#rated: E

[dangerpronebuddie]

I Can See You Being My Addiction (3k)

“I'd wear a costume for you.” Buck snorts. “You already are. You suggested it.” He reaches over with his free hand to tap Eddie's thigh and then just… leaves it there, the heat of his palm adding to the heat in Eddie’s belly. “Yeah,” Eddie says. “Cause you were excited about it. You should get to be excited about things and- and have someone who wants to see that grin on your face.” “Eddie,” Buck whispers, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, but it drowns out the noise anyway. Eddie cranes his neck to look at Buck, his head landing on his shoulder. Buck looks down at him, his pupils blown wide. His gaze flits down to Eddie's mouth and he licks his lips. “Eddie,” he says, or maybe begs, and then his mouth is on Eddie's.

[Read on ao3]

[desceros]

look, look here, can't you see (link to ao3 here) 4.2k

When he'd think look at me look at me look at me, this isn't exactly what he had in mind.

f!reader, rated e. friends to lovers, mutual pining, smut, body worship.

affectionately known as the tittytello fic, based off of this art that gb drew. i wrote this MONTHS ago and completely forgot about it, oops. plz enjoy ✨

[magecrafts]

MAYA LOPEZ headcanons.

rated e for explicit sexual content — 18+ — minors dni.

a/n: beefy pro fighter maya my beloved

maya lopez x reader ; is your girlfriend a puppy or a brawler? yes.

warnings: nsfw, semi-explicit smut, afab language, anal play, choking, spanking, strap-ons, rough sex, one single mention of blood.

watching maya in the ring gets you hot. especially when she’s fighting men and they can’t hold their own against her. she’s faster, anticipates better, hits harder, bounces back quicker. first time she invited you to a fight you worried you wouldn’t like seeing her get hit, but that fear dissolved when she took a mean cross to the jaw and found you in the crowd, flashed you a bloody grin, and pummeled her opponent into submission with heavy-handed blow after blow before the first round was up. when you kissed her in the locker room after the fight she tasted a little bit like blood even though she’d already cleaned up, but you didn’t mind. you kind of liked it. then she used her prize money to take you out to dinner where she touched you under the table while she ate steak tips and drank beer and you were left to grip your drink until your knuckles went white and every muscle in your body tensed. 

nowadays you’re front row at all of her fights with her leather jacket draped over your shoulders to keep it warm for her and so everyone knows exactly who you’re there for. who you belong to. 

tight hugs when she comes home from the gym in muscle shirts, nuzzling into a big bicep because it’s warm and hard and you’re never safer than when you’re wrapped up in her. kissing on her arm because you don’t want to pull away to free your hands to speak and you don’t think she wants to either and you like that her skin tastes a little like sweat and you really like how she flexes as soon as your mouth touches her.

it’s always the arms. reaching for her in bed at night, curling your hands around her arm, pulling it against your chest and snuggling it like you would a teddy bear while she snores softly at your side. tugging her arm around your shoulders while standing in line at the supermarket. digging your nails into her forearms when she plants her hands on either side of your head and looms over you with a presence as intimidating as it is dead fucking sexy. telling her she should get tattoos because she’s got the arms for it. she’s not big on pda but she doesn’t mind you hanging onto her arm in public because it makes her feel like you’re never going to leave her and as independent as she is you know she lusts after the loyalty she inspires in you.

when she hangs out topless in boxers at home you’re always ready to fucking fold. when she cooks in training shorts and a sports bra you like to sit and watch, following the ebb and flow of thick muscle beneath her skin as she moves through the kitchen and pretends not to notice how heavy your eyes are on her. when she works out in cropped tanks it’s hard not to drool and you get stuck between wanting to drop to your knees and worship her abs with your tongue and wanting to get pinned down and rendered helpless by her big strong arms.

sometimes you wake up in the morning to maya doing pushups on the floor beside the bed. you roll over to the edge and prop your chin on your hands and watch with a dreamy little smile on your face. when she’s done you drag her into the shower and throw yourself at her under the spray of hot water.

