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wandasallerdyce · 6 months

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ᴊᴏʜɴɴʏ ᴄᴀɢᴇ & ᴋᴇɴꜱʜɪ ᴛᴀᴋᴀʜᴀꜱʜɪ + ᴀ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ-ꜱᴛᴀʀᴠᴇᴅ ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ

this ones super self-indulgent, simply cause im in a bit of a mood and i need comfort. so why not write little drabbles with my HUSBANDS!!!! sorry im still working on requests! my schedule is packed and thursdays are about the only days i get to myself, so im working on them, i swear!!!

for more context, there's a couple different ways people can be touch-starved and how people react. i know some people seek out touch actively, but im one of the people who has an aversion to it. that's why it's written like the reader doesn't quite enjoy it!

also, this was kind of inspired by Kocham Wolność by Chłopcy z Placu Broni

cw: male reader, just fluff really, bonus, proofread

-Johnny Cage

Johnny's flashy, touchy, and over-the-top. Of course he is, he has to be. With his status, he wants everyone to know exactly who you are and show you off. You're all his, and only his, and he needs every single one of his fans to know.

So when you shy away from his touch, dodge away from his hand, or even keep your distance the very first time, his heart shatters. He doesn't quite know how to handle it. But he doesn't go with the same approach. He doesn't give up, either.

He's a sucker for physical touch, and if he's denied it, he doesn't know what to do with his hands. He quite literally looks down at them and wonders what he can do.

His first thought is that you dislike him, actually. That you hate him. He has a deep-seated fear of rejection, and for his beloved to turn away from his warmth and love, it stings. He overthinks, and he reacts as such.

Johnny is a 50/50 with being logical. It depends where he is and what environment he is in. However, with love, where he is completely and utterly vulnerable, giving his all to his boyfriend, logic does not take place with his emotions. He does not think that you do not seek the touch he seeks, he craves.

But, before he can let that vile, horrid, agonizing feeling in the back of his throat take hold, there's slight reassurance. A soft gaze that mends his broken heart, if only for a moment. That's when he finally rationalizes.

You don't even need to tell him at that point, he silently understands. Besides, he has other ways he can show his love for you. Spoils you rotten, tells you all he loves about you. See, he can find ways to make up for the lack of physical touch!

Johnny makes sure to ask you before any physical encounter. He asks to hold your hand, asks to hug you, asks to hold you, asks everything. And each time you say yes, he has the biggest grin on his face.

One night, while you two were sitting on the hood of Johnny's car by some cliff,- like those stupid romantic scenes in movies- you lean over to Johnny and rest your head on his shoulder. Your arms are touching, his shoulder provides a comfortable pillow. You feel safe. Gazing at the very few stars scattered in the sky, the night sky's beauty stolen by the city below (and by you, Johnny says). Johnny's beaming. He's trying so hard not to show it, he's trying to act cool. But he can't. He's almost vibrating because of the butterflies in his stomach. He's proud of you, he's in love with you, and god, he's so happy. He leans his head on yours, and whisper all sorts of sweet things, 'I love you', 'You mean so much to me', 'You're the most beautiful man I know', and 'Thank you'.

-Kenshi Takahashi

Since Kenshi focuses on touch mainly in the relationship, he has to re-evaluate how he goes about this without touch. He doesn't start off with it, like Johnny does. But he slowly builds up to it. And when he tries to place a hand on your shoulder, feeling you completely dodge him almost feels humbling.

He's at a loss. But unlike Johnny, his first thought is the right one. Perhaps you aren't ready, you aren't comfortable. And that's okay. He's going to think of different ways to seek out your affection, even though physical touch is the only way he really understands love.

But, he also understands. He knows what it's like to dislike touch, after years of hollow touch and forced affection. And he understands if you just don't trust him enough, he's empathetic.

He'll wait for you, however long it takes. He isn't afraid to admit it's a bit disheartening, but he understands and he loves you and he will always wait for you. He still cherishes your time together, and it isn't spoiled one bit. Besides, he can tell you just how much he adores you. He doesn't have to rely on touch every time.

Like Johnny, he will always ask. But he does prefer that you make the first move, at that point. Any little touch, he also cherishes. Even if it's your hand accidentally brushing against his while walking. You always catch a small smile from him when that happens.

He's happy as is, really. The lack of physical touch doesn't take away anything from the relationship or from you. Simply basking in your presence is enough for you. He adores you, and he knows you're his as much as he's yours. That understanding is really the only thing he craves in the relationship.

He relishes in every little touch you give him, however. Simply holding hands is the most intimate thing to him. He isn't big on PDA, but he loves holding your hand anywhere in public. Even if Sento offers slight guidance to him, he loves knowing you're there to guide him.

The night you finally initiated contact, he fell deeper in love with you. It was quiet, alone, still. In your room, you lay next to him, simply enjoying the pleasures of the mundane. You reach for his hand, and gently trace the ink on his hands. He's calm, collected, but inside burns a fire so bright, that you can feel his body temperature rise. He slowly turns his hand, opening his palm to you. For a moment, your fingers linger, tracing the creases in his hand, before finally intertwining your fingers with his. He turns his head to you, a soft and inviting small on his face. He breaks the silence, whispering an 'I love you, so much', before the silence lay over you two once more.

-Bonus! Johnny Cage AND Kenshi Takahashi

They both agree not to smother you and take their time with you and your comfort. Since most dates and activities will always center around all three of you, they're specifically gentle with you, and are rather hands off with both you and each other (as hard as that is for them).

Just because they are comfortable with each other and each other's touch, doesn't mean they are going to flaunt it. Kenshi believes the ideal is to slowly incorporate you into events. To suffocate you with the idea of touch is too much.

And they do just that. Johnny follows Kenshi's lead, really. Neither of them can live without your touch, and the idea of turning you away is a mutual fear.

When you found yourself between Kenshi and Johnny, simply "watching" a movie from Johnny Dearest, you ended up placing your head in Kenshi's lap, and your legs in Johnny's. You were tired, that was all. Just so happens you had the most comfortable men to lay on. Johnny gave Kenshi the most bewildered look, before realizing the man was still blind. But regardless, Kenshi almost shared the sentiment. However, Kenshi didn't waste his chance. He places his hand on your head, scratching at your scalp. While Johnny just revels in the fact that you've finally warmed up to them.

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wandasallerdyce · 6 months

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Can you pls write a fic with double penetration with Johnny Cage and Kenshi. Reader is been flirting with both for quite a while and they can't take the teasing anymore.

I didn't put any flirting or anything, but it does have double penetration. I hope you still like it!

“Take off the fucking sunglasses, Johnny,” you hissed after craning your neck to see Johnny’s nakedness nearly fully there, except for the sunglasses.

You turned back to face Kenshi and leaned down to press your lips to his. His arms wrap around your waist to pull your body flush with his, and when your cock meets the expanse of his firm stomach, your mouth falls open.

You hear a clatter from behind you and then Johnny’s voice, “c’mon, are you really going to ignore me like that?” All of the work I did?” He whines.

You wanted to respond, but you were fairly preoccupied with Kenshi’s tongue in your mouth. You had to hand it to Johnny, he was surprisingly patient as he fingered you open to get you ready for his and Kenshi’s cock.

“You were taking too long to take off the glasses,” you responded after pulling away from the kiss. You pushed Kenshi down by the shoulders into the soft bedspread and leaned back into Johnny’s chest. His lips met yours when you turned your neck, his teeth nipped at your bottom lip before his tongue made its way into the space Kenshi’s just occupied.

“Ready?” Johnny asked once he pulled away. He made his way in between Kenshi’s spread legs, right behind where you sat on his cock.

You nodded, trying to mask the nervousness on your face.

“Hey,” Johnny murmured before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “I told you we’ll take it easy,” his hands went to your chest, his fingers running over the skin right above your heartbeat.

“I know, Johnny,” you responded before you angled your mouth back into his.

When he pulled away, Johnny’s hands tightened on your chest to keep you in place. Kenshi’s hands were at your hips to hold you in the same fashion. Johnny’s forehead pressed to yours, the proximity made it to where you both gasped into each other’s mouths when Johnny slowly pressed inside.

“How do you feel?” Johnny asked, your lips brushed as he spoke.

There were a lot of words you could use, and at the same time, it felt as if you could think of none at all.

“Full,” you gasped.

Owned.

The word flashed in your mind when Kenshi’s fingers tightened around your hips, his nails digging into your skin. The feeling was almost too much, being surrounded inside and out by both men, but it was the best kind of too much, one that you only wanted more of.

You turned away from Johnny to look down at yourself, one of your hands going to your stomach. You fanned out your fingers over where their cocks throbbed inside you. You pressed your palm down softly and whimpered at the heavy feel of their cocks.

You clenched down, and this time when you let out a noise, Johnny and Kenshi let out ones of their own.

Johnny groaned before his head fell to your shoulder, “not gonna last.”

It was awkward at first trying to find the right rhythm, but once it had gotten going, you were at their mercy.

True to Johnny’s word, he didn’t last long. Inside, his cock made a mess of your hole as his cum started to drip out soon after he came with a choked off moan. One hand fell from your chest so he could wrap his fingers around your hard cock.

“That’s it,” Johnny murmured into the sweaty skin of your neck as your cock pulsed as you came in messy stripes over Kenshi’s chest. Flashes of pleasure danced behind your eyelids when your eyes fell closed under the intense pleasure. The next time you open them is just at the right time to watch Kenshi’s head fall back and his mouth open as he moans under the force of his orgasm.

You fell onto Kenshi’s chest as the three of you came back down. One of his hands ran soothingly down your sweaty back as he and Johnny pulled their softening cocks free. His lips pressed softly onto your cheeks before they were pressed softly to your lips.

“Okay?” Kenshi questioned.

“I’m good,” you responded and pressed another kiss to his mouth.

“Yeah you are,” Johnny said loudly before slapping your ass. He flopped down before you two with a satisfied groan, “I think Kenshi should go get a wet cloth to clean us up,” he says.

“Shut up, Johnny,” Kenshi responded.

“I did all the work earlier, and I doubt he can walk after what we did to him, so it’s gotta be you,” Johnny says back, his arms going behind his head, looking sated and comfortable. “I’m just saying.”

“Shut up, Johnny,” you said back while not even trying to hide the smile from your voice.

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wandasallerdyce · 6 months

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time's wasting, tick-tocking, lip locking

summary: spider-man meets an unlikely friend(or foe) to help him retrieve an important package. pairing: tasm!peter parker x male reader word count: 1.8k warnings: fluff, suggestive stuff, black cat reader, light smut, they're not friends sorta enemies if you think about it. a/n: a request from an anon! btw you could end it to a certain part if you just want the banter and the fluff but yall this is a hellsburners production we're serving smut here

masterlist | more peter parker

The air was quite chilly atop this building, the spandex not warming his body. Spider-man rubbed his gloved hands together for some heat, his legs bent over the ledge of the building, his eyes scanning the dock below. Twenty-four men loading wooden crates into shipping containers with the words Roxxon Energy Corp.

He swung down behind a shipping crate, crawling to the top unbeknownst to the men. His webs thwip across the snowy dock, disarming three men. Their bodies bonded together, and their mouths shut. He swings again, landing next to four other men, their rifles pointing at him.

Peter webs for two opposite poles and slingshots himself to the men, kicking one over while disarming the others; more men come rushing with baseball bats and crowbars. They try to hit Peter, his senses blazing from each attack; he ducks and avoids each blow, pulling on a few webs to tie them up.

