#my writing

[mail-me-a-snail]

TRUE BLU - CHAPTER ART ii.-v.

the complete collection of the weekly chapter art i did for my fic true blu ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ also, idk if it was obvious before this post, but...

...each piece that has red in it lines up with the next ^_^ if you somehow noticed this before i pointed it out, congrats! you get a billion funny monies

[soft-beams]

teen!vi who starts working out because the very first time she tried to carry you, she struggled. she vowed that would never happen again, so she started training. boxing, lifting, and asking both vander and sevika for advice because they're the strongest people she knows.

so when she lifts you up with ease one day, and she sees how adorably flustered you get, vi can't help but feel smug and proud.

she can carry her crush now.

[vampiefemme]

i’ve been thinking about grinding on vi’s boot and now it’s your problem. 18+ below or i’ll kill you.

she’s got you on your knees, one of her legs hiked up to allow you access to her throbbing cunt; you’re lapping at her like a woman starved. the lower half of your face is practically dripping with your saliva and her sweet slick—she loves when you’re a mess like this. hair misplaced and frizzy from her vice-like grip, your eyes watery every time you peer up at her from beneath your lashes to watch her face crumple in pleasure.

“so fuckin’ good at this,” she praises, giving your hair a tug for emphasis. your scalp burns and it makes your stomach churn with arousal. you can do nothing but moan in response, tongue splitting through vi’s folds, nose bumping against her spit-soaked clit in a way that pulls another moan from her kiss-bitten lips.

you shuffle forward on your knees, looking for easier access to the heat between vi’s legs, and you shudder with unexpected pleasure when your clothed cunt brushes against the rough steel toe of vi’s boot. fuck—that’s good.

your eyes flicker up to catch another glimpse of vi, wondering if she’d noticed your reaction. and you find her already watching you, those piercing blue eyes clouded with lust and smug, smug knowing.

busted.

breath hitching in your throat, you continue licking into vi’s heat, eyes locked in her heated gaze—but you shiver anew when you feel vi’s boot lift, prodding at your core. your panties are soaked, you can feel it, even in spite of the cold surface of the steel toe.

“go on,” vi says, a teasing lilt in her voice. “make a mess, princess.”

cheeks burning, you don’t move at first. your tongue circles vi’s clit, dips into the warm heat of her opening, makes her grunt and groan and lose focus of your figure beneath her. and when she’s lost in pleasure again, you grind your hips down against her boot again, hips circling and rotating until you find a rhythm.

just like she wanted, you make one hell of a mess.

[davinawritings]

PLEASE make more of your bunny x werewolf im obsessed with the dynamic (gives us headcanons too if you wantt:((

Werewolf Boyfriend Dating Bunny Hybrid Reader.

Warnings: Knotting, Overstimulation, Vaginal Penetration, Bunny Ear Play?

❤️💕🖤🖤💕❤️

Werewolf boyfriend who knew you would have sensitive ears but didn’t realize just how sensitive they are. 

He had already made you cum multiple times on his cock before he knotted your soaking wet pussy. He layed you carefully on his chest while he started waiting for his knot to go down. 

Without warning, you gave your ass a little shake, shifting his cock around in your tight heat and making him let out a soft whimper at the feeling on his oversensitive cock. Your giant werewolf boyfriend was never one for whimpering, so you involuntarily let out a small giggle.

Your boyfriend rolled his eyes before reaching up one of his clawed hands to where you rested your head on his fur-covered chest. He gave one of your ears a sharp tug as a warning to behave but didn’t expect the response he received. Your cunt immediately clenched down on his swollen knot as you released a whiny moan. 

A smirk graced his face as he grasped one of your ears in each hand and began playing with them. Whimpers and full-on moans left your lips as he kept going, alternating between tugs and massaging your soft ears.

He cant help releasing his own moan as you call out his name and cum on his cock, fingers digging into his muscled chest. His knot keeps him buried inside you, and he smiles as he realizes just how much more fun he can have with you while waiting for his knot to deflate. 

🖤💕❤️❤️💕🖤

[deepspacenova]

UNDER PRESSURE

1700 words | banter. tension. jealousy. possessive Sylus.

Prompt: running into your main lads man (boyfriend) while you're out with your second favorite lads man (as a friend) and how they would react.

Note: Written for this round robin/challenge by the lovely @jinwoosbabyboo -- it's open for anyone, by the way, so consider yourself tagged if you're interested! (:

The smell of antiseptic mingled with the earthy scent of Vagrant's Land while the pop-up clinic buzzed with organized chaos. Patients with various illnesses and injuries stood around waiting for the moment they'd be called back and have their ailments treated or cured.

The welcome tent’s fabric flapped in the soft breeze as you let the nurse manning the check-ins know why you were there. When you were shown inside, you noticed the open space had been outfitted with portable medical equipment to create a busy hive of treatment cubicles and testing areas.