other times you wake up to maya doing pullups on the bar you installed in the doorjamb. sometimes on those days you’ll roll onto your back and prop your legs open and stroke yourself through your underwear while you watch her muscles bulge and flex, pausing to tell her, “ten more,” before going back to playing with your cunt. getting yourself ready for her while you watch her smirk and power through the last of her reps. by the time she’s done and crawling back into bed with you her chest is heaving and her skin is warm to the touch and when you take a fistful of her shirt and pull her down on top of you she’s heavy and solid and her hips fit so well between your legs.

bear hugs. her big muscly arms draped around your neck, your face nuzzled against her throat. her hands on your legs while you lay on the couch with a movie on in the background. her fingers working the knots from your back after a long day, pressing your skin, stroking your muscles like she can convince them to ease up and stay that way if only she touches you in the perfect spot. coming up behind you while you’re cooking and draping herself over your back, arms over your shoulders, cheek pressed to the side of your head as she rests her weight on you and you can’t even be annoyed about the fact that it’s very hard to cook with a big brawler putting all her weight on you because you love when she gets clingy. you set down the spatula and sign, “puppy,” because you know she’s watching your hands and it’ll make her roll her eyes and grin and because she really does act like a big lapdog sometimes and she knows it. 

wearing her shirts. her hoodies. they’re big on you but you like that, and you like that they smell like her, like she’s right there with you instead of working late. when she works late and you’re bored and lonely you’ll text her nonsensical strings of emojis, or you’ll tell her about whatever garbage television you’re watching in her absence. she’ll usually text back within minutes, always making sure you know you’re as much a priority as her job is. on the rare occasions when she doesn’t text back quickly, you’re not above playing the teasing game. pulling on one of her zip-up sweatshirts with nothing on underneath and sending her a selfie. stripping down and slipping into a pair of her boxers and posing for a picture in front of the standing mirror in her bedroom. her responses rarely betray how much she truly enjoys pictures like those, but an i’ll deal with you when i get home or a behave yourself from maya is the equivalent of a heart-eyes emoji from anyone else. and she does always deal with you when she gets home (and you rarely ever behave), though ‘dealing with you’ can mean anything from eating you out on the couch until you’re trembling and teary and too sensitive to take any more to throwing you over her lap, spanking you red and raw, and slipping her favorite little plug into your ass. 

maya likes to lounge. likes to kick back and sit with her knees propped open wide, likes you on her lap where you can see her and she can see you. claims it’s better even than the view of you bent over with an arch in your back because it’s all in the eyes. so she claims. but you’re fairly certain she just likes you on her lap so she can talk dirty to you. so you’re ready for it when she drops onto the couch and pulls you down to straddle her lap. “you look good,” she’ll say, hands moving slowly, deliberately, because she knows you hate waiting and she loves drawing out the teasing. “like you were made to be on top of me.” and you’ll start to blush, which she loves, too, and she’ll reach up and brush your rosy cheeks with her thumbs to draw attention to your bashfulness. meantime she’s just smiling that little secret half-smile that pulls at the corner of her lips as she gazes up at you through her lashes. “i want to watch you ride me,” she'll tell you, or, “let me sit back and watch you bounce on my dick,” or, “show me how you ride my cock.” doesn’t matter what she says, you’ll do whatever the fuck she wants.

win or lose (though maya has five wins for every loss) you’re her favorite prize, the one she can always count on. she’s indulgent after wins, likes dragging you into the locker room and sweet talking you into stripping down and joining her in the shower. she’ll soap you up until your skin’s all slippery and warm and then she’ll touch you for what feels like hours: coasting her hands down your back, taking handfuls of your ass, pulling you in until your hips are notched against hers, until you’re anchored to each other and nothing in the world could force you apart. she likes how you feel against her, your slick heat on her thigh always warmer even than the hot water, your nipples rubbing against her chest. she’ll kiss you nice and slow, she’ll suck your tongue into her mouth, will touch every inch of your body she can reach, reacquainting herself with how you feel when you’re laid bare for her. when she touches you between your legs where you need it most it’s all gentle, unrelenting pressure, and it’s all so soft. fighting’s her outlet, you’re her reward, and she treats you like you’re priceless. 

it’s different after a loss. when things don’t go her way in the ring she won’t bother with a shower, she’ll just grab her bag and then grab you and take you home. sometimes you don’t even make it to the bedroom before her aggression surfaces and she bends you over the kitchen counter, the dining table, or presses you up against the wall in the hallway and yanks your pants down and forces a knee between your thighs so she can rut against you, fucking you into a hard surface because there’s nowhere else to put her frustration and she knows you like to take it. when she loses, round two is you on your knees with her leg over your shoulder and a hand in your hair, holding you steady while she uses you to get off. fucks herself on your face, rubs her cunt against your mouth and nose while you do your best to keep up with your tongue without losing your breath. round three is you on your back, legs hooked around her waist, pussy stretched around her favorite strap while she pounds into you, fucks you open, one hand wrapped around your throat so she can feel every last little sound you make.

win or lose, you love her. you’d be crazy not to.

