor red wine. The deep crimson liquid sloshed gently as you tilted the cup ever so slightly, just enough to let the wine catch the light. Aemond’s breath hitched, his lips parting as his eye followed the movement of your hand, as if entranced.

“You want this, don’t you?” you asked, your voice a low, sultry purr that filled the room with an almost tangible heat.

“Yes,” Aemond whispered, his voice strained, laced with desperation. “Please…”

There was something so intoxicating about the way he begged—this powerful man, a dragonrider, a warrior, reduced to nothing but a trembling, needy husband before you. You reveled in the control you had over him, the way he willingly gave himself to you, trusting you with his vulnerability.

With deliberate slowness, you lowered the goblet toward his lips, but stopped just short of letting him drink. His eye flicked up to meet yours, a flash of panic crossing his features as you teased him, holding the cup just out of reach. He didn’t dare move, though you could see the strain in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists behind his back.

“Do you think you deserve it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aemond swallowed hard, his throat working as he struggled to form words. “I—I want to deserve it,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I want to please you, my lady. I’ll do anything…”

Your lips curved into a slow, wicked smile as you tilted the goblet just enough to let a single drop of wine fall onto his waiting tongue. He groaned softly at the taste, his eye fluttering closed as he savored the brief, tantalizing sensation. But you pulled the cup away again, making him whimper in protest.

“Anything?” you repeated, your voice laced with amusement as you crouched down to his level. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the slight tremor in his hands as he struggled to maintain control. He nodded fervently, his eye wide with need.

“Good,” you murmured, tracing the rim of the goblet with your finger before bringing it to his lips once more. This time, you allowed the wine to flow freely, pouring it into his mouth as he eagerly drank, his lips wrapping around the edge of the cup like a man starved.

Some of the wine spilled over, trailing down his chin and neck, staining his skin a deep, sinful red. You watched, enthralled, as the liquid dripped onto his collar, seeping into the fabric of his tunic. Aemond’s breathing grew heavier, more labored, as he drank, and when you finally pulled the goblet away, his lips were stained with the rich hue of the wine.

You leaned in closer, your breath ghosting over his skin as you licked a stray droplet of wine from the corner of his mouth. Aemond shuddered under your touch, his whole body tensing as he fought to keep still. The taste of the wine, mixed with the saltiness of his skin, was intoxicating, and you found yourself drawn to him, unable to resist the pull.

Pressing your lips to his, you kissed him deeply, your tongue slipping into his mouth to claim the remnants of the wine. He moaned into the kiss, his eye closing as he surrendered completely to you, his hands trembling where they rested on the floor. You could feel the intensity of his desire in the way he kissed you back, the way his whole body seemed to ache for your touch.

When you finally pulled away, Aemond was panting, his lips parted and his eye half-lidded with lust. His hair, usually so meticulously kept, was now disheveled, strands falling into his face. You brushed them aside gently, your fingers lingering in his hair, savoring the feel of the silky strands.

“You’ve been so good,” you whispered, your voice softening just a fraction. “So sweet.”

His eye fluttered open, and the look of adoration in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. He nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to steady his breathing. “I’ll always be good for you,” he said, his voice hoarse, raw with emotion. “Whatever you want… i’m yours.”

The sheer sincerity in his words, the absolute devotion, made your pulse quicken. You set the goblet aside, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your touch. He leaned into your hand, a small, contented sigh escaping him as he closed his eye once more.

You guided him gently onto his back, his body melting into the soft furs beneath him. He looked up at you, his violet eye wide, vulnerable, and utterly captivating. You straddled his waist, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and leaned down, brushing your lips against his ear.

“Tonight, you will relax,” you whispered, your breath hot against his skin. “and do absolutely nothing.”

“Yes, my lady,” he breathed, his voice trembling with anticipation.

You began to unlace his tunic, your fingers deftly working at the knots until the fabric fell away, revealing the pale, sculpted planes of his chest. Aemond’s breath hitched as your hands roamed over his skin, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

He was beautiful—almost too beautiful, with his alabaster skin and the faint scars that marked him as a warrior. But tonight, he was not a warrior, not not a prince or a dragonrider. Tonight, he was yours, and yours alone. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another, slowly working your way down his chest.

Aemond moaned softly, his hands clenching the furs beneath him as he struggled to remain still. You could feel the tension coiled in his body, the way he was barely holding himself together. When you reached the waistband of his trousers, you paused, looking up at him through your lashes. His eye was dark with desire, his lips parted as he panted softly, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath.

"Do you want me to continue?" you asked, your voice a low, teasing murmur.

"Yes," he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. "Please..."

A wicked smile curved your lips as you slowly, agonizingly slowly, began to unlace his trousers. Aemond's breath quickened, his whole body trembling with anticipation as you finally freed him from the confines of his clothing.

You took him in your hand, feeling the heat of his arousal, and he groaned, his eye squeezing shut as he arched into your touch. You stroked him slowly, watching the way his face contorted with pleasure, the way his lips parted in a silent plea for more. "Look at me," you commanded softly.