You glanced around the crowded space until you found him. Taller than most of the room, intent on his work, and confidently in his element, Dr. Zayne scribbled onto the clipboard a nurse was holding toward him. Finishing his last marking, he looked up, cool hazel eyes thawing ever-so-slightly and dented with a happy crinkle as he straightened and dismissed your escort.

"Right on time," he murmured, grabbing two latex gloves, a yellow file folder, and his medical bag.

"Miracles can happen when you least expect them," you teased with a grin.

Zayne started to usher you toward a makeshift examination corner since all the cubicle curtains were closed. "Medical miracles, maybe," he quipped. "But you being on time? That’s a phenomenon even science can’t explain."

You laughed softly, sitting down as he gestured to a folding chair and rested his medical bag on the wobbly table next to him. "Careful, Dr. Zayne, your bedside manner is slipping."

With an amused shake of his head, he reassured, "This shouldn't take long. Just a quick exam, same as always."

You nodded, rolling up your sleeve as he pressed his cool fingers to the inside of your wrist and got started. His touch was warm but impersonal, his attention fixed on his readings. He moved methodically, pressing the tips of his fingers over your heart and chest.

Though the process was clinical, you couldn't help but study Zayne with fondness — the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his nostrils flared when a loud noise interrupted him, the way his breath became a tickle on your cheek when he leaned in to adjust his stethoscope.

That was the moment you heard his voice.

“Don't tell me you're afraid now,” Sylus demanded from the clinic's entrance, making nurses and bystanders alike stand to attention, as if they couldn't help but wait for his next directive. “I could put you two into far worse situations.”

Two hooded boys in medical masks shuffled in behind him, the defiant puff of their chests doing little to hide their apprehension. At Sylus' words Luke scowled but didn’t argue while Kieran kept glancing toward the exit like a cornered animal. Giving them a pointed look toward the nurse they were supposed to follow, he took a few steps forward before his eyes landed on you.

The vision of the leader of Onychinus halting in place with a satisfied smirk spreading across his face was unnerving enough to straighten every spine in the vicinity. But he barely noticed as he waved off the boys and made his way toward you.

Then his eyes flicked to the person next to you. To the stern yet striking man whose face was so close to yours he was practically stealing your fucking air from you.

Jaw tightening — the only outward sign of his discomfiture—Sylus strode toward you with deliberate, measured steps, his posture casual but predatory.

A fluttering of wings had taken flight in your stomach as soon as you'd heard Sylus' gravelly voice, but for the sake of Zayne's time and not raising any eyebrows in the semi-public setting, you'd resolved to find Sylus after your check-up. Unfortunately for you, Sylus never much cared about the concept of discretion when it came to you.

Stopping behind you, he placed the edge of his palm on your shoulders, spreading his fingers across your chest in a rather over-the-top display of possessiveness.

Doctor Zayne hadn't even looked up at the interruption and had moved on to digging for a tool in his medical bag when the hand-shaped barrier blocked his access to your heart.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?" Though the words were casual, his tone was wrapped in barbed wire.

"Sylus!" You said, hoping the breathlessness in your voice wasn't too noticeable. Looking up at his sharp features, which managed to be frustratingly beautiful even upside down, you smiled and moved his hands from your chest to your biceps, patting the tops of them twice. "I didn't know this is what you meant when you said you were taking care of some business with Luke and Kieran. Shouldn't you be with them?"

A low chuckle emerged from his throat, laced with both amusement and menace. "I was, sweetie. That is, until someone else piqued my... curiosity." His hands slid slowly down to the crooks of your elbows and then disappeared. Suddenly, the chair next to you was occupied with your boyfriend's imposing form, eyes boring into Zayne's unflappable figure. "I didn't realize doctors from Linkon City made special appointments when they visited Vagrant's Land."

“I volunteer here once a month,” Zayne said matter-of-factly. He didn’t look up as he re-focused on his examination of you, ignoring Sylus' eyes — one, a muted scarlet, the other an angry vermillion — trained on every movement. “It’s a good way to reach those who can’t make it to a hospital.”

Sylus’s gaze darkened, his lips curving into a tight smile. “How noble of you. I see you're very—” His eyes lingered on Zayne’s hand, still resting against your chest. “—thorough with your patients.”

"Sylus," you cut in quickly. "Have you met my childhood friend, Zayne? We recently reconnected when he became my doctor."

But Sylus' attention didn't move from Zayne.

“Any good doctor is thorough,” Zayne replied, turning to jot down notes into your file. His voice was calm, almost bored, as if Sylus’s presence barely registered. “If something's off, it's important to work on her as soon as possible."

