#; DRABBLE

[millzinterlude]

Soap is a pervert this. No, Soap is a hopeless romantic that. Well what if he’s both. Utterly and completely in love with his woman, so in love that he can’t help BUT be perverted when it comes to her. Yes he comes home with flowers, but while you’re bending over to smell them he’s humping your ass, getting off to you absolutely loving the flowers. He takes you to your favorite restaurant on your anniversary, the atmosphere all romantic and intimate. He’s staring at you like you placed the very stars in the sky, his voice a little shaky as he rattles on about how beautiful you are and how lucky he is to have you. Your eyes are dewy from his little speech and he can’t help but chub up a bit because he loves how you look when you cry. He drops to his knees as he’s done plenty of times before, taking your hands as he looks at you. There’s a ring in his pocket and a pair of your worn panties in the other.

A/N: abrupt ending I literally just had to get this out my head 😭

[killerplink]

You: You know, baby, sitting on your lap does wonders for my mental health.

Jason: You've been here for an hour, doll.

You: Mental health is a journey, Jay. Let me heal.

Jason: You're grindin'.

You: It's the trauma leaving my body.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Do opposites really attract?

Tags: JJK men x fem!Reader, angst, hurt no comfort, smau, cursing, suggestive language

Synopsis: The JJK men cheat with someone who is nothing like you.

An: I had a request for something similar to this, but I read it wrong :( I’ll work on that request today, but I’m not going to let these go to waste… so anyway, no nanami because he would never. also so sorry, there’s a typo on toji’s :(

Pt. 1 - Satoru, Suguru, Choso, Toji, Sukuna.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Maybe Dante dad when he gets up in the middle of the night to handle the baby so that way his love can rest?

A/n: DAD!DANTE! I picked the Dante from the anime, if you want the game Dante let me know.

It was the soft cry that had broken the stillness of the night small, but enough to stir the quiet, enough to wake Dante. You shift slightly beneath the covers, half-aware, your body attuned to the sound even in sleep. But before the weight of responsibility can fully settle on you, a warm presence moves beside you.

Dante’s already pushing the blanket off, slow and deliberate, trying not to jostle the bed or wake you further. You catch the low sound of his voice—just a breath of words, more vibration than speech. Maybe a curse. Maybe a promise. But definitely tired.

Still, he goes. Because he is a dad now and thats what dads do.

He pads barefoot across the room, broad shoulders tense from the day’s weight, hair tousled from sleep. The floor creaks under him, a small complaint, but he doesn’t pause. The baby’s cry gets a little louder, more insistent, and Dante’s already there before it can peak into distress.

He scoops the baby up with a practiced ease, one big hand cradling the tiny head, the other supporting a body no heavier than a bundle of blankets. The child settles instantly, as if even this early in life, they know the feeling of safety when it’s near.

“Yeah, I got you,” Dante mutters, voice a rasp of sleep and tenderness. “Shhh. Let’s not wake your mama, huh?”

He starts pacing, slow rhythmic steps across the room, bouncing gently, his frame barely moving under the weight of the child. You hear him humming—soft, tuneless, something familiar and half-forgotten. It’s the kind of sound he only makes in the dark, when no one’s supposed to be listening.

Sometimes he talks to the baby—low, gravel-thick murmurs about nothing and everything. About how tired he is. About how small they are. About how, despite all this, he wouldn’t trade it.

“Could be sleepin’ right now,” he says, not to complain, but like it’s a fact he’s weighed and discarded. “But then your mom would get up, and we both know she needs it more than me.” He looks down at the bundle in his arms, so small, so adorable and so very you.

Dante rocks, hums, whispers. A guardian of the night. Rough hands holding fragile things with impossible care. The baby cooing up at him, tuffs of white hair peaking through the blanket as the little one starts to close their eyes.

Eventually, when the baby’s breaths turn steady and soft, he lowers them back into the bassinet. One last check. A light touch on the blanket. And then, with that same deliberate silence, he crawls back into bed beside you.

His body is warm, heavy with exhaustion, but he finds you in the dark and presses a kiss to your shoulder.

"Is she okay?" You muttered, sleep laced voice.

“Asleep and still adorable” he whispers. "Just like you should be." He muttered pulling you in close. This was perfect.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Invincible Variants x Pregnant! Reader

Request from Ao3: I would love to seriously see how the evil Marks would react to getting reader pregnant. There has to happen at least at one point! I can totally see them all collectively freaking out! I seriously hope there is one that goes "Our baby needs a bed fit for a Princess/Prince...you know what, let's just build them their very own castle! Fill it full of toys! Make it a castle playroom!"

...you don't really think this was an accident, do you?

Omni-Mark has been planning to babytrap you since day one. He's prepared every detail of this kid's life way before you were even expecting, from the place you'll give birth until the day their powers kick in everything is carefully thought through.

That doesn't mean he'll completely disregard your wishes, though the crucial decisions are set by himself. But he'd love to prepare the nursery according to your taste and wouldn't mind picking out names together either.

Just because he's overly composed on the outside doesn't mean he isn't secretly overjoyed, he's just bad at showing it.

After the initial shock Mohawk Mark is absolutely delighted. Never thought about the possibility before, but if it's with you, he's so ready to be a dad!

One might think his erratic and almost childish nature indicates he's not cut out to be a father, but he pulls himself together the second he hears the news. Gets advice from the few people he trusts on how to parent in general, but will mostly just wait and see.

Maybe that's a good thing, he'll keep you from overthinking too much with his silly behavior, but he also reminds you that you're in this together and you'll figure it out no matter what.

Buys all the toys. Seriously, this guy will be the greatest playmate for your kid, it'll be incredibly heartwarming to see him tend to his little buddy. He's really trying, give him credit.

Sinister Mark is utterly appaled. This is a literal nightmare scenario to him.

He is insane, but self-aware - and honestly, he's sure the last person who should have children. Not to mention, what if it turns out like him?!

His reluctance mostly stems from his antisocial personality. It was hard enough for him to accept this weakness that is his love for you, but letting another person into his rotten heart seems like an impossible task.

Can't bring himself to leave you, but throughout the whole ordeal he'll nag that this is a horrible idea and you both will have to suffer the consequences (when in reality he is just anxious to fuck everything up). Refuses to look at ultrasounds or involve himself in any planning, but is always vigilant about your well-being and makes sure you got everything you need.

As soon as he is persuaded unto holding it for the first time though, he's completely changed. "I only knew them for a day but if anything happens to them I'll kill anyone here and then myself" kinda way.

Hopefully they take after you, since you're the only person he could ever tolerate.

...of course you are? That's what you're supposed to do: give Target Invincible an heir.

Orders his subordinates into providing the literally best care in the entire universe for you and the unborn, and fulfills your every wish throughout your circumstance.

He's very thoughtful to the point of being controlling. You'll have a strict schedule, excercise and meal plan to stick to if you want to grant him peace of mind.

During this whole time he'll be unusual compliant and gentle, not once raising his voice or criticize you to spare you two any stress. Instead he showers you in praise for granting him this greatest wish of starting a family with someone he deemed worthy to carry his children.

Thats the first time you see No-Goggles Invincible serious. No laughter, no snarky remark, he just stares at you like a deer in the headlights.

Starting a family was never really on his mind, after all it was already out of character for him to stay in a - more or less - serious relationship with you. But hey, as random as he can be, he quickly grows fond of to the idea and adapts surprisingly well.

Keeps his cool for the most part and doesn't really seem to take this seriously. Finds it absolutely hilarious if you yell at him in your hormonal state and may even let you use him as a punching bag before shutting you up with a kiss.

He also really enjoys putting an ear on your belly to talk with his little one, and this continues even after birth. Poor baby never has a moment of quiet.

