#writing smut about him

[camtankerous]

Not to be all “rpf is morally reprehensible” or whatever but like. Can we maybe stop writing dubcon rpf about the guy that got arrested and may not have even done the shooting. Like can we show just a modicum of self restraint here

[bi-writes]

the new baby you take care of is the cutest baby you've ever met. (a lil dubcon, baby trapping, 18+)

he has a big head with a tuff of little blond waves, and he has the brightest brown eyes in the entire world. he smiles at every face you make at him, and he takes a bottle like a champ and will nap for hours as long as you're quiet.

his father has a strict schedule set for him. when you met that big man for the very first time, you were speechless. your teeth had clacked together with how fast you tried to close your gawking mouth, but it was impossible not to with how much he towered over you, nearly touching the top of the doorway.

he is methodical, down to every minute. tacked onto the fridge, he had shown you his son's current schedule, which he emphasized with a dead glare must be followed to a T.

two feedings in the morning followed by a nap. another feeding. a longer nap. another feeding. another nap. all separated in increments of 45 minutes, with instructions on how to use the bottle warmer and how to measure the formula.

his son does not cry. his father had told you, if he cries, y'r doin' somethin' wrong. and he was right. the baby only cried when he was hungry, and he would fall into a dead sleep as soon as you gave him a bottle.

it's odd, to take care of someone else's baby. especially this man's. there's no woman in the house, as far as you can tell. the whole house is decorated very minimally, cozy and in shades of warm greens and cool blues and browns. there are no heeled boots by the door or pretty fur coats, and whenever you pass by his bedroom, only one side of his bed ever looks lived-in. there are no pictures on the walls, no makeup in the bathroom drawers, and no pads or tampons under the sink.

just a big, unfeeling man and his big, adorable baby.

but you think that your actions to get this big, unfeeling man to like you are starting to have the wrong kind of implications.

it starts with dinner. you start to make it, using the ingredients from his fridge to make stews and buttery mashed potatoes and roasted veggies. the image of you stirring a pot with his baby on your hip has not left him, and whenever you don't have some kind of meal cooking when he gets home, you answer to someone curt, annoyed, and cold, even to the touch.

then it's the decorating. you thought his couch was a little bare, so now there's a few throw blankets laying across the back of it. there's a vase of pretty tulips on the coffee table. you're growing herbs on the windowsill, little pots of thyme and rosemary and basil. you leave house shoes by the door now, and even when you're not there, he sees those fuzzy pink slippers in the foyer, and he can't help the way he chubs up just seeing them when you're not around.

you start to bring some extra changes of clothes. after the baby spit up on you more than once in a day, you bring a duffel bag with you once a week with extra changes of clothes. he snarls when he sees your clothes in one of his drawers; pretty black panties and matching bras, all laid out under your lounge wear right next to his fucking socks.

the toothbrush next to his in the bathroom. the multi-colored chapsticks in the drawers. tampons and pads organized in the cabinet, your moisturizer next to his shaving cream. he smacks his fist against the wall when he sees the finished package of your birth control in the trash because wot the fuck are y'doing taking those things when y'know i want another--

he can see you in the baby monitor. swaying in the dark of his son's room, the baby's head on your chest as you rock him softly. you're singing a little, a gentle hum to soothe him enough that his eyes start closing. he groans a little when he sees your eyes shut as you kiss his son on the forehead, cooing at him as you pat his little back and tell him to have sweet dreams.

you're making brownies when he comes home that night. his son is seated in his high chair, clapping his hands, and you're smiling at him and cooing in that baby voice you do as you take the warm brownies out of the oven. when you see him emerge from the darkness of his living room, you smile at him, taking off the oven mitts.

"hi, simon," you say softly, and his pupils dilate when you slip a hand over his son's head to soothe him. "i made some dessert, hope that's okay. thought you might wanna try my new recipe."

simon comes into the kitchen as you take his baby out of his high chair. you hoist him up against your hip, and when simon comes closer, you giggle as tilts his head to the side and stares down at you both. you tilt your head back a little, blinking up at him, and the flutter of your lashes is enough to have him rock hard in his cargos as his hands curl into frustrated fists at his sides.

"i'm gonna put him down for bed, it's a little late," you tell him. you hoist his son up a little higher on your hip, picking up his little chubby arm and waving up at simon. "say goodnight, daddy."

simon grins under his mask at the soft lilt of your voice. you try not to squeak when one of his big hands slides around your waist to hold you at your back, and he bends down to kiss his son's forehead through his mask.

"goodnight, my boy."

you try not to linger on the idea that he may have grabbed your ass as you walked away. no, his arms are just so long, they grazed you while you passed by him.

the baby always goes down nice and easy. one bottle later, with a full stomach, he's rubbing his little eyes and fussing in your arms as he tries to fall asleep. he's a mover, simon's little one--always grasping around with his arms and flopping onto his side in the bed. oftentimes, after a nap, he's facing the opposite direction and on the other end of the crib when you come to get him.

so you shouldn't be surprised when as he's falling asleep, his little grubby hands reach for you and pull.

your eyes widen when you hear the pop of buttons. you look down, gasping, when you see his son has grabbed onto the front of your blouse and pulled the first few buttons out. they clatter onto the floor in a mess, and you're not able to see where they go with it so dark in his room.

"oh, god!"

you try to be gentle as you set the baby down in his crib. he immediately sticks his thumb in his mouth with his head lolling to the side, and you try to pick up anything you step on as you hurry out of the room, trying to hold your shirt together.

it's useless. you're standing there in the hallway, hastily shutting the baby's room closed, tits out at eight in the evening.

"tha' why he so good ta ya, mama?"

your eyes bug out of your head when you see simon there. he's standing at the end of the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes are focused on your poor open blouse. the bra you're wearing leaves nothing to the imagination--just mesh with underwire, and when simon comes closer, there's virtually nothing separating you when he reaches up with that gloved hand and cups one breast, thumb smoothing over your nipple before he tugs on it gently.

"wha--simon--"

"thinks y'r his mum, pretty tits out like tha'," simon hisses. "'f ya wanted it so bad, why didn't ya just say?"

"simon--"

he tsks, using both hands this time to grip your blouse by the edges and tug it down your arms. it falls around your elbows, and he takes the straps of your bra with it, until it's pooled around your waist and your tits fall free.

"fuckin' hell," he breathes, and your lips part gently as he hikes up his mask and spits on your nipples before sucking them into his mouth. "mmmph..."

you arch your back as he rips the rest of the buttons off with one smooth tug. your blouse falls, and your bra follows it, until you're in nothing but your skirt, backing up into the darkness of his bedroom as he kicks the door shut. you scramble to get him back on top of you when your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you're laying down--grabbing around his shoulders as you try to guide his mouth back to your breasts where he can suckle on them with that filthy mouth of his.

"knew it--" he rasps. "fuck, i knew it--"

your eyes squeeze shut when he ruts his hips against yours. your panties are ruined, slick wet and digging uncomfortably into your folds, but the scratch of simon's jeans have your back bowing at a hard angle, your fingers sliding between your bodies as you reach for his zipper. you gasp when you feel him under your hand, straining against denim, the girth of him tying your stomach in hard knots as you think about what it'll take to get you open enough for him to slip in.

"keepin' me fat," simon murmurs. "holdin' my baby like tha', wot did ya think was goin' ta happen, eh?"

"h-huh?"

"'m gonna make you fat, too, swee'eart," he says, smoothing his hand over your tummy. "saw those little pills in y'r bag. it won't take today, but we'll try again tomorrow, yeah?"

you're drooling as he fucks you. your hips are hiked up, your skirt flipped up as his thighs smack against your ass. you're not privy to the way the fat of you shakes every time he's buried to the hilt, but simon appreciates it, tongue out as he watches you push back against him to try and get yourself filled quicker. he traces your spine with his fingers, leaning over you as he watches your fingers dig into his dark sheets and grip for dear life as he gives it to you fast and deep. it's a mess of wet between you, and you know the bed underneath you will be soaked by the time he's done with you, but you can't think about that when the very thing you've been wanting since the day you met him is so close, so within reach.

you haven't taken a single one of those pills since the first week you met that fat, beautiful baby. maybe simon didn't take too close a look at the dated little pills in your bag and in the bin, the little calendar you used to mark rotting away in a forgotten pocket, gathering dust.

when simon comes, your mouth is filled with saliva, and you gurgle between barely-lucid giggles as your hips sink into the mattress. he's saying something, but you don't hear it. instead you reach down with your fingers and stuff them inside, trying to gather as much of his cum and keep it. when simon tries to cum in your mouth later, you nearly bite his dick off.

how dare he try and waste it?

[the-palelady]

the only thing reaching simon’s ears is the sound of your pathetic little moans, breath heavy and labored, eyes shut taut. your fingers grabbing at the silk sheets beneath you, holding on as if you were falling. but simon would always catch you even if you did slip from his grasp.

“eyes up here, angel,” he whispered down to you, leaning forward to plant a lingering kiss against the damp skin of your forehead. slowly your eyes opened just the slightest bit.

“bit more. let me see those beautiful eyes.”

and when you opened them the rest of the way, simon could see hearts looking back at him, your expression dazed.