Aemond's eye fluttered open, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made your heart ache. He was completely at your mercy, and the power you held over him was intoxicating.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his in a featherlight kiss. "My handsome husband," you whispered against his mouth.

"Yes," he echoed, his voice trembling with devotion.

And then you took his lips into your mouth, swallowing his moans as you worked him with slow, deliberate movements, savoring the taste of him, the feel of him trembling beneath you. Aemond's hands flew to your hair, gripping the strands tightly as he fought to control himself, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

You kept your movements slow, teasing, drawing out his pleasure until he was a quivering mess beneath you, his whole body trembling with need. When you finally pulled back, his eye was glazed with lust, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Please," he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Please, my lady.I can't..."

"Shh," you soothed, pressing a finger to his lips. "You don't need to do anything, my love. Just let me take care of you."

Aemond nodded, his eye fluttering closed as he surrendered completely to your touch. You straddled him once more, guiding him into you with a slow, deliberate movement that made you both gasp. The feeling of him filling you, the heat of his body against yours, was almost overwhelming, and you had to take a moment to steady yourself. His hands found your hips, his grip almost bruising as he held you in place, his whole body trembling with the effort to remain still. You began to move, slowly at first, savoring the way he filled you, the way his hands tightened on your hips as he fought to keep control.

His eye fluttered open, and the look of sheer adoration in his gaze made your heart ache with a fierce, burning love. You leaned down, capturing his lips in a deep, searing kiss as you rode him. Your The way your hips bounced on his was growing faster and more desperate, as the knots in your stomach began to tighten. Aemond's hands roamed your body, his touch both gentle and possessive, as if he couldn't decide whether to hold you close or let you go. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tensing beneath you as he neared the edge.

"Come for me," you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back your own release.

Aemond's whole body shuddered as he finally let go, his release crashing over him with a force that left him breathless, trembling beneath you. You followed him over the edge, your own release tearing through you, leaving you both gasping for air.

Your hips rolled slowly, teasingly, savoring the way he filled you so completely, the way his thick length stretched and filled your inner walls.

You could feel every vein, every ridge of him, your walls tightening around his cock with each agonizingly slow thrust.

Aemond's hands flexed at his sides, his jaw clenched as he held back the torrent of need threatening to consume him.

You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your skin. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one trembling with the effort to remain still, to let you take him as you pleased. His eye locked onto yours, the sheer vulnerability in his gaze making your core throb with desire.

"Aemond," you whispered, your voice a husky command that sent a shiver down his spine. "Touch me."

His eye widened, a flash of uncertainty crossing his features as he hesitated, unsure if he could trust himself to obey without losing control. You didn't give him a choice. Reaching down, you took his hand in yours, guiding it between your bodies, down to where you were joined.

His fingers trembled as you placed them against your bundle of nerves, the sensitive nub already swollen with arousal. The slightest brush of his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your thighs quivering as you gasped softly.

Aemond's breath hitched, his eye widening as he felt the slick heat of your arousal against his fingertips, the way your body clenched around him in response.

"Right there," you murmured, guiding his hand in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. Aemond groaned, his whole body tensing as he watched you ride him, his touch growing bolder, more insistent as he lost himself in the sensation of pleasing you.

You began to move faster, your hips rolling in a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. Every thrust sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, your core tightening with each movement, driving you closer to the edge. Amond's fingers worked your clit with a desperate intensity, his touch sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body, making you tremble with the effort to hold on.

Aemond was a mess beneath you, his chest heaving, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to keep up with you, to match your rhythm, to please you in every way he could. His eye was half-lidded, glazed with lust as he watched you, his lips parted in a silent plea, a prayer to the gods of pleasure.

You could feel the tension coiling in your lower belly, the tight knot of desire that threatened to unravel at any moment. Your hands found purchase on his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster, chasing your release with a singleminded determination.

"Aemond," you gasped, your voice trembling with the sheer force of the pleasure building within you. "Don't stop."

Aemond's fingers moved faster, his touch desperate, as if he couldn't bear the thought of not bringing you to the peak of pleasure once more. His other hand gripped your hip, guiding you as you rode him, his thrusts growing erratic as he teetered on the edge himself.

Your orgasm hit you with the force of a hurricane, your body tensing as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your inner walls clenched around Aemond, milking him for everything he had, drawing a choked cry from his lips as he came undone beneath you, his release spilling into you once more.

You collapsed onto his chest, your bodies slick with sweat, your breath mingling as you both struggled to come down from the high. Aemond's arms wrapped around you, holding you close, as if he never wanted to let go. His heart still pounded beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that matched the thrum of satisfaction coursing through your veins.

taglist: @beebeechaos @spn-obession @thornsandtulips @benjicotblckwood

[NOTE | if you would like to be added to my permanent taglist let me know!

[banner: @cafekitsune

[tourturestarradio]

𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄

“𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞, 𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. 𝐁𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐯 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐫.’”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Prompt: Deadpool/Wade Wilson x kind reader x Wolverine/Logan Howlet, Y/n had a bad day, Logan offers to relieve some stress but you both were interrupted by Wade.