Due to his mission to repopulate his kind, having children with you has always been on Viltrumite Mark's To-Do list. It's a little early, but he ain't complaining.

From the very moment that he finds out about the pregnancy, you're not allowed to lift a single finger. Prepare to get coddled relentlessly.

Get's super clingy during the process, his hands are on your belly 24/7 even long before you start showing. In general his mood shifted, barely noticeable through his stoic nature but you know him well enough to know he is definetly excited.

This certainly won't stay your only child.

Viltrumite Mark is not surprised. This guy has the biggest breeding kink ever, and he always knew you were the one for him, so...no use for protection.

He's got a huge community of loyal followers who got experience and are willing to help out with anything, but otherwise he's more the easygoing kinda guy. Is convinced a loving environment is all a baby needs and anything else you'd just take as it comes.

Literally worships you even more than usual. Indulges you by getting you any craving from earth, gives you as many back and foot rubs you want, carries your belly if it gets too heavy...

Just can't wait to meet his mini me and take them out on adventures!

To Unmasked Mark you're all that matters, so he will go with whatever choice you make.

It's already hard enough to see you - his heart - walk outside of his body, but another person he will most likely love to death, so small and even more vulnerable? A frightening thought.

Being a man with countless enemies, he feels like good things only happen to him so they can be taken away again as punishment for his sins. Really, he doesn't think he deserves such a blessing after all the evil he's committed in the past.

In the end this is only one more reason for him to keep living and strive to become a better man - and hopefully a father your child deserves.

Fully Masked Mark seriously doesn't know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

After all, pregnancy can be a great burden on your health and in some cases even lethal! He'll frequently spiral into absolute horror scenarios of how this could end up, so you need to help him focus on positive anticipation instead.

But aside from his usual worries this is a dream come true! Being reunited with the love of his life was already a miracle itself, and now he even gets to start a family with you?! He's just so unbelievably thankful that you're doing this with him, and constantly reminds you how he would do anything for the two of you.

Begs you to name it after his mom shall it become a girl.

It takes two to achieve this, but you'll never hear the end of it with Veiled Invincible.

Won't stop nagging about not being cut out to change diapers or missing the patience to endure a screaming kid day and night. He's got a point, dude barely can take care of himself, all he knows is fighting and having a good time.

Reality only sets in when he hears the child's heartbeat for the first time, and damn this guy cries like a kicked dog. You've seriously never seen him like this before. Hard shell soft core or so they say...

Childbirth really shifted his whole perception of how much you mean to him, he absolutely panicked seeing you suffer like this and not being bale to do anything about it.

Will thank you eternally for for convincing him to the best decision of his life and swear that despite of his many shortcomings, he will always keep you two safe and happy.

[ghoulishhx]

I was thinking about this last night, imagine like tipsy reader comes home from a night out whatever. her and frank had weird tension for as long as they've known eachother, but they're close enough to where he can come over whenever he needs. she walks in to find him sat beaten up and bloody on her couch, and frank is aghast as he's never really seen her in anything like what she's wearing(possibly some pretty dress, whatever fits the vibes the best) maybe a sweet lil moment or more happens🤭

sorry if this seems like blabbering, i tried to make is cohesive😭

this request is just toooo CUTE. and noo don't worry about blabbering, i understood completely and i hope i delivered for you!!

18+ MDNI !!

My Masterlist!

──── ୨୧ ────

Pairing: Neighbour!Frank x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: fluff, a LOT of it, mutual pining, tipsy reader, injured frank, making out and sexual themes so MDNI please thank you, sweetheart frank, written with plus size reader in mind!, praise

Wordcount: 2k

──── ୨୧ ────

✦ friday i'm in love

You and your neighbour Frank have gotten into a routine, one you’ve come to adore and hold close to your heart. 

He comes over, you patch him up no questions asked, you feed him a home cooked meal and he helps where he can, fixing your appliances and building furniture for example. You truly love his presence, he grounds you from all the nonsense you go through when you’re not with him, always lending you an ear for your vents, offering advice (also offering to “sort out” the pricks at work giving you trouble.). There’s never really a moment you two are not together, the only things coming between you being your day jobs. You wouldn’t change this for the world.

It’s Friday night, and Frank is obviously beat up. Patrol on a Friday night was always a lot, compared to the rest of the weekdays. Drunk men causing havoc, committing crimes heavily under the influence always made the weekends more work for Frank. 

Tonight was just like any other night, as he stumbles home late at night, bloodied and bruised. He doesn't think twice before letting himself into your apartment with the spare key you gifted him. Entering your home, he notices the lack of lights. Strange, he thought to himself, you’re a night owl and never sleep before 2am. He’s always greeted by you rushing to the door to give him a hug, ushering him into the warmth of your abode. The lack of your greeting rings alarm bells through his head, and he doesn’t hesitate, reaching to his belt to pull out his sidearm, mind racing with thoughts that you were in danger. Flickering on his torch, he silently paces through the open planned room, his eyes gaze to the table where he finds a note.

“Gone out with some friends Frankie, I’ll be home about midnight. Dinner and beer are in the fridge xo”

His shoulders instantly drop, tension washing away as his eyes scan over the note, his breathing settles knowing you were okay and you were gonna be home soon. He moves to your fridge, finding tupperware with leftovers from your dinner you had presumably before you left, next to an ice cold beer, Frank’s favourite. He practically groans at the sight, wondering what he did in his past lives to deserve you here and now. Within a flash, he’s converted the food to a bowl, slammed that sucker in the microwave as he cracks open his beer. He is so comfortable existing within your space, your home feeling like his even when you’re not there. It pains him knowing he will have to leave tonight, just like it does every night. If he could have it his way, you would be by his side 24/7, holding you while you slept soundly in his arms, kissing the top of your head as he plays with your hair…

The click of the front door’s lock being turned pulls him from his thoughts of you, his breath hitches in his throat as he catches a glimpse at you. Fuck do you look gorgeous. Your hair is loosely curled, having dropped throughout the night of dancing and drinking. The dress you’re wearing has Frank in a chokehold. He’s convinced you would look stunning in nothing but a trash bag, but there’s something about the way the soft silk of your dress hugging your curves just right, accentuating the dips in your hips and the plush skin of your stomach (something you were really self conscious about before leaving your house tonight, but it's one of Frank’s favourite things about you.”, he can’t help but stare at your chest like a teenage boy. You had no idea how perfect you looked, no idea about the effect you were having on your neighbour.

“My eyes are up here, Frankie.” you giggle, slurring your words as you stumble into the room.

Frank can’t help but look away, sensing the blush creep up his neck due to you clocking him. You continue to giggle to yourself as you toss your purse onto the console cabinet next to the door, peeling your heels off and cursing at the blisters already beginning to form. The action of taking your shoes off causes you to tumble, however Frank manages to catch you in time, wrapping one of his strong arms around your waist, preventing you from falling on your ass.

“Mmm my hero.” you whisper in his ear as you wrap your arms around his neck, placing a hard kiss to the side of his face. He breathes in your smell, your vanilla perfume invades his nose, his favourite smell in the world, with a hint of liquor.

“Are you drunk, sweetheart?” he asks softly, such an obvious question but he couldn’t help from ask it.

“Maybee..” you laugh, grabbing his head with your hands and angling him to look at you. Your face twists with confusion as you notice all of the cuts and scrapes littered across his face.

“Frankie, you’re hurt. Why didn’t you say when I came in?”

“It’s not that bad darlin’, don't’ worry ‘m fine.” he says with his gruff tone, looking you dead in your eyes, the colour completely covered by your dilated pupils.

“Shush, c’mon let's get you cleared up.” you raise to your feet, smoothening your dress and reaching your hand out to help him up. Seeing him injured sobered you up a lot, however he raises an eyebrow at you, as if to say are you sure you’re not too drunk.

