#original: multi

[wingheadshellhead]

In one timeline we kiss but the stars don’t come down. In another you set a world on fire for me but I perish in the flames. Somewhere there’s a final space where your hand on my face is the punchy climax to an epic saga, where the way our mouths meet takes the breath right out of people’s throats. One universe has us right, of all the millions stacked on millions. So it’s not this one. I can live with that.

— Elisabeth Hewer

[lyelyre]

they make me sick and drive me crazy. what the hell

[targarrus]

creator/ destroyer

[valentine-cafe]

hello (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

I'm sure ur inbox is probably brimming with requests rn, so I'm just gonna slip this in and u can take ur time with it!

[Top male] reader who's usually gentle in bed but had to go through a day full of misfortune that got him stressed, and he channels that into pounding the characters hard? When he comes back to himself, he feels so guilty and remains minimal contact with the characters for a few days. (⁠>⁠▽⁠<⁠)

The orders will be tiramisu, affogato and croissant! though, I'm not sure if the characters fit the prompt so feel free to change them out for another. (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠)

And if I haven't lost your interest, may I be so blunt to ask to take up the 📖 anon? If that isn't taken, of course.

Thank you dearly! ♡

˖⁺. “ stress fuck ! ” : 

﹙ multi bttm m. characters x frustrated top male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various bttm male characters !! 🍒 : 

you're typically so gentle with him . . . but after a bad day - you can't help but come back and fuck him senseless 

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ penetrative sex ˖ rough sex ˖ degradation ˖ some angst | wc : 1.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: here you go! hope you enjoy this! and of course you can be our 📖 anon <3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ Alessio 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He prefers it rough. Prefers his eyes rolled back into his skull and nails dragged down your back. Prefers the loud slapping and lewd moans pouring through the room as you manhandle him. Him. A 6’7”, highly trained mercenary. Have you any idea how fucking hot that is?

So when you were pounding away at his tight ass and spewing your degradation to his ear. Well, let’s just say that your cock ramming up his prostate was not the only thing sending him to cloud nine. The very notion that his soft-as-a-feather boyfriend was using him as a cocksleeve was enough to have him creaming all over himself.

Your hands left bruises on his olive skin. Ones that took his breath away when he looked at the mirror the morning after. His throat whispered memories of your tight grip stealing his breath away. Making him cling. Making him keen.

And then. . . you went distant. What the hell was that all about?

Alessio has never been good at no contact. Not texting you goodnight drives him insane as is. So don’t be too surprised when he’s crawling through your window at some ungodly hour to find out what the hell is going on.

“You - feel bad for fucking me?”

His half-hung eyes are wide for once. Before his hands grab at your shoulders and hoist you in. “You’re kidding right? Baby - I loved it.”

The puppy-eyed look he gives you is enough to melt your stubbornness. You sheepishly explain the entire situation and behold his frown. It doesn’t take much more until his arms are around you and toppling your body into the plush of couch cushions.

“No seas idiota.” ( “Don’t be an idiot” ) he huffs into your neck that he nuzzles up. “I just want you to do what you need, amore. None of that. Especially not for giving me the night of my life, yeah?” He pulls back to stare you down and then gives you a little peck when you nod.

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . !! 🍓 : It’s no secret that Vespasiano has almost always been on the giving end in a relationship. Not to mention his lack of experience when it comes to men — so he’s still growing accustomed to being with you. His lovely boyfriend. Who also tops him. With that in mind, he quite appreciates your gentle hands and tender pace whenever he finds himself beneath you.

With that being said, he didn’t mind getting his ass ploughed that night you came home full of huffs and tensions. Even with his shock when you had suddenly buried your hand into his hair and forced his head into the pillows. When you started grunting and calling him a whore - splitting him open and making his eyes roll back.

He doesn’t thin anyone has ever fucked him out so much before. You got him to whine. Got him to whimper. Stutter and tell you it’s too much. Him. A man of his age, his experience.

The morning after, while the ache in his body and the realisation of what occurred still left him shocked, pleasure bubbled over his entire being. That felt. . . amazing.

Then came your distance. Anxiety swelled in his chest all over again. He can’t handle that. He’s dealt with it too many times from his ex wife. This sends him right back to the panic of uncertainty. Did he do something wrong? Were you mad at him?

He’s not going to bother with calling. He knows it never gets anywhere. So he’s showing up to your doorstep with big eyes while trying to keep it all together.

“Tesoro. . . did I do something? Talk to me, please.”

He’s collapsing into you before you know it. The guilt in your heart has you spilling everything which leaves him confused through his endless kisses all over your face.

“Too rough? Please. Do you think ‘m glass? I’m sixty-six, baby.” He’s chuckling against your ear despite his shaky demeanor. Cupping at your face and letting out a soft croon. “Nonsense. Is it new? Yeah. Do I hate it? Fuck no.”

He hooks you onto his lap soon after and shoots you a look of concern. “If anything I’m more worried ‘bout that bad day of yours. Won’t you talk to me?”

 

﹙ Jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . !! 🍒 : He’s so used to his tender and gentle loverboy that the second you had him pinned down to the marble kitchen counter and fucking him to delirium — he almost thought he was dreaming.

He’s so accustomed to whispering sweet nothings to your ear, telling you how good you are, what a great job you’re doing. The last thing he expected was to have that replaced by your ragged voice muttering curses rough praises to his neck. Your nails clawing down his skin. Your hands making use of his flexible, snake-like body. With coils, pins, rough handles all over.

With all his work stress, of course he was all for you fucking him dumb and limp into the sheets. What he could not understand, however, was the sudden distance you put up after the morning of softness. Where he clung to you and murmured how much you had completely wrecked him the night before.

Good luck trying to remain distant from Mister Zhao, however. You’d find yourself confronted the second you avoided his call to check on your wellbeing.

He’s at your workstep before you can so much as blink. Pulling you off somewhere quiet and giving you a look through those amber, slitted eyes of his that told you to talk. Truthfully.

“You know how much I hate being ignored. . . sweetheart, what is the matter?”

All you can do is break when his tender hand caresses your face. Thumb rubbing below your eye while you sniffle over your rough day. How it resulted in you taking it out on him —- how bad you felt about it.

You catch his narrow-eyed stare. The look of disbelief and concern that melted through the prior irritation from your avoidance. He’s pulling you into his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin with a small frown.

“Silly boy. . . if I had an issue with it, do you not think I would have stopped you? Please, take it easy on yourself.”

You’ll have a quiet and calm day with him throughout. Anything to show you that he is fine, and so are you.

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭 

[heniareth]

I love writing Origins bc I love Morrigan being snarky and tone-deaf and so so lonely and Alistair wallowing in grief and insecurity and also loneliness and Sten being simultaneously done with life and deeply depressed and Leliana trying to cheer everybody up and making them all out to be grand heroes of the realms so that maybe she can feel good about herself and Zevran deflecting with humor and flirting left and right while being corroded by guilt and grief and Wynne being so infuriatingly preachy but also genuinely very sweet, and Oghren drowning his sorrows in alcohol and becoming the most distasteful person known to man- elven- qunari- and dwarvenkind... And my Warden is standing in the middle, burdened with the mission to try and save Ferelden and possibly all of Thedas, having to reckon with the fact that their life as they knew it is over and that their time has been cut short, solving everybody's problems, experiencing the unique blend of social injustice proper to their heritage, AND. having to wrangle the above group of misfits. Honestly, nobody does it like the Warden. I too would read like I aged twenty years during that one year trip. What on earth

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I’ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[calvalia]

Are they lovers? (Pt 2??)

I loved you like the sun, bore the shadows that you made with no light of my own

I shine only with the light you give me.

(Reference:

I think I may have found a new obsession with drawing Calvalia and Apollo in various ballet poses. Hm.

This Apollo design is by @bambiilooza !! It’s been too long since I’ve drawn him so here he is!!)

[teatime-tangents-and-toys]

Two years ago, I took a look at the Mystixx doll line, which blatantly imitated Monster High while introducing a compellingly weird "human to monster" transformation gimmick with two-faced heads and wigs. I took a Mystixx doll, put her on a Monster High body (you'll never believe whose) and customized her into a Jekyll/Hyde character. Read the full review, discussion, and customization process here.

[amalgamcorps]

HAPPY 2025!! DONT FORGET TO SMILE :) YEAR OF THE TAUR

[a-sweeter-solarsystem]

Hey everyone!! Look what's premiering in one hour!!!

This project was so much fun!!! Everyone did amazing with their parts PLEASE go check out the video description for everyone's socials and show them some love!! We all worked super hard on this and hope you enjoy it as much as we do!! ｡･ﾟ･(ﾉ▽`)･ﾟ･。

[clouddrawsstuf]

GLITTER HUGS AHHH

[wingheadshellhead]

stevetony + textposts about the multiverse (Check image descriptions for information about each universe)

[electronicmail]

If your favourite pokemon isn’t a fire type fox pokemon im going to start a revolution against you

you have got to calm the fuck down.

[valentine-cafe]

Hi! So this is first of my orders per the question I asked earlier today! :3 Its a smut: Can I get like a scenario for tiramisu (alessio) and the herrera husbands (209) (alessio separately, husbands together please :3), when their virgin partner (fem or gn afab reader) shyly asks them to get eaten out by them for the first time? I mean lets be honest, living or being around these hot ass people would do numbers on me? (corruption kink go brrrrrrrr) I need us to be embarrassed and red like a lobster asking them this 🙂‍↕️ and then us being an absolute mess when its happening. Thank you! I shall await my order with a baited breath :3

˖⁺. “ first taste ! ” : 

﹙ multi monster bfs x virgin fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . verse 781 alessio, herrera husbands x fem reader !! 🍓 : ﹙ alessio: mercenary ˖ inhuman ˖ punk character ˖ jingyi: mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ yandere character ˖ rishen: mad scientist ˖ spider-mantis-moth monster ˖ yandere character ﹚

they know to take it slow with their virgin darling. but then you just had to come up to them and ask if they could eat you out. how shameless.

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ cunnilingus ˖ teasing ˖ virgin reader ˖ tit play ˖ overstimulation | wc : 1.6k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: i believe you are our newest 🐈 anon! these requests you sent in are soooo ahh!!

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ alessio 781. ﹚. . . fucking tease !! 🍒 : He's always told you he'd take things slow. Wait until you were ready. As such, you made the agreement that if you so pleased, you would come up to him and tell him what you wanted.

Easier said than done. Especially when the bastard shoots you a grin from his spot on his black leather couch. You wish the floor would swallow you whole, and still, your feet plaster to it. Unable to move an inch while you burn up.

"What was that baby?" The controller in his hand finds the table beside him. He has more important matters at hand. Like your pretty, shy eyes and the fiddle of your fingers.

He pats his lap. Despite your timidness you comply. Settle on his lap and remind yourself just how much bigger he is than you. If his hands littered in rings dwarfing your waist didn't drive the point home enough.

Alessio leans back. Strikes you a grin. Butterflies erupt in your tummy from that look in his eyes. No running now. No backing out.

You huff. Ignore the heat on your face. The race of your heart. "You - " there he goes with a squeeze to your thighs again. "You heard me 'essio. . ."

The whine in the back of your throat tickles his sadism. Pretty little thing in his lap, all flustered and asking him to tuck between her legs? How couldn't it?

"Awww but baby, need you to say it. Can do that for me, can't you?" That cock of his head. That sly grin. You envision fingers pulling on the dark strands in retaliation, but you'll behave.

"Need to make sure I heard right," damn his croon. "So say it again. Say - 'I want you to eat my pussy out'."

You squeal. Swat his shoulder. What a foul mouth! And he has the audacity to laugh at you right after. Then fix his palms at their home on your hips. Slip them back and squeeze. Shove you forward in a bully-esque demonstration of his strength compared to yours.

With hung, dark eyes mirrored to his grin"Say it." His gaze runs up and down your timid form. As if looking for hidden treasures. You know this man you call your boyfriend. Know what a tease he is.

So with whatever strength you can muster and a quiet apology to the last innocent part in your mind, you clear your throat.

"Can. . . you . . . can - can you please -"

Another yank. You're toppled over him. His piercings nearly kiss your flustered face. "Hmm?"

"Can - can you - please - . . . y'know. . ."

"Nooo baby, I don't." What a cruel croon.

What a cruel lover. Sadistic ass. Seems you have no choice, huh?

"Want you to eat my - my. . . eat my pussy out," quivering. You're quivering. "Please."

The flicker across his face tells you he's more than satisfied. The swat to your ass confirms it. Doesn't stop the whine that you give him before burying your face into his shoulder. As if you could hide from your embarrassment.

"Of course baby." He mumbles to your ear. You feel that stupid grin against the shell. What a tease.

Well, until he's between your legs. Flushed up into your trembling thighs with his tongue buried against your heat. Poor you. Head tossed back. Chest rising and falling in quick increments. Hands lost in the sea of his dark hair.

Dare you say you missed his teasing. His tongue knew nothing of the sort. It's as relentness as his lips. They suckle on your clit and make you squeeze around his head. He has the audacity to click his tongue - grip your thighs and shove them wide.

"Keep 'm spread pretty girl." His tongue runs on your slit. Up and down with bobbed head movements as emerald hues fix to your fucked-out expression. The tremble of your lips when his silver piercing catches on your clit.

Grip his hair tighter. Sing for him so prettily. You wanted this — don't think he's stopping. Not after he's had a taste. Not after you squirt on his face for the second - third - fourth time.

"E-Essio - Alessio -! It's - mnghh - p-please - please."

You nearly have his eyes rolling back. He clamps strong arms skilled with years of mercenary work round your thighs. Shoves them back and glues his mouth to your fluttering pussy. Grinds into it. Flicks his tongue on your clit. Pushes it inside. Fucks you on it until you're clenching around the pink muscle and whining for all you're worth.

"Wanted this pretty girl," he slurs into your cunt. Smacks his lips and groans into your trickle of slick. "Asked so prettily for it - fuck - 'm just giving ya what you wanted."

And he's right. So all you really can do is cling to his hair. Catch his heated gaze with your loopy eyes and buck into his drenched face. All while he's lapping. So careless of your juices dripping down his neck and staining the collar of his black shirt.

꒰ mercenary ˖ inhuman ˖ punkgoth character ꒱

 

﹙ herrera husbands. ﹚. . . over-eager !! 🍓 : When would you ever get them to yourself again? Granted they are still working, albeit in the manor office.

You've grown accustomed to your busy lovers. Still, it doesn't quell the several desires bloomed within your gut. Doesn't stop the need for them. You're tired of your own hands - your pillow — and they're right here so - why waste it?

Maybe that's where you found the strength within yourself to ask such a blunt question. All that confidence bled into the wooden floors the second their gazes fixed to you. Arched brows. Even some surprise in their eyes.

Oh no. Maybe - maybe you can't do this.

You sport a timid smile. Fiddle your fingers and direct your gaze away. Anywhere but on your lovers who seem thrown back at your question. Still, you manage to continue. "I - I know you two are busy so. . . maybe later - or -"

Rishen puts seconds to shame. He's in front of you within the blink of an eye. Head tilted to the side and a crinkle at the centre of his brows. What a teasing smile he dons. "Oh?"

"It appears our darling has forgot her shame. What a brazen question." Jìngyí finished the sentence as his hand props his chin. You hear the smirk in his tone even with the scientist blocking your view.

You gulp. Nearly stumble back. Alas Rishen's hands are faster. They settle on your hips. Squeeze and yank you in. "Now now. Where are you running?"

His face is but a breath away from yours. The tease of his red lipstick nearly has you whining. Your hands exchange hold on his shoulders as the skid of the office chair rolls through the room. Followed by calm footsteps. The sight of Jìngyí grows over his husband's shoulder. Smiling. Just as Rishen is.

Two cold palms grace your shoulders. Cold like the whisper to your flushed ear. "Surely, you are not backing out now, darling?"

You're made acutely aware of what it's like to be squished between them. Fire and ice both whispering the same, filthy promise.

Indeed, the memory of being between them will be etched into your mind. With your head hung back on Rishen's lap while Jìngyí swims between our legs. Tongue endlessly lapping on your quivered cunt like a man starved.

You were almost startled by the serpentine attribute of his tongue. How it flicked the forked parting on your clit. How it delved deep through your throbbing pussy. If you were to look down you'd see the gaze of amber staring at your pathetic appearance. Flushed. Arched. So that your tits bounce up every now and then into Rishen's eager hold.

His fingers tweak and roll your hard nipples between his fingers. His lips fall on yours as he leans over. Mumbles filthy praises that have you spilling all over Jìngyí's face.

"Doing so well. Look at you. Virgin pussy's taking it so well."

The doctor synches with the praises of his husband. Lips wrap around your to suckle hard and send you over the edge once again. Clenched around nothing. Well, until his tongue runs back down to catch your slick. Fuck your trembled hole again.

"She's so sweet," groans Jìngyí, heart eyes staring up at you. He gives Rishen a little look, who in turn snatches you by the hair and makes you face those gold eyes. Stare into them as Jìngyí oh so messily eats you out.

"There we go." With his hum comes a small whine from Rishen who leans over to suck on your tits instead.

"Also want a taste, gege. Don't be greedy."

Let's just say, the husbands had quite the time switching between your body. How can they not give you every orgasm you've craved and more with those pretty, teary eyes of yours?

꒰ snake monster ˖ mad doctor character ˖ mad scientist ˖ moth-mantis-spider monster characters ˖ yandere characters ꒱

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[ekingston]

also on ao3.

“Would you stop fondling my boobs?” Lena hisses, watching as a man nearly wanders into traffic staring at what looks like Lena Luthor, elbow-deep in her own cleavage. He swerves, promptly face-planting into a lamp post when he sees Supergirl herself slap Lena’s hand away. “We’re in public,” Lena reminds her.

“Ouch,” Kara yelps. “Gentle!”

“Sorry,” Lena says. But she only feels a little bad, because at least Kara is now cradling her arm instead of getting Lena arrested for indecent exposure.

Kara is still squirming when Lena checks them in, the receptionist beaming at her in a way Lena has never been beamed at before. Dr. Sattler’s ready for them. Kara gives Lena a last, panicked look, and then she takes the therapist’s offered hand and introduces herself.

“Lena Luthor,” Kara tells Dr. Sattler with a lopsided grin. “Good to meet you.”

“And Supergirl,” Dr. Sattler says, turning to Lena, her gaze briefly flitting down at the S on Lena’s chest. “How wonderful you managed to finally come in.”

Kara flops down onto the couch with a grateful sigh, the skirt of her dress gapping immodestly as she kicks off Lena’s heels. Lena nudges her legs to close them, annoyed. The injustice of Kara getting to act as if she wants to be here. As if she hasn’t been avoiding this visit for months.

(Do we really need to do this? Kara had asked Lena just this morning. Kara’s gaze had been a cross-eyed, sparkling green as Lena applied her eyeliner with a trembling, freckled hand.

Lena had growled in response, knowing even the barest bit of unintentional pressure could blind her for life. We’re not going to cancel just because we’re wearing each other’s bodies, Kara. Hold still.

I bet you’d look good with an eyepatch, Kara had breathed, after which Lena had given up on the endeavor altogether.)

“Your work must keep you busy,” the therapist says magnanimously.

Lena huffs out a laugh. “You can say that again.” And when the Dr. looks at her, curious, “Being a superhero and all that. Always off saving the world!”

“That goes for both of us,” Kara points out. “You—I—don’t even make it to bed, most nights.” And then, softer, “Even when you tell me you’ll wait up.”

“I wish I wouldn’t.” Lena turns to the therapist and explains, “I eat when I’m bored. She comes home to a bed full of crumbs. Who wants to have sex when the sheets are littered with bits of Captain Crunch?”

Dr. Sattler opens her mouth to answer, but Kara doesn’t give her the chance. “Maybe I could make an effort not to be such a neat freak,” she pouts.

Lena’s eyes flash. “Maybe I could make an effort to wash my hands after I use the bathroom,” she snaps back.

Kara sits up. “You do!” she shouts. “You’re just quick about it!”

Lena sighs. “The laws of nature don’t work that way, darling.”

Kara makes a face Lena vows never to make again if she ever gets her body back. “I leave my hair in the shower.”

Lena snorts. “I wash it down the drain. That’s worse.”

“But you fix it!” Kara looks at her with Lena's own wide, pleading eyes. “That’s how—how you show love. By fixing things.”

“Wrong,” Lena flings back. “I break them, so I can feel needed.”

Kara blinks at her, looking hurt.

“That’s.” Dr. Sattler pauses for a moment. “Some very impressive self-reflection,” she decides.

Lena smiles at her, glad they’re getting somewhere.

Kara looks from the therapist to Lena, her blood red lips—easier than eyeliner—pinching together with uncanny chagrin. “I faked my own kidnapping to get out of her family’s Thanksgiving,” she accuses darkly.

Lena sniffs. “I have a codependent relationship with my sister.”

Kara gasps. Dr. Sattler’s eyes widen. Lena arches an eyebrow with considerable effort.

“Oh yeah?” Kara sputters. “Well,” she flails, her nostrils flaring. “You—" she takes a deep breath. "I have mommy issues.”

Oh, fuck no. That's too far. “You do not,” Lena squawks.

"No?" Kara cocks her jaw in a way that makes Lena feel, for the first time, a little sorry for the men she’s similarly stared down. “Let’s find out,” Kara says with the smallest of smirks, and then she retrieves, horribly, from Lena’s purse, Lena’s phone.

“You wouldn’t,” Lena whispers, her heart stopping.

Kara jumps up with surprising agility, dancing out of Lena’s reach. “This’ll just take a second,” she promises Dr. Sattler. “Hello? Mother?”

Lena scrambles over to the other end of the couch, practically throwing herself across the room in an effort to get to Kara.

“No reason,” Kara croons into the phone, grinning as she maneuvers herself away from Lena’s grasp. An elaborately painted and unfortunately placed vase isn’t so lucky. “Just calling to say hey,” Kara says. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Lena really should have taken Kara up on her offer to help Lena master her power of flight. “Don’t make me hurt you,” she yells.

“It is!” Kara sing-songs. “Still going strong, yup. Which is why I called! We were wondering—”

“Don’t you dare,” Lena hisses, clawing for Kara’s shoulder and exploding a couch cushion instead.

“—how would you feel about coming to our wedding?”

Lena freezes, flecks of stuffing falling around them like snow.

“Excellent!” Kara chirps. “We'll see you there.”

Dr. Sattler clears her throat. “I don’t think you two have anything to worry about,” she says. “Your communication style is—unique, but obviously effective.”

Kara beams at her as they're leaving, wearing a deeply pleased expression Lena didn’t even think her face was capable of making. “You really should start wearing more comfortable bras,” she says, rolling her shoulders. “Also maybe take up yoga.”

Lena hums. “You’ve never had any complaints before.”

Kara stops and stares at her, aghast. "Is that what I look like when I'm coming on to you?"

Lena grins at her. "Why do you think I'm marrying you?"

Kara giggles.

- - -

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘established relationship’, ‘at a therapist’s office’, ‘body swap’ and ‘an eyepatch’. You should give it a whirl!