“there she is.” his lengthy fingers were wrapped around the circumference of your waist, hands not far from one another with how big they were wrapped around you. he held onto you, not too tight, but enough to keep you locked in place while his hips pressed up into you, cock gliding along the velvety wetness of your pussy.

“si…si i…i can’t take anymore,” you whined helplessly, bottom lip jutting out and quivering when his bulbous tip poked at a sensitive spot.

“come on, love. you can take it. just a bit more for me, ya?”

[kruegerspillow]

simon riley who just needs to be understood. that's all. one whole jar of pity wouldn't do it, he needs you to acknowledge him. and, when you do, he'll surrender himself faster than he should.

The rain pours down heavily against the roof, the sound of pitter-patters humming throughout your house.

It had been weeks ever since Simon's leave and the sudden change hits you harder than a damn truck. It's just going to be a few weeks, he wrote down in the letter. But, you never really believed him, no. Fuck, you know he'd do anything (that includes lying) just for you to be at ease.

Though, the bed felt colder than before. Your place felt even more... tense, with the feeling of unease running through your body and the unusual, eerie silence. His job wasn't an easy one, and with the fact that his life is on the line, it made it worse.

Your heartbeat quickened as you looked down at your phone, scrolling through the messages and pictures Simon had sent the other day. You don't understand how soldiers could be so composed in the middle of the battlefield, including Simon himself. You'd be damned if you heard a single gunshot ringing across you.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of a car engine knocked you out of your trance. Your head perked up, a feeling of hope sparking up in your weary heart. Could it be him? You thought to yourself. He's earlier than usual.

You placed your phone on the table, gaze locking onto the front door as you leaned back against the armrest of the couch, a pillow pressed against your back. The sound of the engine eventually came to a stop, then—

Click.

There he was. Simon motherfuckin' Riley.

He took off his boots and placed them aside as soon as he met your gaze. The smell of rain and dirt lingered around him, but he didn't care anymore. Not when the love of his life is right in front of him, waiting patiently to be placed into his embrace. But, he's fuckin' exhausted, and he can't help but let the feeling of fatigue take over his body.

He closed the door behind him, walking towards you with a look of deep longing and care. His bags were left right beside the front door. Your eyes travelled over his figure, searching for any new scars or wounds.

"Bloody 'ell, I missed ya s'much." He murmured, his voice raspy and carried a handful of emotions.

Before you knew it, he plopped down onto you, head resting against your plump thighs, earning an amused gasp from you. His arms softly wrapped around your waist, slipping underneath your shirt before caressing your bare skin. You sighed in content, relaxing beneath him before your hands made their way to his hair, running your fingers through his hair.

"Welcome home, Simon." You greeted him, your voice filled with warmth and relief.

He grunted in response, burying his face between your thigh, causing you to nearly whimper in response. But you knew he ran out of the energy, having finished a tiring deployment. Your gaze softened at the sight before you. Sometimes, even the strongest souls get exhausted.

"Want me to make tea for you, love?" You softly whispered into his ear.

He shook his head, wanting to hold you just for a while (that's a lie. He'd go through the whole month burying his face into you) and you understood, staying silent as you embraced him. You let him do his thing and fuck he was turned on by that mere fact. But, for now, lust was long forgotten, buried away by the need of your comfort and warmth.

Your hands gently massaged his tense shoulder, feeling the way his muscles relaxed under your touch. Slowly, his vision fades into nothingness, for your touch has provided comfort even to the soul of the corrupt. Surrendering himself into sleep had never felt so... easy.

And, soon, he'll show you just how lucky he is to have you.

kruegerspillow © 2024 ➵ do not feed my work into ai, repost or translate my work. Reblogs are much appreciated ୨ৎ

[callieisto]

This is Kali’s fault. @killakalx

Minors Dni- includes. Slight dirty talk? But? Loving?, marking, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, cumming inside, kind of sappy pillow talk, dom!Clark, fem!reader

Clark Kent is strong enough to pick you up and use you like a fleshlight. He doesn’t, usually, because that’s mean and he doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you or anything.

But there are rare occasions, when he’s had enough of being Superman, when he’s had enough of being Clark Kent, where he lets himself tap into those desires to just… use you.

He’s got you pinned to the wall of his apartment, feet not even scraping the floor, his tongue so deep in your mouth you swear he’s trying to make you choke on it. (Doesn’t help that his is a little bit longer than a normal person’s, and his sharp little fangs don’t help much either.) He’s holding you up by your waist, his grip bruising, and when he pulls back he’s out of breath.

“I need you,” he whispers, and it’s the last semblance of a boyfriend who’s gentle or careful with you that you’re going to get for a few hours. His glasses are askew, his hair is ruffled, his shirt has already been halfway unbuttoned thanks to your wandering hands. “Please.”

When you say “okay”, he’s on you faster than he’s ever been on anything in his life. Ripping your shirt down the middle- your bra, too- he’s setting you down on unsteady feet before basically attacking your chest, biting and sucking his way down your body, coming to where the hem of your pants hugs your waist before he stops. He looks up at you, blue eyes nearly eclipsed by his pupil, blown wide with arousal.

They flash gold when they catch the light.

Clark looks like a proper predator, and suddenly you understand why villains get all prickly when they’re dealing with Superman. He’s scary. Your sweet, loving boyfriend, who has never once even raised his voice at you, is downright terrifying.

“I can smell you,” he chokes out, and his voice is dark. Your pants are gone before you can even register his movements, and your underwear are also the unfortunate victims of his super strength. “Can hear your heart beating,” he breathes, a little laugh escaping him as he presses his mouth against the soft skin of your stomach. “Your blood, I can… fuck…”

Aaaaand you’re suddenly on the couch, Clark is between your legs, and he’s eating you out like he’s never had a meal before in his life. Usually he’s careful, controlled, wants to make you feel good before anything else. But right now, he’s just hungry, and he’s getting more enjoyment out of your desperate attempts to squirm away from him and the noises you’re making more than anything else. He makes you cum three times while he mutters about how you’re ‘such a good girl’, and then he’s cradling your face in his hands, cooing at you while you come back down to earth.

“You prepped? Y’ready to take my dick, sweet girl?”

(His southern accent is thick; he looks and sounds drunk on you, chin covered in your slick, big blue eyes meeting yours.)

He doesn’t let you answer, mostly because he knows you can’t. And he knows his dick is huge- he goes slow, usually, but tonight he just needs to feel you cum on his cock otherwise he’ll go insane, he’ll go crazy.

Clark feels properly awful about how you’re already squirming and whining when he presses his tip at your entrance. He wants to do something, but then the tip slips in, and he’s gone.

He pushes in the rest of the way with a wet shlck, curling his body over yours so he can see the way your pussy looks speared on his cock. “Fuck.” He rumbles. “Look at you, taking me so deep. God, it’s like you’re made for it, made for me…”

He thrusts into you, keeping his forearm above your head to brace himself- when your hands curl around his bicep and squeeze all desperate, he blacks out for a second. When he wakes up again, you’re squealing, and he’s rubbing circles against your clit with his free hand, and you have some bite marks that are stark against your skin.

“Cum for me.” He begs, and his voice doesn’t even sound like his own. “Cum for me right now, I know y’can do it, I want you t’do it, you’ve been so good f’me, so fucking good, the best, taking me so deep and hard like it’s what you were made for- please give it t’me, darlin, please.”

When you sob all high and pretty and spasm on his dick, he feels like he’s seeing stars. Actually, it’s better than stars, because he’s just looking at you, at the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, at the red marks you leave when you dig your nails into his skin. Clark sees everything.

And then he cums, pushing deep inside, a choked gasp of your name dropping from his lips. He screws his eyes shut, his nose wrinkling in that cute way it does when he’s thinking. He moans low and just for you.

… when he comes back to his senses, you’re softly squirming under his weight, grumbling about how heavy he is. He pulls back- and out- watching with amazement as a bit of cum starts to trickle out. He barely resists the urge to follow it with his tongue, because he thinks you’d kill him.

“My sweet girl.” He croons instead, pressing soft kisses to your face. “So good, so pretty. Took me so amazingly.”

“You almost killed me,” you complain, pouting at him. “Women on this planet are not built to handle seven orgasms, Clark.”

He tilts his head. “I only remember four.” He says, raising an eyebrow. “… but I can make it seven, if you want. Really test the limits of the human body, y’know-”

You hit him in the side of the head with a throw pillow. He relents.