Five more men come from inside the shipping container, loaded with pistols and rifles, but before they can come out, a small silver ball rolls from the top of the container, falling down and releasing white smoke.

Peter could hear the men choke and cough as a figure came down and took them individually. He did the same, taking the moment when the men were disarmed to land a few kicks and punches, leaving them unconscious.

He runs to the shipping container as the smoke wears off. The crates were ripped open with bear-like claw marks, the contents of the boxes now gone. He hears footsteps from his far left, the shadowy figure creeping against the moonlight. Peter webs his way to run after it. The cold slowed him down, his feet much heavier and his hands numb.

He shoots a web that lands on the figure's back. He turns to a man wearing a black coat with white fur on the hood and its sleeves. He sees your face, black-masked, dark hair with streaks of silver, a black satchel wrapped around your shoulder. The Black Cat.

You gave him a wink before falling back on the ledge of the building. Peter jumps, finding you at the bottom, waiting for him. He webs down slowly, landing on his feet. Your back against a wall, your clawed fingers wrapped around the clear vial with silvery-purple liquid.

"Need this?" you said, vapor appearing from your lips. "Nice to see you again, Spider."

"I would say the same, but I don't share the sentiment," he said, walking towards you. "Can we skip the small talk and give me that vial?"

"Ooh, you know it's not that easy," you said, putting the vial back in your bag. "Besides, don't you miss me?" you pout.

"I—no!" Peter said, his voice erratic. "Shame," you smirked, dropping another smoke bomb before disappearing from his sight.

"Hey!" he screamed. You were ahead a few blocks. He swung across a few other buildings and tried to chase you down. You grappled down a busy street, your coat blending in with civilians in their winter clothes. "Fuck," he sighed. "Lucky me, I've been trying to test these out," he said, taking his phone out to see the red dot on the city map, a tracker placed on your back when he ran after you.

He traced you down, riding a black car heading out of the city. Peter reloaded his web-shooters and braced for the trip. He swung from building to building until he landed on a truck heading in the same direction. His joints started to stiffen, his nape cold and aching.

You entered a safe house on the city's outskirts, a brutalist bare building with a white car parked outside. Peter found you dealing with—Richard Fisk, the Kingpin's son, calls himself The Rose. You hand him the bag of vials. You await payment before his men point their guns at you. Peter knows you. This isn't something you could run away from easily. Fisk turns away and leaves in his white car, leaving you with six men with loaded guns.

Peter jumps down to your aid, unarming two men before landing a solid blow on the others. You take this moment to kick the other man right across his face. He saw you move with grace and agility, your gymnast background aiding your fight.

The men all ended up unconscious on the pavement. Blood drips down your lips, and no one gets away with scamming you. "So, was it worth it?" Spider-man said.

"Don't piss me off," you said, rubbing the back of your hand against your bloodied lip. "This never happens."

"Well, it just did," he said. "That vial could've helped me to take them down, but now they have it!"

"I'm not a hero, Spider," you snickered. "I don't do this for good. I do this so I can live," you walked towards the door, the metal ice cold. You try to slide the entrance to the side, but the gate does not budge. You snarled, trying to pull it back. "Shit, I think it's stuck."

"What?" Peter said. "Let me see," he tried to do the same, but the door still didn't budge despite his strength. "Fuck, they must've closed us off—the snow isn't helping either." Peter punched the door in anger, leaving a giant dent.

"There must be another exit—or a window," you said. The room slowly turned colder. You tried to wrap your fur coat around your body, your breath leaving hot vapor. Loud bangs from Peter's fists filled the room, but the door never moved.

"I checked before coming in. There isn't one," Peter took off his mark, panting while vapor left his lips. You looked at him. He was older since you last met, the circles under his eyes darker, his face riddled with stubble, his hair longer and messier. The cold fogged your goggles up, so you took them off and left them on a table nearby.

The two of you rummaged all over the safe house, looking for materials to use or food and other things. Peter found an old lab coat to wrap himself with, and you found a box of canned tuna, some old crackers—and one sleeping bag.

Peter tried his cell, but there was no signal. "We're going to be here for a while," you said. "Shouldn't we bundle up and stay warm, like old times."

"Not happening," Peter said, shivering under his breath.

"Your loss," you ripped a claw on the box of biscuits and took a bite. "Ugh, it's stale."

Hours passed with Peter running around the safe house, looking for an exit. On the other hand, you lay on the sleeping bag with your hands behind your head. You took a file from your pocket and filed your claws into peak sharpness. Peter sighed under his breath every time he passed by you. "You're a pain in the ass, Cat."

"From what I remember, you gave me a pain in the ass, Spider," you chuckled. "Kidding, it wasn't all pain."

"I'm fucking freezing," Peter said, rubbing his body to make some heat.

"I told you we should bundle up," you said. "Plus, it's getting late, and I'm sleepy."

Peter rolled his eyes and joined you in the sleeping bag. The two of you were wrapped like a burrito, his face too close to yours. His brown eyes stared intently, his long lashes batting at you. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. His eyes widened, and a soft moan left his lips. "Wrap your arms around me, too," you said. His large arms snaked around you, creating heat.

"Wood sage and Sea salt?" you whispered, smelling his neck. He chuckled and nodded. "I missed you, Spider. Honestly,"

"I missed you too," he said, his voice stern. "Where did you go, Cat?"

"Tried to live a normal life, it didn't end well for me," your gaze trailed away from his eyes, your hand finding his soft brown hair. "I guess this is me forever, running and stealing."

"It doesn't have to be like that. You could work with me, and we could be good," Peter said, his palms rubbing your lower back. "Live with me."

"I'll think about it," you said, your hands falling to his cheeks. It was warm against his cold skin. You inched closer, pressing your lips to his. You closed your eyes and delved deeper into the kiss. His hand snaked underneath your clothes, cold fingertips against your bare skin. You wrapped your thigh around his, his knee hitting your center. The two of you moaned from the kiss, hands searching each other's bodies.

You straddled Peter's waist rubbing your ass on his growing erection. His hands wrapped around your ass, pulling you closer. He whimpers on your lips, shaking from the pleasure and the cold. "Cat—" he moaned. You pepper his neck with kisses, licking and sucking, leaving red marks.

He pulls you back to the kiss, his arms hugging you tighter as his sex rubs on your ass. He rubs against you, moaning and whimpering while you moan from his tight embrace. He grips your waist, fingers digging into your skin. "Fuck—Spider, you good?" you gasped.

"I missed you, and I need you," he said. "Please be with me. I'll take care of you, protect you," his eyes stared at yours. "You won't run ever again."

"I'll think about it," you said again, an ache forming in your chest. Knowing it will never be normal with him.

"Fuck–I'm close," he moaned.

You pulled him in for a last kiss for a long while. Peter finishes under his suit, his face red and his hair drenched in sweat. You later passed out on the sleeping bag, your arms draped around each other, Peter's lips pressing on your forehead as you succumbed to the night.

Peter woke up to a banging on the door. "We know you're in there, Cat! Give us the real vial, or we'll kill you!" a bunch of men surrounded the lot, hands on their guns. He saw that you were gone, a hole formed on the ceiling, sunlight peering in, a black satchel on the spot where you slept. Inside were the vials and a note.

Sorry, I couldn't stay for breakfast. I had to go real quick. I left the vials for you. Do whatever is right. You always do the right thing. And you'll probably not see me again but don't miss me too much. I know I will.

Xoxo, Cat.

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wandasallerdyce · 6 months

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a forbidden fruit

summary: pietro eats something he shouldn't have pairing: pietro maximoff x male reader word count: 1.1k warnings: 18+ warning, s3x pollen, blowjobs, unprotected sex a/n: part iv have fun do leave comments if u liked it

masterlist | the repentant's corner

Pietro dashed around the lot sixteen times to make sure no one was there. You rubbed your hands together for some heat against the chilling night. The grass crackled beneath your feet trying to chase after your partner. You ended up a panting mess next to him, your knees shaking.

“So I was thinking, after this patrol maybe we could go out sometime?” he said, his breath unwavering. You gulped and tried to let out a word, your voice dry and coarse. You nod, sweat dripping down your forehead.

“Can you focus?” you said, trying to open the door. He broke open the warehouse padlock with ease, vibrating at a pace that dislodged the gears that kept the lock secure.

You slide the rusty door open into a dark room. Pietro used a flashlight to look into the path. The warehouse was small, almost the size of a barn, the floor a flat grey concrete, the walls tall and rusted. There were a few broken wooden crates scattered all over the floor, a metal table on the farthest left.

Your partner zoomed into the room like a faint blue flare. He checked to see the contents of the crates, all seemed empty. He sat on the metal table, a few newspapers sprawled out and a white dish used as a makeshift ashtray.

“Look at this,” he pulled out a small ziplock bag filled with different sugar-coated candy like Skittles. He takes one out and puts it in his mouth, licking the sugar off his fingers. You took the bag from him, smelling the contents; sweet and fresh. “Want one?”

“You idiot! I don’t think this is candy,” you took the bag inside your pocket, Pietro smirking. “We have to send this to the lab.”

“It’s fine, fast metabolism remember?” he shrugged.

The plane ride back to the compound was quiet. Pietro sat away from you and kept to himself, which was very unusual. He would always try to bother you while you flew the quinjet, always teasing and messing around, but right now he was slumped over to the side using his phone.

You arrived at the compound a few hours later, the airdock marshalls taking over the jet. You asked other agents to rush to Dr. Cho’s lab to send the candy samples. “Pietro and I found this on patrol tonight,” you gave the pack to her assistants before they went on to test the samples.

Your phone dinged to a message from Pietro. Meet me in the conference room at 4B ASAP.

“Fine, I’m an idiot,” he said. “My dick has been so hard for the past five hours and I can’t make it go away!”

“Your what?” you looked at the tent in between his legs, his knuckles were pale white as he gripped onto his pants. “Well I knew it was a drug but I didn’t know it was that kind!”

“What are we gonna do?” he said, his silver-gray hair all tousled over his forehead. He zoomed around and around the room, a cobalt blur blew gusts of wind everywhere he went. He stopped in a corner, his legs shaking and his face flushed.

“We?” you clamored. “How the fuck am I supposed to help?”

“I don’t know you’re smarter than me!” his eyes widened, his voice shaking, sweat dripping down his forehead. He braced for another run but you held onto his arm. He shuddered, his skin was hot.

“We should tell Dr. Cho,” you said. “Get you medicine or something.”

“Absolutely not,” he pleaded. “It’s embarrassing,” his eyes wandered all over the room as if the answers were written on the walls. “We should deal with this the way it's intended.”

“Yeah, no,” you said before turning for the door. Pietro suddenly was in front of you blocking your exit.

“Please draga—“ his lips were dead set. Pietro was an ill-tempered man, his demeanor was quick like his abilities, charismatic but also stubborn. You thought for a second, you’re helping a co-worker that’s all right?

“Well, how do we do it?” you said. He removed his jacket, and his blue shirt underneath. You marveled at his taut chest, the ridged cuts across his abdomen, and the two lines pointing down his sex. You tried to look away, but you couldn’t believe someone could look like that, like a Greek sculpture.

“Come here,” he said, pulling you into a kiss. His lips were warm against yours, his stubble pricking at your cheeks. Your hands find his chest for stability, snaking around his neck to pull him closer. His large arms circle around your waist, finding the hem of your pants and going through to your ass.