“I’ll bet it is,” Sylus muttered under his breath, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

Recognizing the simmering menace in his tone, you jam your elbow into Sylus' narrowing your eyes in a silent warning. Your string of bad luck continued however, when, after he placed a dramatic hand over his elbow, Sylus went back to watching your childhood friend with the kind of intensity that made most people fear for their lives.

Zayne, of course, was not most people.

“Do you mind?” Zayne asked, flicking a quick glance at Sylus through his lashes. “I’m trying to work.”

“Not at all,” Sylus replied smoothly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Another tense few minutes pass, and the balloon of pressure in your chest expanded second by second as the tension between Sylus and Zayne crackled like static.

You were caught between irritation with Sylus for his uncharacteristically territorial behavior or shock with Zayne, who was acting more aloof than usual, almost like he was... purposefully fueling Sylus' ire.

“So, Sylus,” you said brightly, trying again to diffuse the situation. “Why'd you bring Luke and Kieran here?”

“Do they seem like the guys who'd show up to update their vaccines if I didn't drag them myself?” he shot back with a smirk, jerking his head toward the cubicle Luke and Kieran were in.

“That’s admirable,” Zayne remarked, his tone neutral. “More people should take an interest in the well-being of others.”

“That's me, a real caretaker," Sylus drawled, eyes narrowed. And just like that, any hope for the peace you'd been building toward popped like a bubble. "Though I can't say I'm as hands-on as you, doctor. At least... not in public."

"A shame." Zayne raised an eyebrow, his expression faintly amused. “Hands-on can be very effective when done correctly.”

The implication hung in the air, subtle but deliberate. You groaned internally, feeling like a rope in an increasingly taut tug-of-war.

“Alright, enough,” you snapped, looking down at them with your hands on your hips. “Sylus, this is just a check-up. Zayne, stop provoking.”

Both men fell silent, though the charged atmosphere lingered.

Sylus had the nerve to look almost... chagrined for the first time in his life, which alone worked wonders on your frustration — though from the way he stood and rested his hand on the back of your neck, it might've been more placating than chagrined.

Zayne, who also stood up, simply adjusted his glasses, his composure as unshaken as ever.

“I’m done here,” Zayne said, handing you a slip of paper. “I've updated the schedule according to your upcoming work trips. Other than that, you're fine.”

“Thank you, Zayne,” you smile warmly, stuffing the paper into your bag.

Zayne nodded, then turned to Sylus and held out his hand in a begrudging truce. “She’s in good health. You can relax.”

For a moment, you stared at Sylus' stoic expression and worried all hell would break loose in Vagrant's Land. Then, he linked his hand with Zayne's and gave it a firm, business-like shake, turned you around, and led you back to the entrance to wait for Luke and Kieran.

You couldn’t help but glance back at Zayne as you walked. He'd already moved onto his next patient, but caught your eye when you look around. And you could've sworn that Zayne, Doctor Zayne, your childhood friend, winked at you.

Once you were far enough to feel the afternoon breeze sweep over you, Sylus' gaze softened as he searched your face. “You feeling alright?” he asked, looking at the place where her aether core rested. His voice was quieter now, the edges of his tone no longer sounding so ruffled.

“I don't know. How should I feel after I've been pissed on by my boyfriend at my doctor's appointment?” Though you try to sound angry, it comes out as nothing but pure amusement.

At your smile, the tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corner of his lips curved. "Pissed on? I'd never do something so crass, kitten." He leaned down, his breath gliding over the crook of your neck like a feather, and rasped, "You know I'm more of a biter."

[cotton-candyyt]

Same honestly

90% of my writing experience is doing this

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away. 

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known. 

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering. 

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready. 

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

[soft-beams]

vi x reader

inspired by the tik tok trend where someone tells their significant other they'd like an orange. there was a really sweet one where one told their partner they felt like an orange and their partner mistook it for them mentally feeling like a fruit and i think vi would do that.

"babe, i feel like an orange," you say, looking at vi who's laid on top of you. she nuzzles into your neck, causing you to laugh a little as her nose brushes against a ticklish spot.

"oh yeah?" vi murmurs, her words caressing your skin. "that's interesting because i feel like an apple."

you blink up at the ceiling, your brows furrowing in confusion.

"...what?" you ask after a moment.

"yeah, like i'm all hard and crunchy but i'm actually refreshing and delicious," she continues, unaware of how you're about to start cackling. "i agree with you being an orange. you're all vibrant and soft and sweet."

you're trying so hard not to laugh, but pearls of it are escaping you as you hold vi closer. oh, your sweet baby, she has no idea what you mean.

"baby?"

"yes, sweetness?"

"i meant i feel like eating an orange."

"...oh." vi removes her face from her haven in your neck to look at you, adorably puzzled. "then why didn't you say so?"

"i—" you start to explain but simply shake your head fondly, heart overwhelmed with the pure love you have for this woman. "my bad, baby."