[sahisan]

nsfw. gn reader.

consent is so sexy to chuuya.

it's never about asking a fleeting "you good?" after ramming into you at full speed; never about fucking while drunk as hell while you both struggle to understand where up and down is and clearly cannot give one another a clear yes or no; never about abandoning your needs after he's already finished; never about ignoring your no and stop.

yet it's always about making love—passionately, slowly, closely, attentively and with care.

it's about him always preparing you with his fingers and only then starting, and, even then, it's slow and he always gives you as much time as you need to adjust even if it's not your first time with him; it's about asking a quiet "you okay? wan' me to continue?" as your hand squeezes the muscle of his forearm and setting a color system with green, yellow and red and sometimes stopping to ask you "color?" and only then go ahead if it's green; it's about keeping himself in check even when he's drowned three glasses of wine to not let anything bad or out of control happen; it's about stopping when you tell him to.

and chuuya makes love, always and every time you have sex. his eyes shine with so much adoration and love, and sometimes even with unshed tears glistening in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over as he chants "loveyouloveyouloveyou" shakily into your ear or the crook of your neck while continuing the descend of his mouth down to your chest, worshipping your body with his hands and getting a hand between your legs as well, and speeding up the pace of his thrusts as the coil in his lower abdomen is threatening to let loose any moment as he hugs you as tight and as close as possible to him, not leaving an inch of space between your bodies, pathetic whimpers bordering on genuine cries and quiet groans leaving his mouth every moment.

consent is always about love and recognition to chuuya.

[robo-writing]

I don’t think I’ll ever get over Logan and Jean making out in x-3, getting scratched so hard he bleeds and instead of running away he MOANS AND GOES IN FOR MORE. LIKE THEY GAVE US EVIDENCE THAT LOGAN IS A MASOCHIST. ITS CANON HE LIKES PAIN WITH HIS PLEASURE.

Anyway here’s some masochist!Logan hc’s :))

Likes eating your pussy because when you’re close you tug on his hair so hard the feeling goes straight to his dick.

Actually you pulling on his strands at all is enough to get him off. Please lead him around when you do it, his brain shuts off immediately

Biting. Please do so. It’s cute when it’s playful but when he’s got you bouncing on his dick and you’re so loud the only thing you can think to do is bite his shoulder to stay quiet???? Head empty no thoughts

Scratching his back???? Nirvana. If his healing factor wasn’t so good he’d spend a good amount of time in the mirror admiring the angry red lines.

Biting his lip during a kiss is a foolproof method to get him to bend you over the nearest object and fuck you, doesn’t matter the circumstances. He feels your teeth and you’re gonna start feeling shaky in the legs real soon.

The worst (or best, depending on your definition) you’ve ever been fucked by Logan is when you two had an arguement and for some reason you slapped him. Full force too, all five fingers across his cheek, so hard that his head completely turned as the echo of it bounced across the walls.

Yeah it hurt your hand after, hitting raw metal tends to do that to you.

But the look in his eyes when he turned back???

Lord help you.

Three hours later and an unrecognizable amount of orgasms later he was still fucking into your sloppy hole, cum staining the sheets below you as he fucked you within an inch of your life.

You’re pretty sure you passed out at some point because there’s a huge block of time missing, but he still kept sliding into your warm cunt.

Anyway that’s how you found out Logan likes being slapped around a bit thank you for coming to my ted talk

[calumfmu]

tell me its a bit

"Steve, can I ask you something? What are we doing?"

He pulled away fully to look at you, brows knitted together in confusion as his eyes went back and forth between your eyes and mouth. "Uhh.. sex?"

He loved the cat and mouse game you had once started, not choosing to end it despite him being yours and you being his, despite titles given.

or; the extended version of Baby, No Attachment: Steve continues to reveal his true self to you.

cw: 18+, mdni, soft!Stevie, smut, teasing, spanking (brief), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, wrap it up kids, cream pie, hair pulling, slight choking kink if you squint, yada yada yaddaaaa (2.8k+ words)

The Steve you had become so accustomed to had been different in the last few weeks since that car ride. Treating you with grace and kindness, he tended to your needs no matter what they were. It had taken some time getting used to, always feeling like he was lying about something despite giving you no reason to believe so. His act had shaped up, him treating you like the princess he had once called you, not hesitating to leap whenever you said jump.

He loved the cat and mouse game you had once started, not choosing to end it despite him being yours and you being his, despite titles given. Still sneaking into your bedroom window at all hours of the day, throwing rocks at the glass, throwing himself at you in the back of his BMW whenever he had the chance, no matter the welcoming arms your mom held for him (she was still his favorite). It made you feel like a young preteen again, the excitement of this romance pulling at your heartstrings in every possible good way there was.

The window was open, blowing in cold air as late winter made its final claim in Hawkins. Bedroom curtains were bunched up at the windowsill, caught up from where he had fallen through, shoes kicked off at the bottom. His jacket was thrown somewhere on the floor, half draped over the radio that softly played George Michael in the background. He had insisted on turning it on, whispering ‘We’re gonna get caught’ despite you urging ‘My mom loves you, shut up’. It didn’t stop him, silent moans filling the air as he touched you, your bodies so familiar with one another.

You were pressed into the mattress, both mouths slotted together as one of his hands snaked at your chest, slowly unbuttoning your top as he half-laid on you. His bulge ground into your thigh, small gasps escaping his mouth as you tugged at his hair.

Pulling away slightly, you mumbled into his mouth, “Steve, can—can I ask you something?”

He barely nodded, moving his weight over you to push you further into the bed. The hand at your chest moved to caress your hip, fingers splayed wide across the skin.

“What are we doing?”

He pulled away fully to look at you, brows knitted together in confusion as his eyes went back and forth between your eyes and mouth.

“Uhh… sex?” He laughed, leaning into you to return to his previous position. You stopped him with a touch to his chest. He looked even more confused than he did previously, shaking his head at you.

“No, Steve,” you sighed, slightly rolling your eyes at his comment. One thing you learned about him was that the boy loved playing dumb, especially when it came to actually discussing important things. “Like what are we?”

Realization crossed his face as his eyebrows shot up, an ‘O’ formed between his lips. The look went away as quickly as it appeared, a smirk given to you.

“You’re my girl, right?” He returned his mouth to yours, moving his hand lower to run across your inner thigh. Frustrated, you pushed him completely off of you, noticing the way he just looked so shocked at your fast movement.

He remained silent as you sat up, turning your body to look at him as he was laid on the bed, stuck in the position that he fell in. His hair tussled over his face, eyebrows raised and hands slightly up as he seemed to be awaiting your next move.

“Are you serious?” Your voice was raised, anger between your eyes as you looked down at him. He seemed small in the moment, a red blush crossing his cheeks.

“Do you not want to be?”

“No, Ste—” you cut yourself off with a sigh as you pinched your nose bridge, pulling your knees to your chest. You searched for the patience to deal with him, not understanding why he didn’t get it. “Steve. That’s not what I mean.”

“Well… what do you mean? I thought we were, like, together,” he asked, voice small compared to yours as he slowly sat up. He raised to lean on one hand, the other being placed on your knee, rubbing the skin.

You shot your eyes open to look at him, a loud cackle thrown at him that caused his face to fall. You felt bad to laugh at him, realizing that this ‘King Steve’ who had fallen from grace had so much to learn about girls, despite revolving his life around them.

“Together?” He pulled away from you, moving to sit at the end of the bed with his back turned to you. You saw him lean over on his knees, heard him clear his throat in discomfort. “Babe…”

He ignored the nickname as you moved to perch behind him, pulling him so his back was pressed to your chest, your head resting at his shoulder. Wrapping your arms around him, you felt him relax into the embrace, head tilting onto yours. With your legs on opposite sides of his hips, you leaned into him, the size difference between the two of you causing you to melt.

“Babe… we’re not together because… you never asked me,” you whispered, pressing kisses to his cheek in the pauses of your words. His head turned to look at you, shock the only emotion you could decipher.

“I never asked you?”

“No, dummy,” you giggled, pressing kisses to his cheek and jawline interchangeably. He fucking giggled at the touches of your lips on his skin, tilted his head to try to ‘avoid’ them, yet he made no other effort to move—you knew he loved it.

“Well, do you want to be my girl th—my girlfriend then?” He asked you, looking at you through long lashes, blinking slow as he became shy. You pressed your lips together, shaking your head, laughing as his mouth dropped open at you.

“No?” His voice raised a pitch, suddenly moving so you fell into his arms with a loud laugh. Steve pressed kisses to your nose this time, nuzzling his face into yours as he held you.

“That’s not going to cut it, Harrington.” His last name fell from your lips in a faux-mock, you haven’t muttered his last name since the two of you made amends, if you wanted to call it that—really it actually was just the two of you fucking for the first time in the back of his car. It felt foreign to you, cheesy nicknames shared behind closed doors and whiny drawls of each other's names replacing it.

He paused for a moment, face inches away from your own as he studied you. Drawing your eyes over his features, you took note of the moles dotting his face, constellations drawn in the beauty marks that you loved to trace your fingers over. Steve Harrington was a beauty, a wonder that you felt so grateful to have between your fingertips. Words couldn’t describe the feelings you had bubbling in your chest for him, he was everything and more you had thought him to be.

His breath hit your face with a flutter of your eyes closed, enjoying the bliss of being in his arms.

“You’re going to make me work for it, princess?” The nickname he used to call you had you shivering, arousal pooling between your thighs. His voice dropped an octave, a chill through your spine at the lowness.

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as he leaned into you, pressing a kiss to your mouth.

“I can do that,” he whispered back, deepening the kiss as he maneuvered the two of you to the previous position you held, you on your back, legs sprawled with him in between. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at it as he ground down into you.

“What else are you going to make me work for?”