“Don’t give me that grumpy look Frankie, I’m not that drunk, just a little tipsy. I won’t stab you, swear.” you’re still holding his hand, the realisation makes you drop it instantly as you turn away to avoid showing him how flustered you were from such a simple touch.

“Ya better not doll, not lettin’ ya get rid of me that easily.” he chuckles darkly as he looks you up and down, making his way to the bathroom and pulling out the fold up chair you keep in there for this very situation. You join him in the cool tiled room, but before you did anything you had to take your makeup off, it had been on too long and it was borderline overstimulating. You pull your makeup remover wipes from the cabinet under the sink, pulling one out as you wipe it across your face, smearing makeup everywhere as you clean yourself.

Frank watched in awe as you did such a simple mundane task in front of him, surprised at how aroused he was just from watching you wipe your face. He can’t take your eyes off you, you were addicting. Frank would happily watch you do anything, being as enthralled with you as he was.

“What are you looking at Frank?” you question, feeling his eyes stare holes into the side of your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful sweetheart.” he whispers, surprised at his own admission. He was too transfixed on your movements to stop himself from thinking before he spoke. You giggle brings him back to earth as he clears his throat, as if to pass it off as a cough.

“You think I’m beautiful?” you softly speak, turning to fully face him now, makeup pretty much fully removed as you lean on the counter. Your eyes meet and the air in the room feels much thicker than before, electricity coursing through the space as you look intently into one another’s eyes. 

“Think? I know darlin’, most damn beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” he mumbles, wetting his lips with his tongue as he takes your form in for the millionth time tonight.

Your breathing intensifies, your stomach flips from his compliment. You had secretly been harbouring feelings for your neighbour for a while, but never believed they were/could be reciprocated. You put the used wipe down, as you saunter over him and climb into his lap, wrapping your legs over his thighs. His hands shoot to your waist to keep you stable.

“Well I think you’re beautiful Frank.”

“Tsk, ya dunno what you’re sayin’ sweet girl, if you were sober you’d feel different.” he grumbles, a sly smirk forming in the corner of his mouth. Not once do his eyes move from your face, taking in every freckle, bump and ridge, the plumpness of your lips swooning him.

“I’m pretty much sobered up now Frank, stop worrying.” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’ve thought you were beautiful for a while, y’know..”

“Likewise angel.. You dunno what ya do t’me.” he whispers, his breath catches your face due to only being mere inches apart now, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity up your spine.

“Can I kiss you, pretty girl?”

“Please.”

He doesn’t wait a second longer, placing his lips upon your softer ones. The kiss begins tentatively, slow and explorative, but it’s not long before it grows hungrier, more desperate. Your mixed pent up emotions for one another finally escaping inside of each other’s mouths.

You wrap your fingers up in his hair, tugging slightly as his lips leave yours and land on your neck, nibbling and sucking the sensitive skin, eliciting moans from you.

“Fuck babydoll, I’ve waited too long to have you like this..” he mumbles into your neck, the vibrations of his words sending arousal straight to your panties. 

“Need you.. Need you so bad Frankie.. Please touch me..” you beg, peppering kisses along the top of his head as you grind yourself down onto his rock hard bulge. He can’t help but buck his hips into yours.

“Eager aren’t we?” he teases, whispering in your ear. “As much as I wanna take ya up on that doll, wanna make sure you’ll fully remember our first time.” you go to argue this but he stops you “I know you’re pretty much sober baby, but I want it to be special for ya.. That okay with you?” you sigh in defeat, nodding your head. “Attagirl.” he places another kiss on your lips as he grabs the flesh of your ass, making you gasp as he grins, knowing damn well how much he’s teasing you.

You roll your eyes as you climb off of him, reaching under the sink to grab your first aid kit, having completely neglected the sole purpose of why you were both in the cramped en-suite bathroom. Patching Frank up takes no time at all, only minor injuries tonight that a good wipe with antiseptic and a bandage could fix. The entire time you were working on him, his hands never left your hips, rubbing comforting circles around the curve. 

“All done Frankie.” you lean down and kiss the top of his head.

“Thank you babygirl, I’ll get out ya hair, let ya relax after your night out alright?” he stands from his seat, pulling you into his warm embrace.

“Stay.” you mumble into his chest, breathing him in, basking in the closeness.

“Please?” you tilt your head up to him, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your best puppy dog eyes to further convince him.

“Course I will doll, anythin’ for ya.” he kisses the top of your head, as you pull away and lead him out of the bathroom to your bedroom. You don’t bother making him turn around as you unsheath yourself from your dress, allowing the fabric to pool at your feet. Frank uses as much self control he can muster to not take you then and there, remembering his words he told you earlier on about waiting for the right time. He shudders a deep breath as he removes his shirt and jeans too, watching you climb into bed and hold out your arms for him to join you, and that he does.

He climbs beside you and pulls you snug into his chest, spooning you. Your eyelids begin to fall heavy, being completely at peace in his grasp. You hum appreciatively, after fantasizing about this moment for months now you finally have it, you finally have him.

“Sleep well sweet girl, I’ll be here in the mornin’, promise.” he whispers in your hair, as you mumble an incoherent response, drifting off to sleep. It’s not long until he joins you, feeling just as at ease tucked up in bed with you as you feel. 

──── ୨୧ ────

a/n: i know the gif is raunchy as shit, but i had to use it because #smash

my inbox is open!

[nappingnai]

guys dont like me...

..cuz their girlfriends do !

a/n: this came to me while listening to a "you're mark graysons gf" playlist and this song came on. this was so lazy im sorry its so ass. i'll write something of him and reader/you getting together in the near future and link it

not beta read

* mark grayson who, the moment he walks in a room, has half of the girls eyes on him.

* mark grayson who could wear the most basic outfit, a black shirt and grey sweatpants, and have a majority of the school stare at him as he walks down the halls.

* mark grayson who may have the interest of almost every girl and some guys, but has his eyes set on you.

he walks into a class, one of the only he shares with you, and hums awkwardly as majority of the class stares and watches as he apologizes to the teacher, shuffling over to his seat silently and unzipping his backpack as slow and quiet as possible, taking his notebook out and setting it on the desk. mark tries to pay attention, he does, but it's hard when you're a desk infront of him to the right, and all he can focus on is how the sunlight hits your face through the window and how gorgeous you look.

* mark grayson who gets called a heartbreaker by some of the girls at school. all he did was reject them kindly, how did he earn the nickname?

* mark grayson who wonders why some of the guys look at him sideways when he passes by. it's not his fault their girlfriends like him more!

* mark grayson who, once he finally gets with you, shows you off to the entire school. walks you to class, brings you to school and home, and is constantly seen with you.

* mark grayson who deals with anybody giving you problems, saying you don't deserve him or he deserves better.

* mark grayson who is secretly a huge nerd and softy, but only around you.

"mark.." you say with a sigh, staring down at him as he flips through the new limited edition seance dog comic, laying inbetween your legs and resting his chin on your stomach, propping the comic on your breasts. he glances up at you, moving the comic a bit lower to stare up at you with those brown puppy eyes. mark tilts his head, letting out a questioning hum as you internally melt, shaking your head and letting him continue the comic.

a/n: hi im back posting invincible yes [insert head banging noises] its 12;33am ahen i post this im so tired i hope yall enjoy❤️❤️❤️❤️

[secretlyazombi3]

thinking about crying into older! leon's shoulder. your tears wet his shirt, but he doesn't mind, all he's focused on is comforting you. he's too busy trying to make you feel better to care about something like that.