He spun you around and pinned your hands above your head, using his other hand to pull your pants down. He smoothed his palms on the plump mounds before giving it a spank, leaving it a red blush. He practically rips his pants open, his thick cock hard and leaking. He spits on his free hand, using it to prepare you.

“I’m gonna go in okay?” he said in a whimpering tone. You nod, your cheeks warm. He spits again to lube his cock before feeling the pressure on your hole. It was sharp for a bit, the pressure easing as he flushed himself in, the base of his cock hitting your ass. He stops for a second, relishing the heat from your body. “So tight—”

You grunted when he pulled out, only to thrust back in. He began to fuck you at a languid pace, the sensation soothing the tingly feeling Pietro got from the drug. He tried to go slower, to make sure you won’t get hurt but he couldn’t. As you tried to move your hips at the same beat of his body he started to—vibrate.

You let out a gasp, you thought of the toy you had at home, the one you use thinking about him, but the speed and intensity could not rival him. Pietro let out a series of cusses in Sokovian, it sounded like he was pleading to a god. Your knees turned wobbly from his thrusts, his body vibrating at a pace that made your eyes roll back, your own sex hard and leaking in your trousers.

“Pietro—fuck,” you moaned.

“I can’t control it, you’re too warm,” his words shaking. “And good,” He let go of your hands, shifting to your waist, he gripped so hard you knew it would bruise. He moved quicker, like a piledriver into you, it stung but the pleasure of hitting your prostate compensated.

When gripping onto your waist wasn’t enough, he wrapped his arms around your body hugging you, and began to thrust into you harder, his silver hair plastered on his forehead wet. Your body tried to keep you up but your legs betrayed you. You fell down, his cock pulling out. “I can’t stand.”

He pulls you to the table nearby, propping you with your legs on his shoulders. He lines himself back into your hole driving back into his thrusts. The vibrating began again, shaking the table as he gripped it on its edge. You let out desperate cries, he tried to soothe you by kissing your lips, drool dripping from the corner of your mouth. “I’m close—” he cried out.

You nodded, the constant stimulation to your prostate was going to make you cum untouched. His thrusts became erratic, still a vibrating mess. Pietro stood up and you marveled at the glistening sight, his abdomen contracting and relaxing on each thrust, his head pulled back and his lids closed.

And then the climax hit, cum shooting inside you in thick, your own release spewing on your belly. The vibration slows, Pietro a panting mess for once, a side of him you’ve never seen. He places a peck on your lips and mouths praises.

“So about that date?”

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wandasallerdyce · 6 months

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stumblin' back to bed

summary: peter's partner is very drunk and very clingy pairing: tasm!peter parker x gender neutral reader word count: 1.2k warnings: alcohol consumption, drunk reader, some kissing, mentions of sex, slight smut a/n: from another lovely request! (btw this is a scheduled post im on a semi-hiatus rn bcs life)

masterlist | more peter parker

Peter kisses you with your back against the door. His hands cupped your face as you cling on his shirt. His lightly stubbled face pricks your cheeks while his warm lips weave into yours, tongues dipping into each other—the hallway filled with the sound of sloppy kisses, some whimpering as your centers rub.

“Let’s get in first,” he said, fumbling for his house keys.

You stood beside him, the floor spinning around, your head confused. The alcohol had done its magic, your gait was funny, your joints loose, and you almost fell before entering his apartment.

“Woah, those tequila shots were something—,” you slurred, Peter held onto you for stability.

You grabbed him by his belt loops for another kiss, like your own personal bottle of liquor, you took Peter Parker’s lips like the freshest glass of tequila, bitter and addicting. You stumbled to his kitchen counter, he lifted you so you were sitting on it, your legs on his hips.

“I need some water,” he said in between kisses. He pulls away, much to your dismay, to grab a glass. “Want some?” you shook your head, your head still spinning.

He comes back to you, his head mounted on your neck, sucking and kissing, leaving marks. His hands roam your back, large hands warm on your cold skin. Your hands roam his torso, feeling his muscled abdomen until you reach the barrier between his skin and underwear. Later, your touch fell to his growing hardness.

“Woah—baby,” he moaned.

“Fuck, Peter it’s so hard,” you ached.

“Only for you—” he whimpered, nibbling on your neck. His hands came to cup your ass, pulling you in so your crotch rubbed on his. He started to hump in between your legs, using the friction for pleasure. Your fingers trail through his soft brown hair taking in his scent, a mix of alcohol and musk.

“The room is spinning like crazy,” you said. You felt yourself become more sensitive, the hairs on your skin erecting, his mere touch made you shudder.

“We can stop,” he lets out.

“No. Don’t stop—,” you gasped, his hand going underneath your underwear to touch your sex. You moaned from his fingers, moving so gracefully to pleasure you. He pulls back but you wrap your legs around him pulling him in. Your hands find his neck, pulling him from there as well.

“Let’s take this to the couch—more comfy.”

You move on his couch, straddling him. The two of you are in the middle of a heated make-out session before you feel your stomach turn, and bile rising to your throat. You suddenly pulled back, covering your mouth. Peter sat there confused. Your body shuddered as you made a gagging sound.

“Oh god, let’s get you to the toilet,” he said. You refused, waving your hands.

“I’m fine.”

“Water then? Let me get you a glass,” he said. You later took the drink, downing the water alleviating some of the dizziness and the gagging. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I promise babe I’m good.”

“Let’s go to bed then,” he pleads.

“I’m fine!” your words start to slur again. He pulls you to the bedroom, the sudden change in speed almost made you throw up. He sits you down on the bed to get you a change of clothes.

He kisses you again, “I’m not fucking you like this, too messy.”

He hands you a cold glass of water. You chug on the liquid like a parched dog, the cooling sensation tracing down your warm throat.

He takes the empty glass, your body swaying loosely. You look up at him, lips pouting. He looks down on you with a smile, stroking your hair before your body betrays you, eyes going dark as you fall back on the soft sheets.

——————

You wake up to the smell of bacon. You check to see your clothes changed to a pair of trainer shorts and a Star Wars graphic tee. Your breath reeked of alcohol as you let out a yawn.

You check to see Peter standing near the stove, his torso bare with only his boxers on. His hands skillfully flipping bacon and eggs on a greasy pan.

“Hey handsome,” you called out.

He turns around, a smile plastered on his face. His arms spread wide to take you in his arms. His skin was warm against yours, your cheek flush against his chest.

“You slept well?” he asked. “You were knocked out good.”

“Oh god, that bad huh?” you gasped. He places a kiss on your forehead, hands through your hair again patting it over and over.

“Yeah, you said something about how madly and deeply in love you are with me and how you wanted me to and I quote stuff you up.”

“I did not!” you hit his chest with the base of your fist. He laughs hysterically.

Smoke started to gather behind him, and the smell of charred meat started to fill the room. The two of you checked to see the bacon starting to turn black. “Shit. shit. shit!”

Breakfast was spoiled. Peter tried to salvage it but those were the last pieces. He tried to look for anything in his cupboard to eat but he found nothing.

“It’s alright Pete,” you coo, smoothing his back

“It was supposed to be a perfect breakfast!”

“Well, we could have something else,” your hand traced down his spine, teasing the edge of his boxers.

“Oh,” you pin his back on the kitchen counter, pulling his underwear after. His hard cock springs free, aching red.

You look up at him with the same pleading gaze from last night, slowly inching your lips closer to his tip. You gave it a few licks, your wet tongue dragging on his frenulum, Peter’s body heaved from the pleasure.

His grip on your head was getting tighter, guiding your mouth as it bobbed on his cock. The thick shaft rubbed smoothly on the flat of your tongue, the head barely hitting the roof of your mouth.

You hollow your cheeks to create more suction, Peter lets out a groan, his head falling back. You held onto his thighs, your neck pulling back to suck up to his sensitive tip. A string of clear liquid connects your lips to his sex.

“You’re so good, baby,” he moaned. “Taking me so well.”

Sweat trickles down from his forehead to his toned abdomen, your fingers tracing the lines to his sparse hair near his belly leading to his crotch.

Your other hand went to stroke the remaining length of his cock, the combined sensation led Peter to the edge. He was a panting mess, chest heaving, toes curling, his long fingers digging into your scalp.

“I’m gonna—“ he gasps, cum shooting down your throat. His body convulsed as you held your stance, tears forming in your eyes as he fucked into your mouth.

You stood up to wipe the spit all over your lips and pecked Peter’s lips. “So what’s good food around here?”

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wandasallerdyce · 7 months

Text

Casting Couch

Johnny Cage x male reader smut

1.2k words

a/n: I was going to put a little bit of plot in this, but I decided to just jump straight into the smut. In this story, Johnny owns a casting couch company that the reader is auditioning at.

“You’re gonna be a star, baby,” Johnny says, lifting the phone towards his face. His free hand goes to the front of his pants to rub at the already prominent bulge. “You ever sucked a cock before?” He asks.

You shake your head and have to pull your eyes away so you look up and audibly respond, “no.”

“Fuck,” Johnny says in awe, “you can’t even take your eyes off it.”

Not even realizing your eyes had fallen back down, one of his fingers hooks under your chin to turn your face back up. The finger under your chin moves to trace your lips before it slowly presses inside your mouth.

The finger doesn’t go deep, just moves in so Johnny can press the pad of it against your tongue. He lets out a groan when you suck at the digit and you watch as his fingers tighten around the phone he’s holding.

Johnny pulls his finger from your mouth to wrestle with his belt and pants, “let me,” you say, giving Johnny a soft smile as your fingers replace his.

Johnny’s belt and pants fall to his ankles with a clink, leaving his lower body in an expensive looking pair of underwear. You’re pretty sure they’re silk.

The fabric is as soft as they look under your nose when you move forward to run your nose along Johnny’s cock. You feel his cock give a twitch under your nose, making you wonder if you can get it to do the same thing again, but with your tongue instead.

“I almost don’t want to film this,” Johnny says quietly, like he’s talking to himself. “So I can keep you all to myself,” he places a warm palm on the back of your neck to press your face into his still clothed-cock.

Johnny’s fingers tighten for a split second around the back of your neck. The possessive feel of the action nearly makes you let out a whimper, but you instead open your mouth to pant wetly against his growing bulge.

“Please,” you whisper, looking up at Johnny through your lashes.

“Fuck, you’re eager,” Johnny says, his voice low and rough.

With the hand at the back of your neck, he pulls you back to push his underwear down, exposing his cock.

You stay in place when Johnny pulls his hand away so he can wrap his fingers around his cock. You watch as Johnny’s cock grows to full hardness in a few strokes, a clear pearl of precome waits for you at the tip when Johnny’s fingers go back to your neck.

The salty flavor hits your tongue when you lick at the head, and the flavor intensifies when you press the tip of your tongue into the slit.

“Hey,” Johnny says quietly, “look up at the camera, baby,” Johnny says, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck.

The pet name sends a warm feeling through your body, straight down to your cock. You aren’t sure of where to place your hands, but you opt to keep them at your sides. You meet Johnny’s eye before looking at the small lens of the camera.

“Good boy,” Johnny murmurs, his fingers loosening so he can get a better grip and get your mouth further on his cock.

The two words send another thrill through your body, your cock giving another twitch. One of your hands moves to your crotch to press the heel of your hand to your hardening cock. You moan at the feel, the vibrations going straight through Johnny’s cock.