Warnings:, p in v, oral (reader receiving), riding, fingering, finger sucking, Wade and Logan bickering, sex toy used, annoyed reader

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

You looked at the snarky man in front of you “sir I’m sorry but…” the man shouted over you “for the last time lady my daughter’s wedding is tomorrow! I need these cupcakes!” You dropped your head clenching your fists. 

“Sir please stop shouting, I know you need those cupcakes but you never placed an order for them I’m sorry” you sighed, the male pointed a finger at you “you can just whip up a couple before tomorrow or are you too fucking dumb to do that as well!” You could feel your eyes water as he continued to spit insults at you. 

“I-I’m sorry sir, but..but I can’t I have a ton of other orders to d-do…” you muttered quickly wiping away your tears “you bitch god you’re useless-“ “hey!” The man turned around looking to see who was talking.

Logan stood there with a mean scowl “better watch your fucking tone when you’re talking to my woman.” He stated gruffly, you wiped away your tears seeing as the male stared at him “this pathetic bitch is your girl?” Logan punched the male in the face before grabbing his collar in an instant his blade was held up to his neck “you deaf you dumb fuck?” 

You hurried from behind the counter stopping him “Logan! It’s fine, it’s fine just let him go please…” the man looked frightened, Logan kept him his eyes trained on him “Logan please this day has been hard enough.” You stated, reluctantly he let go.

The man scrambled to get away from Logan. You sighed “thank you…I’ll be leaving in a bit” you hummed, Logan looked at you “you can’t just leave now?” You shook your head “I’ll be fine, and I’ll be home soon.” You sighed rubbing the back of your neck.

Logan kisses the top of your head then left “I was coming to pick you up, walk you home so you didn’t have to worry about dicks like that ” you nodded “and thanks for that but I’ll be okay” you smiled. 

He looked at you “…fine…” he left leaving you to get back to work. 

.

You walked to Wade’s and Logan’s shared apartment knocking slowly you waited for him to answer the door. When he opened the door you practically jumped on him, he caught you his hands holding your back.

He felt you press your lips against his feverishly, he kisses back of course but after a few seconds he pulled away “Logan…please…please take care of me” you whined today was a terrible day you needed your day to end right or you were going to pop a blood vessel.

Logan tilted his head “that bad huh, want me to make it better?” You nodded your head “don’t worry I’ve got you sweetheart” in an instant he had lifted you off the ground hooking his arms under your legs as he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. 

Placing you down onto the bed you slid off your clothes as Logan did the same “never seen you so needy before” he smirked, you were left in your underwear and bra “just fuck me already” you whined, Logan’s eyes dragged across your body “hopefully these weren’t your favorite set” he commented one of his claws dragging up your leg making you shiver and start to close your legs. 

His larger hand stopped you “keep these nice and open for me sweetheart” his blade dragged against your underwear cutting them off of you, he did the same with your bra. Retracting his blade he ducked his head down between your legs, and just like that you felt all your problems melt away as his tongue flicked against your folds. 

Your hands instantly went to his hair gripping it tightly, “ngh, feels so…good” your thighs squeezed around his head “more….more please!” Your hips grind against his face, you gasped in delight as you felt him push two fingers into your dripping pussy. 

Your moans grew louder as Logan worked wonders on you his ego growing bigger upon hearing you moan his name like it was the only thing you knew, but he didn’t want you to just get off on him eating you out so after a few seconds he pulled away  causing you to whine in frustration. 

Logan placed one last kiss to your dripping g heat “come on I’ve got something much better for you” he hummed, carefully undoing his belt buckle you licked your lips seeing just how hard he was. Your hands grabbed his shoulders “wanna…wanna ride” you groaned, he raised a brow “oh do you?” You nodded again. 

He cupped your cheek “come baby use your words” his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, your tongue peeked through your lips as you took it in your mouth making eye contact with him. He groaned “fuck, the things you do to me”

“Please, Logan…please. I wanna ride you…please” you begged, a smirk grew on his face as he flipped you both over so you were on top of him. 

You hovered above his cock a lust filled look in your eyes. Sinking down onto his cock you squeezed your eyes shut “fuck…so big ah” you moaned, you stayed in place for a moment before slowly bouncing up and down. 

Logan held your hips low groans left his mouth, “that’s it baby, fuck eyes on me” you felt on top of the world right now as Logan rubbed your hips “so good!” Bouncing up and down you grabbed his hand placing it on your breast. Logan let you use him as you please, he want to make you feel good without that annoying fuck in his ear.

He pinched your pierced nipple causing you to clench around him “fuck…so good…you make me feel so good!” You moaned tossing your head back. 

Logan smirked “yeah?” You nodded your head rapidly “yes! Yes!” Your nails scratched down his chest “fuck you’re hot when you do that!” You both froze looking over to the doorway seeing Wade standing there “wow where was my invite? Just gonna have all the fun without me how cruel” he said placing his hand over his heart.