"shhh, you're okay, baby." leon whispers into your ear as you continue to cry in his lap, his big hand gently caressing your back as he tries soothing you.

he's not a man that's very good with helping others with their emotions. but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try.

his hand moved towards your hair; he gently brushed his fingers through your hair as he gently shushed you. "it's okay, love." he assured you again.

he played with your hair, which definitely helped you stop being so tense. his free hand moved to your cheek as he made you look up at him.

your eyes were pink and puffy, nose dripping, mascara running down your cheeks. you felt pathetic. leon still thought you were pretty.

"you feel better?" he asked you as he rubbed his thumb against your cheek, wiping away a tear. your breathing was still labored and occasionally you'd still sob, but you did feel better.

leon wrapped his muscular arm around your body to pull you closer to him. you nodded your head gently. "that's good, baby," leon replied, his voice gruff but his tone still gentle with you.

"everything's okay, pretty baby." leon assured you as he hugged you closer against him. his arms trap your body against his. he rests his head on your shoulder and his stubble itches you slightly.

everything really was okay now. being comforted by an older man was all you needed.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Past Careers

pairing: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (seperate) summary: They find about your past career as a dancer. warnings: fem!reader, slightly suggestive theme, (fluff), no y/n used a/n: sorry about my inactiveness again, my apartment almost burned down last night, but at least i got two weeks off! sorry about any errors, enjoy!

⁛ DICK GRAYSON

It was a total accident. He trusts you as a teammate and coworker in the vigilante field, but something about snooping in your files and digital footprint was so intriguing to him. You tend to keep to yourself most of the time, ignoring his playful remarks, and more or less funny quips. He doesn‘t know much about you, and he won‘t ask personal questions since he should learn to mind his business (that‘s what you told him). Despite his dying need to get to know you better, he won‘t let himself look into your life or vigilante career more closely.

Still, that‘s clearly not what happened this night at patrol. Once he got his hands on his device, he couldn‘t help himself and searched you up. Or rather, your files and somehow got his hands on your birth certificate, which made him learn your real name.

Without further waiting and a lot of guilty doubts, he searched and looked up stuff with your real name. Dick found himself a comfortablel spot by a fire escape, sitting at on of the stairs witha his tablet in his hands. The bright screen illuminated his face, his eyes intently studying the images before him, under his mask. His eyebrows shot up once he discovers a video, the caption being ‘Dirty Dancing in [ ] Club. Fire Show!‘. Of course he had to click on it, even if it was a possible scam, or something completely unrelated to you.

A typical jazz tune comes form the small speakers of his tablet, the camera being directed at the stage. The lights are low, creating a cozy atmosphere around the supposed club.

The spotlight focuses on the woman stepping on the stage, her steps confident, yet secretive. Her steps are in sync to the Jazz band, as she slowly removes her fluffy coat, teasing the crowd with her movements. Even Dick has to shift on the fireescape, keeping his attention to the video.

There‘s no way this is his actual coworker, who he sees almost every night on patrol. Clearing his throat, he continues to thoroughly study the video.

The dancer surprises the crowd once she throws her coat away to the side, the poor speakers of his tablet almost explode as the audience cheers and whistles, making him lower the volume. Now, you pose for the audience, your outfit not just revealing, but also gorgeous. It sparkles in the spotlight, hugging your curves perfectly and leaving little to imagination.

Dick feels his brain short-circuting for a second, having to process what he sees before him.

»I hated that song.«

He flinches, almost throwing his tablet away as he yelps from the sudden voice beside him. You keep your eyes on Nightwing, staying leaned against the railing of the fire escape.

»Oh, hey… fancy seeing you. I was just—« He visibly pauses and looks back down at his tablet before meeting your eyes again. »That‘s you?«

Finally, with a soft sigh, you nod and expect any kind of reaction from him. Either disgust, disappointment, confusion, but definitely not fascination.

He starts to give you a thorough review of your perfomance, although it mostly consists of compliments and questions, such as ‘Why did you never tell me?‘, or ‘How long? Can you tell me more?‘. You were in for a ride.

But he sure knows he found another thing he likes about you, except your skills in combat and ability to keep calm in almost every situation.

⁛ JASON TODD

He wasn‘t one to pry or be curious about ones personal life, especially when it comes to other vigilantes around his area. Sure, he tends to do check ups and make sure nothing is falling apart, but that‘s the most he does. Besides, you are one of the few he trusts the most about work. You both team up on missions, or patrol together regularly, and also have a similar kind of humor. Jason is glad you don‘t ask for more and also tend to be more private about other stuff, besides work.

It‘s not until one evening, he takes up on a usual research about another case, before he stumbles upon suspicious looking files. Surely, a small distraction won‘t hurt. He clicks on it, getting sent to another site with several files, which he soon learns, are personal information about certain vigilantes. He found the source of the current problem, but now he is growing curious as well.

Your vigilante name is on this list, and he wouldn‘t want your identity to be leaked so carelessly. Finally, he clicks on it and finds himself reading through important and sensitive information about you. Your name, address, family— hell, even your career choice before this.

He can‘t help himself, but look through it and eventually check on your past careers. The first few were normal, a waitress, barista, even working at walmart, but ‘professional dancer‘ wasn‘t what he was expecting. Luckily, there are a few videos attached.

Jason‘s hand almost crushes his mouse at the table as he takes in the rather seductive, yet slow movements of your body in that revealing outfit. After a minute in, he pauses the video and stands off his chair to pace a few circles around his room.

Eventually, he sits back on his chair and makes sure to get rid of all these accessible information, protecting your identity and others.

There‘s no way he‘ll approach this subject with you. Unless he is drunk, or completely sleep deprived, which makes his brain and mouth go loose. But surely, none of these will happen soon enough.

⁛ BRUCE WAYNE

He was simply making sure you are a trust worthy person, like he did with every other vigilante he knows and works with. It helped him prevent accidents happen, and keep himself safer that way.

As he reades over your files, he‘s gathered nothing much but your harmless appearance and rather normal life— compared to most others. He didn‘t consider looking into your past careers, until his growing curiousity got the better out of him. The list was rather short, just a couple average jobs most people did at least once in their lifetime, until the last one made him blink a few times.

‘Professional dancer‘?

Sure, it‘s nothing bad, or negative, but it still made him question it more than the others. What kind of dancing did you do? Soon enough, he found some clips of your perfomances across the internet. Some captions were questionable, but he still wanted to take a look at it.

There‘s was the quiet music playing from the speakers, he made sure to keep it low. It looked promising, it didn‘t look cheap, but it didn‘t look too professional either. The stage made it clear that the location was most likely at a bar. Bruce watches, the frown on his face almost faltering once you get on stage and start your perfomance. He shifts ever so lightly in his seat, keeping his eyes on his monitors while you give a rather… suggestive dance. Your moves are graceful and teasing, which make the crowd cheer louder each time you strike a new pose or move.

Alfred clears his throat from further afar, spooking Bruce the slightest bit. He pauses the clip and gets rid of the site, making sure to keep his calm demeanor.

»Master Bruce, I am unsure of… that clip, but I am here to inform you about Mister Freeze‘s new attack.«

Bruce nods his head and gets off his chair, his mind being occupied with everything other than whatever Mister Freeze has planned.

Luckily, he gets his head straight, focusing on his actual duties and makes sure to pointly ignore Alfred‘s questioning about the video. Of course, he will try to make you talk about your past dance career, as well as keep further images out of his mind.

←MASTERLIST

taglist₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆.

@143637-hrrm @dollyure @ibreathesmut @dreamzaremyrealityy @aceoffates

[hopelessmidwesterner]

Old Married Couple

90s (ish) Eddie Munson x Reader

light swearing, fluff, use of y/n.

730 words

“You two fight like an old, married couple”. That had been the age old saying that never failed to get under your skin back in the day. Back when you and Eddie were “just friends” who bickered day in and day out even though you were basically two peas in a pod. As kids, you both would just roll your eyes or go quiet whenever people said that, assuming that it would stop and fizzle out eventually. 