One of his hands trailed down the length of your abdomen, fingertips dancing over your stomach before settling at your groin. Your legs widened without a second thought, hips arching onto the touch. He began to work a small circle over your clothed clit, the material dampening as your wetness deepened.

“Ah—” your voice cut off as you tried to respond to him, his fingers working magic as you began to fall apart.

“Not so much to say now, yeah?” He laughed at you, mouthing at your neck as a breathy sigh escaped you. As much as you hated to admit it, you loved this side of him, the cockiness that once was returning to your lover boy, dominating the situation as he made you melt.

“Shut it, Harrington.”

The only words you were able to mutter before he took over, filling up your senses with his body against yours. He was overwhelming, crowding your brain with thoughts of him, thoughts of his touch, his everything. His fingers began to creep lower, pushing your panties to the side as he ran a finger over your slit.

He leaned up to nip at your ear, teeth digging at the lobe of skin, your neck craning to the side as you exhaled in pleasure.

"Not quite sure I like that name anymore," he whispered against your skin, tongue darting out to lick at the skin beneath your ear. He exhaled against you, the coolness of his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"You-"

You couldn't speak as he began to tease you, finger inching into you slightly, just for him to remove it, reaching up to toy with your clit ever-so-slightly.

"I?" He dragged out the letter, leaning back to smirk down at you as he questioned what you were going to say. Irritation crossed your features as you took him in between hooded eyes, lids fluttering shut as he took his teasing to a new level.

His hand left your underwear, grasping your hand between his as he grinded against you. His clothed crotch rubbed between your legs, an exasperated sigh leaving you.

"Steve."

Your tone was firm this time, chastising him as he pushed your leg up with his own. Your free hand reached down to grab at the top of his jeans, fingertips dancing over the button there.

"Yes, princess?" His breath grew a little more shallow, his head dipping to watch your fingers slowly unbutton his jeans, the zip sliding down audibly in the room. His bulge poked out of his jeans, boxers tenting towards you.

"Cut the act."

With a nod, it was over—his mouth was pressed into yours, and his hands were pushing down his jeans, boxers following suit. His cock sprang free of its restraint, beat red and dripping with arousal. In the heat of the moment, you were flipped over, ass sticking straight into the air with your underwear pulled down mid thigh.

It was just enough freedom of the two of your sexes to make ends meet, the head of his cock nudging between your legs, pressing at your entrance. He had his fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he entered you in a swift motion, pressing to the hilt.

The two of you groaned in unison, hips flush to one another with Steve taking a break to breath, his head pushed towards the ceiling.

"Fuck, you're so—"

He cut himself off, a hard smack filling the air as his hand made contact with the plump skin of your ass. You pushed your hips back at the assault to your ass, groaning as he pressed even deeper.

"You're going to fucking kill me, princess."

He began to thrust into you, hips rutting into your own. It was quick, thrusts relentless and brutal as he fucked into you. Your hands tried gripping at the sheets around you, failing as the movements had you faltering, body rocking in unison with his own.

His name left your mouth in high pitched whines, eyes fluttering shut with the pleasure that overcame your senses.

"Ste-Steve, fuc-"

You could barely get a word out as he continued rutting into you, his hand gripping your hair tightly, the other running over the skin of your back, reaching down to rub at your lower back, rearing back to smack down into your cheek. The loud sounds of your sex and the smacking of his hand filled the room, becoming louder with each thrust.

You tried shushing him, worried that the sounds would be able to be heard from downstairs. The last thing you needed was your mom coming up the stairs, opening the door to find her sweet daughter in this compromising position.

He leaned over you, pressing your hips into the mattress as he continued fucking into you, grinding his hips in small motions. The atmosphere of the room changed, love filling the air as his hand left your hair, reaching around and down under to grip at your neck. Your neck craned back as he pulled you into him, back to chest.

Steve's breath was hot in your ear, small grunts leaving him.

"Is this what you wanted?" He asked, tone of his voice gruff with arousal.

You attempted to nod, eyes squeezing shut and sweat prickling at your hairline from the heat of the moment. He reached down underneath you to rub at your clit, the bundle of nerves growing more sensitive as the two of you were brought closer to completion.

"Making me work for it—you're such a tease, princess."

The nickname had you whimpering, memories of your prior relationship flooding back. That first night spent together filling your mind, overcoming the small amount of senses that you had left.

A high pitched uhh left you, breath caught in your throat as his grip tightened, hips grinding down into you even further. He couldn't get any deeper, reaching that spot inside of you that was only reserved for him.

"'S not enough, Harrington."

You were insistent on teasing him, eyebrows knitted together, eyes squeezed shut. He quickened his pace, pulling out almost completely just to thrust back into you.

His fingers at your clit sped up, he sensed how close you were solely on how your body tensed up.

"Come on, princess. I know y—"

His hand covered your mouth as you came, drowning out the loud whine that escaped you. He knew your body so well, knew exactly when to stop torturing your clit, when to slow his thrusts so you wouldn't become overwhelmed. Steve's own pleasurable end reached him, a low groan suppressed by pressing his face between your shoulder blades as he came deep inside you.

"Ah, fuck, princess, I lov-"

He cut himself off, another moan escaping him as he bottomed out before pulling out, collapsing on the bed next to you. You took a few moments in silence, catching your breath before turning to face him, blinking slow as you took him in.

Fingers reaching to you, he pulled you closer to him, pulling up the blanket that was pushed to your feet in the same motion. It was so domestic, this moment, your favorite side of Steve making an appearance that was slowly becoming the main event of your relationship.

He lay beside you, leaning on one elbow and hip, his fingers running over the expanse of your skin. You were starstruck in his beauty, the way his hair fell over his eyes, the slight glimmer of sweat sticking to his skin, moles dotting his body even in places the sun couldn't reach. And he was all yours, even if he was being stubborn, being Steve about it.

"You know I loved you the entire time?" He suddenly said, low in tone as he stared you down. Eyes leaving his body, you looked into his deep brown, shock evident on your face.

"I-you what?"

It was the first time these words left his mouth. You knew how you felt, but it was shocking to hear it from him.

"Since the day I saw you, I loved you. Love you," he confirmed, finger running up his body to run against your breastbone. He hovered over your heart, mimicking the shape of one over the skin.

"So... you were being an asshole just for fun?" You teased, turning on your side to lean into his space. Being in his proximity brought you a comfort that should have scared you, but definitely didn't.

He smirked at you, wiggling his eyebrows as he recalled the memories of your early relationship.

"How else was I supposed to make you fall for me?"

Your mouth dropped open in faux shock, your hand reaching up to slap at his chest. A guffaw left him as he grimaced at the red mark forming.

Rubbing at the spot, he whined your name. "Well it worked, didn't it?"

You rolled your eyes playfully, pretending to turn up your face at him. Turning on your side away from him, you closed your eyes, ushering sleep.

"You're such an asshole, Harrington."

You felt his arm snake around you, pulling you into his chest, both of your naked bodies pressed against each other. Instantly, you melted in his arms, your own hand coming up to grip at him.

"I love you too, princess."

Ah jeez, here it is. I love this pairing so much, I never want to part ways with them. part three.

Masterlist. <3

[becca-e-barnes]

Bucky pinning you down so you can’t squirm and he’s just sitting inside you while he tortures your clit feeling you clench around him. He makes you cum over and over until he finally cums.

Overstimulation + super soldier stamina = …

- 🍯

Dear God, I know I just don't have it in me to behave during cock-warming. When it comes down to it, I genuinely have no patience at all 😵‍💫

"You..." Bucky begins, pressing you down onto the bed before gripping your ankles and forcing you to flip over onto your front. "Have a problem with control."

With your face turned away from him, you can't help but smile to yourself. No one has ever said it out loud but you know he's right.

Being in control is where you're most comfortable. No hands are safer than your own. Except maybe his. You know he won't fuck this up.

"And you..." He continues, gathering your wrists behind your back, holding them tightly with one hand. "Need to learn how it feels to have control taken from you. Do you understand?"

As soon as you begin to nod your head, you feel him start to tape around your wrists, holding them together behind your back. Once he's content they're secure, he sits on the edge of the bed, facing the mirror before he pulls you onto his lap.

"Legs spread over the top of mine." He orders and you do as you're told, not because you have to but because you want to.

You notice the way your cunt is already glistening in the mirror and you're almost embarrassed because he hasn't even touched you yet.

"Fuck, you're made for this." He groans, lining his cock up to your slick entrance and you wonder if he's holding his breath too while he slides into you, as deep as your bodies will allow.

You're obsessed with the sight in front of you; your own naked body, with your legs spread so far apart you can see how your cunt is stuffed full of him.

Being shorter though, your feet can't touch the ground like this. There's no way you'll get enough leverage to fuck yourself on him but as soon as you start to tell him that, he silences you with two thick fingers between your lips.

"I'm not letting you fuck me." His free hand roams over your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples and then settling between your spread thighs.

"I'm going to play with you. I'm going to see how much you can take. I'm going to work out exactly how you like your clit stroked and I'm going to do that until your legs are shaking and your body won't let you cum any more. Maybe then I'll fuck you but sweetheart, that will be hours from now." His breath is hot against the side of your face, his fingers slipping from your mouth to your waist while he starts to flick gently against your clit.