Logan rolled his eyes “you gotta be fucking kidding.” He huffed, Wade came over “what come on peanut I can make her feel good too!” Logan clicked his tongue “yeah but not as good.” You deadpanned your high starting to where off. 

“Oh yeah sure, I’ll have you know! I made her cum four times with only my tongue! You haven’t made her cum once as far as I can tell” he stated crossing his arms, Logan carefully pulled you off of him “yeah fuckin right we were doing just fine before your dumbass ruined everything.” Logan huffed you sat there growing annoyed.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ You thought to yourself watch as they argued. Standing up you slid on one of Logan’s shirt that was laying around and got up “and I’m sure the readers would agree I’m better than you! I mean look at the likes and repost I get compared to you!” Logan scoffed “the fuck are you talking about?!” 

You were usually so sweet when they started to argue like this, calmly defusing the situation but you were just to over it.

“Will you both just shut your fucking mouths?” They both hushed looked at you “Jesus Christ, I don’t like either of you right now cause you’re both acting like fucking dickwads. I mean complaining who fucks me better are you kidding me?!” You grabbed your things and left the room Wade quick to follow you as Logan got on his clothes as fast as he could.

“Wait, wait, wait where are you going!” You opened the front door walking out into the hallway “home.” You slammed the door causing the two men to sigh in disappointment “you’re a fucking idiot.” Logan huffed.

Walking into your apartment you went into your room going into your closet, moving aside some folded clothes and shoes you grabbed a box opening it you grabbed the biggest one you saw “guess there is a use to you after all” grabbing the bottle of lube you shut the box and hid it back in your closet.

“A least you can treat me good without any repercussions.” You hummed.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆☆ ★ ✮

A/n: *amazing caption*

[diaslust]

— ࿔‧ ֶָ֢˚˖𐦍˖˚ֶָ֢ ‧࿔ —

CHOSO KAMO , YOUR HORNY EX . ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

warning/what's included: cunnilingus, fingering, dom!choso, fem!reader, (slight mention of) edging, begging, swearing, praise kink, porn with some plot, implied multiple rounds, 2-4 finger fucking, somewhat of a size kink, NSFW ⭑｡𖦹°‧

summary: you and your lingering ex, choso kamo, are both pent up after months of not fucking after you two broke up. eventually, after a couple days of seeing you at the same cafe, he decides to be bold and beg for your pussy.

BE WARNED AND ENJOY ♡

the receptionist at the cafe glances at you and the man behind you, who just so happens to be your ex. it's almost as if the receptionist knows you're his ex; the way he looks at you, he can't get enough of you. you peek at him, taking in his deep, purple eyes and silky black hair. it's not often he keeps his hair down, but the way he looks is enough to get you so fucking wet. you quickly look back towards the receptionist and hesitantly order. as you sit down at a table, you notice choso orders a black coffee. so you know he's only there to either mess with you or stare at you. 

to be quite frank, these encounters were often, but it wasn't in a creepy way. you knew he was there because this cafe reminded him of you, while you both were still dating. you pretend to scroll on your phone, crossing your legs and trying to not look at him. 

the next thing you know, you see him walking up to your table, holding your order and his in hand. “baby,” he muttered. “i need to taste you again.” you look up at him, his face full of pure lust. 

you’re taken aback. well, you knew he loved the taste of you, but to come up to you and beg for it? it turned you on so fast. 

—

“take your clothes off, now,” he states, already hard from the thought of finally touching your swollen pussy again. how you're going to clench against his rough, calloused fingers. 

he’d been waiting for so long. it was torture to him. 

your clothes slide off of you, and you're kind of.. nervous seeing him in this way after so long. it was agonizing. staying without sex, without him eating you out so messily, it was so goddamn agonizing. but when the moment finally happens, you're already fantasizing about him. the way he's going to eat you out so desperately. so fucking dirty, thinking about him fingering you right in front of him. 

you saw how hard he was. it looked huge, there's no way that it wasn't painful for him. you would love to be in control, but you both were pent up, and there was no way of fucking him until he got what he wanted.

and what he wanted? it was to fuck you, harsh, with only his fingers. he knew before he even touched you with his dick, he was going to eat you out. he would, and will, make you cum several times before he pounded you senselessly. 

it was only a split second to you before he spread your legs eagerly, gingerly touching your cunt. he squished your plush thighs and smiled, looking up at you. your face was flushed with pink, embarassed seeing him in such a position, and you in a vulnerable one as well. his pink lips were already so eager to feel, to taste, to lick you. his gentle touch created sparks flying across your body. “god, do you know what you’ve done to me?” he murmured. sinking one thick finger inside you, he rasps, "your pussy is fucking mine,"  

you cry out, the sensation arching your back. he was already pumping only finger in and out of you, and you were already so weak. for him, for sex after so long.

before you knew it, three of his fingers were sharing the feeling of your walls, and it was so overwhelming. your pleasure was his, as both of your moans and whimpering were shared. your room amplified the heat of sex and volume of his hot and heavy breathing, yet it only turned you on even more. 

right before you were about to cum, he murmured, "you deserve this,"

"cho, wha-"

he slipped his fingers out quickly, and the feeling of your orgasm was lost. you moan either way from the fast motion, your walls clenching from the emptiness. "cho— what the f-fuck..?" you mumble, your mind dizzy and your pussy wet. 

"oh, my love," the dark-haired man leered at you. "did you think i'd let you have that sweet release that easily..?" he chuckled. "not after what you've done to me. not after the fact that i knew you fingered yourself thinking about me, even after we broke up," he slid 2 fingers inside you again, making you jolt from the sudden movement. 

"fuck!" you yell, gripping the ends of the couch. 

"yeah, scream for me, just like that," he moaned, slipping his thick fingers in and out of your walls.

"you feel so good, baby," he groaned against your thighs. "i know i'm not usually in control, but i fucking love when you clench by just my fingers," 

you whined, pushing his head closer to your thighs. 

"please," you begged, "fuck me,"

"not until i suck you dry, love. you know how much i want this," 

slipping two more fingers inside you, he continues, "do you fucking know, love?" 

fuck, it's too much. a moan escapes your mouth, rolling your eyes back so far it might as well be in your cranium. 

"oh god," the pleasure was too much to even think of. your arms shook, shockwaves of just pure horniness escaping your body through your mouth. you were turned so fucking stupid, just from his fingers. "ch-cho, please, y-yes,"

he left you a whimpering mess, and you fucking loved it. 

"do you know what you've done to me? i fuck myself thinking of you. playing with yourself for me. sucking me dry. using my pigtails as fucking handlebars. and fuck, even just you fully clothed," 

"cho, please," you beg. you could barely speak at all. you only ever thought of him and how he fucked you with just his fingers. "i-i'm gonna cum, please, choso," your words shook with ecstasy. 

"oh, baby," he smiles. "go ahead," he kept sliding his fingers inside of you, gradually going faster until you shook with overwhelming euphoria of sex.

“fuck, fuck, c-choso,” you whined. “oh my g-god,” 

choso grinned, gripping your shivering thighs. "oh, love," he groaned. "fuck, you look so beautiful, so vulnerable for me. my good girl,"

it’s the way you struggled and the way your knees buckled against him was already too much for him. he knew you loved it, you craved that shit. ever since you both broke up, you were fingering yourself to the thought of him. it was so wrong, but you knew he did it too. he just admitted that shit to you. and fuck, that made you more incredibly horny than you already are. 

you just couldn’t get enough of him. 

“ch- choso, oh my god,” you moan loudly. you shook, tugging his hair closer to your cunt. he smiled against your clit, licking the walls and holding your body in place with one hand. 

“you're taking me so good, baby,” he whispered into your inner thighs. “your pussy behaves so well for me,” he whispered as he started slurping and tightly holding on to your thighs for dear life.

“oh- oh my god,” you scream. “‘m cummin’, ch-choso, mngh,”

your orgasm was world-splitting. your legs shake crazily, cumming all over your ex's face, your screams bouncing off the edge of the living room walls.

“mmm, don’t worry, baby, i’ll clean you up,” your ex began wiping the cum off his face and you with his fingers while running his tongue along your throbbing cunt. it makes you shiver with pleasure, knowing he loves the way you taste, the way you moan, the way you tug his hair in pleasure. 

“the fucking things you do to me, baby,”

𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ᡣ𐭩⋆.𐙚⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

a/n: i fucking LOVED writing dom!choso. let me know if ygs want anymore of just dom!choso i will gladly deliver :3 🩷 (also,, i mean if ur here reading this might as well like <3 love you)

[st4ytiny]

Mirror sex with wooyoung? Him being really chatty and lowkey a brat as he teases the reader to look into the mirror?

I can't get that picture of wooyoung out of my damn mind.

Mentions of manhandling, bratty Wooyoung, Switch Wooyoung / swtich reader, teasing, cursing, hairpulling, choking, feral Wooyoung, bruising/marking, limit pushing, mirror sex, PWOP, tiny mention of his lip bleeding?

No gender or bodyparts specified either.

•───────•°•❀•°•──────•

Brat Wooyoung who pushes all your buttons and won't ever shut up unless you gag him. He's a fucking freak. No matter who you are, he will tease you by saying shit like "Oh (Name)? Can't you even dom me properly?" or "Do I really have to do it myself?". Except he does know that he cannot do it himself because last time that happened, he started sobbing halfway and begged you to do it instead. (That was probably the only time he ever gave up his bratty act without you doing anything)

Brat Wooyoung who loves it when you tell him to fuck you himself. This man growels. He is the biggest switch ever so he won't say no to a challange. Everytime he fucks you, it starts off with you on your back, usually in missionary. He LOVES manhandling, bending and stretching you into all kinds of positions. He has the audacity to act like a dom until you draw the line, wrapping a hand around his throat and he backs down immediately.

Brat Wooyoung who doesn't give one fuck about the curses and complaints falling from your lips. He knows you know your safeword and that you aren't afraid to use it.