"i'll get you an orange any day," vi says as she removes herself from you and goes to the kitchen. "i actually bought some yesterday because i knew you'd crave some. how do you want me to cut it for you? cubes? wedges?"

your smile's so wide that it hurts your face.

"any way you do it, i'm happy."

[weltraum-vaquero]

cariño (eres un amor)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Synopsis: Jayce wakes up with feverish, and with a sore throat.

Tags: SFW, established relationship, fluff, tenderness, Jayce being a big baby about being sick, comfort, Jayce being a human furnace

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: Just another little something to tide you guys over while I work on my bigger projects. I don’t usually do fluff, but I hope it’s not terribly obvious and that you’ll enjoy this little sickfic!

It’s about three AM when the heaping mountain of warmth beside you clears his throat, and shifts around sluggishly. The mattress creaks uncomfortably under his moving weight as he moves to the opposite side of your shared bed.

You can hear plastic soles sliding against the floor when he slips into his fuzzy pink slippers (an old Christmas gift from you — mainly a joke, but now an indispensable part of his cozy wardrobe), and, with a suppressed little huff, moves to stand.

“Uh oh.”

His voice is raspy when he mutters it, and you hear him stumbling, and vaguely see him bracing himself against the nearest wall when you turn to look.

You rush to flick on the bedside lamp.

“Jayce?”

He’s set a hand over his throat, breathing labored, and his loose T-shirt is soaked through with sweat — between his shoulder blades, under his arms, even at his collarbone.

“I don’t… feel so good.” He croaks.

You’re up on your feet before he can finish saying it, rushing to his side to offer your help. He watches you with dizzy, weary eyes, and by the time you reach his side, you realize he’s trembling a little.

“You don’t look good either,” you mutter, brushing your fingers to his clammy forehead. 

Hot. Too hot.

“Hey.” He fake pouts, cracking a tired smile at his own attempt at a joke a moment later.

“You’re burning up a nasty fever, Jayce,” you conclude. It must be getting to his muscles, too, because his thighs are shaking a little. “What do you need, hm?”

“Was gonna go pee,” he says. You cannot, for the life of you, get used to how worn his voice sounds — like he’s just chewed and swallowed a handful of gravel. “And, uh, probably chug water from the sink. I’m so thirsty.”

“Let’s get you to the bathroom, and I’ll get you a big glass of water and make you tea in the meantime. Chamomile?”

He nods. “And an aspirin?”

“And an aspirin.”

His smile turns sappy.

“I love you so much.”

—

He manages to get himself back to the bedroom without you. By the time you get there with a tray of everything you’ve promised and more, he’s pathetically crawling under the sheets like he’s just lost a physical fight, curling up like a kicked puppy once he reaches the pillow.

“Got you some toast, too.” You tell him, setting the small tray on the night stand and sitting next to his curled up form.

Even his hair’s damp with sweat, you realize when you brush a gentle hand through it.

“Not hungry,” Jayce mutters. 

“I know, but you shouldn’t take the aspirin on an empty stomach. Do you wanna sit up?”

“Uuughhhh… okay.” Jayce groans like he has been cursed with the world’s most terrible predicament. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Which is often,” you tease, propping up his pillow against the headboard to help him sit up a little better. You give him his water first — he sounds like he needs it.

He grips the glass with two hands, unusual for Jayce, strength personified. Brings the glass to his lips with shaky hands before he exhales with bliss and starts chugging the damn thing.

He’s done with it in record time.

“Mmh. Thank you.” You take it from him, set it on the nightstand, before you take the tray and set it in his lap. Full, steaming teacup, a sad plate with an even sadder toast and an aspirin right next to it. “Breakfast of champions,” Jayce mutters, more to himself than to you, before he takes the toast.

At about three bites in, he looks at you with wide eyes.

“Shit, the gala. It’s—“ he stops to cough into his sleeve, “in two days…” Jayce looks down at himself, drenched in sweat, then at you. “And you have work tomorrow—“

“Viktor will have to take one for the team,” you counter. Another coughing fit takes him, you hold the tray steady for him as he does, and cradle the side of his face when he starts to calm. “And I’d rather have a shitty day at work than not be there when you need it most, Jayce.”

”I’m sorry,” he mutters anyway. 

“You didn’t ask for this,” you assure. Jayce closes his eyes and leans into the cup of your palm like a tired pup. “We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get you taken care of first.”

He nods weakly, before he pulls the blanket up a little higher over himself, settles into the pillows a little deeper and makes quick work of what remains of the toast. He takes his aspirin with the tea, which, judging by his sour expression when he sips some, is way too hot for his liking.

“Do you want me to blow on it for you?” you offer.

“ ‘m not a baby.”

“You are my baby.”

That makes him crack a wide, boyish grin — and it makes your heart soar. 

“Okay,” he mutters, before he lets you have it and sinks further into the sheets, until it reaches well above his lips, and it’s just his droopy, tired eyes peeking at you. 