Johnny moans at the feel and pulls his cock free from your mouth, “you like that? You like it when I call you that?” Johnny questions, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “Let me see,” he commands, moving the camera to where he can see where your hand lies.

You spread your legs so Johnny can get a better view. You pull your hand away so Johnny can see the bulge in your pants. The second your hand is gone, you feel an itch under your skin to put it right back where it was.

“That’s it,” Johnny whispers.

You pant wetly against the shiny head of Johnny’s cock, and wait until he’s pulled the phone away before you take his cock again. You take it deeper this time, as deep as you can until you can feel the head meet your gag reflex.

Johnny groans above you, his head falling back. Tears fell from your eyes as his cock had gone deeper, and Johnny wipes them away after he pulls his cock free from the wet suction of your mouth.

“You okay?”

You nod after catching your breath and wipe the rest of your tears away quickly. “Yeah,” you say, your voice sounding rough.

“Want to try again?” Johnny asks. He rubs the slick head of his cock along your lips and pushes it back inside after you nod.

Knowing how far you can take him, you bob your head up and down, making sure to not take his cock too far.

It must be good enough for Johnny as he moans as your lips glide wetly over his cock. Your jaw soon begins to ache, but the low sounds Johnny makes keep you on his cock. You breathe heavily through your nose, trying to take in as much air as you can to get rid of your growing lightheadedness.

“Easy, baby, easy,” Johnny says, pulling his cock from your mouth with his hand at the base. He chuckles down at you and gives a slow stroke to his cock, “are you sure you haven’t done this before?” He questions, angling the phone so the camera can see how wet you’ve made his cock.

“I haven’t, but I’ve seen your videos.”

Johnny lets out another laugh, “smart boy,” he responds. “Where do you want me to come, on your pretty face, or your hot mouth?” He asks, giving another stroke to his cock.

“My face,” you respond after a moment of thought.

You’re back on Johnny’s cock when he pulls his hand away and it falls to his side. You run your tongue along the bottom, right on the vein on the underside. When you reach the tip, you go back down, but instead, you go lower to tongue at his balls.

Johnny lets out another loud groan when you suck one of them into your mouth. You move to the next and leave the other like the first: soaked with your spit.

“You’re trying to fucking kill me, baby,” Johnny says, his voice low and rough. He wraps a fist around the base of his cock and strokes from root to tip in quick jerks until he’s shooting across your face.

The smell of his come hits you first, then you get the taste when you lick your lips to get what landed on your lips onto your tongue. The salty, bitter taste lights up your tastebuds, reminding you of how hard your cock is in your pants.

You watch as Johnny tosses the phone onto the couch beside him. He pulls his underwear and pants back up and tucks his cock into his pants. He steps away as he fastens his belt back on and returns a few minutes later.

Johnny wipes your face with the wet cloth he returned to the room with. He pulls you up onto your feet after throwing the cloth in the same direction he had thrown the phone.

“You okay?” he questions softly.

“I’m good,” you respond, sending Johnny a smile.

“Seems like it,” Johnny grins, his fingers brushing your hard cock, “can I take care of that?”

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wandasallerdyce · 8 months

Text

blue current.

clark kent x male reader headcanons.

warnings: fluff, co-workers at the daily planet, maws!clark, soft!clark, intern!reader.

a/n: it's been a hot minute since i've written anything! i feel so bad because i've been swamped with school, so hopefully this will hold you guys over until i post my next fic! it's not much, but i've been feeling fluffy as of recent, and clark is the perfect candidate, HAHA. idk, i've been feeing low-key creatively stuck for writing, so hopefully this well get me out of the slump!

gif credits to: fukutomichi!

—clark was smitten from the moment he first laid eyes on you.

—it had only been the fourth month into his internship, but it was no secret that the higher-ups, and even his colleagues, have been impressed by clark's rapid growth.

—it was enough to ensure their trust in clark to train the new intern as the lead journalist had taken a month off for vacation. while he had his doubts if he would do a good job, clark always loved challenging himself.

—his mother had always reminded him: one who feared failure will never achieve greatness.

—sure, you weren't being mentored by the best journalist in the city. though, you had to admit that you felt defeated since miss lane was the only reason why you chose the daily planet over other internships.

—but bitterness turned to throat-drying, cheek-flushing, and hand-flexing sweetness when you came in your first day and met the man who would be training you.

—for clark, it was the drowsiness in your gaze that suddenly brightened when he met your eyes. if he could have seen his own face, clark would reckon that his eyes lit up the same way yours did upon meeting you for the first time.

—he's so... handsome. maybe training him wouldn't be so bad after all...

—his blue eyes sucked you in like heavy ocean current, but instead of fighting back the pull like any sane person would, you allowed him to drown you in the gorgeous wash his gaze doted on you with.

—god, are you toying with me right now? have you finally come around to my reckless behavior back in high school? i knew you always would!

—it began with a handshake. when clark's large hand cupped into yours, a current of sparks flickered from the bone of your knuckles to his own, and you both released with a gasp.

—"sorry! it must be my vest or something—has a lot of... cotton, i think—" clark assured with a laugh, but cursed his lame excuse in between breaths.

—"no, you're fine! i guess your sweater vest knew i was half-asleep, huh?" you laughed with him, and almost as if it was choreographed, you reached back to rub at your nape when he does, and the discomfort left the collective laughter in a fleeting dance.

—"well, lucky for you, our first stop is the break room! i'll show you how to make a poor man's mocha if you get sick of the coffee here!"

—from then on, you two had quickly become close friends.

—where clark would teach you more hacks to spice up an ordinary roast of coffee, you would return the favor by surprising him on random days with lunch that you prepared the night before.

—on nights where you were too tired to function, you simply settled for sandwiches and prepared an extra meal for clark.

—whether he claimed he forgot his lunch, or was too busy to even take a glance at his lunchbox; eating lunch had become a rarity for him.

—unless it was with you.

—even before opening the brown paper bag, clark knew it was going to be delicious.

—you always remembered what ingredients he liked and disliked since the first time you had lunch with him.

—clark smiled to himself as he ate the meal you didn't have to prepare for him in big bites.

—and then laughed when you watched in amazement and mirrored him like a parrot with messy bites.

—somehow, the thought of cared for was more filling than the actual meal.

—in moments where clark suddenly felt guilt for liking you as more than a friend, he sat silently, staring blankly ahead, with the tissue crumpled in his hands.

—and you sat beside him on the bench, compelled by his silence, while the birds watched from their home of oak and birch.

—it had been happening more frequently: clark's sudden mood shift. no matter how much he tried to deny it, how much he attempted to pacify your silent worries with his handsome smile, it was clear that something was bothering him.

—at first, you tried to break him with a joke.

—"geez, was my sandwich that bad?! i guess i shouldn't have used that expired mustard..."

—you've studied clark enough to anticipate a half-hearted chuckle from him; weak, but still had the intention to please. to masquerade his thoughts.

—instead, the birds chirped in his absence, and your frown only deepened as clark maintained a fixed gaze to the pavement.

—"clark?" you nudged him once on the arm, and he immediately dropped his head in between his legs with a heavy sigh.

—"what's wrong?"

—"there'ssomethingigottatellyou..." he muttered into the crook of his elbow, and your brows knitted together in worry, despite your amusement at the fact that he was behaving similarly to a puppy throwing a tantrum.

—"huh? didn't quite catch that when your mouth is full of linen." you gently nudged him once more to vacant the space between his legs, then another with a gentler squeeze to his arm when he doesn't.

—"clark, come on. talk to me." you squeezed harder to the sound of his groans. "people are staring—"

—then another squeeze.

—"there's something..."

—and another.

—"i gotta tell you..."

—and before you could alert him once more, clark returned the pressure into your own palm when he suddenly took your hand into his, and held it as if it was a pirate's lost treasure.

—the warmth of your skin compelled him to sit back up, but he refused to look at you. instead, he gazed every perimeter that didn't involve your eyes.

—the birds again, the sky, the trees, anything to drown out the sight of potential rejection.

—but how you wished he would turn to you right now, because you smiled. wide enough to sting the apple of your cheeks, and as much as you wanted to yell out his name for him to do so, you wanted to let clark do it for himself.

—to take upon the challenge of potentially meeting failure or success.

—heat crept onto his cheeks as he stared at a couple who were charmed by chubby ducks floating on the nearby lake. for a brief moment, he could see you two walking hand-in-hand, while the other free hand threw feed at the eager ducks.

—he was lost in his imagination. a blink turned into a dream, and a dream turned into a desperate paradise.

—it wasn't until the trail of your hand that looped your fingers into his, tightly sharing the warmth of anxiousness with a sticky clamp, that clark opened his eyes again and finally turned to you.

—wet eyes and shaking blues, they told a story that you didn't need to read into.

—silence filled the space between the two of you, then groaned in annoyance when you scooted closer until your knee was pressed to clark's. you folded his hand into yours, still clutching onto him tightly, and laid the joined affection on your lap.

—"i like you too, smallville." your thumb ran several laps over his knuckles to calm the tremors clark had possessed.

—he watched, open-mouthed as if he was about to respond, but the shock trapped the remainder of his words within his throat.

—you lounged back and squinted at the radiance of the sun, the brights of the sky.

—"(m/n)..."

—the sunlight faded into the background as the beauty of your best friend came into frame once again. he absorbed all the color and light of the world until your focus was on him.

—"i really like you."

—the sigh on his lips told a different tale compared to the previous exhales. it curled his lips upwards and finally pacified the shakes that had been bothering clark for months.

—when he pressed his palm back into yours, folding his fingers over your own, you braced for impact as you felt the electrical current from the first day you met him return in stronger pulses. it nipped at your skin, then at clark's, in its desperate escape.

—but clark held tighter, as did you, until the shockwaves melted in his skin, into his veins, then into his blood, and became one with the victorious cheer of his heart.

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wandasallerdyce · 8 months

Text

rated i for impatient.

steve harrington x male reader.

summary: in the middle of a slow afternoon at family video, steve has an idea on how to past time, and it involves you and your mouth.

wc: 3.4k. warnings: explicit smut, handjob (r!giving), blowjob (r!giving), mouth-fucking, deep-throating, lots of spit, gagging, bantering, workplace quickie, co-workers, established relationship, rough!steve, but also gentle!steve, bigdick!steve.

a/n: and it's been a hot minute since i've written smut, as well as a full one-shot!! i swear, i feel like my small hiatus made me forget everything, lol. but i hope it's as good as my other stories and i also hope you guys enjoy steve's first appearance on my blog!

“Dude, you seriously couldn’t wait?”

Heavy footsteps followed Steve as he dragged your trudge into the storage closet. Even though his back faced you, he responded with a shimmy of his shoulders, the flight of muscles equally excited to cease the sluggish afternoon.

“Oh, come on!” He shut the door once you entered with a distressed groan. Though, he knew you didn’t mean it despite your pointed tone.

“I know you want to.” Steve sang with a tease, cornering you against the door with a playful dance, and a smile that had charmed you since the first time you had met him.

You’d been keeping track at how many times Steve had simply captivated you with his presence. It was embarrassing because you’d lost count since day one. The only statistic that you did know was that you were losing.

Losing bad.

Always a goody two-shoes and extra responsible, yet somehow, you were never a prude and knew how to have fun. If only you weren’t so hesitant in this moment. It was your first week, your fourth day at Family Video, and you wanted to make a great impression, even if it was only something to fill up your time during the summer.