"I'm going to start slowly. I'm going to do everything I can to drag this out as long as possible. I can feel every clench and flutter of this pretty little cunt and I'm going to enjoy it until you're dripping over my balls." At this rate, it won't be long until you're dripping onto the carpet, never mind over him. You dreamed he'd want to take control like this but you never imagined the way your body would respond.

"And then, when you've cum more times than you can handle, I'm going to tell you that I love you while I fuck you like I don't."

Update: Part 2

[capquinn]

Perfekt | N. Hischier

summary: When Nico’s composure slips in the heat of the moment, his soft English praises give way to raw, unfiltered Swiss German pairing: nico hischier x reader content: smut, p in v, super vanilla, MDNI word count: 2.3k note: disclaimer: an english to swiss german translator was used. apologies for any incorrect translations <3 ↪masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“You’re not speaking English anymore,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails lightly scratching against his scalp. The way he exhales, a shaky, uneven breath, sends a shiver through you.

Your lips trail away from his, moving to press soft, lingering kisses along his cheek and jaw, the faint stubble grazing your skin. He stays still, his body taut as though every nerve is focused on where you’re touching him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

He’ll start in English, his voice calm and steady as he murmurs soft, sweet praises against your skin, like he’s savouring every inch of you. It’s deliberate, grounding, the kind of control that makes your heart race because you know exactly what it’s building toward.

But then his composure starts to crack. And when it does, it’s like a switch flips. His brain defaults to the language he grew up with, the one that feels the most natural when he’s overwhelmed and raw. It’s instinctual, spilling from his lips like a confession — Swiss German phrases so soft and quiet, they’re more exhaled than spoken. At first, it’s just a word here or there, low and rough, but as he gets closer, his control slipping further, the floodgates open.

“Mein Gott,” he breathes, the words tumbling out unbidden, barely above a whisper. My God.

His hips roll into yours with a steady, deliberate rhythm, each thrust deeper and more purposeful than the last. His chest brushes against yours with every movement, the heat of his body pressing into you as his lips graze your temple. His hands grip your hips, firm but reverent, like he’s anchoring himself in the feel of you beneath him. The drag of him inside you, the way his body moves against yours, is consuming, leaving you breathless with every deliberate grind.

“Perfekt,” he groans, the word slipping out rough and broken, his fingers tightening on your hips as he pulls you closer, deeper.

The muscles in his shoulders flex beneath your touch as your hands trace the line of his back, your nails leaving faint trails against his damp skin. His rhythm stutters, then quickens, his control slipping through the gaze of pleasure.

“Du fühlsch dich so…” You feel so… He doesn’t finish the thought, the rest of it lost in the way his lips brush against your temple, his movements growing more desperate.

“So schön,” he murmurs, the words tumbling out instinctively, his accent thick as his hips roll again, drawing a gasp from your throat. His hand slides from your hip, skimming the curve of your thigh, lifting your leg higher around his waist. The shift changes everything, his next thrust angling perfectly, hitting that spot that makes your back arch and a cry fall from your lips.

His lips find your jaw, trailing down to the curve of your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his pace grows more desperate. You feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles strain as he chases the heat between you, the flood of Swiss German spilling from his lips in a stream of reverent, unguarded words.

And then your voice cuts through the haze, soft and breathless as you murmur his name, your fingers curling in his hair. It’s not loud, but it’s enough to make him pause, his rhythm faltering until he’s completely still. He bottoms out in you, hovering above you as his forehead presses to yours, his body taut and trembling as he tries to catch his breath.

“What?” he murmurs, his voice husky and rough, his accent thicker now, like he’s too lost in you to even attempt to smooth it out.

His eyes meet yours, the flicker of uncertainty mingling with the heat still burning there. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breath warm against your lips as he waits, his hips still locked in place, his body pressing into yours like he can’t bear to pull away.

You tilt your head, your lips curving into a teasing smile before pressing softly to his. The kiss is warm, unhurried, your mouths moving together in a way that feels both grounding and electrifying. It’s a tender nudge against the tension humming between you, and you feel him melt into it, his grip on your waist easing slightly as his other hand shifts to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“You’re not speaking English anymore,” you whisper against his lips, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails lightly scratching against his scalp. The way he exhales, a shaky, uneven breath, sends a shiver through you.

Your lips trail away from his, moving to press soft, lingering kisses along his cheek and jaw, the faint stubble grazing your skin. He stays still, his body taut as though every nerve is focused on where you’re touching him.

When your mouth brushes over the curve of his neck, he exhales sharply, the sound low and rough. His hand tightens on your waist, his thumb digging in just enough to leave a ghost of pressure that makes heat coil low in your stomach. His hips remain still against you, but the tension radiating from him is undeniable, his restraint holding by a thread.

“Am I?” he murmurs, his voice rough, his Swiss accent thick as his lips curve into a faint smile.

You pull back slightly, your lips leaving his neck, your eyes searching his face. His are heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you like he’s trying to gauge your reaction.

You nod, your lips brushing over his jaw again, lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble against your skin.

“You are,” you whisper, voice low and warm, your fingers curling against the back of his neck, holding him close.

His breath hitches, his chest pressing harder against yours, and his thumb stills on your waist for a moment before resuming its slow, deliberate circles. His forehead lowers to yours, his breath mingling with yours as his other hand threads into your hair, his touch light but purposeful.

“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice thick and unsteady, his lips brushing yours as the word falls from him. “I didn’t even notice… Sometimes… I just forget.”

His hips shift slightly, a subtle movement that makes your breath stutter, but his pace is deliberate, almost cautious now. His lips ghost over yours, close enough to brush but not quite pressing, like he’s holding himself back.

“Why are you apologising?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper as your fingers trace the line of his jaw.

You feel the tension in his muscles soften beneath your touch, his chest heaving against yours as he tries to steady himself.

His lips twitch into another small, sheepish smile, the kind that makes your heart ache even as heat pools low in your stomach.

“Because I know you don’t understand,” he says quietly, his tone tender, raw. “I want you to know what I’m saying.”

Your breath catches at his words, your body arching instinctively against his, your lips brushing his in a fleeting, teasing kiss.

“I don’t care if I don’t understand,” you murmur, your voice steady despite the tremor in your body. “I want to hear it anyway. I want you.”

Something shifts in his expression, his eyes darkening as he lets out a low groan, his grip on your hip tightening. His thrusts slow further, each one deep and deliberate, and his forehead presses against yours as he whispers, “du bisch so schön… so perfekt.”

The words spill from his lips like a prayer, his voice raw and trembling, and though you can’t translate them entirely, the meaning is unmistakable. Beautiful. Perfect. The way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, says everything.

“More,” you whisper, your nails dragging lightly down his back as your body arches into his, chasing the heat of him. “Say more.”

His lips brush against yours, not quite a kiss, just a shared breath as he obeys, his voice breaking on every word.

“Ich lieb dich… so sehr. Dass ich ned gnueg vo dir becho chan.” I love you… so much. I can't get enough of you.

Your legs lock around his waist, the motion desperate, pulling him deeper, harder, as though you’re trying to fuse every inch of him to you. He groans at the sensation, the sound raw and guttural, vibrating against your lips as his hips snap into yours. His movements shift, losing the slow deliberation that marked the start, replaced with something more primal — driven by need, by the way your body arches into his, meeting him thrust for thrust.

The drag of him is relentless, each deep, deliberate roll of his hips stealing the air from your lungs. Your nails rake down his back, leaving faint trails that make him shudder against you, a breathless curse spilling from his lips in Swiss German. His forehead presses to yours, the damp strands of his hair brushing your temple, and the shared heat between you makes everything feel sharper, more electric.

His hand moves down your side, fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to anchor himself. When he reaches your thigh, he grips it firmly, pulling your leg higher up his waist, opening you to him in a way that makes you cry out, your head tilting back against the pillow.

“You feel — mein Gott — so gut,” he groans, his voice broken and low, his accent thick as his lips trail from your forehead to your cheek, then down to your jaw. He bites down gently, just enough to send a spark of heat through you, before soothing the spot with his tongue.

The way he’s moving now is relentless — deep, grinding thrusts that have you clinging to him, your body trembling beneath the weight of him. Every drag of him against you feels like too much and not enough, your own moans mingling with his as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

“Perfect,” he whispers against your pulse, the word rough and reverent. His hips slam into you again, dragging another gasp from your lips, and the sound seems to push him further. “You’re so… mein… Du machsch mi verruckt…” My… You're driving me crazy…

His fingers flex against your thigh, gripping tighter as his rhythm becomes erratic, fuelled by the way your body responds to his every movement. It’s desperate and consuming, each roll of his hips pressing deeper, every breathless moan and whispered word unraveling both of you, piece by piece.

Your body trembles beneath him, every nerve alight as the tension coils tighter and tighter with each deliberate grind of his hips. It’s overwhelming, the heat pooling low in your stomach, building to the point where it feels like you might come undone at any second. His name falls from your lips in a breathless plea, the sound broken and desperate, and the way his eyes darken in response sends a fresh wave of fire coursing through you.