You hold the cup with one hand, and the other comes to pet his sweat-damp scalp. He’s running hot, terribly so, but after a minute or so, you swear you can feel him starting to tremble under your palm.

It starts at just his neck first, but you can see the way it shakes him even under the thick blanket, can see the way it makes him nuzzle and hide further down. 

“C-can you get… another blanket?” He asks. “‘m starting to get really cold.”

And if there is one thing Jayce cannot stand, it’s being cold and damp. You know, because he’s always rushing to towel himself dry after his warm showers, you know, because he runs from any snowfall like it could make him melt. You know, because Ximena misses two fingers because of frostbite. You know Jayce was there when it happened. You know.

“That and a dry shirt,” you promise with a kiss to his clammy forehead. It leaves your lips a little sticky, but you don’t mind.

You’ve set the tea on the nightstand before he can finish asking, and you make your way to your shared closet fast. In one of the drawers, you find a thick fuzzy blanket, usually only reserved for the occasional power outage during winter. Which, granted, it is winter, Jayce’s least favorite season, but the heat is cranked up comfortably, as it always is. You can see his eyes smiling when he spots it in your arms, and smiling wider when you pick one of his loose, big shirts next. Whatever’s in reach first just so happens to be one with a drawing of his favorite cartoon dog and red hearts — a little V-day gift from last year.  

With both at your side, you sit down next to him and wait for him to finish his tea. Both hands cupped around it to soak up the warmth, Jayce sips on it in silence, as the both of you watch the street light outside your window, and the thick snowflakes visible in the flickering light below.

“At least I won’t have to wade through that to go to work tomorrow,” he muses.

“Well, I will.”

“Ha.” Jayce grins, curling up closer to his near empty mug in anticipated joy. He’s still watching the snow outside when he says it. “Sucker.”

If he weren’t in such a precarious state right now, you’d be blowing a raspberry on whatever’s closest til he begged for mercy. Right now, you settle for a smaller, gentler form of retaliation— peeling his blanket up and off of him when he least expects it.

“Okay. Let’s get your shirt changed.”

He frowns and makes a displeased little sound at that, but dutifully sits up regardless, and tiredly pulls the shirt up and above his head. To little avail, he also tries to dab himself dry using the damp shirt where he’s sweatiest — at the back of his neck and his underarms, before he tosses it near the laundry basket in your bedroom and turns to you.

“Arms up,” you tell him. “I’ve got you.”

It should be illegal to look this good while feverish and dazed. You can’t help the eyeful of him you get, not when his skin’s sweat slick and glistening, fuzz stuck to himself between his pecs and right below, the fuzz on the rolls of his tummy.

The second it’s on, Jayce wastes no time disappearing under the blanket once more, and you take the hint. The second, fluffy one is quickly unfolded and draped over him as well, before you climb atop him and begin to tuck him in nice and tight, the way he likes it when he gets like this.

Except — Jayce won’t stop staring.

He looks at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes and finally a pout when you don’t seem to take the hint.

“What is it?” You ask. You bring up one of your hands to cradle his soft, sleepy face, brushing through the scruff at his jaw. “D’you want a kiss?”

“Not just a kiss…”

He tilts his head and flashes you one of those sickeningly sweet, winning smiles of his. And he’s right to do it, because you know he’s about to ask something very difficult from you.

“Cuddle me?”

If he weren’t a living, breathing pile of hot coal right now, you might have said yes.

“I barely make it out alive and unscorched out of sharing a blanket with you on a normal day,” you remind.

“Please?”

It should be worrying how effective his tone is, worn and sore as it’s gotten. 

“You’re going to boil me alive under there.”

And that all seems pretty insignificant in spite of it all when he smiles drowsily and shrugs with a little hum.

“Mm. With love.” His raspy voice cracks on the second word.

It’s with much annoyance that you realize that if Jayce begged nicely enough, you would gladly do just about most things on this wretched earth. And that unfortunately includes this certain death sentence.

“Alright.”

From under the blankets, Jayce gives a tired, but victorious little yes.

You hardly make it far when you lift the blankets to join him. The heat is below overwhelming, even by his standards, envelops you suffocatingly, before warmth personified practically pounces on you. Jayce crawls to you the moment he can, nestling up against your side like he weighs nothing (except that he very much does, but it’s a familiar, comforting heaviness), before he drapes himself on top of you. Head on your chest, tired arm slung over your middle, the leg that’s closest to the mattress stays stretched out next to yours, and the other one he brings closer to himself, almost in a fetal position, his thigh atop your hips.

It’s already too much, but Jayce cuddles closer, rubs his face against you like an enamored little pet. If he had a tail it’d be wagging, or if he had the means for it, he’d be purring — either way, you can’t help a smile of your own, in spite of how smothered you are. You cradle the back of his head closer, until you can comfortably rest your cheek atop his hair.