He continued to dance, singing a tune that had been stuck in his head since three mornings ago, and your lips curled into smile while he performed within the narrow space. A few stumbles threw him off balance, but upon seeing your lips bitten to hold back a laugh, the following trip had been intentional.

Steve collided into you, though barely as he caught his weight against the door. A whisper of gasp dried your throat when the sudden thump by your shoulders jolted you and his face rushed close to yours like a bullet. Your gaze widened in surprise, only for them to roll once it catalogued the mischief on his face. “You know Keith kind of hates you, right? You’re going to be fucked if he catches you slacking again.”

“Me?! I’m sorry, are you a ghost or something? A figment of my imagination? Worse… I’ve huffed paint too many times when I was little, and now it’s all catching up to me.” There was amusement on his face and it reflected off of your smile.

You straightened your posture to match his eye level, and rebutted his theory with the light touch of your nose to his. He laughed, wrapping his arms around your torso. “You’d get in trouble too, you know. Last time I checked, most sexual acts involve at least two participants.”

“Yeah, well, he likes me unlike you! If anything, he’d probably blame you for being a bad influence or something.” The possible truth expelled a groan out of Steve, but it doesn’t stop him from pouring the remainder of his frustration into your mouth.

You took him in stride, earlier hesitance burying into the back of your mind when the fresh mint of his breath began haunting your mouth. Then, completely into obscurity when his tongue slid over yours, sloppily in hopes of awakening a fruitful lust, akin to his, within you.

“Steve… come on,” You pulled away, but Steve immediately captured your lips again in a tongue-swelling kiss. “What if customers come in?” You panted in between breaths, squeezing at his firm back to distract yourself from the growing tent within your khakis.

“I’ve been here longer than you, studied the activity down to the seconds.” He pressed into you, hip to hip, until you could feel his own muscle growing against yours. “We have at least ten minutes.”

“Ten?! Dude, that’s not enough—“

“Please?” Steve suddenly pulled your hand from his back and into the firmness of his bulge, looking into you with a desperation that rivaled the yearning freedom of his erection. “Please…” The curl of your hand was imposed by his grip, folding them until you had a handful of his bulge, throbbing at the mere friction of your warm palm.

“Fuck,” The determination in Steve’s gaze, as well as the devilish guidance of your own cock stirring against you, had your hand leave the aching muscle for a brief moment to hastily unbuckle his belt. You pressed your lips back to his, and muttered with a grimace. “You’re owing me one after work.”

“God, I love you.” He sighed with relief upon knowing that the heavy pressure in his pants would soon be released, thanking you by taking your cheeks into the dip of his palms and kissing you warm and wet. Even if it was going to be a quick one, his main priority was to be liberated of the painful throbs that had led him to this desperate juncture.

As much as Steve hated confined spaces, the feeling of the storage space closing in on him had only been fleeting because his desire for you was gravity-defying strong. It expanded the proximity at his very will until you were the only subject framed in his field of vision.

Lips plumped from the bites he took from your flesh earlier, balmy skin speckled with a flush that he’d been the sole creator of, he couldn’t get enough of your presence. He took in your woody scent with deep inhales as he moved his lips to your neck, and your hands began digging into the waistband of his pants, pulling Steve close with a hard yank to harbor every warm breath into one another again.

With one swift pull, the belt collided with the floor and your hands worked at the zipper like a tailor until the khakis dropped and pooled around his ankles. You accompanied the leather and fabric seconds after, kneeling onto the cold surface with the eager guidance of Steve’s caresses to the back of your head.

Kneeling face-to-face with his bulge, you couldn’t stop yourself from drooling even if Steve was covered. You could outline the girth of his cock, plumping and thickening under your piquant gaze, and then throbbing when you followed the curve with your palm in eager cycles until the waistband screamed for your attention.

Your fingers hooked into the elastic band and in one slow pull, you revealed Steve’s erection in all its glory. Thick and unkempt hairs billowed first, and you played with the anticipation as you dragged the waistband over his length, weighting it downwards until all that was left covered was the plump tip that you can still taste from a few nights ago. In a final yank, Steve’s cock sprang up proudly and his groans were heavenly in its accompaniment. The weight of his large cock made him bounce in several reps before it was kept still by the warmth of your hand, then another over the remaining curve to amuse yourself with his blessed size.

“Jesus, did you not jerk off this morning? Haven’t seen or felt you this hard before...” Your mouth fell open in awe, and also in preparation to loosen the muscles in your jaw while your hands slid over him in slow strokes. Every vein throbbed at the delicate touch, pulsated strong when you squeezed a few sticky drips of his pre-cum from his spout. They would’ve landed on the undeserving floor had you not stuck your tongue out in time, lapping him up from the underside of his cock to the smooth pink rim.

His cock jumped when your other hand dropped to fondle his balls, hanging low as if they awaited to be grasped and swung. You did exactly that as you licked the slit of his tip, amusing yourself with Steve’s package that you had sucked and fucked before, yet still managed to be surprised despite your many affairs.

“Not since we last fucked, to be honest.” At first, he balled the end of his shirt and raised it high to prevent it from obstructing your view, exposing the happy trail that you always traced over with your tongue on lazy Sundays. “Guess it wasn’t the same.” But the defy work of your hands spread the boil in his stomach to the muscular arch of his back, hot and heavy on his body until the weight of his shirt was thrown off. Moans exhaled in breathy tremors as you squeezed his shaft and pulled him forward and back in wall-closing jerks.

“Well, I’m sorry for the long wait.” Your strokes continued while you sealed a wet promise to the pink glans. “I’ll make it worth it.” You opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out to welcome the following sticky slaps of his heavy length in disgusting delight, holding him like a marker as you patterned his thick pre-cum over your pair of lips before the salty flesh was vaulted into your mouth with an inhale.

His length pushed your mouth open in an accommodating stretch, almost pleasurable if he hadn’t been so difficult to take in. The first few inches gagged you, ached a muscle in your stomach when you flexed. It was traditional at this point, and your routine often consisted of stroking the shaft that had yet felt the heat of your mouth. The sliminess of your tongue as you bathed Steve’s cock in stomach-churning sin, lapping the musk of him from the loose scrotum to the plump head.

And it was a routine to attempt to take him again. You spat in your hand before lubing his stiff in a glaze that caught the light of his eyes, then the hiccup of his moan. “Fuck, you know I love it when you do that…”

“Yeah?” You smiled, his compliments sent straight to your erection while the sticky sounds of bubbles and drool soiled his cock in pure lust in lazy strokes, then sealed when you wrapped your lips around him again, and pushed down when the pulse of his veins beckoned you.

The size of his cock drew a moan out of you, tremors rimming the shaft while you prepared the opening of your throat little by little. Drool leaked from either corners of your mouth, staining your flushed skin and then the floor, but you hadn’t been bothered to save them despite your reputation of being a clean-freak.

When it came to Steve, you were in a state of delirium that had forgotten who you were because there was only one purpose on your mind: to pleasure.

“Shit, (M/N)—“ His hands had left you to fold his arms behind his head, allowing his silhouette to become yours to own and to rapture over as you worked him like one your favorite treats at the candy store. He slipped in and out of you, closer to the barrier of your throat with the help of his thrusts, and the only time you’d take a break was when you suckled on his balls. As his cock hung over your face, head dripping in saliva and thick pre-cum, you found enjoyment in rolling his balls like dice: another one of Steve’s favorite moves.

Steve was heavy on your tongue and the only way you could thank him for blessing you with his fruitful cock, was to love-bomb him with all of his favorite desires. You lined the underside with your tongue until your lips met the pink glans again, speckling it with a playful pecks before weighing his shaft down with your spit once again. “Have you always liked it sloppy?”

“Mm—no…” He murmured, and you looked up into the heaviness of his lids, surprised by his confession. “Not until I met you. For others, it’s kind of gross, but… you do it differently. Tastefully, and I’m not trying to be funny.”

You laughed at the unintentional joke and Steve joined your amusement with a smile, petting the back of your head before it was guided back to swallow him whole this time. Your mouth stretched wide the more he pushed you, burying the remnants of your humored-self into the pit of your throat with the ample of his throbbing erection. Your hands held around his thighs to brace for the oncoming gags and Steve does the same around your head, threading his fingers into your hair with a strong grip as he pushed, and pushed, and pushed, until tears brimmed the highlights of your eyes.

“Holy shit—“ Steve was enamored by the feeling of stuffing you whole. The confines of your mouth and throat restricted the blood flow around him, yet he couldn’t have felt himself pulsate more, stiffen harder in between your godly gags and whimpers. The scratches at his thighs was a telling sign for him to pull you back, and so he does in what felt like slow motion. His cock unsheathed out of your throat like a sleeve, unraveling a spell of gasps and bubbling moans in midst.

“You did so good, baby… fuck.” Cupping your cheek, he briefly bent down to meet you in the middle of his gratification, kissing you proud and golden on your breathless smile before he tore himself away to spit inside of your mouth and submerging his saliva down your mouth with his cock again. Despite the sting in your eyes and throat, you were compliant to his every move and welcomed the sheathing of his wet flesh in prideful determination.

Steve’s hands had moved to either sides of your head, where he had complete control of every bone and muscle of your neck, and the desire to fuck your tight mouth had become a victorious reality. Your lips pressed into his unkempt hairs when he forced you down again, tasting the sweat that had been harbored within the strands.

From then on, your gags had only become motivation as he rode the rhythm of your delectable sounds with sharp and eager thrusts. Gasps and coughs stuck to the slick of your throat while Steve’s cock fucked them down in repetitive and selfish strides. Your head moved from the guidance of Steve’s hold, meeting the bow of your head with a forward thrust and ramming into the back of your throat while you spilled sheltered saliva—thick and bubbly in its journey to form a puddle on the floor. He repeated after barely giving you enough time to catch your breath, choking and fucking your mouth with his cock while you writhed on your knees in intimidation.

Steve sheltered you close, curling his body over you as a satisfied moan added to the thick air when he shoved your head deep in between his legs, keeping you still in midst of your squirms. Whenever you tried to pull back, Steve only thrusted and pushed you further into your struggle for freedom. He drowned you in your own saliva, locked you of your only source of oxygen as your nose pressed deep into his pelvis, and gagged you to the point of leaving scars on his thighs as your fingers curled into his flesh, desperate for a whisper of air to breathe back into you. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You finally get your wish when he yanked you back, and you inhaled with a slobbering gasp, coughing out the oxygen that he had buried from within you.

Throughout all of this, you gazed beautifully up to him, Steve thought. From the highlights of the whites to the color of your orbs, you glistened like nature past dew point, and his chest swelled in agreement. His heart pulsed faster than the rhythmic sucks and strokes of your mouth and hand as you’ve gone back to sucking him, fisting him into your mouth as your mouth began aching from deep-throating, breath recovering from being face-fucked. It was a curse that you put on him, where he closed his eyes to the merit of your tongue and couldn’t bear to look at you again because if he did, he knew he could come all over your face right then and there.

“Close—fuck.” His shoulders rolled back and one hand pushed the sweat off his forehead back into the fluff of his hair, while the other maintained on your head, keeping you in close proximity.

“Fuck, Steve…” You sniffled, desperately tasting the salt off the tip of his cock while you snapped your wrist back and forth in jerking him off. Your free hand ran over his stomach, then down his flexed thighs, and you squeezed to remind him that he was spellbound under your touch. His gaze casted downwards to meet yours once again, and he nodded as if he understood.