Nico’s movements become more frantic, less measured, his rhythm faltering as he chases the same edge threatening to pull you under. His hand tightens on your thigh, his grip firm and grounding, while the other slides beneath your back, holding you flush against him. His chest presses to yours, the damp heat of his skin against yours making it impossible to tell where you end and he begins.

“You’re so—mein Gott,” he groans, the words spilling out unbidden, raw and guttural. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven and ragged, his lips brushing yours with every shaky exhale. “Ich cha nöd… I can’t—ich cha nöd länger.” I can’t… I can’t last much longer.

The crack in his voice pushes you closer to the edge, the desperation in his tone mingling with the tension winding tighter and tighter inside you. Your nails dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. “Don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice trembling, your legs tightening around his waist as your body arches into him.

“Ich wird nöd,” he gasps, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s searing and all-consuming. I won't.

It’s messy, desperate, his teeth grazing your lower lip before he presses deeper, stealing every breath you try to take. His hips slam into yours harder, his movements erratic and frantic now, the rhythm unraveling as his control slips.

“Ich liäb di… so sehr,” he groans against your lips, his voice breaking with every thrust. I love you… so much.

Your body tightens around him, the tension snapping like a taut string. A cry tears from your throat, raw and unrestrained, as pleasure floods through you, molten and all-encompassing. Your back arches off the bed, your legs trembling as you clutch him closer, every wave of release leaving you breathless and shaking beneath him.

The way you fall apart in his arms undoes him completely. His name tumbles from your lips, fractured and needy, and it pushes him over the edge. His hips stutter, driving deep one last time as a guttural groan escapes him. His body shudders against yours, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as his release rips through him, consuming him in its intensity.

“Mein Gott,” he breathes, the words trembling against your skin as his lips brush over your shoulder. “Das isch mis meitli... Braves meitli.” That's my girl… Good girl. His voice cracks on the last word, thick with emotion, and his arms tighten around you like he can’t bear to let you go.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your mingled breathing, ragged and uneven, filling the quiet room. His body stays pressed to yours, heavy and warm, his skin damp against yours as he holds you close. His hand strokes over your thigh absently, grounding himself in the feel of you, his lips pressing soft, reverent kisses to your shoulder and collarbone.

When he finally lifts his head, his eyes meet yours, raw and unguarded, the intensity in his gaze making your breath hitch all over again. His thumb brushes over your cheek, a faint, tender smile curving his lips.

“Du bisch perfekt,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm, his accent thick and the words carrying the weight of his love. You’re perfect.

He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the heat between you still crackling like embers, even in the aftermath.

[montagoves]

heaven | jason todd

genre: smut (fem! reader!) 18+

warning: oral (male! receiving), slight degradation, small mention of munch jason <3

summary: jason’s version of heaven is his pretty girl on her knees

a/n: i don’t like giving bjs but if jason were mine my mouth would be open 24/7

Jason’s never been to Heaven, but he swears it looks just like this. 

You were on your knees in front of your bed, tears in your eyes as your pretty little lips wrapped around the first few inches of his cock. He groaned at the sight, wanting to close his eyes but forcing himself to keep them open. He couldn’t miss one moment of this.

Jason was a little weary at first when you asked him to fuck your face. He knows he’s bigger than average, and you already gag when giving him a blowjob on your own. But you asked him so sweetly, reassuring him that you’d be able to handle it. And how could he refuse his sweet girl of what she so desperately wanted?

“Takin’ me so well, sweetheart,” he let out in a low murmur, his hand reaching out to twirl a finger around a lock of your hair. He groaned quietly when your eyes seemed to gleam at the praise, wet eyelashes fluttering for him. God, you were already struggling to take him. His strong, brave girl. 

“Can you go further?” he asked, his hand slowly moving to the back of your head. He didn’t move yet, just tangling his fingers within the locks. You inhaled shakily through your nose, giving him a small hum of agreement. “Good girl… so good f’me.”

Jason pushed his hips forward slowly, watching another thick inch of him disappear past your lips. He bit his lip back, staring as your eyes closed momentarily. 

“Nuh, uh. None of that. Eyes on me, ‘kay, sweetheart?” Jason gruffed, gently tugging your hair. Your eyes fluttered open and your soft, gentle hands placed themselves on his outer thighs. You looked back up at him, Jason’s heart racing at the sight. 

“You’re gonna keep those pretty eyes on me while I use your mouth, yeah?” he questioned, feeling you squeeze his thighs as a sign of confirmation. He smiled, his grip tightening slightly on your hair. 

Then, without warning, Jason began to thrust his cock into your mouth. Sweet whines and gagging noises left your mouth as he fucked your face, your sounds only spurring him on more. Jason groaned, pausing for a moment. 

“F-Fuck, we should’ve done this sooner…” he grumbled, his chest heaving a bit. “Knew you’d look all cute like this f’me, too.”

In response, you nuzzled your nose against the short curls at the base of his cock. With your eyes still on his, you swallowed around his head, your throat constricting around him deliciously. Jason let out a shaky moan, not wasting another second before resuming his fast-paced thrusts. 

“W-Where the fuck did you learn to do that?” he breathed, feeling his cock twitch as he bordered the line of release. “Fucking naughty. Bet you like being used like this too, huh? W-Wanted to be my cumslut so bad. All you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”

The tip of Jason’s cock was hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, the tears in your eyes now streaming down your cheeks. With one final buck of his hips, he let out a guttural moan, his body leaning forward. He caught himself on the mattress with one hand, his other hand still holding your head to his pelvis. He breathed heavily, his head bowing down to look at you.

You whimpered at the new angle, Jason’s thighs pushing against your shoulders and keeping you trapped against the side of the bed. Your eyes were still on his as his cock remained in your mouth, his hot cum filling those cheeks of yours. 

He could spend forever admiring you like this. 

But he wasn’t a complete sadist, and he knew you needed a break after your first time doing this. He pulled out of your mouth, watching a line of spit connect his tip to your bottom lip. 

“The damn prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbled, his grip on your hair loosening as he began to fix the strands. “You okay, sweetheart? Better have swallowed all of me up.”

You nodded, mouth opening as Jason moved to kneel in front of you. You stuck your tongue out, and Jason leaned forward to tangle his tongue with yours, tasting himself on you and your lips. 

“Atta girl,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you once more before suddenly picking you up by the backs of your thighs. You gasped as he moved to lay back on the bed, pulling your hips up to hover over his face. 

“My turn, now. Make sure to get comfy and sit all the way down, sweetheart. Gonna be here a while,” he said, easing your thighs apart with his elbows so your pussy was mere inches from his mouth. “I’m a slow eater,” he grinned before pulling your hips down and burying his face in your sweet pussy.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

jason todd but he treats you like you invented sliced bread

jason todd but he gags at the thought of people that aren’t you checking him out and trying to get with him

jason todd but he calls you princess and buys you whatever you want

jason todd but he’s taller than you, stronger than you, and yet still the most gentle person you’ve ever met or been with

jason todd but you both tease and flirt with each other like you’re still in the honeymoon phase

jason todd but he acts like your guard dog

jason todd but he kisses and bites at your neck until you’re weak in the knees

jason todd but he eats you out until your legs are shaking from how many times you’ve come before he even thinks of pulling his cock out

jason todd but he’s folding you over his arm and fucking you so hard you’re dizzy

jason todd but he calls you pretty all the while like it’s the only word he knows

jason todd but he cleans you up after, cuddles you for hours

jason todd but he already has you asking when can you do it again

jason todd but you wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee the next morning

jason todd but he’s the best boyfriend in the world

[the-original-skipps]

just something I randomly thought of that I need to get out of my system

NSFW WARNING!

“Aww, look at his cute little wings fluttering.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at Aventurine’s words from behind you. His strong arms wrapped around your neck, his face leaning close to yours to whisper in your ear. While his thick cock is stuffed into your tight asshole. Meanwhile, Sunday with a look of pure annoyance on his face has his own cock buried deep within your pussy. Sunday had been listening intently to (Y/N)’s moans and gasps only to be interrupted by Aventurine’s grating voice - and to mock him no less.

“Need I remind you Aventurine, that you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my generosity. Which now seems like a grave mistake on my part.” Sunday says scoffing then glaring at the man behind you. Aventurine only smiles in response before whispering in your ear. “Looks like feather-head can’t take a little teasing.” You were really trying your hardest to hold back your laughter.

Despite the seriousness of the situation you’re currently in, being fucked by two incredibly handsome men. You couldn’t help but let a giggle slip from your lips at Aventurine’s remark towards Sunday. Whose wings can’t help but flutter at the ecstasy he’s currently feeling.

“Perhaps, I should just kick you out.”

“And have (Y/N) all to yourself? No way.”

[le-fruit-de-la-passion]

The Prophet spoke, and the faithful knelt

Summary : You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

Pairing : Viktor x Reader

Word count : 3.2K

Warning : Explicit

You couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at you with something other than disgust.