Until… he shifts, and you can feel the tip of his nose nudging your jaw.

“And my kiss?” Jayce croaks.

He will be the death of you.

And yet, you’re very content with the notion as you pull back to look at him. You find him lazily lying on your chest, face tipped towards you in expectation, eyes lidded with sleepiness but still trained on you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“Where do you want it, baby?”

“Mmm…” Jayce lets his eyes drift shut and sniffles a little. “Dealer’s choice.”

You go for the space between his brows — messed up from sleep and how he’s been rubbing his face against you, instead of neatly tamed into place with his beloved brow wax.

You can hear his smile widen the second your lips brush his skin. And you don’t get to smooch him properly, before he’s already asking: “Another?”

You indulge. One more at his brow bone. One at his cheekbone. One on his closed eyelids, lashes tickling your lip, one at the strong bridge of his nose, one at the tip of it, a last one—

“Hey, no.” Jayce hides his face before you make it to his lips. “Don’t risk it.”

You can’t help a little laugh. This is where he draws the line?

“If there’s anything to catch, I’ve most likely caught it already,” you assure. “Unless you don’t want a kiss.”

That gets to him.

“Hmmm… I do want one,” he replies before you can hope to taunt him any further. He ponders it for just a moment, before he’s already tilting his face back up towards you in invitation, nose brushing under your cheek. “Okay. Please?”

You give him what he wants. A tender little nudge of your soft lips to his smiling ones, a swipe of your tongue at his bottom lip. Jayce purrs with delight at that, voice coming out in a low, gravelly hum, before he licks back, not ravenously, much more like a kitten. Basking in your comfort, in your presence.

When you pull back, Jayce inhales a fragile little breath before his eyes flutter open just barely. 

“Are you a little warmer now?” You ask. 

He nods. “And you?”

You chuckle. “If you’re lucky, you’ll find my bones in the morning. The rest of me will probably melt off and soak into the mattress.”

“So dramatic.”

“I learned from the best.”

[rokonrrc2]

Learn More

can you infodump to me? (i love you) is this overwhelming? (i love you) is this the right texture? (i love you) is it ok to touch you? (i love you) do you want the subtitles on? (i love you) do you want to go somewhere less noisy? (i love you)

[smallpwbbles]

Fic chapter is written! Just need to do some edits and finish drawing some art for it and I’ll have to posted tomorrow!

[soft-beams]

"vi?"

"yes, baby?"

"you're grabbing my tit."

"...yeah, and?"

"why?"

"for emotional support."

"..."

"..."

"...what?"

"i'm stressed and your tits are the perfect stress relief. they're my emotional support tits."

"why not grab your own? you have tits."

"..."

"don't look at me like that, i'm just—wait, no—violet, stop! you can't put my whole tit in your mouth right now!"

[reds-hoodies]

I’m thinking about Gotham Knights! Jason and his chain necklace-

He wears it because he knows the silver looks good on him. You gave it to him on his birthday and he always keeps it on him, he even wears it under the uniform. He fights with his hands a lot, so wearing a ring wouldn’t be the best option, but he can tuck the necklace under his shirt or zip it away safely under the suit. It’s a little piece of you he can always keep with him close to his heart.

Jason tends to rub his fingers along it while he’s thinking. It helps him focus. And the weight of it grounds him sometimes when he has some bad memories come up.

He’s smitten with you, he won’t admit it but he wears it to give you easier access to him. He shivers when you trail your fingers across the links. How your fingertips whisper over the sensitive skin on his neck nearly makes his knees buckle.

He likes when you use it to pull him close to kiss him. The way your fingers brush his skin as you yank him to you like you were pulling a collar. And god does he love that.

Hell, he’ll even put it on you. It’s his favorite thing for you to wear, especially if it’s all you’re wearing. When its links sparkle against your skin, glistening against you— the most beautiful jewel he has ever seen.

He loves his chain necklace.

[twosides--samecoin]

“Listen. In this house, getting up from the ropes is a success. Most people aren’t brave enough to bother. Do you remember my fight with Arturo? The way he got up after I punched his liver?”

Olivia nodded, remembering the recording of a much-younger Jack as he threw punches; only held back by the confines of a ring and the borders of a television set.

“I think we should all be more like Arturo. We should always get up and keep going, no matter how hard you get smacked.”

[themeraldee]

First Time for Everything

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 2.1k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Cunnilingus. Fingering. Overstimulation. Squirting. Literally just PWP.

Written for anon 💚

Homelander’s got you with your back flush to the bed, panting and twitching. He’s just finished a damn good job of licking and sucking your cunt through an orgasm, as always delivered without a hitch. You’re there thrashing around like a fish out of water but he’s got your hips pinned down and there’s not a chance in hell you could ever get out of his titanium hold.