The pressure on the back of your head hardened, but it was your own will that had you slobbering all over him again. You took him his cock back in with desperation, the memory of how salty he had tasted days prior fortifying your delirious state of mind. You sucked Steve off, swallowed him whole, fucked him into your fist, then into your mouth, and it would repeat until he nested his hand into your hair, tightly curling them into a fist as he came undone into your mouth.

“Fuck—“

Steve’s cock pulsed in heavy bounces and his balls bounced in its drain as he emptied himself inside of you. Warm and thick seed accompanied the fill of your mouth, and your hand reached down to massage his sack, aiding the scrotum to dump the remaining few shots into the pool of cum. Slowly, you pulled back with your lips pressed tight in caution of wasting the fresh fluid, and you swallowed slow and proud, savoring every gulp that ran down your violated throat as if it the cure to the sore. He watched you, panting heavily, and his cleansed cock twitched as you quenched upon his energy for the day.

“You don't have to swallow it al—“ Before he could finish his question, you stuck your tongue out to reveal the abyss of your mouth, and the limp of his cock roused with one more throb before finally hanging low in between his legs. Steve was left astonished, and there was a flicker in his eyes before he helped you back on your feet. “Come here, I need to kiss you right now.”

A laugh was caught in between your lips when Steve kissed you with a familiar sweetness that always rattled the butterflies in your stomach. He pulled you close to pacify the flutter of their wings, and sighed into you before a hand gently caressed the middle of your throat. “Did I go too hard?”

“I would’ve said something if you did, Steve.” You’d come to realize that it always took more than a smile and comforting words to appease his guilt, and so you pressed fleeting pecks to the center of his lips, then began massaging the sensitive fill of his cock in slow turns. “I mean, if you want, we can go for round two right now and—“

“Okay, okay.” He pressed a laugh into your lips and leaned his forehead onto yours for the moment you two shared a gaze. Looking into you, it dismantled all of his worries, as it did for you, and it was only when the cold bit at his naked body that roused him from the daze.

“I should probably put my clothes back on.”

“Dude, are you saying that isn’t your uniform?” You gasped.

“Dude,” He took you by the back of your head again and kissed you once, grinning. “Shut up.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like! feedback is also much appreciated!

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wandasallerdyce · 8 months

Text

focus on me

summary: you tease frank while he’s on a call

pairing: frank castle x male reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: 18+ warning, domestic frank castle, sex while on call, blowjobs, top!frank obviously

a/n: from a prompt by hailey !! (omg mike 2 fics in a day?)

masterlist | more frank castle

It was a Sunday morning spent watching football with Frank. He sat on the couch holding the remote while you were lying down with your legs resting on his lap. He was busy watching the game and you were completely unaware of what was going on. He would cheer, curse at the TV, shout, and almost throw the remote.

“Fuck! What the fuck is up with this ref?” he said, throwing his hands around.

He was so serious, his brows furrowed and his body so animated. You try to tease him through his sweatpants, the heel of your foot lightly grazing his crotch. You twist and turn on the couch to show that you were just shifting for a more comfortable position, but the truth is you were focused on getting him hard.

“Babe,” he said. “What are you doing?”

“You’re so riled up with that game I figured you could ease up a bit,” You feel his crotch harden underneath your heel. You sit beside him, palming his growing erection. “It looks like it’s working though.”

He grunts, your middle finger drawing circles around his tip. You loosen the tie around his waist, putting your hand underneath the fabric to release his cock. It was thick, your fingers wrapping around the whole shaft. The tip was already red and leaking, your index finger spread the wetness all over to form some lubrication as you stroked it.

“Shit—,” Frank groaned.

You were about to take him in your mouth before the phone started to ring. Frank moved over to reach for the phone, his cock still bare. He answers the call–it was David Lieberman.

“Hey, what’s up.”

“There’s a problem with the site,” David said through the phone. You tried to back off—to let him finish before playing with his cock again; but the aching red tip was taunting you, practically begging for touch.

As they were discussing some work stuff you started to stroke his cock again. Frank’s eyes darted towards you enlarged with his brows furrowed. What the hell are you doing? He mouthed. You opened your mouth, saliva dripping like a clear string on his cock. You stroked him again before you took him in your mouth.

Frank grunted. “All good there boss?” David asked.

“Yeah yeah all good,” he cleared his throat. His hand went to the back of your head, guiding you as you tasted him.

Frank tried to stifle his groans, his grip on your head getting tighter. Your lips wrapped around his thick length, sucking in all the air as you bobbed up and down. His hips started to buck into your mouth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You pulled off from his cock with your lips making a popping sound. You gasped for air as David continued to ramble about money and costings. Frank pulled away from the phone to speak.

“Oh so now you want to pull away? Nuh-uh kid, go back at it,” he said, pulling your head back in.

Your eyes started to well with tears as he fucked into your throat, using your mouth like a toy for his pleasure. He continued to talk to David, almost as if you weren’t there. Your jaw started to sore, your lips dripping wet, and your back hunched over. Your crotch started to stir.

“Attaboy.”

You started to use your hands to stroke him, even fondling his balls. Your warm hands and wet mouth drew the hardest grunts from Frank. You could hear David ask him if he was okay.

“Yeah, just need a drink that’s all,” he said, clearing his throat. “Talk to the other guys, we’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

“Sure thing boss,” David said, dropping the call after.

You look up at him with teary eyes. He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes, patting your head like you just did a good job. He pulls you to his lap taking off your lower garments before straddling him. You align his tip with your hole, slowly sinking in. You held onto his broad shoulders for stabilization, his lips smirking as you wince in pain.

“Fuck—it’s too big,” you cry out.

“You the one who started this,” he said sternly. “You gotta finish it.”

He holds your waist, pulling you down on his erection as it stretches you open. You cry out once more, your nails digging into his skin as you try to stay calm. You started to move your hips, moving it in circles, his cock filling you to the brim. It was an immense pleasure, the heat from your body rises tenfold. You ride him faster and with more vigor, your eyes closing in.

He takes your chin to fix it in his gaze.

“Open your eyes when I fuck you,” he said, lifting you so he can move his hips into you. He was quick and rough, your brows twitching trying not to close your lids.

He lays you down on the couch so that he’s on top. His large arms above you as he fucked into your hole, your legs shaking and clenching in. You wrap your arms around his neck, moving your hips in sync with his. At that moment you felt your body join him, in complete synchronicity, both pleasure-bound.

“Frank—” you moaned out.

His lips let out hard grunts, his dark hair plastered across his forehead. You couldn’t stop admiring him. His stubbled face and his crooked nose. This man was all yours, to tease and to toy with, to fuck and to adore.

“You gotta cum for me alright,” he groaned. “Then I’ll cum inside you, yeah?”

He started to buck his hips, his biceps flexing and his hands more veiny. The pleasure was too much, it was sending a thousand shocks of electricity all over your body. Your vision started to darken, Frank started to grunt louder, his thrusts more erratic.

“Shit—shit,” Frank repeated as he hit his climax, spilling his cum inside you.

You came all over your chest, some on Frank’s. He collapsed on top of you after, his large body weighing on you. You kissed him on the cheek, patting his head.

“I think you missed the game,” you said, turning on to see that the game was done.

“Fuck the game, we’re not done yet.”

“What?”

“Yeah, this is your fault for teasing me,” he said nonchalantly. “Now go on your hands and knees, I’m fucking you again.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

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wandasallerdyce · 8 months

Text

you got me

summary: marc finds you wearing his shirt and a pair of short shorts

pairing: marc spector x male reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: 18+ warning, kinky marc, bottom!reader, marc hates short shorts (secretly loves it)

a/n: thanks to this lovely prompt (also i might make one for jake and steven too if i have the time)

masterlist | more moon knight

Marc came home to a quiet apartment. It was clean, as always, with all of Steven’s books arranged on the desk and Jake’s favorite clothes ironed on the clothes rack. He couldn’t help but smile, dating you was probably the best thing that could happen to them.

“Baby?” he called. “You home?”

“Yeah, I’m here!” you said, carrying folded clothes to Marc’s closet. He took off his coat, dropping it on the couch. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m fine,” he stretched his back muscles and cracked his neck, the fatigue weighing in. “Just need a drink that’s all.”

You came out of his room, wearing his shirt and shorts too short. Marc’s thick eyebrows furrowed as you walked to the kitchen trying to get a wine glass for him.

You felt a finger on the back of your thigh, running up your skin till it reached the hem of your shorts. “Where’d you get this?” he whispered.

You grab the glass from the cabinet, leaving it on the counter. Marc’s eyes follow your movement, his hands snaking around your waist. “Get what?”

“These shorts,” he said, palming your ass through the cloth. “They’re a little—provocative?”

“It was very hot today,” you said. “And I cleaned the whole flat!”

“And you’re wearing my shirt,” Marc whispered, smelling himself on you. He pressed a kiss on your nape, sniffing on the base of your neck, his arms toying with the barrier between your skin and the shorts.

“Go sit on the couch I’ll bring the wine,” you smirked.

Marc sat on the couch, manspreading while holding the empty wine glass. He bit his lips, the sight was downright obscene. As you reached for the wine on the top shelf, your shirt would lift to the point that he could see the garter of your underwear. Marc’s cock turned in his seat.

“Come sit on my lap,” he said, pulling you to his lap before you poured the wine. You cheered before taking a sip, the bitter liquid burning your throat.

Marc’s hands snaked all over your smooth legs, he lifted your leg from your ankles to place kisses all over your legs. You squirmed under his embrace, burying your face on his neck.

“Marc—” you whimpered. He made you straddle him, his ass practically slapping your ass.

“I’m gonna fucking rip these shorts off you,” he said, kissing you in the process. He held your chin, his other hand going under your shorts. “Your legs are so pretty—and that fucking ass,” slapping your ass again making you shudder.

“I didn’t know it would have this much of an effect on you,” you wail, “I could’ve worn something shorter.”

“Try me.”

“I’m pretty sure Steven liked it when I wore these shorts.”

“Oh he liked it very much,” he said, his hands reaching under your shirt finding your nipples, he toys with them, eliciting a whimper under your breath.

You grind on his lap trying to give his growing erection some friction, a groan leaves his lips. Your hands rest on his chest, using it to stabilize your body as your hips roll on his cock.

Marc bites his lip almost drawing blood trying to stifle his moans. He grips on the hem of your shorts pulling them down to nearly expose your ass as he leaves hickeys all over your neck.

“I’m gonna rip this off you,” he declares.

“Marc—”

You unbuttoned his trousers, palming his dick through his boxers. His hands linger on your neck, running through your hair as you release his cock from its confines.

It was already leaking with precum, you use the wetness as lube for your hand, stroking his thick shaft. Marc takes his jacket off, his body already warming up, sweat dripping on his forehead.

“Can I ride it?” you pout.

“No, baby,” he said. “You’re bending over for me tonight. Go to the bed, on your hands and knees.”

“Oh.”

“And keep your clothes on.”

You did what you were told, waiting in the room staring at the stark wall waiting for him. You hear the door creak he is silent, but you hear his belt jingle as he walks. You feel the warmth of his hand on your back, pressing it down so your ass was pointing towards him, your shirt pooling on your shoulders leaving your back bare.

His fingers reach under the hem of your waist, simultaneously pulling with so much force tearing the thin cloth and splitting it into two pieces—the fabric rips like the sound of thunder behind you. Marc does the same to your underwear.

“Marc!”

“Now that it’s out of the way,” he said. “I’m gonna play with this all night,” massaging your ass before he dives right in, licking and sucking on your hole drawing whimpers from your mouth.