The bumps on your skin were large and deformed, like warts on a toad's back. Dark, unnatural purple spots had consumed most of your body, your veins glowing faintly inside your flesh. Staring at them, pulsating like worms making their way through your organs, still gave you unparalleled nausea. You were the kind of monster little children of Piltover feared in the shadowy corners of their bedroom, and you couldn't remember a time when it had been otherwise

The others like you all lived in small, crummy camps, where the warmth of a teared-up blanket was something worth killing your neighbour for. If the value of human life was close to none in Zaun, here, it was worth absolutely nothing.

A wasteland inside a wasteland.

Most lived off scraps left by bars; there were few other ways to get food. The familiar feeling of hunger digging its sharp claws into your stomach had never lessened. For water, there were only the thick metal pipes, going above to supply the golden city, which sometimes leaked drinkable but rusty liquid.

The best days, the only bearable days, were those where you found half-used needles of shimmer in the trash. For a few blissful hours, you were someone else, somewhere else, and nothing in the world could hurt you. Then it was back to being cold, hungry, and alone.

You had tried to live a semblance of a life, once, when the craving for shimmer hadn't been so all-consuming. But addicts were bad for business: customers didn't like seeing them, with their empty eyes and malformed bodies, and they were a very poor investment for an employer. How many months, or days, before they would abandon their job in favour of chasing their never-ending high?

Then there were the whore houses. One could get a few pieces of copper, if their body wasn't too ravaged by the drug. Damaged goods still sell, but for a fraction of the price. And yet there it was no better either: patrons would come in, use you, and leave, without ever looking you in the eye. Like you were less than human.

But not him.

He looked at you without ever flinching, without ever shying away. There was no sign of disgust or pity in those strange eyes of his, but an endless compassion, something that went beyond your comprehension. As if a simple glance at you had allowed him to read every corner of your soul.

You could have sworn time had stopped the second he locked eyes with you. In the warm amber of his pupils swayed a reflection of pale blue, like sunset on the ocean.

You had fallen to your knees without ever willing your body to do so, pressing your forehead against the cold gravel. It feels natural, almost instinctive, to bow in the presence of a god. For what other word could describe him, his presence, his aura?

Did someone like you, ugly, broken, filthy, deserve to see beauty like this?

A gentle hand brought your face back up towards the sky, lithe fingers tucked under your chin. Soft, so soft.

His eyes were back into yours, the sunset having morphed into a pool of liquid gold. Tears had begun to fall from your eyes, rolling down your scarred cheeks and onto his delicate hands. He shushed you before you attempted to speak, like he already knew whatever words you would tell him.

“It's alright. I will take care of you.”

The digits slid slowly across your face, impossibly smooth, and you couldn't help but nuzzle into the touch, revelling in the feeling of a sensation you had all but forgotten. He softly pushed the dirty hood off your face, hand settling on top of your matted hair. You closed your eyes; whatever this man was willing to give you, be it salvation or judgement, you simply knew you were ready to accept it.

And then, everything became light.

—

You saw him perform miracle after miracle following that day. He brought people back from the depths of hell, which they'd lived in for so long, with the simple touch of a hand. He brought back the smiles, the joy, and the hope all of you had given up on.

To your community, he was everything.

The familiar presence of his voice called for you inside your mind. It was so comforting, having him there, feeling him as a part of you. Knowing he would never leave you, that he would never let you be alone again.

He looked like a statue when you found him, seated in his cave, still and ethereal beyond your mortal comprehension. The gods had crafted his face from porcelain; his body from the world's most precious metals; his eyes from the sun and the sea; and his smile with the very essence of magic.

“Here you are. I was beginning to worry.”

That was not true; both of you knew very well you had heard his voice and were rushing to come to his side. Yet, the idea that a being such as him would worry about someone like you made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“Herald?”

“Mm?”

He blinked, calmly, peacefully, as his eyes met yours once more. No other feeling compared. His pupils glowed inside the barely lit cave, a gentle and divine light emanating from his face.

The words were hard to get out, and you found yourself fidgeting with your hands, looking away from his perfect gaze.

Get a hold of yourself, you admonished your brain. You had practiced this moment more than once.

You were certain he knew exactly what you were about to ask him; he knew every thought going through your mind, after all. Which meant he knew of the nights you spent dreaming of him, of his body, and of the hundreds of ways you craved the touch of your messiah.

But he simply looked at you, calm and composed, the hint of a smile barely on his lips.

Briefly, you wondered if he was teasing you by letting you stew in your anxiety.

“I have come to realize,” you began unsurely, voice almost breaking, “that you always take care of others, Herald. Always take care of people like me.”

He observed you with that indecipherable gaze, still not moving an inch. You gathered all your courage to stare back at him as you pronounced your next words decidedly:

“But does nobody take care of you, Herald?”

He smiled, properly this time, yet still calm and moderate. It was beyond beautiful, his delicate features marked by soft dimples, the hint of a mole over his lips. You would have given your life in a heartbeat if it meant he would have smiled at you like this once more.

“I don't require such things anymore,” he explained serenely, fingers absentmindedly tracing the complex patterns of his arm. “This body doesn't feel cold, or hunger, or want. It is pure of all the desires the man I once was might have had.”

You swallowed with difficulty; was he rejecting your advances? You could not bear living without knowing you had done everything for him, given him every inch of your being.

“But that man,” you tried once more, moving a timid step forward, “he is still part of you, isn't he? Wouldn't it only be fair to take care of him too?’

There was not a hint of confusion in his expression; he understood exactly what you meant. Yet one of his eyebrows had slightly risen, perhaps of amusement or appreciation for your boldness.

“If you have something in mind,” he simply replied, his thick accent hypnotic, “you should show me.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You would show him what his gift had meant to you.

Gradually, reverently, you approached the frugal throne where he sat, a simple rock formation at the back of the cave. You kneeled at his feet and gazed up, unsure if you were allowed to touch him. He gave you a light nod, a glim of endearment in his eyes.

With deference, you slid the fabric of his tunic to the side, parting his knees to give you access. You felt your cheeks heat at the realization he had no underwear, trepidation bubbling in your lower stomach. Then you stopped right in your tracks.

Where there should have been… something, there was nothing.

Your mouth opened in surprise, but no words managed to find their way out. You spluttered, confused, gaping at the being above you.

A low, small chuckle.

His luminous eyes were teasing, barely enough so that someone else would not have recognized it; but you did.

“I could not resist to watch your reaction,” he admitted, “My apologies.”

His delicate hand covered the area of his groan, and a faint light shone between the cracks of his fingers. The sound of metal forming, pieces sliding with one another, echoed inside the empty cave. When he removed his hand, it was as if the member had always been there.

As you had always pictured in your dreams, the Herald was well endowed, even in a softened state. It was without question like a regular human’s, but devoid of any veins, marks, and bumps. Not a single hair adorned the base. It was all perfectly smooth, the head only distinct from the rest of the length with its thickness.

He was art, in the most primordial sense of the term, and you could do nothing but admire him.

“This body shapes to my will,” the Herald explained at your look of awe, “It had no need for genitalia, so it did not have any. At least… before now.”

Your fingertips slid timidly on the indigo skin, feeling the polished texture. The contact felt pleasantly electric, like his body brimmed with untapped energy. The first small lick was somehow nostalgic, the feel of popping candies bursting pleasantly on your tongue.

When you wrapped your lips around him, you could immediately tell his taste was unlike anything you'd ever had before. The coppery flavour of metal mixed with something so enticingly sweet it could not be anything other than the taste of the arcane itself. An encouraging hand petted your head softly, fingers threading through strands of your hair. You moaned with your mouth still full of him; a single touch from him was enough to have your core burnt with want. You sped up your pace, taking as much of him in your mouth as you possibly could. The energy pulsated against your tongue, his cock hardening to your rhythmic pace. The thickness of his tip kept hitting the back of your throat, cutting oxygen for a few blissful milliseconds at a time and making you see stars.

It was perfect.

And yet, after a few minutes, you realized something was wrong.

You'd been with your fair share of men and women before. The twitching, the moaning, the cramping of the thighs from the building pleasure and the coming release- it was all absent.

You pulled back with a soft ‘pop’, looking up at your prophet once more for guidance. The same all-knowing visage stared back at you, that boundless compassion he had for all mankind. You understood what was happening, now.

“Herald,” you said slowly, voice horse from taking him, “why have you called me today?”

Silence. It looked as though he was thinking over his next words, choosing how best to explain things to you.

“I could sense you needed guidance,” he finally answered, “Support. I merely wanted to help in the way you needed me.”

Helping you. He was helping you once again. Even now, when you begged him to let you help him, he was still only thinking of others.

“You're not satisfied,” the Herald deduced from your crestfallen expression, “Why?”

Tears of frustrated devotion prickled the corner of your eyes, and you felt like a pathetically pouting child:

“My goal was not to satisfy myself. It was to please you.”

Perhaps you had dreamed it, but a glimmer of surprise flashed in his sunset gaze, gone too soon for you to ever be certain.

“Allow me to try once again, please. I will do better,” you requested, resting your head against his inner thigh, his cock still perfectly hard against your cheek. Looking up at him from under your eyelashes, you whispered your next words like a prayer, hoping it would reach him: “It is all I want to do from the deepest part of my heart.”