[tommykinard6]

Hehe.

Rated: E

Pairing: BuckxTommy

Words: 1,560

Chapters: 1

Completed? Yes

Summary: Evan takes his boyfriend apart.

Featuring: bottom!Tommy, filthy smut, and a mutual praise kink.

[worrynoodle]

It is truly unfair that you can't read something for the first time again.

Does anyone else actually have like a post-read crash?

Let me put you on to a fic:

Lunacy by Snae_b (rated E)

(I'm sorry, @snae-b I've been binging your fics. I'm not ashamed!)

I have NEVER in my LIFE been unable to sleep after reading anything. I was up until 3 am last night reading this, unable to sleep and also unable to put it down. I've gasped, I've cried, I've had that second-hand pain thing when a character gets hurt where you feel like you have to hold your skin together. This is an absolute wild ride of emotions, and I WISH I could read it for the first time again.

If you've seen the movie 'Life' (2017) and liked it, you will LOVE this fic. Its A space-horror-but-also-a-gripping-romance that leaves you absolutely terrified, confused, worried, and gripping the edge of your seat just to find out what happens next. Even as the reader you don't know what you can trust.

To me, the stakes just feel higher when you aren't looking out for just yourself but the person you love. Who you'd do anything for. You know that if you were on your own, you might not care whether you made it through. But you can't imagine what you'd do in a world without them.

I could go on and on. Go read it!

[elenasharemofmikaelsons]

Member Fic: Playing Doctor (Chapter 1)

A brand new chapter of a multi-chapter fic shared on behalf of Elena's Harem of Mikaelsons Discord author @anara-wilde

Title: Playing Doctor (Chapter 1) Author: AnaraWilde | @anara-wilde Posted: October 31, 2024 Chapters: 1/? | Words: 2,000/?

Summary: Elena Gilbert isn't a grieving, lovesick, vamp-bait teenager anymore. She's been sacrificed by the Original Hybrid, murdered by an Original Vampire, turned into an undead bloodsucker herself, and somehow managed to come out of all that far, far away from Mystic Falls human, with a ton of student debt, a medical license, and a boss who looks uncannily like Elijah Mikaelson's doppleganger.

That last part is the universe just fucking with her. Again.

[howlinchickhowl]

I'm back, with a little belated dirty ditty for pornstar day, i wouldn't read this one at your desk pals. @gallavichthings 👋

Your Sweet Thing is Wreckin' Me seventeen - pornstar

He’s hotter in person. If that’s possible. Which it apparently is. You wouldn’t believe it was. But it is. He is. Way hotter, actually, than however many hours of videos Mickey has watched have allowed him to comprehend.

He’s hot. Is the bottom line. Mickey feels like his mouth is simultaneously watering and dry. They are posed together on the bed, still fully clothed in jeans and t-shirts and socks. Boots lined up neatly together by the door.

Ian’s big arm is resting around Mickey’s lower back, fingertips grazing at the skin of his hip just under the hem of his shirt in little drags that are making Mickey quiver. His other hand is covering Mickey’s knee, his whole knee just swallowed up under Ian’s massive palm, warm and dry and possessive.

It’s for show, of course. They’ve only just met, have only just exchanged names and sti test results before settling in, Ian wrapping himself around Mickey at the director’s request, and Mickey more than happy to be wrapped around.

It’s for show, but it’s not entirely fake. Ian’s effect on Mickey is not insubstantial and Mickey is sure he hadn’t imagined the hungry once over Ian had given him when they’d swapped papers before, pupils widening, glistening tongue slipping out to brush over a plush bottom lip. He’s pretty confident that Ian doesn’t hate the way he looks.

Ian confirms as much when the director starts asking them their warm up questions, a hallmark of HGF that lends an air of authenticity to the scenes and is a huge part of their popularity. What’s Ian’s type? Does he like the look of Mickey? What is he excited about most? Dark, rough, smaller than him, yes definitely, and eating Mickey’s ass, respectively.

Mickey’s own questions, yielded similarly Ian-focused answers, turning his head to look into the guy’s eyes and getting lost in the warm musky smell of him and the feel of his fingers gripping at Mickey’s hip.

And then they are kissing, and grabbing, and groping, and Mickey almost forgets the director and the camera-guy are there, except that the director asks them to move a certain way or switch positions.

Ian makes good on his promise to eat Mickey’s ass, spends a little too long down there despite the director urging him to switch out, just holds Mickey by the hips and goes to fucking town and Mickey spasms his way through nearly coming, finally reaching back and grabbing at Ian’s hair to get him to let up.

He gets to wrap his lips around Ian’s fucking megalith of a cock, even more mouthwatering up close and in person than on his screen at home, and he thinks he does a pretty good job judging by the way Ian’s hips keep jolting and his thighs shake under Mickey’s hands until Ian grabs him, basically by the ears and pulls him up into a mind-bending kiss that has Mickey so turned around he barely even notices that Ian has slathered him in lube and shoved a trio of thick freckled fingers inside of him until he pulls them out and replaces them with the main event.

Ian’s a pro, so it’s not exactly a scramble to the finish line, but Mickey’s quite proud of how franticly he seems to be pounding into him, how he seems determined to cover every inch of Mickey’s skin with his own even though the director keeps asking him to pull up and give the camera a little room. He does it, but he always ends up back in full contact mode, hands gripping at Mickey’s hips and shoulders and hands and face, kissing him and kissing him and kissing him until he pulls away, pulls out with a deep groan and blows his load all over Mickey’s chest and stomach and cock.

He falls down next to Mickey, bringing him off with one hand while threading the other through Mickey’s hair and pulling him into an incongruously tender kiss. They kiss while Mickey comes and into the afterglow, pulling apart to laugh when the director finally calls cut.

That was a hell of a ride, Mickey thinks to himself, laying on the bed catching his breath for a minute while Ian and the director shoot the shit. He’ll never watch another Ian video the same way again, maybe he’ll never watch another one, worried they’ll pale in comparison now that he’s had the full sensory experience. He gives himself a moment of sadness to mourn the death of some of his favourite jerkoff material.

Turns out though, once Ian has pulled him into the shower for a thorough rub down and a real-world fuck, he doesn’t need to worry about it.

[clinomania28]

The Loving (TVD Fanfiction)

Title: The Loving (Explicit, 18+) Author: Clinomania28 Status: Completed, 7/7 Words: 2,092 Pairings: Elena / Mikaelsons

I read a poetry book by Rupi Kaur earlier this year, her debut novel Milk and Honey, and it inspired me to write a series of drabbles based on pieces she wrote that felt like specific characters and pairings. Tonight, I finished it. I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I have. It's been a wonderful journey.

[skyler10fic]

Stay With Me

Summary: Carol wasn’t usually one for insecurity, but it threw her to see Daisy so completely surrounded by flirtation. Everyone of every gender at this house party was into Daisy, and Carol felt like a nerd compared to all of them.

Notes: For @ficwip All Ships Ship Week, prompts: Possessive lover, “Stay with me.”

Read on Ao3

-----------------------------------------

Carol wasn’t usually one for insecurity, but it threw her to see Daisy so completely surrounded by flirtation. Everyone of every gender at this house party was into Daisy, and Carol felt like a nerd compared to all of them. Stuck in a conversation with acquaintances she only knew through Daisy, she could barely keep up with the hacker lingo and tech news the partygoers were bantering about, and the steamy dancing was out of her skill set too. It was hard to resist comparison when everyone here was so smart, so objectively sexy, and so into her girlfriend.

Fortunately, Daisy spotted her across the room and saw she was uncharacteristically wallflowering. Daisy bit her lip and beckoned seductively, sending a spark of renewed confidence through Carol to get her through the crowd.

Daisy cleared off a spot next to her on the large wood table she was sitting on. Someone tried to sneak in, but Daisy refused them and saved it for Carol, who popped up next to her as fast as she could.

“Mine.” Daisy put an arm around Carol and kissed her cheek, and Carol noted the disappointed faces around them. “Are you ready to go?”

“I…” Carol could tell from watching her that she’d been having fun, but up close, she could read the tiredness in Daisy’s eyes. “Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Good, we have plans for part 2 of the night.” Daisy wiggled her eyebrows, and Carol’s stomach sank. An afterparty?

“Oh.”

Daisy giggled. “A party for two, back at my place?”

She grinned as Carol brightened. “Okay, yes, that’s exactly the kind I’m in the mood for. But are you sure you’re ready too? Seems like you have a lot of fans.”

“Mmm I want you all to myself.” Daisy tucked back Carol’s hair and kissed her neck.

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing.” Carol shot a look at a young man watching them voyeuristically.

Daisy followed her gaze and rolled her eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

They shivered in the autumn chilly night air as they walked the two blocks back to Daisy’s and hurried up the steps.

When they were inside and had their jackets and shoes off, Daisy took Carol’s hand and tugged her to the sofa. Carol plopped down and Daisy straddled her lap, kicking off a makeout session that reflected their mutual hunger.

Their lips parted as Daisy crept her hands up Carol’s shirt. “This okay?”

“Let’s just assume tonight the answer to that is yes. Unless we need to stop for some reason.”

Daisy grinned devilishly. “I like when you’re mine to take.”

The simple phrase sent a wave of heat through Carol’s body, and having her shirt off completely seemed like a much better plan. She freed herself and then set about unbuttoning Daisy’s shirt too. It slid to the floor as their lips and tongues met again.

Jeans. Damn jeans. They would have to stand up, meaning Daisy would have to get off Carol’s lap, which seemed like a tragedy in Carol’s mind. Daisy seemed content where she was, however, hands enjoying Carol’s bra and its contents just fine. With Daisy’s body so eagerly close to her own, Carol regretted not being more assertive at the party.

“What are you thinking about?” Daisy mumbled against Carol’s lips. “You’re distracted.”

When Carol didn’t answer, Daisy sat back and carded her fingers gently through Carol’s hair. Carol blushed and looked off to the side. God this was embarrassing having someone who knew her so well.

“Okay, so, at the party, there were at of, um, suitors? People interested in you.”

“Suitors?” Daisy laughed and teased her. “But my dear noble lady, my hand is already spoken for. You are my diamond of the season.” Her faux-Regency accent was terrible, but Carol knew what she was going for from their Bridgerton binge watch.

“I don’t know what to call it!” Carol laughed and softened in vulnerability. “But I know a lot of them would have been happy to go home with you tonight.”

Daisy touched her forehead against Carol’s. “Too bad for them. I already have my choice right here.”

Daisy leaned back and watched her finger trace down from Carol’s neck to between her bra cups to her stomach to her waistband.

“I love being your favorite,” Carol confessed, thumb lightly rubbing the bare skin above Daisy’s own waistband.

“Oh not just favorite.” Daisy climbed off and stood directly in front of Carol. She unbuttoned her jeans and then lowered the zip slowly, letting the anticipation build. The spell was broken a bit as she took them off because there’s just no really sexy way to do that. Carol went for the quickest option for her own, and soon Daisy was back on her, pressing her backward until they were horizontal on the sofa with Daisy on top.

“Not just your favorite?” Carol prompted.

Daisy touched and kissed and adored Carol’s soft skin. “My only.”

Daisy’s fingers reached Carol’s boyshorts and she teased the fabric as Carol’s hand on her ass urged her on. Carol sighed in pleasure, “Yes. All yours.”

“Mmm all mine,” Daisy affirmed as she dipped her finger in to tease Carol’s core. “I don’t care who else wants me, you know that right?”

Carol inhaled a shaky breath and nodded. Daisy’s fingers found her slick wanting, revealing how desperate she’d been all night. She gripped Daisy’s thigh and heard herself mewl as Daisy’s fingers worked their magic.

Daisy took note and continued, “You get it too, you know. Everyone wants you, but you never notice them flirting.”

As Carol was about to protest, Daisy strategically found Carol’s clit.

“It’s true.” Daisy leaned down to kiss Carol but lifted up again as the intensity got too heavy too fast. “I used to get so jealous before we were together. I want you all to myself.”

“Used to?” Carol exhaled, having a hard time maintaining the conversation as Daisy finger-fucked her.

“Now I’m just possessive.” Daisy leaned down but before she reached Carol’s lips again, she added, “And very, very turned on by it.”

“Gotta teach me that.” Carol swallowed down a moan. “I was pretty jealous tonight.”

Daisy moved her fingers in and out faster. “I don’t know, you seem pretty skilled at the getting horny from it part.”

Carol was too far gone to retort. Daisy built her up higher and higher. Carol’s eyes fell shut and she couldn’t help but picture them doing this right there on that table in front of all the partiers who would have stolen Daisy away if they could. She pictured instead of sitting next to Daisy there in the dark room, she had stood between Daisy’s thighs, kissing in time to the booming music until her hand was down Daisy’s jeans, making her come right there—Daisy’s legs wrapped around Carol, and everyone clear on who Daisy belonged to and who belonged to her.

Carol cried out as she came in real life, then chanted Daisy’s name as she came down from the ecstasy.

“My Carol,” Daisy whispered. “I love seeing you come for me.”

Carol floated back down to earth and held Daisy close. “Only for you. You’re too good; you’ve spoiled me.”

“That was the plan,” Daisy teased. “Seriously, though, same. Even when I’m alone, I can only picture you. Is that weird?”

Carol’s delight must have been visible because Daisy’s cringe faded. “I’m glad that makes two of us. Maybe you can tell me about what you picture and I’ll know exactly how to make your fantasies come true?”

Daisy grinded her hips against Carol. “Maybe in my bed?”

“And naked this time, preferably.” Carol tugged in hint at Daisy’s bra band latch.

Daisy climbed off and helped Carol up. As they stood close, they paused. Daisy’s expression grew serious. “Stay with me?”

“I would, but I didn’t bring my toothbrush or anything!” Carol laughed in surprise. “If I’d known—”

Daisy placed a hand on Carol’s heart. “No, I mean… Yes, I have an extra toothbrush that can just be yours here, but I meant like…” Daisy trailed off and shrugged. When she met Carol’s eyes again, Carol saw the same vulnerability there that she’d felt herself at the party.

“Hey, when I say I’m yours, I mean it.” Carol assured, arms coming up to embrace Daisy. “I’m not just playing along or flirting. I really am so deeply in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too.” Daisy’s voice was so hopeful and small, it made Carol’s heart explode in adoration. But Daisy’s tone brightened and her seductive grin returned. “Now, about that bed and fantasies…”

Daisy led Carol up the stairs to her bedroom, where they demonstrated their mutual devotion and passionate possession over and over.

[nine-one-wanton]

An Endless List of Really Impressive Stuff

@bucktommyweek Prompt: Thursday - Day One: "No touching. You'll be patient and wait until I'm done."

Rating: Explicit (E) - Porn (with feelings!)

Summary:

After their flawed first date, where Buck ended up panicking, and Tommy ends up calling it a night early - Tommy tries a more private venue for a redo.

Buck’s sexual history has been one of ‘going through the motions’ (and going through them very well), so it takes some mental adjustment when Tommy shows him what it’s like to have his own pleasure centered for a change.

Word Count: 3,049

Evan Count: 18

Read on ao3

Notes: For #bucktommyweekend

[supercanaries]

Where day meets night

Fandom: My Hero Academia Ship: Dabi/Hawks Rating: Explicit Word Count: 10,876 Summary:

“Good job, Firefly.” Though quiet, Hawks manages to slur the name in a way that is annoying to say the least, rolling it on his tongue like it’s cherry. “You’ve caught the bird, alright!” He sounds teasing as always and more dangerous than ever. His voice whistles through the air like the first blowing wind of an implacable storm: relentlessly blooming and only fated to grow. [Pro Hero Touya / Villain Hawks]

AO3 LINK

[magecrafts]

MENACE

natasha romanoff x reader ; you've never been more helpless. nat likes you best like that.

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, cnc, unsafe bdsm practices, no aftercare, somnophilia, heavy choking, one single mention of medical kink

RATED E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT ; 18+

a/n: i think i remember how to do this. cheers.

Natasha Romanoff is grumpy when you meet her (and sporting a week’s worth of insomnia under her eyes and wearing a tee that’s a little too tight, too, but as appealing as both of those are neither endears you as much as her furrowed brow and little frown).

Two weeks later you’re on recon with her, some assignment dropped into your lap an hour before wheels were expected to be up.

“You’re going into the field, rookie,” Stark told you, and, “Romanoff will babysit you, but if you’re as good as your resume claims you shouldn’t need her.”

Recon only. No engagement unless necessary.

The two of you post up in a slimy cave high in the mountains, half a mile above the entrance to a long forgotten mine that may or may not be the newest hideout of one of Stark’s most-wanted. It’s a stupid assignment, Stark could have sent drones, but you reckon he just wants to see how well you do with bullshit assignments, last minute takeoffs, and taking orders.

“Could be fun,” Natasha says, dangling a flask in front of your face.

“Is this a test?”

She smiles.

An hour later you’re tipsy and breaking a protein bar in half to split for dinner.

“I know this is bullshit,” she says, and to her credit she does sound apologetic, “but Tony likes to test people. He wants to see you prove yourself, you know, make it known that you’re as competent as you are on paper.”

You can’t say that’s not fair. This is, after all, no nine-to-five, but, “How am I supposed to prove myself when there’s fuck-all to do?”

Natasha laughs.

An hour later Natasha’s her own stoic version of piss drunk, you’re far worse off, and you’re staring at each other with a vigor that would scare the hell out of you even if she weren’t your immediate supervisor.

But you’ve always liked fear.

You make the first move: you crawl onto her lap, sink down against toned thighs, and tuck in. Her lips are warm, softer than you’re used to, and she doesn’t protest. She licks into your mouth and clamps her hands around your thighs and though you’ve never crossed a boundary like this before, you can’t see yourself ever going back.

Natasha makes the first move next time.

When she asks you out for drinks the week after you return you assume the address she sends you will be a bar.

It’s her apartment.

Bold.

She answers the door in black fatigues and a tank top and takes you right to her bedroom, sinks down on the edge of the California king, and puts you on her lap. She likes you there, where she can reach all of you, where your chest presses up against hers, and your mouth is right there for the taking. She’s gentle until you push your hands through her hair and tell her, “You don’t have to be so nice, you know.”

She’s never gentle after that.

She likes throwing you around, and likes that you can take it, knows it makes your heart flutter and your cheeks flush when she reminds you time and again how much stronger than you she is. On your back is how she likes you best, with your legs spread open and your knees pushed back as close to your chest as they’ll go.

Sometimes she’ll clamp a hand around your throat and dig her nails into the soft skin beneath your jaw until you can’t breath and you’re clawing at her arm and your vision’s starting to go. Sometimes she won’t let go at all, not until you slip away and your body slackens and she’s left fucking a fake cock into your helpless cunt.

You don’t know what she does to you when you’re out cold until she starts to film it.

Filthy fucking videos, those are, full of her laughter and your inability to protest while she does things like stuff her fist into your sloppy hole or perform a full pelvic exam wherein she dons rubber gloves and leaves you gaping around a speculum far longer than any licensed practitioner ever would.

“Look at you,” she’ll say later after she slaps you back to consciousness and queues up her newest video, “you’re so easy to break.”

It’s easier when you come back to with your mouth empty; when she brings you back and you’ve still got your own panties stuffed into your mouth she never lets you pull them out to catch your breath until she’s had her fun holding you down while you struggle to regain your hold on the world.

Sometimes you wake back up on your own while she’s in the middle of things. You either love or hate those times the most, but you’re never sure which.

“...doesn’t matter if you don’t want it,” she’s saying this time, and she’s blurry above you (and there are three of her and three sets of nails carving jagged red lines down your torso, but you know there will only be one of each in a minute or two), “gonna fuck your whore pussy anyway and you’re going—to—take—it.”

“—Nat—”

“Look who’s awake.”

You can hear the smirk in her voice, can see the bright white glare of her cell camera, and you’re sure you look like hell and that she’s going to give you shit for that later, but that’s the least of your worries.

“Stark should fire you,” she says. “Maybe he will once he finds out you’ve been getting your stupid hole stuffed on camera for months. Or maybe he’d like your little videos. Maybe he’d even want a turn with you, huh? Would you like that?”

No, but only because by her rules you're not allowed to think about anyone else like that.

But you can't say that, not unless you want her to go and make it happen. You learned long ago that Natasha Romanoff is nothing if not genuine in her threats.

“Maybe I would,” you say, low and hoarse, and it almost sounds like a growl.

She finds a pressure point and digs in, and, “Don’t you dare fucking lie to me,” she says, and you’re out again.

The next morning you wake up to the sun cutting through the window and warming your bare back, waking with you the memories of the night before and bringing it all to a boil in your belly. You want to relive them. You want her to fuck you again, to stuff you full and flood you with desperation and desire.

She pulls the sheets from your body and flips you onto your back, coasting a hand up your shin as she settles at the foot of the bed.

“Show me your pussy,” she says, soft, mocking, like she’s requesting the easiest thing in the world from the dumbest little thing she’s ever met.

Your knees part, legs falling open without thought, and you can tell the slick between your thighs from the night before is still there.

She lifts her brows and looks.

“You look sloppy,” she says, pulling your lips apart and dragging a nail over your clit. “Let me make it worse.” She slaps you before you have time to think and though it hurts it’s the lingering sting that pulls a cry from your throat. It’s been a while since she’s hit you like this, between the thighs, where the shame hurts worse than anything else.

The next time you see it coming, but you don’t stop her. You don’t even bother to keep your legs from trying to clamp shut when she slaps your cunt for the second time, you just screw your eyes shut and force your legs open again because for that you know she won’t stop until you’re crying and begging her to do something—anything—to get you off.

It takes you a minute to focus up when she’s done, to familiarize yourself with the steady throb between your legs and the warm pressure of Natasha pushing something into you.

She’s kneeling between your legs, hands clamped around your thighs to keep them apart as she lazily fucks into you with a cock as thick as your forearm.

“Look at that,” she says with a little laugh. “Even when you’re looser than a ten-cent hooker I can still find something to stretch you out with.”

And you know she can feel you clenching as she tries to ease out, like you’re pulling her in, and if she were any man she’d be spent in sixty seconds or less, but her stamina knows no bounds and even as your hole gushes with relief she’s still driving into you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[worrynoodle]

Oh, that's neat they have a section for good omens fanfiction!

Found this on Pinterest

[elenasharemofmikaelsons]

Member Fic: La Femme Elena (Chapter 4)

A brand new chapter of a multi-chapter fic shared on behalf of Elena's Harem of Mikaelsons Discord author @anara-wilde

Title: La Femme Elena (Chapter 4) Author: AnaraWilde | @anara-wilde Posted: October 19, 2024 Chapters: 4/? | Words: 3,838/13,894

Summary: Elena has no idea how she made it from her apartment to Elijah's. She searches for her belongings, and finds something unexpected.

When she finds herself in Elijah's bed in the middle of the night, she has to keep a clear head, and keep things from spiralling out of control.

[oddrocks]

Summary:

Kori never felt the cold the way Dick did, never felt the bite of winter that made his nose sting and cheeks pink. If anything, she was prone to overheating. Even in the dead of winter, she radiated warmth. Enough that he never needed to worry about rugging up before bed, or switching to a winter duvet. She never felt the pain of a slipped kitchen knife either, her own flesh much more durable than his.

I wrote smut, here's the smut.

[tllgrrl]

Golden by @btwxsixesandsevens

Relationship: Fennec Shand/Garsa Fwip | Words: 1,929 | Rated: E (NSFW)

* * * * * * * * * *

“Fennec, I can feel the breeze,” said Garsa. She was surprised at how breathless she sounded. The anticipation was getting to her. Blindfolded, she’d lost track of time.

Her head was elevated on a headrest, allowing her lekku to wrap purposely on the bed. Her arms were spread wide, wrapped in crossing black ropes that made a diamond pattern on her skin before tying to the sides of the bed. Knees up, a short spreader bar held her ankles apart. She was comfortable, safe, naked, save the gold color chain that dangled around her neck with two tails, each placed symmetrically next to her full breasts.

“I can feel it too,” said Fennec from somewhere off to her left.

“You’re still there?”

“Of course, I haven’t left you. Did you think I had?”

“I didn’t know what you were doing. I’ve met dead people who breathe louder than you.”

“I’m here. Waiting for you to settle down.”

Garsa smiled. “Hard to do, with you. What are you wearing?”

“The usual.”

Continue reading on AO3.