He spits on your hole, using his fingers to enter it. He curls his fingers to play with your prostate, the sheer amount of pleasure made your legs wobbly. He takes a moment to nibble on the fatty mound on your rear, leaving hickeys as his fingers continue to play with your hole. His other hand finds your erection, stroking it.

You continue to writhe and whimper under him, your mouth dripping with saliva, your eyes rolling back into your skull, pure ecstasy enveloping your being. Your hands grip tightly on the sheets, leaving dents on your palms. Marc smacks your ass from the continued assault.

You could hear Marc stroke his cock, the wet sounds were so lewd it led to your cock ache even more. You wanted him to use you, to draw out all the moans, to punish you for offending him.

“You’re so hot baby,” Marc uttered. “Need this every day.”

“Please—I need you already.”

“Need me, how?”

“Inside me—please.”

That does it for Marc. He teases your hole with the tip of his cock, tracing it around with its wetness. He presses in, the tight muscle enveloping it. Your back aches but he persists, pressing deeper until it’s fully sheathed inside you.

The two of you let out guttural moans, tears welling under your eyes. Marc bends down to grab onto your hair, pulling at his hips to push in. There was a rough side to him that you know, but maybe it was the shorts or the fatigue, but tonight he was rougher, his grip on you tighter.

“So fuckin’ tight—”

He thrusts, over and over. The sound of skin slapping and your cries are the only things your neighbors would hear. His hand pushed you down the bed, his other hand at your side for support.

You stroke your cock, practically leaking onto the sheets. Marc whispers sweet nothings to your ear, and a drop of the wetness on his lips drips down your ear. He nibbles your ear, your hands still gripping onto the sheets.

He flips you around so that you’re facing him, placing your legs on his shoulders. He thrusts back again into you, the base of his cock hitting your ass on each stroke of his hips. The veins on his hand bulge as they sit tightly on your wrists, pinning them above your head.

Precum leaks from your tip, pooling on your abdomen. Marc takes some with his index finger, scraping it up from your belly button to your chest, and brings it to your lips. You lick your essence from his fingers, the salty bitterness on your tongue. He bends down to share your wetness with a kiss.

“It tastes good, yeah?”

You nod, your eyes scrunched up from all the stimulation. You could feel your core tighten, the heat pouring through your veins. Marc leaves light kisses all over your skin down to your collarbone. All you wanted to do was take him in your embrace.

You pull him in, your nails digging into his skin leaving red marks down his back. His dark curls tickle your face, his head buried in the corner of your neck. He ruts into you faster, harder, more forcefully. You let out cries that break through the hot atmosphere.

“Babe—I’m close,” you whine.

“I know baby, I know,” he coos, caressing your cheeks. “You gotta be patient though, –need you to wait for me.”

“I’ll try—” the tears blurring your vision. The pleasure coming from Marc’s cock was intoxicating, the heat of our muscle combined with his thrusts almost drove him to the edge, teetering for release.

“Fuck, you’re so tight you’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

“Can you cum inside me?” you begged. You held his face in your palms, relishing his beauty as he fucked you. His long lashes and his thick brows scrunched all over. It was adorable.

“If you want me to,” he groans. “Anything for you.”

Marc moved his hips with such grace and power it was finally the time for release. He kissed your lips, moaning from the moment the two of you reached your climax. Marc, thrusting erratically, as you stroke your erection one last time. Your wetness shoots all over your torsos, his cum filling inside you leaving a warmth fullness.

He pulls back from this kiss, staring down at you with dark eyes. He pushes your hair back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. Your breaths heave trying to catch some air.

“My pretty boy,” he lets out. “Wear those shorts again and I’m fucking your brains out.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

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wandasallerdyce · 9 months

Text

VHS Tape 1A - "Sleepover" | Wally Clark x Male!Reader

a/n – THIS is what sent me into a writing slump but lets hope i conquered it by finishing this

Summary – Last night, Wally invited you to a sleepover as a joke, but things turned serious by the end of the night.