Brat Wooyoung who has you on all fours then pressing your chest into the mattress. Fucking into you harder and pulling your hair, forcing your head up to make eye-contact with yourself in the mirror. He's biting his own lip so hard, it's almost bleeding before his eyes roll back into his skull. Lewd moans and words spilling from his mouth. He loosens his grip on your hair, focusing on your hips, making sure to reach all the delicious spots in you.

"Oh (Name)〜 Come on pretty, look into the mirror for me. Look how good you look all tangled up with me"

His annoyingly sexy voice whispers into your ear as his lips place open-mouthed kisses behind your ear. You curse while moans contionue falling from your lips. Wooyoung knows exactly how to tease and rile you up. It feels so good it almost hurts. He roughly pulls your hair back, making you have eye-contact with your reflection and you bite your lip in response. Your eyes dart up to Wooyoung's fucked out expression. His jaw is clenched, eyes dazy, brows furrowed and he has a hand gripping your hip so hard its about to bruise. Your eyes trail down the marks he has left on you.

Songs I listened to while writing

BTBT - B.I 〜 GIVEN-TAKEN - ENHYPEN 〜 DRUNK-DAZED - ENHYPEN 〜 CRIMINAL - TAEMIN 〜 LOVE KILLA - MONSTA X

[tarithenurse]

The switch

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Steve Rogers x fem!reader. Word count: 2969. Content: Body swap, ethics I guess (or lack of it because) smut (fingering, mini-handjob-ish, P in V). A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

The switch

Something went wrong. Some trigger or something had been set off the moment you and Steve entered the small side room to check it out: the door had slid shut and locked, the countdown begun. Then the light had flashed once so brightly you had to shield your eyes, unable to cover your ears then for the horribly whining sound that knocked you to your knees as if it had a physical power more than blasting your eardrums.

Blinking and not seeing anything, you call out for Steve. Your voice is warped and you figure that it’s the noise that’s done a number to your hearing...but everything feels wrong. More so when you blink again and your vision comes back, showing you most of your arms and both your hands.

Not me!

“Steve?!” you call again, painfully aware that it’s not your voice you hear.

“What...?” is the answer. In your voice.

And there you are, looking down at yourself in confusion and horror before meeting your gaze – meeting Steve’s gaze that is now you.

You feel stronger than normal when you get to your feet. Taller too from this point of view.

Reaching down to pull yourself up or rather pull Steve up, you’re baffled by how easy it is to pull him (You? Her? Them?) to the feet.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask.

“We...switched?” Steve has a hard time accepting the facts too.

You nod. “Well...we need to undo it, then.”

You both look around for a way to trigger the event again but all you had done was enter the place. Just then, an explosion rocks the building, reminding you both of the timed detonators you’d been planting everywhere.

“Banner and Stark with have to fix it,” Steve decides, “we’re out of time.”

---

It is surprisingly easy to convince everyone in the Tower of what has happened despite how impossible the whole thing sounds – mainly because the way each of you with your mannerisms just doesn’t match the body you have. You don’t normally speak so confidently, taking charge and giving orders. And Steve, he doesn’t normally desperately try to sit cross legged (which you might have to give up on because it’s squishing something) or withdraw to the corner of the room to avoid people looking at you. Him.

Either way: Banner is more than intrigued, promising to do what he can. Stark seems to be plotting something but whether it is a series of bad puns or something useful is yet to be determined.

“We’ll get right to it,” the inventor promises, patting Banner on the shoulder, “go get washed and stuff, you look like shit after the building almost falling down on you.”

Covered in dust and sweat, you would normally be the first to run off and relax in the luxurious shower...but this time? You look down over yourself (or rather, Steve’s body) and then meet his/yours gaze that’s filled with concern because how is this going to work out?

The others have left the room already, leaving you and Steve alone to figure out the conundrum.

“How...? But...?” Steve is stammering.

You’ve never heard him that hard pressed before but the effect is somewhat softened because it’s your voice and your body doing it. And because you feel the same trepidation.

It’s not like you haven’t looked at Steve: he’s hot and there’s no reason to deny it. But the idea of having to undress as him and lather the body in soap and – it threatens to become too much so you push the thought aside.

Instead you look to the floor. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” he breathes out. “But I would feel better if you were there?”

Head snapping up, you scrutinize your own face for any signs that it’s true and finding none of your usual tells of lying at least.

“Oh okay,” you mumble with Steve’s voice.

Walking side by side, you’re struck by the size difference. You’ve never considered yourself short but maybe you should have.

Steve-you glances up at you and sends a comforting smile. It’ll be alright. Somehow.

You go to your room first to gather some clean clothes. Seeing his big hands rummage through your underwear is strange, and sends a pulse of something you’re not familiar with into your groin at the idea of him knowing what you’ll be wearing under your clothes.

Then again: it’s nothing compared to the fact that he’ll be seeing you naked in a moment!

Then you shift to his room, feeling severely out of place. It’s perfectly neat, the bed made with military precision and not a single thing out of place except on the desk which is littered with sketchbooks and pencils – you cast a glance at it and are surprised to find sketches of everyone of the team...but mostly of you.

Stepping over, you pick up one of them. It’s you, deeply engrossed in a book and sitting in the corner of the couch with your feet tugged under you. It’s really good even if it’s just loose pencil strokes and sort of messy. Another is a study of your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip as if you’re thinking or trying to remember something.

“You weren’t meant to see them,” your voice apologizes and you turn to Steve-you who’s wringing the hands awkwardly.

“They’re good. Really good,” you assure him.

Putting the drawings back, you refocus on the task at hand and start investigating the suit you find yourself wearing. There are a lot more zippers and buckles than you at realized at first glance, confusing you as to where to start so you’re happy when Steve-you steps up and silently begins to help you out.

It feels good with the cool air on your skin, as the outer layer is discarded and you’re left with a tight t-shirt and boxers. And socks. Seeing as that’s the easiest place to start, you remove them and then the t-shirt.

You try to look at anything except yourself or rather Steve’s body. You also don’t want to look at yourself, afraid of seeing how uncomfortable Steve must be. Unfortunately that means you’re looking around the room, spotting the reflection of the scene in the large mirror on the wardrobe.

Fuck. Steve is hot.

Something warm coils into your belly but then radiates lower and becomes a throb you hadn’t expected. Screwing your eyes shut, you realize that the shower will be a serious problem and that maybe it had been better if you’d each dealt with it on your own.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

You nod, maybe a bit frantically. “Yeah, sure.”

Turning to face him-you, you see he is unzipping the suit after having taken the boots off. He makes a point out of keeping eye contact which makes the movements a bit fumbling.

“Let me help,” you offer, stepping closer.

It’s strange to see Steve’s hand pulling the sports bra over your head. It’s even weirder (and more troublesome) as you kneel to drag down the undies. You can feel the cheeks you currently have blushing and you feel that odd throb in your groin again when your usual feet step out of the underwear so you can lay it aside with the dirty stuff.

“You too,” Steve-you reminds you.

He still hasn’t sneaked a glance at the body he possesses and you are grateful for that. But when you push down the boxers, it’s like something is in the way and both of you glance down just as the elastic fabric lets go of what turns out to be more than a half-hard cock.

“I’m so sorry!” you sputter, eyes wide with horror and shame as you look at the owner of the erection.

“It-it happens,” he waves you off, unsure where to look to himself. “Let’s just...”

You follow the smaller figure, for the first time noticing the sway of the hips, into the bathroom where Steve-you turns on the water. Errant droplets fall on the breasts, making the nipples pucker and you see the twitch in the hands as though they want to wipe the cold away but stop just in time.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, voice raspy and low which sounds way too good for you, sending a new throbbing through you.

“It’s just...not how I imaged it.”

“What?”

Steve shrugs with your shoulders as if trying to hide. “Seeing you naked for the first time...”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. The meaning behind them.

“You have...oh,” you whisper, suddenly a lot more relaxed because you had thought it was only you.

“Sorry, I know you don’t think of me that way but I -”

He never gets further because you turn Steve-you around, grabbing the familiar face and planting a kiss on the lips. A sharp intake of breath. Small hands find your shoulders, your neck, drawing you closer.

And then it happens: just for a split second, you’re back in your own body. It doesn’t hold but it’s enough to become aware of how Steve tastes, how his lips feel on your own. Both of you break off, gasping and looking at each other with wide eyes. Could this be the way to get back to normal?

“Did you?” you gasp.

“Yes!”

Lips meet again. Hasty, messy and with teeth clicking against each other until you both slow down a bit. You got lost in the feeling of it and allow the large hands to slide down your actual back, feeling the goosebumps spread in waves from the fingertips.

Again. A split second or maybe two this time. You in your own body pressed against Steve, his cock twitching against your abdomen. And you feel the heavy need in your core, spurring you on even if you’re back where you belong.

But then you’re not. Once more you’re in Steve’s body, dizzy and frustrated in more than one way.

Maybe that’s why you don’t object when he-you pull you under the water and reaches down to grab the throbbing shaft. You can’t help it – neither the groan you let free nor looking at what is happening.

Pulling down towards the base slowly, the hand looks so small around the cock. It’s mushroomy tip is red and angry, sensitive to the water that’s falling. Going back up, the thumb brushes the downside of the cock-head gently but insistently, making your knees buckle as it sends a pulse of something intense through your body.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Want me to stop?”

“No! I mean...no...it’s just...” you try to find the right word. “Intense? Different?”

A smile, sweet but not innocent as you would have expected from Steve even in your body.

“There’s...I always wondered...” he begins but then lets the sentence hang.

You understand him anyways: how does it feel for the other? Now is your chance to find out.

Reaching past, you grab the shampoo and gentle start to wash his or technically your hair the way you normally like it. Rubbing the scalp until you hear a little moan as Steve stands there with closed eyes and hands resting on your now broad chest.

After rinsing it out, you take the soap and lather up the body, feeling the curves in a whole new way and paying special attention to the spots you know are sensitive, causing Steve to whimper softly as you roll the nipples between your fingers for instance.

But where he’s been purring with delight all the time, he falls silent when your fingers reach the V of your thighs, pushing in between the folds to wash there. You can feel a slipperiness that’s different from the water and the soap. Making sure to spread it to the sensitive nub, you circle the clit carefully, allowing Steve to really feel what it’s like. His hands curl into fists on your chest and he lets out a shivering breath.

Slowly, you speed up, rubbing tight circles that match the breathing that speeds up, breasts heaving and eyelashes fluttering.

“I...I can’t...it’s...” he mewls with your voice.

Taking a moment to turn the smaller body in your embrace, a strong arm around the waist for support. You gently slip a finger into the core to gather the abundant slick. It makes Steve’s breath hitch and you can’t help but wonder if you do that too normally.

“Just feel it,” you murmur into an ear as you switch between pumping into the fluttering core and rubbing circles on the clit, “it’s okay...I want you to know.”

He comes with a strangled moan. Legs giving after as pleasure surges through the body and you’re happy you’re strong enough now to hold the weight for you both.

In a flash, you’re in your own body, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm that still is rolling through you.

“Steve!” you cry out. His finger is still on your clit, just pressing but not moving – it’s your body that’s shivering on the digit, creating a minimal friction. “It worked it -”

And then you’re back. Out of breath and hovering over yourself. Steve can’t help but moan as the aftershock hits him.

It’s tempting to continue, to power on in the hope that it will make the switch back permanent, but Steve’s a wreck and you decide to be nice because you would have wanted that for yourself. So you rinse the soap away and help him-you refind the balance.

Then you wash yourself, now less worried about the nudity, and eventually exit the shower where Steve is waiting for you.

Barely towelled dry, you can’t keep your hands and lips to yourselves and it because a messily tangled trip to the bed where you allow Steve-you to push you down before crawling onto you.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you say, voice raspy with need.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all you need to hear and you tumble you and Steve over so you’re on top, hips slotted between the plush thighs. You still have a boner, and now you watch as nimble hands guide the head of it to the entrance, sliding it back and forth to spread the juices and make the slide easier. You’re not even pushing in and already it feels good.

“Will it hurt?” Steve suddenly asks, big eyes full of worry.

“It’s a...” you glance down. Yeah. It’s big. But you’ll be careful. “I’ll go slow and you just stop me if it’s too much.”

“Alright. You too.”

Pushing in with your hips you don’t get far before your brain short circuits and you decide it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt in this body. Tight and warm and soft. You’re holding your breath and now you have to let go of it, a ragged gasp that’s echoed from Steve.

“So good,” he mewls.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Pushing in inch by inch, you take your pauses to allow both of you to get used to the feeling but there’s an urge inside you to just...thrust. Pulling back a bit, you test it out. And then again just for good measure. Okay no, this is the best you’ve ever felt in this body as you thrust in and out slowly, sheathing the cock fully and making your body beneath you tense up so prettily. Steve’s holding on to your shoulders for dear life, legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck,” you groan.

Something is dragging along your cock, bumps or ridges under the silken smoothness. It feels so good. You can feel something tightening inside you and you instinctively know you won’t last long – too overwhelmed by all the sensations.

“Touch yourself like I did in the shower,” you gasp.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, Steve-you does as you say and is soon out of breath, whining and moaning and begging so prettily for something. Anything. You know that feeling and you’re sharing it with him now, wanting so badly to cum.

“Just a bit more,” you promise, upping the pace.

There’s a flash where everything is different: you lying under Steve who shakes his head at the change. He’s so deep inside you, you can feel his cock kissing your cervix. And you’re right there, right on the edge.

It all changes back but now it’s like a part of you is being sucked inside of your groin and you can’t keep the rhythm going instead you just ram into the sweet wetness that’s gripping your cock so tight until suddenly it all explodes and your soul is being shot out through your dick that you press so deep you can. You can’t see anything, can’t think. Just feel the pleasure as it rocks your body white hot.

“Fuck,” you groan but it’s your own voice and it’s your cunt pulsing around Steve’s cock. It’s you who’s clawing onto he’s shoulders.

Steve isn’t saying anything. As you peel your eyes open you can see that he’s got his eyes screwed shut and lips digging into the plush of his bottom lip. But he is himself and you are you.

For a moment you just lie there, letting the waves of the orgasm and aftershock roll through you while you wait for the inevitable to happen...but you remain yourself and Steve opens his eyes to look at you, smiling shyly.

“That was...damn!” he admits.

“Yeah.”

Reaching up to kiss him, you’re happy that he reciprocates without hesitation.

But he’s frowning when he pulls back a moment after. “How are we going to explain this to Bruce and Stark?” he asks.

“We’ll just say it went back to normal on its own?”

“And us?” You can see the concern in his pretty blue eyes.

You swallow. “I don’t want normal anymore, please.”

“Me neither.”