Nothing fizzled out, though. Not in the slightest. By the time you graduated together, you were head over heels for one another and everyone: your friends, your siblings, and even Wayne still gave you shit for your so-called "old married couple" tendencies. 

Sometimes, it was warranted. Like whenever you made the mistake of helping Eddie take his stage makeup off. 

“Hold still!” You scolded lightly, pulling back from his face for the billionth time. He was seated haphazardly on the sink of a dingy bathroom at the back of The Hideout while you scrubbed at the white and black face paint.

“I am! You’re taking forever, babe.” 

“You’re the one who insisted on doing your makeup like The Crow.” 

“Because it’s metal, sweetheart.” 

“Is that why Gareth went out bare faced?” 

“You–”

Dustin cut the two of you off, wandering his way into the confined bathroom with a smug look on his face and a VIP badge hung around his throat. 

“You two are seriously like an old, married couple. It’s funny.” 

“Shut up, Henderson!” You both barked back. 

Other times, it wasn’t as warranted. Not in your opinions, anyway. 

“This is so fucking sick.” Eddie giggled from your side, lying on his stomach while you did the same on your back. The array of sheets, blankets, and pillows around you served as a barricade from reality, only allowing the light from the old box TV in the trailer through. It was by far the coolest fort Eddie had ever seen so of course it was the cherry on top that you’d built it together.

“I think we should seriously consider architecture as a career…like a backup plan.” You agreed. 

“Ooh, yes!” He jeered, clicking on an episode of The Simpsons that he knew neither of you would pay much attention to. It was mostly for the noise to fill space. “If Corroded Coffin doesn’t blow up and if my tattoo apprenticeship falls through, we should totally start our own fort-making business.” 

“Eddie and Y/N’s Forts. Got a nice ring to it.” 

“See?! I’ll even let ya put your name first. That’s how much I love y–” 

A roaring bustle of laughter, Wayne’s laughter, cut Eddie off and the curly head groaned, poking his head out along with yours to see the man in question. He was clutching his stomach at the sight of the complex fort (and at his nephew's cheesiness), beyond amused by your conjoined artistry that had taken most of the afternoon. 

“I can’t with you two.” He said once he stopped laughing so hard, wiping tears from his eyes. “Buildin’ forts in your twenties…God, like an old, married couple!” 

“What old, married couple do you know that makes forts, Wayne?” Eddie asked sassily. Wayne shrugged because obviously he didn’t have an answer but the sentiment remained. 

“If we’re a married couple then he’s the wife. Let’s make that clear.” You joked. Eddie shot you a diva-like glare whereas Wayne agreed wholeheartedly with an enthusiastic clapping of hands as he padded into the kitchen, making sure to weave around the fort so as to not ruin its integrity. 

“Well, yes. Of course. We should probably go dress shopping soon huh, Ed? Has she put a ring on it?” 

“You two are annoying.” Eddie grumbled without much bite to it. 

“That’s kind of our job, Eds.” You elbowed him endearingly and his grimace fell, replaced with a soft smile that was only ever reserved for your eyes and your eyes only. 

“Whatever you say…husband.” 

“That’s more like it.” You beamed. “...Wife.”

As the years went on, you both came to appreciate that description that used to piss you off to no end. It was a compliment if you really thought about it, at least once you made things official, and both of you eventually took pride in such a thing because maybe, just maybe, the idea of growing old together didn’t seem too shabby. 

Plus, calling Eddie your wife was pretty fucking hilarious.

[buckysslut]

𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

[part one, this can be read as a standalone though]

Since Bucky had discovered your ability to squirt an hour ago, he’d made you cum 4 more times, squirting twice more. Each time he’d get you to cum but you wouldn’t squirt, he’d give a small little huff and go straight back to it. You now felt like a wet noodle, hole aching and feeling incredibly sore. You were limp against the sheets, everything feeling hazy. You feel a soft touch of fingers in your cheek, your eyes flitting open. You struggle to open them but focus them on Bucky’s face, all puppy-like and worried.

“Are you okay..? How are you feeling?” He murmurs quietly. You just whine lazily, trying to close your eyes to protect them from the light. “C’mon sugar.. talk to me..” He murmurs softly. You just mumble a quiet, “Tired..” as you rest back on the pillow. “Let’s clean you up, huh, toots?” He murmurs softly, covering you with a blanket and dimming the lights. He grabs a warm and damp cloth, beginning to wipe you off as he gently spreads your legs. You whine, trying to squirm. “Sh, sh, sh.. I know, I know.. You’re okay.. I’ve got ya’..” He mumbles softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your thigh. “Done so well for me, sugar..”

@nosebleedsinthesheets , @chrisevansleftnipple , @homiesexual-or-homosexual , @httpsells

[noorpersona]

Jealousy: Suna (NSFW)

The night had no plans. And that was the plan.

Warm lamplight painted the apartment in soft amber hues, flickering gently across a half-finished bottle of wine, socks abandoned near the doorway, and the lazy sprawl of two bodies tangled beneath a fleece blanket on the couch. Outside, the city murmured in the distance—traffic, wind, someone’s music a few blocks away. But here, the only sounds were the low thrum of a playlist you both forgot to turn off and the occasional clink of glass as you sipped.

Suna Rintarou sat at the opposite end of the couch, half-lidded eyes drifting toward the TV screen though he hadn’t looked at it in twenty minutes. One knee bent, the other foot on the floor, hoodie loose around his shoulders, collarbone peeking out where the fabric hung unevenly. His phone rested facedown on the coffee table—abandoned, for once.

You lay curled into the armrest, sipping your wine, cheek pressed into the pillow, watching him with the slow, foggy fondness of someone three glasses deep and completely content.

He looked relaxed. Comfortable. Maybe a little too smug.

"You ever get bored of being effortlessly cool?" you asked, voice low and amused.

Suna didn't even glance at you. “You ever get bored of talking out your ass?”

You smirked into your glass. “Mm. Nope.”

The silence between you was warm. Familiar. Filled with shared breath and the lazy weight of the night.

After a moment, you tapped the side of your glass with your fingernail and looked over at him, eyes half-lidded. “Wanna play something?”

Suna raised an eyebrow without moving. “Like what?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Truth or dare.”

He blinked slowly. “…What is this, a middle schooler’s basement?”

You laughed and kicked him in the thigh with your socked foot, not even hard. Just enough to say shut up.

Suna grunted on impact, shooting you a narrowed glance as his hand caught your ankle under the blanket.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“You love me,” you shot back easily.

He didn’t answer—just let your leg go and leaned forward to set his glass down on the table with a soft clink.

“Fine,” he said, finally. “You first.”

The couch creaked quietly beneath you as you shifted upright, adjusting the blanket to pool at your waist. Your glass was nearly empty now, fingers curling loosely around the stem while your legs curled underneath you. Suna stayed reclined, eyes on you now with that low-burn stare—quiet, unreadable, like he was already trying to guess what you’d ask.

You toyed with the rim of your glass, lips twitching. “Okay. Truth or dare?”

His answer came without hesitation. “Truth.”

Of course. It was always truth with him. He’d rather be caught dead than do something performative, especially under your watchful, goading eye. Suna Rintarou didn’t dance for anyone—but he’d let you look inside, if only a little.

You hummed, pretending to think, even though you’d already decided. “What was your first impression of me?”

He scoffed softly, dropping his head back against the cushion and staring at the ceiling for a beat before turning his gaze lazily toward you again. “Honestly?”

“Obviously.”

“You were annoying.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Wow.”

“In a cute way,” he added with a lazy grin.

You lifted your leg and nudged his thigh again. “You’re cruising for another kick.”

“Worth it,” he muttered, taking a sip of his drink.