With his head still buried in between your thighs he flattens his tongue over your quivering pussy, feeling every throb, pulse and twitch. Fuck, you feel good against his tongue. While most people he encounters quiver with fear, you quiver with mindless pleasure, the muscles in your thighs shaking around his head. The smell of you has him hungry for more as he laps over your weeping cunt a few more times, catching your clit at every swipe of his tongue. And you taste fucking divine. It was only appropriate for a god like him to be served the most exquisite pussy.

He moves his hand up, pressing down on your pubic area to hold you while his other, now free, hand squeezes his shaft through the soft padding of his pants. It’s not really enough, not enough at all. Especially compared to the delicious squeeze of your cunt he recently got so used to. He pulls back to watch as it uselessly squeezes around nothing, begging for his cock and his cock only. 

All in due time. If he stuffed you full now, the fresh tight, orgasm-powered squeeze of your slick walls would have him spilling in no time. You truly were lucky to have him. Nobody else could be so attuned to your needy body’s reactions. Nobody else could see your inner walls pulsate and throb, still coated in your delicious sticky sap.

Just as your orgasm eases off, you lift yourself up slowly to your elbows, then to an almost sitting position, supported by your hands. But Homelander isn’t ready to give up the control he has over your convulsing body. So instead he stops squeezing his cock and he pushes you down on your back again.

“Nope, you stay down. I’m not done with you yet.” His tone was innocently cheerful but his grin didn’t hide the depravity of his thoughts. Oh the thoughts running through his head on just how many ways he can ruin you. Just how many orgasms can he give you before you pass out? Have you ever come without getting your now poor and overstimulated clit played with? He should find out. Fucking into your cunt at every angle imaginable, from either side, front and back, upside down; he could do it all—effortlessly. And when your pussy is raw and aching? Well then he’ll have a little play around with your cute ass. Have you ever had your asshole fingered? Of course not, you were too sweet for that. 

Now that you’re his he’s gonna have to work hard to screw that sweetness out of you until he’s left with an unabashedly begging mess that he knows is hiding in you. His cock throbs at the idea. The idea of corrupting you to your filthy core is a tempting one.

He wants—no, needs—you to know that there’s never gonna be anyone that can make you feel like this.

Now that you’re on your back again without much protesting, he peels his gloves off. He thought about stretching your cunt around the soft leather of his glove but the temptation to feel your throbbing flesh around his bare digits was too strong to overcome. 

He places his left palm flat on your pubic area, pressing down a little. Looking up he meets your eyes and with another shark-like dazzling grin he asks. “Comfortable?”

You give a cutesy little nod, biting your lip. How dare you look so cute. Other vermin usually tremble in fear anytime he’s close to getting his hands on them whether it be with good intentions or not, yet there you are with his palm pressing down on you and all it does is send a thrill up your spine. The same palm that is capable of very easily crushing the bones in your pelvis is currently splayed out tapping each finger in succession against your skin.

You give your hips a wiggle just to show him how comfortable you are with barely being able to move.

“Good.” He smiles at you, his heart skipping a beat at the joy and excitement that is pouring out of you. You really fucking love him. Feeling overwhelmed by that ballooning emotion he looks down instead focusing his thoughts on your pussy. She’s eagerly waiting for him, so really it’d be rude of him to take any longer.

His pointer and middle finger slide from the top of your slit all the way down. Immediately coated in the sticky goodness your cunt can’t seem to stop producing around him. His slicked fingers go up to your clit, spread in a V shape, now catching your clit where they meet. You give him a few little squeaks each time he gives your clit another teasing bump. How you appear so apple pie sweet even when he’s got his fingers and lips soaked in your juices never ceases to amaze him.

His fingers finally make it down to your hole. It’s pulsating right in front of his fingers, opening up and just trying to slurp him in. It’s a miracle he hasn’t shoved his cock in there yet today. He licks his lips, the taste of you a reminder of good times while the tips of his fingers slide in.

He parts his lips, eyebrows furrowed as he watches your flesh eagerly slick his way through. He lets out a short cut-off gasp as he turns his fingers upside down with his palm now facing up while still inside you. And god is it fucking tight in there. He hasn’t had a chance to stretch you out yet. His cock throbs constantly now, his balls feel heavy, aching to unload inside you. Just feeling your cunt choke his fingers out makes him gasp. The memory of what it’s like to have you squeeze his hard shaft is indescribable, yet he feels it vividly around his fingers knowing you’d be pulling load after load from him. No chance he’s pulling out with a grip like that, fuck.

He’s way too close to messing up his pants with how vivid his memory feels so instead he focuses on you. He needs to ruin you as much as you ruin him. There you are happily on your back not even knowing how hard you’re making this on him. He needs you just as ruined. Just as hazy with the lust he feels anytime he smells your cunt get wet.