The smile again, so slight and yet so luminous. Perhaps he hadn't cured your addiction to shimmer, and had simply replaced it with the profound need of him. A drug you never wanted to be freed from.

“Very well,” he acquiesced, voice low, “you may do it again.”

This time, you could tell there was a genuine look of surprise in his neutral expression when you stood. ‘So he can't tell my thoughts immediately as I have them,’ you reflected silently. ‘I can use that.’

It was without asking that you made your way onto his lap, legs bent on both sides of his thighs. The position wasn't very comfortable, rocks digging into your knees; but he was so close to you that you felt the warmth of the arcane emanating from every pore of his body. The pleased look he gave you at your initiative made you feel emboldened, and you guided his cock to your entrance, lining yourself to slowly slide down on his length.

“I do not wish to interrupt,” the Herald made you pause, thick eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “or to appear to stroke my ego, either. But I believe it would be wise to… prepare yourself, prior to taking me.”

You looked away in embarrassment, confidence fading, not wanting to reply directly. To explain how you had prepared yourself for him in your tent, in the slim hopes this moment might happen, would certainly be the death of you.

His eyebrows rose back up, the ghost of a smirk on his lips. He understood.

“I almost forgot how prepared you always are. Clever girl.”

You felt yourself tighten at the compliment. You committed the words to memory, engraving them in your mind forever. You would never forget when your Herald had praised you.

You patiently lowered yourself onto him, inch by inch, getting accustomed to him. A little shamefully, there was an undeniable selfishness of wanting this moment to last as long as possible.

When you took him whole, it was almost too overwhelming to bear.

His size was an undeniable component, both in length and girth. You had to wonder: had he been so big when he was but a regular man?

‘Yes’, a familiar voice supplied in your head. Had you not known better, you could have sworn his tone was slightly cocky.

But it wasn't just his dick, either. The flow of energy running through you from the point of your connection was dizzyingly intense, coherent thoughts barely stringing together. It felt like the high of shimmer but unbelievably more potent, simultaneously cutting you open and putting your body back together. This was being alive.

“Breathe,” he reminded you, a guiding hand sliding to the small of your back. Even now, he still took such good care of you. Overwhelmed tears had begun to fall down your eyes without you sensing their presence, and you tried to regain some semblance of your senses.

For a while, minutes, maybe hours, only the sound of your panting resonated through the cave. You gripped the Herald's shoulders tightly, scrunching the fabric of his tunic in your fists. His impartial expression never changed, but neither did the way his hand held you in place and comforted you. Once it felt as though your lungs were getting air again, you began moving.

All of it seemed like a dream; the feeling of fullness between your legs, the slow drag of his cock inside you, the warm wetness of your juices slipping out with each trust. If there was no heaven for sinners, then you had found your own right here. You picked up the pace, settling into a fast and wild rhythm. You scanned his features for any sign of disturbance; the slightest hint of red coloured his pale cheeks, the faintest laboured breath coming from his lips.

So he was still a bit human, after all.

You kept moving with renewed vigour, not able to contain wanton moans of pleasure.

“May I try something?” he asked, voice low, deeper than you had ever heard him speak.

You let out a sound of approval that dissolved into nonsense when the tip of his cock hit the spot you had carefully been avoiding. This time, he moved, ramming over and over against your cervix, too deep for comfort, shaping you to him and only him. You were so close, right on the edge, begging him for release with gibberish.

He had undeniably felt your incoming demise, and with one last push inside your core, he leaned his head forward, bringing both of your foreheads together.

In that moment, you were him as much as he was you, a single mind in perfect balance. You saw everything he saw, felt everything he felt. The weight and lightness of the cosmos, the thousands of strings connecting him to his followers, the understanding of the final step for humanity.

The Glorious Evolution.

And with that, you came, body spasming uncontrollably against his. You fell into the crook of his neck in exhaustion, sobbing, wondering if you had just died in your prophet's arms. Far away, as if he was in another room, you heard his comforting voice shushing your whines, his long fingers caressing your cheek. He looked at you as if you were the one to be admired. Too much, it was all too much.

Perhaps an eternity had passed as you came back to your senses. Things felt tangible once more, corporal, the now cold feeling of your wetness drying on your inner thighs. There was a feeling of awkwardness, of embarrassment, and you hesitated between staying still or pulling him out of you. Were there proper steps to follow after something like this, or any steps at all?

“You didn't…” you commented, unsure what proper term to use to not seem crass.

You didn't cum. You didn't fill me.

“I am not certain that would still be biologically possible for me,” he answered with little emotion, seemingly neither bothered nor frustrated by that fact.

Even if he hadn't been linked to your mind, your disappointment would have been palpable. You had wanted him to experience some of the relief he had given you, to release all that could have troubled him inside you. You wanted to care for him.

Selfishly, perhaps, there had also been the want to carry your prophet's seed so no one would ever question who you belonged to.

“However, to the extent this body can still feel pleasure…” he continued, not missing a beat, otherworldly gaze deep in yours, “you took great care of me. Thank you.”

This time, you smiled.

You would never be a hero for Zaun, a revolutionary, a leader. But you would care for your prophet with every single breath your body would allow.

And there was nothing more important to you than that.

[neosvcr]

anton with his pretty girl on all fours in front of him. one hand gripping your hip, guiding you back on him. his glazed over eyes glued to where you joined, hypnotized by the way you coated his cock with your arousal.

breathy curses and praises spilling from his parted lips and his hair sticking to your forehead. "there you go, baby, keep going." he murmured, his voice low. relishing in your adorable whines, a smirk creeping onto his features when you began babbling about how good he was doing.

"it feels good?" he coos, almost mocking you. "you're doing such a good job, huh? fuckin' yourself on my cock." a low, breathy chuckle following his words. the both of you became increasingly more breathless, your pants meeting some sort of synchronicity as he pulls you back against him with more fervor.

his free hand reached forward, wrapping a hand around your throat just to pull you flush against his chest. he pressed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, smirking as he swallowed your moans. he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours. "look at me, honey." he pleaded, "come on, baby, i need you to look at me." his voice was a ragged whisper at this point, any restraint he had now thrown out of the window. he began rocking into you, equally as needy as you were.

his hand sliding down your stomach to rest between your thighs, his fingers rubbing teasing, precise circles on your sopping clit. "you gonna cum for me?" he breathed out, his movements getting more messy as he neared his own release. "so pretty, angel.." he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss against your lips. he continued skillfully moving his fingers, whiny groans leaving his lips. "cum with me. cream my cock, pretty. come on." he commanded. and you did. how could you not listen to him? he always treated you so good. and the way he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you against him after and pressing gentle kisses to your forehead while praising you just had you falling for him that little bit more.

[umemiyan]

𝗠𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠𝗜 𝗙𝗨𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗚𝗨𝗥𝗢 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / oral (m!receiving, reader giving) / deepthroating

“Megumi, look at me,” you beg sweetly, first with your voice and then with your eyes, gaze shooting up at him from below, from between his thighs where you take up space. His shaft is soaked in spit and plunged into heaven every time your warm mouth works its way down it, and the young man fears his heart may burst from the way it pounds like a war drum beneath his rib cage.

“Baby, please?” you ask once more, desperate for compliance.

He can’t look at you; he can’t do anything other than grip the edge of the sofa and keep his line of sight far from where he knows you are. It’s humiliating to be acknowledged with his cock in your mouth, although it certainly isn’t the first time, but Megumi fears he’ll never grow accustomed to being so exposed, to receiving pleasure from another for the sake of it.

But he can’t deny you, either. He can’t grit his teeth and ignore the plea for all of eternity, not when you’re the one who gives him what little worth he believes he has. But you back him into a corner with your desires, with a hot tongue that pricks at the animal part of his brain so well. He’s caught in limbo, stuck between hating himself for loving your throat and adoring you for offering it in the first place. though he wishes you wouldn’t so that he’d have one less raging war to fight in his mind.

Nearly above all, Megumi fears that looking you in the eye will make him shoot his load straight down into your stomach like a weakling. He’s already at the precipice, staving off the impending orgasm with his remaining willpower, but you shatter his resolve with your most ardent plea.

Sharp and troubled eyes flick down to see the drool slicking your chin and the hunger in your gaze as it locks onto his, maintaining itself even as you slowly, deliberately take every last inch of him until your nose breaches a dark patch of hair. Like you’ve calculated it. You’ve nestled him in your throat with watering eyes, and Megumi’s hips buck, cock twitching with its first shot of release and the rest following shortly after, you gulping it down in earnest.

He grunts and shakes with every swallow, huffing almost as if it induces a great pain, teeth threatening to crack under the clench of his jaw. A drop of sweat races down his temple and over his drumming pulse, leaving him mildly wrecked as you pull off him with a smile. He’s shaken and conflicted still, but the post-orgasmic haze renders him powerless against you planting yourself in his lap and pulling him in for a kiss of victory.

Megumi can taste himself on your tongue, and he even chases the flavor as a reminder of the (perceived) burdens you carry for his sake. But none of it is burdensome to you, not when he is filled with glee, and you grin triumphantly with having sent pleasure and love bursting through his chest once more. Perhaps one day, you’ll no longer have to beg for him to let you.