He set the glass aside again, arm draping along the back of the couch behind you, fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder.

“My turn,” he said.

You met his gaze, chin raised. “Hit me.”

“Truth or dare?”

You grinned. “Truth.”

Suna’s eyes lingered on your face for a beat too long. Then: “Top three best times you’ve ever had in bed.”

You blinked. Hard.

A short laugh escaped you. “Are you—seriously?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “You asked.”

Your cheeks warmed—not from embarrassment, but from the audacity. He was leaning into the cushion now, head tilted slightly, eyes hooded, watching your reaction like he was tracking the slow spread of heat across your skin.

“Okay,” you said finally, placing your glass on the coffee table. “Fine.”

You sat back and raised three fingers.

“Number one…” you began, grinning. “That night you came home after being gone for four days? Didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You dropped your bag and practically tackled me into the wall.”

Suna made a small, satisfied sound in his throat, but didn’t interrupt.

“Number two: the kitchen. I don’t even remember what started the fight, but you shut me up pretty effectively.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of smugness there now.

You raised your third finger—and then paused. Let the silence stretch.

“And number three,” you said, tone suddenly breezy, “was probably this one time with my ex.”

Suna didn’t react at first.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

You waited.

Then he turned his head slightly, slow and measured, like processing a minor glitch in a system. His eyes dragged across your face. He looked calm. Relaxed. His arm still hung behind your shoulders.

“You’re putting someone else on that list?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, feigning innocence. “Didn’t think you’d be the jealous type.”

“I’m not,” he replied.

Then he shifted.

His legs uncrossed, knees spreading slightly as he leaned forward, forearms braced on his thighs, eyes still locked on yours.

“I’m competitive.”

You opened your mouth to respond—something flirty, maybe a little smug—but before you could speak, he was already moving.

One hand slid behind your neck, the other gripping the back of your thigh, and he pulled you forward in one fluid motion. Your knees hit either side of his hips as he dragged you into his lap, not rough, but not exactly gentle either. It was purposeful. Controlled.

You gasped softly, wine-blushed hands flying to his shoulders for balance. The heat of his body met yours in a slow burn as his mouth grazed your jaw, barely touching, the edge of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“Third place,” he murmured. “You serious?”

You opened your mouth to tease him—but he cut you off with a kiss.

It wasn’t soft.

It was deep and slow and toeing the line between affection and punishment, his tongue sliding into your mouth like it belonged there, like he was reclaiming territory he thought he already owned. One of his hands found your lower back, pressing you flush against him, your hips cradled perfectly against the slow, rising hardness beneath his sweats.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You said top three, right?”

Your breath hitched.

He tilted his head slightly. “Let’s make it a clean sweep.”

You never made it to the bedroom.

You didn’t even make it to your feet.

Suna laid you back against the couch with a quiet, measured ease, like he was tucking you into something soft instead of preparing to ruin you. The throw pillows shifted behind your shoulders as he moved over you, the heavy drag of his hands along your thighs lighting every nerve with anticipation.

Your shirt was still on. Your panties, around your knees. Everything else was tossed aside: the rules, the game, the ex you’d mentioned like it wouldn’t cost you everything.

His fingers gripped the backs of your knees, pushing your legs apart until you were open—displayed—for him and only him. You felt the chill of the air hit your slick skin, and then the warm press of his palms smoothing up your inner thighs like he was marking them.

You were already wet. Ridiculously so. The kind of wet that made your skin sticky and your mind hazy. He hadn’t even touched you properly and you were half gone.

Suna didn’t speak. Didn’t ask. Just lowered himself between your legs and settled in like this was his seat.

The first press of his tongue was slow. A long, deliberate drag from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you like he already knew exactly what he was about to do.

You gasped—back arching, fingers twitching against the cushions as his mouth closed around your clit, lips plush and wet, tongue circling until your thighs trembled.

He moaned, low and hungry, like you were a meal he’d waited all day for. And then he began to eat.

It wasn’t messy. It was precise. Calculated. He licked in slow, repeating patterns, pressure building perfectly with every stroke. The couch dipped under his weight as he adjusted, one hand splayed across your stomach to keep you pinned, the other trailing over your thigh with soft, absentminded affection.

Your hips tried to move—tried to chase the friction—but he held you there.

“You taste better when you beg,” he murmured into you, voice deep and quiet like it wasn’t meant to be heard. His lips never left your skin.

You whimpered, hands flying to his hair, gripping the strands like you were trying to ground yourself. You couldn’t.

Your first orgasm crept up before you could stop it—warm and relentless, your stomach tightening as he flicked the tip of his tongue over your clit in tight, practiced circles. You shook beneath him, thighs clamping instinctively, voice cracking as you gasped—

“Rin—oh my god—Rin—”

“That’s one,” he murmured.

He didn’t stop.

He pushed two fingers inside you, slow and deep, curling them up until you let out a sharp, broken moan. You were already pulsing, already drenched, and he was fucking into you with just his fingers and tongue like he had all night to unravel you.

The second orgasm hit harder.

You choked on it, the pleasure sweeping through your body in sharp, dragging waves, so intense your fingers went numb and your vision blurred. You tried to close your legs again. He held them apart, fingertips digging into your thighs like they belonged there.

“I’m not done,” he said simply.

You were crying now—soft, helpless tears slipping down your cheeks, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You didn’t know if you were begging for more or begging him to stop. Your body didn’t care. It wanted everything.

“Rin,” you whimpered. “I can’t—”

“You can.” His tongue flattened against your clit, firm and unrelenting. “I know you can.”

Your third orgasm snapped like a thread pulled taut too long. Your body shook, hips jerking off the couch, mouth open in a soundless cry. Your hands were everywhere—gripping the cushions, his hair, your own thighs—anything.

He finally pulled away, lips and chin slick with you, and looked up through his lashes like he was barely winded. His hand was still working inside you, fingers slow and deep, pressing against that soft spot that had your toes curling.

“Still thinking about him?” he asked softly.

You couldn’t speak.

Suna kissed the inside of your thigh. “Didn’t think so.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, shoving his sweatpants halfway down before sinking back onto the couch—grabbing your hips and hauling you down the cushions like you weighed nothing.

Your back hit the armrest, legs dangling off the edge, and he was lining himself up in seconds.

You felt the press of him at your entrance—thick, hot, already leaking—and then he pushed in.

You moaned—loudly, mouth falling open as he filled you inch by inch. He didn’t stop until he was buried to the hilt, the stretch so deep it made your whole body arch.

He stilled, breathing hard through his nose, eyes on your face.

“So tight,” he muttered. “So fucking wet. You’re shaking.”

He pulled out halfway—slammed back in.

You cried out, nails dragging down the armrest as he fucked into you, hard and deep, every thrust sending shockwaves up your spine. The couch rocked. Your body bounced. And all you could do was take it.

He found your clit again—this time with his thumb—and rubbed tight, fast circles that had your fourth orgasm snapping violently through you, your cunt clenching so hard around him he cursed under his breath.

“You gonna come again?” he murmured, hips still snapping into yours. “You gonna give me five?”

You sobbed. “Rin—yes—yes, I can’t—”

“Yeah, you can,” he whispered. “You will.”

The final orgasm came like nothing you’d ever felt.

You screamed—loud, raw, pleasure flooding every part of you. Your entire body went stiff before it collapsed, twitching, legs trembling as you came so hard your ears rang.

Suna groaned deep in his chest, fucking you through it until he came too—hips jerking, cock pulsing inside you as he filled you up with every last drop.

When he stilled, you were ruined.

Sweaty, twitching, wrecked.

He leaned over you, pressing kisses to your temple, your jaw, your cheek, as your chest rose and fell in ragged breaths.

The air smelled like sex and sweat and your perfume still clinging to his hoodie.

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

He kissed your shoulder once more, nuzzling into the space just below your ear, then whispered—

“So…”

A pause.

“Did I make the leaderboard?”

Your brain was mush. Your limbs were jelly. Your body was still throbbing.

And all you could do… was nod.

Suna smiled.

“Good.”

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

more suguru best friends to lovers? I loved that smau so much and I was hoping so bad you were gonna do the little epilogue part 😭

I could love you with my eyes closed

Tags: Suguru x fem!Reader, smau, (brother's) best friend to lovers, modern!au, collegelau, cursing, reader is satoru's little sister, joke about suicide, nsfw, mdni

An: let me know if you want to see more epilogues from me. i'm not opposed to revisiting old smay stories to give an epilogue :)

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Epilogue.

taglist: @vorfreudevortex @lastbreathtaken @indiewritesxoxo @jenzznyq @megumimeg @ziggy0stardust @saiki-enthusiast @ilovegetosuguru @saphiresuns @thegalaxyisunfolding @k1xn4a @7thsthings @spookypeacesandwich @beautifulwitchcandy @cloudxox @storiesbyparadise @needtoloveoutloud @gumiiiiezzzz @harryzcherry @mostly-sunshine @reiluvr @corvid007 @cheriiepies @haloviandoll @drklinsposts @sugusmonkeyy @ti-mame @blessumi @loveyislost

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Like Hell, You’re Shy Now || Dante Sparda ||

The old, battered leather of Dante’s chair creaked under him as he leaned back with that usual half-lazy, half-hungry smirk. You stood between his legs, fingers fidgeting at the hem of your oversized shirt — one of his, of course. It swallowed you whole, brushing your bare thighs, the scent of gunpowder and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Dante’s red coat hung off the side of the chair, his black undershirt tight across his chest, half unbuttoned from earlier. His eyes never left you, glowing like smoldering embers — waiting, watching, eating you alive without a single touch.

“You gonna keep lookin’ like that,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “or are you gonna climb on and make a mess of me?”

Your breath caught, thighs pressing together. You’d had him before — over desks, against walls, in the damn kitchen once — but this… this was different. Riding him? That meant taking control. That meant all his focus on you. No place to hide.

“I—I don’t know if I can—”

Dante chuckled, the sound dark and rich. He leaned forward slightly, one gloved hand dragging up your thigh, slow and possessive. “Like hell, you’re shy now,” he whispered, voice teasing but tender. “You’ve taken my cock screaming before, sweetheart. What’s this really about?”

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck. “Just… it’s new,” you admitted. “You watching me. All of me.”

His eyes softened for half a second before darkening again, fingers curling around your hip, tugging you gently forward. “Then let me make it easier for you.”

With his help, you climbed onto his lap, straddling him. The friction of your bare heat against his jeans made you gasp, and Dante’s jaw clenched as he felt the wetness through the fabric.

“Shit, baby,” he growled. “You’re soaked already?”

Your cheeks burned, but your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the pressure. He looked like sin itself beneath you — legs spread wide, muscles tense, his expression a mix of reverence and filth.

“Take what you need,” he murmured, voice husky. “I’m not going anywhere.”

With trembling fingers, you reached between you, unzipping him and freeing his cock — thick, hot, and already leaking for you. Dante helped, one hand guiding you as you lined yourself up and sank down, inch by inch.

Your head fell back with a whimper as he filled you, stretch delicious and overwhelming. His hands gripped your hips hard, grounding you, but he let you control the pace. You started slow — the roll of your hips unsteady at first — but his praise poured like gasoline on your nerves.

“That’s it,” he groaned, teeth gritted. “Look at you… fuckin’ perfect. Ridin’ me so good, baby.”

You rocked against him, gradually finding rhythm, the drag of him inside you hitting every nerve. Dante’s head fell back against the chair as he watched you through hooded eyes, pupils blown wide.

“Goddamn, you were made for this,” he grunted. “Made for me.”

The warmth on your cheeks was matched only by the heat pooling deep in your belly. Each bounce sent shocks of pleasure through you, and the way he held your hips tighter, thrusting up just enough to meet you — it pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You feel so good, Dante,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Come for me, angel,” he growled, suddenly snapping his hips up hard. “Wanna feel that pretty pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

You shattered, moaning his name as you clenched around him, trembling in his lap. Dante wasn’t far behind — he pulled you down hard and spilled into you with a groan that vibrated through your whole body.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you breathing heavy, skin slick and bodies tangled, legs still shaking as your fingers clutched a fist full of his shirt.

After a moment, he tilted your chin up and kissed you — slow, sweet, reverent.

“Next time,” he murmured against your lips, “you’re takin’ that shirt off first, your beautiful tits out. I want the full view, babe.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re insatiable.”

He grinned. “Only for you.”

[gildedwillow]

you don’t get to come ‘til you fuck yourself dumb on it - melissa schemmenti - 18+

.

she makes you ride her hands-free—just your hips working to take all of her, over and over again. every bounce makes the water splash, your tits bobbing in her face while she licks and sucks your nipples raw. “look at you,” she growls, grip bruising on your thighs. “stuffed full and desperate. Is that all you’re good for, huh? taking cock like a dumb little slut?”

.

melissa schemmenti x fem!reader

You’re already soaking by the time you straddle her lap, hot tub water sloshing around your waist, and Melissa’s just sitting there like she owns the place—hell, owns you. That smug fucking smirk on her lips, red hair pulled up, tanned skin glistening, tits practically spilling out of a tiny black bikini top. Her eyes are locked between your legs, hungry.

And underneath the surface, you feel it—her strap, thick and hard, bumping up against your pussy, just waiting for you to sink down on it.

She raises a brow. “You gonna sit on it, or you need help like the needy little bitch I know you are?”

Your pussy clenches, already slick and aching. You reach down under the water, guiding the thick silicone head between your folds, and the second it nudges your entrance, you whimper. You're already so wet it slides in almost too easy—stretching you, thick and deep, dragging against every nerve-ending inside you until you bottom out with a desperate moan.

“Fuck,” you breathe, hands on her shoulders.

But Melissa slaps them off. “Nah. No hands. You ride it all by yourself. Show me how bad you need it.”

You bite your lip, already shaking. That strap is big—long and girthy, curved just right to hit that spot over and over—but it’s the base of it grinding against your clit while you ride that sends you reeling. You start moving, slow at first, hips circling, grinding down on her. Your pussy’s gripping it tight, walls fluttering, so full you can barely think.

“Look at that tight fuckin’ cunt,” Melissa growls, watching your tits bounce as you ride her. “So greedy for cock. You hear that?”

Slap, slap, slap—your soaked pussy smacking against her hips, water sloshing hard with every bounce, spilling over the edge of the tub.

“Yeah, you fuckin’ hear it. That wet little pussy loves me.”

You nod, jaw slack, riding faster now, ass bouncing on her lap as you fuck yourself dumb. She’s not even helping—just letting you take all of it on your own, hands behind her head like she’s enjoying the fuckin’ show. And she is.

And then she moans. Deep, low, throatier than you expected.

You blink, panting. “Are—are you…”

She bites her lip. “Yeah, baby. That harness is rubbin’ my clit just right. Keep bouncin’ like that and I’ll fuckin’ come with you.”

That snaps something in you. You fuck her harder, harder, like you need to make her come now, not just for you but for her—need to see her fall apart while you’re split open on her strap.

“Shit, just like that—ride it, baby. Fuck—grind that sloppy cunt on me, I wanna feel you squeeze.”

You're both a mess. Your pussy’s soaked, stretched around the strap, dripping down to the base and mixing with the hot tub water. Her hips start thrusting up to meet yours, chasing that pressure as the harness grinds her clit raw. Water’s crashing over the edge with every move now, the sound of your pussy squelching around the strap obscene, wet and filthy.