He pumps his fingers in and out a few times, getting the digits thoroughly soaked. He presses you down a little harder. You need to be kept in place. He crooks his fingers up, pressing against the soft spongy spot with his fingertips. 

He’s only two knuckles deep when he pumps his fingers inside you. He starts slowly. His strong fingers massage you, forcing gentle sighs out of you. Yeah, that won’t do. Going a little harder, he fucks his fingers in and out of you in a curved motion, hitting those upper walls with each stroke. His approach is loose and relaxed, giving you a little warm-up. 

“Homelander…” Like music to his ears you moan his name. Your upper body arches. Your hands squeeze the sheets, your own tits, anything. Not being able to move your hips leaves you defenseless. He speeds up. He keeps up the same rhythm, unfaltering in the motion. The squelch of you alone has him salivating. Whether it’s because he’s hungry to eat your pussy again or just desperate to bury himself balls-deep he doesn’t know, but he wants it either way.

“Oh god, wait, it’s too much..” One of your hands grips his forearm, trying to pull his hand away from holding you down but you stand no chance. Good luck pushing against his godly frame. The only way you’d get him off would be if he took mercy on you. And he’s definitely not planning on that.

Your responsive cunt quivers around his digits. He feels your rushed breath and raised heart rate through the press of his hand. It’s delicious. Giving up any control you ever had over yourself and letting him take the wheel. Even though his pace is harsh, his rhythm is even. He fucks you silly as you cry out, eyes welling up with tears when he doesn’t let up.

“Wait, wait, wait, slow down! Please, fuck—oh fuck—please slow down, Homelander!” You sound shrill, panicked as an unfamiliar feeling rises in your core when Homelander’s fingers plunge into you over and over again, rubbing your wet cunt raw and sensitive. 

He doesn’t stop. Not yet. He wants another pretty big finish. He wants a display equivalent to the fanfare of the 4th of July fireworks. He wants you to celebrate him. Your body needs to appreciate how much he’s giving you.

Each wet throb of your pussy has his cock leaking into his underwear and if he were any ordinary man he’d be losing all self-control, rutting into the sheets or just you, chasing his own spectacular finish. But this is about you proving how much you love him. How much are you willing to endure?

 “Please, it’s too much, too much, toomuch.” You’re gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your cheeks are streaked with tears as your pathetic attempts at getting him to stop fail. He’s unyielding. A marble statue. Perfect in every way.

Your cunt is vividly locking up around his fingers and while he expected a show-stopping orgasm he didn’t expect this. A gush of clear liquid spurts out of you, followed by wail coming from your lips. Fuck. You’re a squirter. He pulls his fingers out with a squelch as you gush a few more times, soaking his hand, the sheets beneath you and his sleeve. Looking at his soaked sleeve now he thinks he doesn’t even want to get it washed out, carrying the scent of your pussy around like a trophy. 

It’s uncontrollable. Your muscles quiver in a way he’s never seen before. He plunges his fingers into you again, greedy to see if there’s any more in you. Come on, you can do better for him. He deserves the fucking best.

He fucks his fingers into your weeping cunt rapidly, less rhythm this time as he realizes that the heavy breathing he hears is coming from him. You’re wetter than you’ve ever been, slick and squirt coating your thighs, running down in between your ass cheeks adding to the embarrassing bodily squelch of being just a bit too messy. 

It’s alright, he can be messy too. He’ll forgive you for this.

You throb hot and heavy around his fingers and he pulls them out again as he watches you gush two more respectable spurts out of your exhausted pussy. He finally lifts his palm off your pubic area and already you’re squirming, pulling back from him and letting your muscles quiver freely.

“Wow, someone didn’t share all their talents with me!” He looks at you. Wow. He wishes he had a camera on him. You’re panting, your eyes are wet and hazy, your lips are swollen from the way you’ve been biting them and you’ve broken out into sweat. “Made a nasty mess, sweetheart.” He gives your pussy a wet pat with his hand while it’s still in reach. 

“I didn’t—I didn’t know I could…” You sound wrecked. Jesus, he’s done a number on you. But that’s good, you do a number on him each time too. It was only fair you got to know what it's like to feel so uncontrollably good. “Umh, huh, I’m—I’m sorry. For the mess, I mean.” Aren’t you cute? He forced you to squirt and yet your good nature made you feel like apologizing. The only person you should apologize to should be the Vought employee that’s gonna be responsible for changing the sheets after he’s fully done with you. And even then they don’t fucking deserve your apology.

By now he’s had enough of you pulling away, trying to keep him away from this beautiful performance. My god, you were a natural at this. And he’s so fucking close to making you unravel fully.

“Shh, shh, none of that. No apologies. Instead…” He trails off, flashing you another sharp grin. He grabs you by your thighs pulling you right against where he's rock hard and aching. 

“Think you can do that on my cock too?”

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox