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eloquentlytired · 10 days ago

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Messing with Xavier is all fun and games until he gets too worked up. Now? You must face the consequences of your actions.

"These look heavy." You're stiffening out of surprise when his warm breath ghosts the nape of your neck, large hands coming around to cup your breasts through your t-shirt (his t-shirt). "Let me hold them for you, yeah? Don't want my star's back to hurt."

You can only squeak, fingers tightening around your whisk as your steady pace falters. You had been making him cookies, meant to be an apology gift for being a little shit and riling him up all day.

"Xavi, it's fi-ah-ne!" But your nipples are stiffening against the material of your shirt, poking into his warm palms. How could he possibly resist that? Your body was responding so readily for him.

"They look sore from being in a bra all day, let me massage them." Before you can mumble out an excuse, he's moving his hands in a kneading motion, playing with the sensitive, pliant flesh while you begin to whimper over your cookie dough.

"X-Xavier, my cookies-" He's cutting you off with his nose nuzzling your neck, lips warm and wet as they begin trailing kisses. "I can think of a much better cookie I'd like to eat. One that has been teasing me all. day. long." The whisk slips from your hand as he bites down, earning a sharp squeal as he squeezes your breasts.

"I've let you have your fun, my little star, now it's my turn."

Your back arches, pressing snuggly into the hard-on poking your ass as Xavier presses you into the counter. "Let's see, should I play with these pretty tits until you're crying?" He rolls your nipples through the shirt, releasing them a moment later to flick his fingers over them.

"Or should I play with your pussy? Either way, I'm not feeling generous enough to make you cum." He tugs at your earlobe with his teeth, hissing softly as he rolls his hips into your plump ass. "Maybe I should just fuck this pretty ass, hmm? You'd like that huh?"

You're gasping, hands digging into the cool marble of the countertop. "Xavi-" But he tuts, hands slipping under there fabric of your shirt and cupping your breasts bare. "Nah, I don't think I gave you permission to speak, little star."

And your lips are snapping shut, head craning back to look at him as he smirks. "Good girl, that's your first time listening to me today. Maybe you are capable of being good... until you can prove it..."

You're whimpering as he slips a hand out from under your shirt, sliding it around your throat and squeezing slightly. "..You're at my mercy. You know the safe word, and you'll do whatever I say, got it?"

You're nodding, eager as ever, because this is what you wanted, no?

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eloquentlytired · 10 days ago

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Obsession

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eloquentlytired · 10 days ago

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eloquentlytired · 11 days ago

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im sentimental. i sleep a lot. sometimes i cry a little on public transport. when my friends tell me they love me, i feel as though my heart will burst. i take pictures of nice dogs i see on the street. i notice the changing of the seasons, and i get excited. i like fresh fruit. little things make me happy, and i hope i stay this way.

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eloquentlytired · 11 days ago

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saw superman last night and i literally CANNOT stop thinking of them

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eloquentlytired · 12 days ago

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john walker with a breeding kink.

porn. breeding kink. fem reader. john walker is horny. requests are open as always.

he doesn't have any siblings, no nieces and nephews to fawn over. hell, he wasn't sure if he had even held a baby before. and don't get him wrong, he's terrified of the thought of being a dad.

his old man, a decorated war veteran himself, was never the model image of being a dad. he never hit john, maybe a light smack to the back of his head when john did something stupid, like cried when he got yelled at when he was learning how to ride a bike. he raised his voice, yeah, but people always act before they think when they are upset.

but that didn't stop his desire to be different, to be better. it wasn't his dad that made him want to be a parent, it was his mom.

soft and beautiful, always humming something unintelligible while she cooked in the kitchen. it was the feeling of safety he'd get when he stood by her side. small fists that clutched against her skirts. the memory of how her hair smelled, how he'd watch her put her makeup on in awe. it was safety, it was comfort. gentle touches and coos of love that brought him to a sense of peace even into his adulthood.

that was the parent he wanted to be. he wanted to be a sense of comfort for his child. he wanted his child to have comfort from both of his parents.

so when he fucks you, it's with a purpose.

he gets hard at just the thought of you being pregnant. a glow, hair softer to the touch, a small hand that would surely rest against your bump that he had caused. it was a sign that he had done something good, that he had put a baby inside of you.

it was a sign that you were his. him and you, forever embedded in your veins and a pair of eyes that he could picture matching your own.

he knows it's not normal. how badly he wants to get you pregnant. he doesn't bring it up very often. not until you bring it up, he always waits until you bring something up.

every kink. every toy. every new position. john waits like a dog waiting for a command, the cue that he's allowed to go. he's always been like that with you, because he can't risk making you uncomfortable with what goes on in his head. he'd rather sit with his thoughts and never indulge in what turns him on than see a scrunch across your face.

someone had shoved a chubby baby in his face one day during a press event. it reminded him of people giving babies to the pope to bless them, but john has no real connection with god, and there are still parts of him that believe he shouldn't hold a baby in case he fucks it up.

but he can sense a shift beside him, you, always beside him. the loving father ushers you to join the photo, and you do. you stand near him and smile brightly, the baby babbling in his arms as he props it up.

he thought nothing of it in the moment. maybe a flash of 'what if that was our baby' appeared in his head, but he doesn't say anything or think anything afterwards. going through the motions of meeting fans.

back in the tower, you speak first, your phone in his face. "look! i found the photo of the baby!" you smile so brightly that he almost doesn't focus on the screen in front of him. but when he does, jesus christ, it does something to him.

your face beaming with pride and happiness like it's your baby. the baby even had your hair color, which was doing nothing to help the thoughts that kept appearing in his mind.

"you ever thought about being a dad?" every single day for as long as he could remember.

"once or twice, guess i’m getting to that age,” he stares at you like you’re the center of his universe, because you are. life and joy back into is world and heart, you at the center of it all. “you ever thought about being a mom?”

annoyingly, a repeated mantra of please say yes, please say yes, please say yes repeats through his head. you shrug your shoulders, like it’s nothing, slowly climbing onto the bed that has become yours instead of his with the amount of nights you two of spent together there. “of course,” you nod, moving to lay on your stomach, propped up on your elbows as you look at him. “i always thought we’d have really cute babies.”

he feels his cock twitch. just those words alone were already stirring something inside of him. he chuckles, hand coming out to briefly run through your hair. “you think so? think we’d have a cute baby?” he does, he thinks your baby would be the cutest thing to ever grace the earth and probably any of the other planets since aliens did exist, for some reason.

“never said anything before, didn’t want to come off as a crazy girlfriend,” you hummed, his heart aching in his chest. not because he felt bad, it just ached with need. "but having a baby with you would be nice.”

the green light had gone off, a command, an answered prayer.

the digits of his fingertips trace down to the plush of your cheeks, then down to your lips. the lips that he has kissed so much, he has begun to believe that it would forever be seared within his memory. it felt silly sometimes, the love he had for you that could only be seen in a disney film (a soft, guilty pleasure of john, mostly inspired by his mother). “you want a baby?” he sounded hopeful, a deep desire that he never believed could come true.

it should have stayed a fantasy.

you nod your head, jaw slacking as his thumb brushes against your mouth. his heart swelled, but he felt the sweats he had adorned for comfort after the long day begin to do nothing to hide his growing desire. “let me give you a baby. a baby for my baby.”

and he was on you. he had flipped you onto your back so swiftly that all you could do was smile and giggle, head hitting the pillow as he was on top of you. it hadn’t hit you yet how serious he was. he’d fuck you as many times as it took to get you pregnant, even then, he’d fuck you more times just to be sure that there was no way you weren’t full of him.

you tried to speak, but he was kissing you. john always kissed you with so much love, but tonight, he was hungry. you felt it instantly, the raw hunger in his kiss. it was sloppier than normal, almost like he was a teenager having his seven minutes in heaven session. his hand had moved to the back of your neck to hold you in place. the noises that left him were deep and breathy at the same time.

you had never seen him get so worked up just from a short conversation like this.

you moaned against his lips, grateful that his shirt had already been discarded in his haste to get into bed with you. he was between your legs, large hands underneath your shirt that did once belong to him, but had come into your rotation of looks better on you than it does on me clothes from john.

“shit. you like that?” you breathed when he had pulled back to nip at your jaw and kiss down your neck. your words were a broken record in his mind: having a baby with you would be nice. “you’re hard just from — oh my god.” his hand had slid down your sleep shorts, a soft gasp leaving you.

he wasn’t wasting any time. two fingers are already curling inside of you at just the right angle. like he had planned how he was going to prep you just fast enough for him to be deep inside of you. your hips are already bucking into his fingers, his breath warm against your neck as he lets out a ragged groan.

“i think you like that too.” disregarding the rapid beating of his heart, he still finds the nerve to smirk. because he knows he’s right. he’s getting you pregnant, if it’s not tonight, he’ll just have to try again tomorrow.

it’s pornographic, the sounds you’re already making. a whine and a gasp and a wetness from just that thought. you want it. the man who protects you with unbridled loyalty should be able to do the same with a child of his own. you knew you would be the one to give him that baby, shit, maybe a part of you always knew.

he slides his fingers out, your lips parting to complain at the loss, but the words die in your throat as you watch him instantly lick his fingers clean, his eyes only growing darker with desire. “can’t imagine how good you’re gonna taste when you’re pregnant.” do women taste different when pregnant? he didn’t know, but he was sure as hell going to find out.

your clothes were gone soon enough. john needed to feel your skin against his, needed to feel the swell of your breast against his chest as he held you against him while he fucked into you. as much as he liked a quickie, this was not going to be quick. tonight would be a reverent act of worship, a man giving an offering to an altar.

he didn’t have much of a connection to god, but he asks humbly and gratefully: let me be a father.

“you have no idea how bad i want to see you pregnant.” word vomit, not john’s typical symptom when he rambles, but it tends to come out when you’ve unlocked a new kink inside of him. he has been holding it back for so long that he can’t help but yearn to let it out. to tell you everything that he’s been pondering and picturing each time you come into his field of vision.

“you’re gonna be the prettiest mommy, fuck.” you don’t need to see his cock to know that he’s leaking and hard. but you see it anyways, the way he pumps himself unconsciously as he lines himself up with you. “every time i fuck you, i think about it. you’re —” a noise so choked and hot leaves him. it sounds like a whimper, but it’s muffled against the skin of your neck.

his face won’t be there for long; he needs to look at you.

“you’re gonna be perfect. my perfect girl, carrying my perfect kid.” each time he enters you without giving you much time to adjust, it always makes you feel like the air has been sucked out of you. you feel him everywhere. but you clench around him, a moan in his ear instantly, which only makes him shiver.

he fits inside of you like you were made just for him. maybe you were. just like how he knew you were made to carry his babies. you weren’t even pregnant, and john was already picturing how many times he could get you pregnant. he was sure that the rest of the team wouldn’t go a day without seeing you with a bump of some kind, because now that he knew you wanted a baby, he’d give you as many as you wanted.

reasonably, there was always a limit, but john never knew limits. unless they were yours.

he had always convinced you that fucking you raw was better for the both of you. his original excuse had been because it was easier that way — quicker, doesn’t take time to put a condom on, he’d argue, i like feeling close to you, he’d say. which he did. he meant all of those things. if he had been candid, it was because he didn’t mind the risk of getting you full of his kids. he liked the image of seeing him drip out of you when he was done. in the past, he’d have to physically hold himself back from shoving his fingers in you and keeping himself in there.

he wouldn’t have to do that tonight.

“tell me you wanna be a mom.” you had already said it, but he needs to hear it again. “lemme hear it.” he groaned, his head picking up from your neck as he moved, an arm around your back to bring you flush against his body.

he acts like you can even form a coherent sentence right now. but you try anyway, try like the good girl for him that you are. “i wanna be a —” a choked moan, he’s really fucking you tonight. “be a mom. make me a mommy.”

the words are like honey in his ears, his lower belly already hot and tightening at the sound of it. his stamina is wonderful and he has used it to his advantage more times in the past than he can count, but right now, he’s thinking about cumming like a pure white virgin.

and he wants to speak, but he can’t. john walker is always full of words and rambles, whether prompted or unprompted, but he finds himself speechless. not entirely, he’s moaning louder than you have ever heard him before. he’s usually not very vocal in the bedroom. not because he cares whether or not the tower hears him (he doesn’t), but that’s just not him.

it might be him though. because you have given him a blessing. what he’s always wanted. permission to get you pregnant. “‘m gonna fill you up.” he gasped. his thrusts were almost feral, his hand coming up to your jaw, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “watch me while i do it.”

and you do. he’s moving now, your hips elevated, like it’s going to make his cum go inside you faster. he’s not a scientist, just a believer that he’s going to get everything his heart has always wanted.

your moans are loud, and his are almost primal. his chest heaves as he lets everything spill out. he’s going to savor every last drop, going to make sure that you keep every drop of him inside of your pretty cunt.

he’s leaning down to kiss you, not yet removing himself from inside of you. he doesn’t want to, not yet, not when he can still feel himself hard inside of you. this wouldn’t be the last round tonight, not by a long shot.“you with me still?” he finally found his voice, his grip on your face softening as you nod your head. he nods with you, placing a kiss to your temple, watching as you catch your breath. “good, because once isn’t gonna be enough.”

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eloquentlytired · 12 days ago

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clark hears it—he does. that sharp, elastic snap that cuts clean through the haze of heat and slick skin. he hears it the way he hears everything. crystal-clear, too in tune with the world around him for his own good. he knows what it means, too—knows exactly what just happened, what that sound was.

but still, he doesn’t stop. doesn’t even flinch. because clark kent is so insanely needy

instead, he shifts just slightly, dragging you further down the bed, arms bracketing your head as he drives himself back into your soaked, clenching cunt with a sound you’ve never heard from him before—something sticky-throated and low, a groan cut with the telltale rasp of desperation. “fuck—baby,” he gasps, and you don’t even realize what just happened, too full, too caught up in the burn of his cock dragging against your walls and the way your own arousal’s soaked all over your thighs and his pelvis. “g-god, you’re—so fucking wet. it’s—s’too much…” his voice shakes. he’s drooling, literally, a thin thread slipping down from the corner of his lips onto the pillow beside your cheek as he leans closer—his brows all drawn together, those sweet blue eyes foggy with effort.

he’s still going. like the condom didn’t just give out halfway through. like you’re not both sticky with the combination of your slick and his precum now steadily pulsing against your overstretched insides. you moan, back arching instinctively, and his hips stutter “feels s’good—feels too good—baby, i can’t—” you’re whining now, the words slipping from your mouth on instinct, barely even thinking. “clark—clark, f-fuck, it’s—i feel everything. you’re too—” you can’t even finish the sentence. he shudders above you, and you feel his cock twitch deep inside, sticky and hot and bare, so bare it’s sinful—like nothing between you two at all. he’s grinding now. not thrusting, not fucking—grinding, hips rolling deeper and deeper, trying to find that perfect spot that has your walls fluttering, that makes your toes curl and your mouth fall open in a gasp of his name. you whimper when his mouth lands on yours. he’s sloppy with it, tongue pushing between your lips in a kiss that tastes like sweat and sex and need. his hips keep moving, slower now, but firmer—more intentional.

he swallows again. there’s more drool trailing down his chin now, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. he looks like a man half-drunk on your cunt and his own need. and when he cums inside you—bare, heavy, and endless—it’s with a strangled cry of your name, head buried in your neck, and his whole body trembling from restraint gone completely to hell.

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he’s kissing the tears off your cheeks, cock still deep inside, twitching with aftershocks. you’re both panting. slick. ruined. and full.

he doesn’t pull out. not yet.

instead, he just hums—low, almost reverent—like he’s proud. like he just made something sacred. “you’re gonna take all of it, right?” he asks, his voice breathy and so, sooo soft. “gonna keep it in for me, baby?”

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