You grab the edge of the tub just to keep from collapsing.

“Fuckfuckfuck—Mel—”

“Yeah, come on, baby—come on that cock, show me how good this fuckin’ strap ruins you—”

You scream when it hits. Whole body going stiff, legs locking, pussy pulsing so hard around the strap it almost knocks the air outta you. Melissa’s hands slam down on your hips, dragging you down hard onto her cock just as she gasps and shudders, her thighs clenching.

“Fuuuck—yeah, yeah—fuckin’ comin’ too, baby, fuck—”

You grind through it together, gasping, whimpering, cumming so hard the water damn near boils. She holds you tight, her strap still buried deep inside your wrecked pussy while your cunt spasms around it, milking it like it’s real.

Eventually, you slump forward, forehead on her shoulder, water rippling around you both.

Melissa lets out a breathless laugh. “Hot tub’s the best fuckin’ investment I ever made.”

You can’t even speak. All you can do is whimper as the strap stays stuffed inside you, and her fingers start slowly trailing down to your clit again.

“You didn’t think we were done, did you?”

You're still catching your breath when Melissa grips your hips under the water and growls, “Get the fuck up. Face-down. On the deck. Now.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. Your body’s buzzing, pussy still soaked and twitching around nothing now that she’s pulled the strap out. You scramble up the steps, dripping wet, legs shaking like a baby deer, and flop onto the wooden deck—cheeks flushed, hair a mess, still aching for her.

The air hits your skin like ice, goosebumps racing down your spine, but it doesn’t matter. You're on your hands and knees, thighs spread, ass high, and your pussy’s dripping—glossy and flushed, swollen from the way she fucked you in the tub. You can feel your slick mixing with the water sliding down your thighs, wetting the wood under your knees.

And then you hear it. Her footsteps behind you. Her breathing.

Click. The sound of the harness straps being tightened. Adjusted. Ready.

“Look at this pussy,” she mutters behind you, running her hand between your legs. Her fingers slide through your folds, slow and filthy. “So fuckin’ wet still. All sloppy for me.”

You arch for her, needy and whimpering.

Melissa doesn’t wait.

She slams back inside you in one deep thrust, burying the strap to the hilt, and you scream. Your hands shoot forward, bracing on the slick wood as her cock stretches you open again, filling you like she owns you.

“Fuck—fuck, Mel—”

“Shut up and take it.” Her voice is rough, low, right at your ear as she bends over you, chest to your back, one hand sliding up your throat to hold you still while she fucks you.

Her hips slap into your ass, again and again, water flying off both of you with every brutal thrust. Her strap hits deep, hard, angled just right to smash into your g-spot every time she pounds into you. The sound is obscene—wet, squelching, the smack of skin-on-skin echoing in the night.

Your pussy’s stretched wide, sucking the strap in over and over like you need it, like your body’s begging to be used. Your thighs are shaking, face shoved into the deck, drooling, moaning uncontrollably as she ruts into you like a fucking animal.

Melissa grips your hips tighter. “This what you wanted, huh? To get fucked face-down like a fuckin’ bitch in heat?”

You nod, but it’s pathetic—your face is mashed against the deck, lips parted, eyes rolling.

She spits on your back. Lets it run down your spine. Her hand slips between your legs, finding your clit, soaked and throbbing.

“Oh, you’re gonna come again, baby. I feel this pussy squeezing—she’s fuckin’ choking my cock.”

You sob. Your body jerks with every thrust. Her cock’s slamming into you with no rhythm now—just raw power, her own hips stuttering as the base of the strap grinds into her clit harder, rougher, soaked with your slick from earlier.

She’s panting, fucking into you like she’s chasing her own orgasm. “Fuck—fuck, I’m gonna—oh my god, I’m gonna fucking come—”

You feel her shake. Her hips grind deep, and you hear her moan, real and broken, her orgasm ripping through her as the harness rubs her clit raw, her thighs clenching around you.

And that’s it—you fall over the edge with her.

Your body explodes, pussy clamping down so hard on the strap you see stars. Your vision goes white, whole body tensing, jerking, moaning into the deck like an animal as she fucks you through it.

You’re both a mess. Her cock still buried deep in your spasming pussy, your juices dripping down your thighs onto the deck. Her hand still holding your throat, possessive and gentle all at once.

You whimper, trying to breathe.

Melissa leans down, presses a kiss to your spine. “That’s my good girl.”

You can’t even answer.

You’re drooling on the wood.

And she’s still inside you.

You’re still face-down on the deck, leaking and wrecked, when Melissa finally pulls out with a slow, wet sound that makes your cunt flutter again. The thick strap is coated—your slick clings to the silicone in thick, shiny strands, still warm from your pussy.

She grabs your hair and yanks you up to your knees. “Clean it,” she growls. “Mouth open. Now.”

Your tongue’s out before she finishes the sentence.

She brings the strap to your face, tilting your chin up, and presses the tip against your lips—shiny and messy with your own cum. The taste hits instantly: salty, sweet, yourself—still warm, still soaked. You lick it clean, moaning as your tongue drags over the curve of it, mouth wrapping around the head while she watches.

“Filthy little slut,” Melissa mutters, hand still tangled in your hair. “Look at you. So hungry for your own pussy, you’ll suck it off my cock.”

You choke a little when she pushes it deeper, and she laughs. A warm, rough sound.

When the whole thing’s clean—glistening from your spit—she finally undoes the harness, lets it drop to the deck, and leans back on the edge of the hot tub with a smirk. She spreads her legs wide, her bikini bottoms already pushed aside, her cunt on full display.

And fuck, she’s gorgeous.

Her pussy’s flushed and wet, glistening with her own slick, lips full and puffy from how hard she came earlier—like her clit’s still throbbing, begging for more. She smells so good—that raw, musky sweetness that hits you right in the brain.

“Get in,” she says, nodding to the water.

You slide in, the heat swallowing your body as you move toward her. She’s perched on the edge now, legs open, and you settle between them, hands on her thighs, breath already shaky.

“Taste me,” Melissa says, voice low, almost a threat. “Don’t stop ‘til I’m fuckin’ shaking.”

You don’t waste a second.

Your tongue slides between her folds, licking a fat stripe up her slit, and she moans. Her taste floods your mouth—salty, earthy, hot, with that rich tang of her cum still fresh from earlier. You go slow at first, savoring it, sucking her clit into your mouth and flicking your tongue over it until she’s gasping.

“Fuck—yeah, baby, right there—”

You grip her thighs tighter, then move your hands up to her tits. You tug the bikini top down and start playing with her nipples—pinching and rolling them between your fingers while your mouth works her cunt like it’s your last meal.

She’s dripping down your chin, thighs twitching under your grip. You drag your tongue down to her entrance, fuck her with it, deep and filthy, then suck her clit back into your mouth while your fingers pinch both her nipples at once.

Her whole body jerks.

“Oh fuck—fuck—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

You moan into her, sucking harder, faster, her clit swollen and twitching against your tongue, and that’s when it hits her.

She screams your name—hips snapping forward, cunt grinding against your face as she cums. Hard. Wet. Messy.

Her thighs clamp around your head, and you stay there, licking and sucking through it, her juices flooding your mouth—hot, slippery, and just a little sweet. You swallow every drop, tongue lapping up everything that spills out while your fingers keep tugging on her nipples.

She’s gasping, legs shaking, hand in your hair, holding you there while she rides it out.

When she finally loosens her grip, you pull back, panting, lips and chin soaked in her cum. Her chest is rising and falling, tits heaving, her pussy still glistening and twitching.

She looks down at you with that crooked grin.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be good at that,” she murmurs. “Get back up here, sweetheart. I ain’t done with you yet.”