warnings – drinking, sex, mentions of anal, oral (wally receiving), pre-death!Wally Clark, dirty talk, 18+, he might be a tad bit ooc!

~~~

Life was something that, to you, needed to be treated with the same level of thought and care as with anything else contained within it. You tried to be mindful of your grades at school, steered clear of any and all uses of drugs, especially the lethal ones, and kept your inner circle small for the most part. The teachers addressed you the same way you did them, on a first-name basis. You had practically secured a spot on the faculty-designated pages of the yearbook. That’s why, when Wally's constant teasing about the night you stayed over at his house started up, you almost didn’t believe him.

There was a black spot in your memory, a time when nothing existed to you, but something was there that he knew of. You tried to think back to the moments leading up to everything that had happened, things you knew for sure. It was the Friday before a huge exam that would take place on Monday of the following week, and a folded-up note was passed to you in fourth period–Psychology–from the back of the class. While the teacher was turned away, you carefully unfurled it to get to the message inside. To you, the plans for that night seemed normal enough–a sleepover study session to cram in as much information for the exam with enough booze to calm everyone’s nerves, as explained by Wally’s messy and strung-together letters on the note. It felt a little counter-intuitive, but he insisted on supplying the alcohol. He claimed that it would help encourage others in the class to show up and take their academics seriously, and you were inclined to believe his words. Who didn’t love free drinks and a jock with a nice house to get wasted in?

That was your first mistake, and the second came when he invited you over the day after the so-called sleepover. He flooded your landline with numerous calls, excitedly telling you all about how he got everything from last night on film and that he would be over to pick you up soon. The mere sight of his house from the windshield of his Cutlass jogged your memory. You remembered hesitantly walking up to his door, textbook in hand with a look of awe as you ogled at his house’s exterior. Typically middle class with a clean front exterior combining brick on the first floor and light blue paneling on the second. His house extended into a two-door garage, but both doors were closed the night you went. And the next morning, one was open as he pulled into the right side of the vacant garage. The door slid down behind you, sounding exactly how you wanted the VCR to when Wally inevitably played back last night’s events on tape. Once it shut, the only light emanated from his beamers on the front and back-ends. The light forming a clearing from the shroud of darkness in the room felt exactly like your memory. You knew where to go to learn the truth, and now, it felt like you didn’t know how to turn back.

In the passenger seat, the armrest between you and him wasn’t the only thing separating the two of you. From what Wally hinted at on the ride over, you two seemed to be on the same page last night, and he didn’t mean the textbook.

You sighed, piecing together your own path leading away from it all, “Do I really want to know what happened last night?”

“You definitely do. It was legendary!” Wally insisted.

“As long as it’s not embarrassing…”

If you went into his house, you ran the risk of remembering something you could have lived your whole life not knowing about; something you might end up wishing to forget. But the thought of what exactly happened was too tempting not to find out. How bad could it be? The only way to find out would be to watch it and see what looks like you do things you couldn’t recall.

Wally casually placed a hand on your thigh, “Hey, we were both pretty drunk. And after watching the tape this morning, I can confidently say, I would do everything on it all over again.”

“Pfft. You held the camera, I bet you’re barely in it.” His hand felt out of place, like seeing someone place their palm on an open burner on the stove. Any heat from before didn’t boil over into this morning, though, including your worries leading up to the moment you arrived at his house.

“I was basically your co-star! Here–let’s recreate it.” Wally hopped out the driver’s side of the lowrider, rounding the hood of the car and opening your door. He offered out a hand, but you didn’t take it.

His garage door didn’t stay closed for long, as he had the perfect plan to reenact the interaction that started it all.

“I’ll head in through the door in here, you go to the front door and I’ll be there to answer,” he directed. You did as he said, taking the little paved pathway to his house, picking up on the littlest of details in his front yard to see if anything rang a bell. Nothing. The same could be said as you knocked on his door–the vibrant red facing you with a gold handle and lock above it to fit a jagged-cut Clark house key. The anxious feelings you got standing at his door less than twenty-four hours ago didn’t pull your stomach into knots this time. It was like your body had lived through the feeling of resolve–maybe a forgotten rejection–but your head was still catching up to all of those feelings.

A few seconds went by and you heard the lock click out of place, followed by the door swinging open with the turn of the handle. He answered the door in the same way as he had before: an arm raised above his head, leaning against the door with it and greeting you with a wide smile. The only difference was his clothing. Last night, he donned dark-colored jeans and a forest-green jumper. Today, he wore a lighter shade of blue denim for his pants, mostly to keep it from clashing with his white tee-shirt and navy blue letterman jacket he earned from his dedication to football. On top of his head, he wore a black baseball cap, turned one-hundred and eighty degrees to face backward. There was one accessory missing that greeted you with its eye at the door as well–Wally’s camera. You remembered the video camera he had been waving around in your face when he answered the door. He claimed that it was a gift he received earlier that day and wanted to take it for a test run.

He practically used it as his way of seeing, his way of looking at you, and memorializing something as simple as studying. It felt a bit insincere the first time around like he was just doing it for the proof that he was a nice person to everyone, not just his football team. But right now, you felt more attended to, more cared for by his brown eyes not hidden behind a video camera. Even with his forgiving and welcoming nature, it couldn’t keep you from recalling the meandering conversation you had when you first arrived.

“Remember… anything?” He held the ‘er’ longer than the awkward silence lasted as he moved out of the doorframe, waiting for you to enter the lion’s den. You shook your head, “Just that your house is nice and all.”

The memories started to slowly fade in as he took you inside with him. His house let you in and welcomed you with a warm foyer, brightly lit from floor-to-ceiling windows and thin drapes pulled back to let the light seep in. The furniture, from the kitchen to the living room, looked well lived in, but it hadn’t lost that cozy feeling. There were still many more memories to make on them, but you were concerned about one in particular.

He led you to the same brown leather couch that you felt vaguely acquainted with, and you took a seat on the left end of the couch. He took the right side and left the middle cushion vacant. A mismatched, wavy-patterned chair sat turned to face the couch and the coffee table caught in the crossroads of both directions. You noticed the walls were white with pastel blue accents. Images of ships at sea and framed family photos fill the space between the windows in the room, which made it feel like Wally stared at you from every angle you could think of. Simply looking to the end table to your left brought him closer to you, and when you turned to look at the older version of the man in the photo, he had scooted over to the middle seat.

“I got the tape.” He said. Wally flashed the tape in your direction, looking proud of his creation. In those brief moments, you were able to see the word Sleepover crudely written in black Sharpie. He had already given a title to his film, and maybe you should have been happy that it wasn’t your name followed by the description of something abject.

“Well, put it in!” Your hands waved him off the couch and toward the large entertainment center. At first, it was easy to mistake it for a closet, but as Wally pulled away the two panels in the front, you knew it to house a boxy television. On the shelf below it is a VCR and it’s remote, and on the shelf below that, speakers.

While he put the tape in, you tried channeling any memory of last night from the couch, since you remembered it as the first landmark–besides his kitchen–that would mean anything to you. The note, the car, the couch, the drinks, the textbook–all things you went over and over again in your head, but couldn’t quite figure out what path they were inescapably leading towards. Spontaneity may have been your downfall here, as one unexpected factor revealed on the tape could change the direction the night had gone in. Wally reclaimed his seat on the couch, directly next to you. The tape whirred in the machine as its innards stretched and rolled around various corners to relay its evidence of last night.

The first minutes are nothing much to gawk at. Wally showed himself recording in a mirror, seemingly testing out the device until a knock played out. Holding the camera at chest height during your conversation, he answered his front door as expected. You exchanged greetings and he welcomed you inside.

“Where is everyone?” Watching the recording of yourself felt different. It wasn’t weird or confusing, but you started to notice things about yourself that you wish you could have done in a better manner.

Wally was hidden behind the camera as he spoke, keeping it focused on you. Maybe that’s why you noticed everything–because it was how he had seen it last night. His voice was louder than yours when he spoke thanks to how close the microphone on the camera was to him. “Oh, they’ll be here later. Is that good with you?”

“That’s fine. We’ll get a jump on studying.”

You wanted to cringe, is this how you really acted? Nervous and far too afraid to make a move that you sold yourself as a complete loser to compensate for it. This was a part you painfully remembered from last night but it looked better from your perspective. Looking at the observer to your right, he looked content with himself and the product he created.

You tried to hint that you wanted the jock to fast forward through this preluding embarrassment without giving away how you felt. If you were going to get embarrassed by things from last night, you might as well have seen the worst of it first. “Worst movie ever.”

“Ouch. Does that make me a bad director?” He played along.

“I think it’s just too boring, plus that one actor can’t say his lines right even if the script was in that book.” You note the textbook that you’re still holding on the screen, clutching it as if it were some kind of last-resort barrier between you and Wally. You refused to pay attention to what you were saying, so as not to feel more embarrassed. Thankfully, the director kept commentating over his home movie.

His gaze doesn’t break from the screen. “Harsh critic, I like it. Let me know what you think of the other lead, he seems pretty handsome.”

“It’s pretty bold to have the director star in his own film.”

“You’ll come around to the casting choices. There’s one scene later on that will blow your mind,” he smirked, looking over to you.

These were all things you remembered, and he didn’t seem to get the hint, so you asked him to skip ahead outright. “Mind fast-forwarding? To the good parts, I mean.”

Wally’s smirk dropped and he went back to following your command. He was supposed to be the one helping you live through your irretrievable actions, “Yeah, tell me when.”

Wally peeled himself from the couch, reaching for the remote and hitting one button on it a few times. The footage relayed across the screen became as much of a blur as it felt in your head. The speedy actions and jumps from when Wally would occasionally stop recording felt disorienting, but you noticed a brief flash of an alcohol bottle between shaky shots, “There!”

Wally’s stunning looks were on screen, and you deduced that you held the camera this time. You were in his kitchen, just one room over from his living room with a doorway connecting the two. The doorway, it was visible from your spot on the couch, located to the left of the television stand. Seeing the perspective of the camera made you think that you were standing relatively within the doorway, and Wally stood surrounded by the U-shape of his counter. The pearly white gloss of the counter reminded you of his smile–wide, perfect, everywhere.

The man with those pearly whites ducked below the counter to fetch a bottle of vodka–the sound of a small, whirring machine halting as a door opened played through the screen, suggesting that the Clarks had embellished a wine cooler into their base cabinets. Then, he reached up high to a pantry cabinet emerging from the wall, pulling out two shot glasses. The detail was fuzzy, but you could make out some various juices and zests already prepared for all the woo-woos and cold ducks two rebellious teenagers could want.

“What unit are we on again?” He asked, trying to make small talk.

You reminded him of what the teacher had written in chalk weeks ago. “Interpersonal attraction.”

“What’s that? I totally studied it, I just… forgot.” He said it as if it wasn’t his fault, and it still sounded virtuous as it re-rang in your ear from the stereo. A thought crossed your mind, that, maybe it wasn’t. He excelled at football and could get into college on that, so long as he steered clear of any injuries that would hold him back, which would mean that his grades just had to be good enough. Maybe he was simply a product of his environment, and you couldn’t really blame him for that.

“When someone only sees the positive side of things in a relationship,” you answered.

“I think this study session is going great.” He said while pouring the vodka into both shot glasses. He filled one higher than the other and rounded the counter with both in hand.

“That’s not it, and it really isn’t. We haven’t even gotten to the hard stuff yet.”

“I said I needed something to help us study. I positively think this will loosen you up a little.” Wally offered one of the shots to you, the last frame holding on his charming face.

The camera cut and the scenery around it changed again, but to something familiar. You were back in the living room you currently watched the tape in, but the table in front of you had been moved off to the side. His camera laid on top of it, capturing you and Wally sitting and facing each other, with your textbook on the ground, filling the distance between you and him. The bottle of alcohol had the cap twisted off, resting upright next to Wally, some cut-up limes scattered on a plate next to that, and your shot glasses next to them. Due to the quality of the camera, you couldn’t quite tell how much of the bottle was empty until Wally picked it up.

The angle at which he held it while decanting some into his glass answered your question. You and he must have made a dent in the bottle at that point, and your guard was likely lowered as you felt extremely comfortable around Wally. He topped off the shot glass with the clear courage. “If I get this wrong, this one’s yours.”

Expectedly, the question you fired his way was not met with an acceptable answer. Your mind was trying to think of each question like a teacher, how they would accept and consider his answer compared to other students’ responses. As you drank more due to his inability to take the class seriously, you started to slip away from that teacher mentality. This wasn’t the first time he wagered this bet, and it wasn’t the first time he lost, either. Whether it was intentional or on purpose, you held up your end of it. The video showed you preparing yourself for the shot, shaking out a smattering of salt from the castor, and readying yourself to drop the shot glass and lurch for the lime. Your hands felt almost shaky at his failure, knowing that you were bound to mess up the order of the steps.

He talked you through each step.

“Salt…” You could taste it on your tongue, even now. The same could be said for the saliva left on your hand from where you poured the salt out at.

“The shot…” The cold, thick rim of the glass felt indented into your lips. The feeling of the liquid going down your throat, burning as the dehydration set in lingered just the same.

“Then lime! Oh, yeah!” Wally cheered, looking proud of the teacher he had become to you.

You took a moment to let it sink in. Warmth on your face, soon to be everywhere. Courage building up from nothing into something that would perforate the cover of embarrassment.

Then, you looked down at the textbook. Your eyes alternated the pages beyond pages of information at your hands, having so much to pull from that you undoubtedly knew would be regurgitated on to the test, just less profoundly worded than its primary form. When you looked back up. . . had Wally always looked like that? His dark hair looked darker, and softer, like a fuzzy void to rake your fingers through. He did it just as the thought crossed your mind. No doubt he had to be feeling it, the way the buzz started to become the only voice in your head–a voice without reason, a voice known for speaking its mind.

“What three things make up the triangular theory of love?” You would have said it while halfway out the door, ready for embarrassment and tripping over your wordless apologies on the way out, but you were far too deep into his den to leave.

The answer was simple, and through the haze of last night, you still knew it–intimacy, passion, and commitment. Instead, he said, “You, me, naked.”

As you watched over yourself, you were taken aback by hearing his advances. But you were more ashamed of how you completely brushed it off less than a moment later. “Intimacy is one of them, yeah.”

“Okay, smart guy. I want to see you mess all these up.” He teased.

“You’re on.” He turned the textbook around so that it faced him, on your agreement.

“What is…” He flicked through a few pages and scanned over them briefly. “The reinforcement theory?”

“Uh, it’s when the person gets out something of equal or fair value in relation to what they put in.” You said, reciting it almost word-for-word as it was described on the page.

“Can you give me an example?”

It was hard not to utter the answer to yourself like you were watching a contestant on a game show, but even this one knew the million-dollar dinger. “An employee stays at their job because the pay–”

“A real example.” He interrupted. “Say… I kissed you. What could I get outta that?”

The confident and guided version of yourself from last night stood on their knees, almost crawling over to him as they could hardly keep themselves balanced. They looked so foreign yet so familiar–it was you without layers of fear and cowardice covering your most intimate feelings. Silence fell over the two of you as you fell into him, and then, the soft sound of kissing and pulling away played from the TV. The kiss felt straight out of a rom-com rental, but the moments following were pure and unabashed the-cashier-is-sure-to-check-your-ID-at-the- checkout pornography; you could tell when Wally’s jumper came off, and the kiss started to feel more heated than your face from the alcohol.

Next to you, you felt Wally slump forward on the couch, jutting out his hips. Your eyes stayed glued to the screen, almost entranced by what was happening, until you heard the sound of a zipper being undone. In your peripheral sights, Wally’s hands had undone his fly and the button of his jeans.

“Do you mind?” He asked. For a moment, you thought he meant the video. How he captured both of you embracing each other in a way that would be shown in Health class in the near future, likely titled Everything Not to Do In Sex. The headliner would be something along the lines of where not to touch your partner, as the actions playing out on screen were messy due to inexperience and the disorienting relaxation of being under the influence. He would probably end the viewing session by asking to smash the tape in his backyard or something along those lines, not what he had done instead.

“What–holy shit.” You turned to see his light blue denim and dark red boxers bunched further down along his thighs. He had his cock out, toying with it while it was still soft. His heavy balls sat low enough to rest on the cool leather of his brown couch, being pulled up as he tugged on his dick.

“What?” He refused to stop moving his hand. He kept going, almost at a faster pace when his eyes locked on to you in the present. Maybe you had everything all wrong. Wally wasn’t looking at this with regret, he wanted to enjoy last night. You knew he didn’t fully regret everything, as he stated earlier, but you thought he meant that he learned so much or had a fun night. Not this, and not with you of all people. What you were looking at felt like the result of a cheerleader helping the Split River Devils celebrate their big win of the night.

Your hand pointed out to the image displayed on the screen. Your eyes never once broke from his gaze as you spoke, “It’s me–it’s us–on screen.”

“I know,” he said. His voice stayed the same throughout.

You couldn’t fathom it–he liked it. “And you’re getting off to this?”

“We make a pretty good pair!” He tried to justify himself, finally breaking from the nonchalance to sound happy about it. You assumed that he must have not cared about whether or not you agreed with him, because he stood up seconds later. “Fuck, I have to make this feel better…”

You heard his footsteps grow quieter as he left the room, then returned with what sounded like a spring in his step. His dick flopped up and down as he paced around the couch and back to his proclaimed seat on the couch. In his hand is a silvery Pringles Light potato chip canister, emptied of its retail packaging and filled with two halves of a sponge to make a slit in the middle. “I’ve been blue-balling all morning since I saw this…”

And, suddenly, it became very, very real. He reached for some hand lotion on the table, squirting it into his fleshjack and then into his hand. He lathered the glob on his length, his hand finding a way to spread it along himself with only a few tugs. It was a sign that he was all for it, and you decided that you were, too. Before he could get too far into pleasuring himself, you offered him your hand. You placed it on his thigh, unsure of how far to go that would be considered too close. “I could help.”

“Really? No pressure or anything. I didn’t want you to feel like you have to do anything you, uh, see yourself doing.” He looked at the television again, and you thought that he might be right. If you felt differently about what you did last night after everything had already happened, you could leave. You could pretend that last night and the ensuing morning had never happened, and you could look at Wally the same as you always had–an unattainable crush.

“Really.” You affirmed, completely sure of doing something that you would never forget. The confidence from last night returned, your hand gravitating to his lotioned skin. It had barely sunk in, and it was slick on your hand, emitting a wet cry and earning a moan from Wally. You would have thought the lotion became astringent, as Wally’s thighs tensed and his breathing hitched.

“Are you okay?” You asked, hand freezing all movement on his warmth, but never letting go of it.

“Yeah, I’m just used to my hand doing this part.” He became familiar with it quickly, though. Your hand made haste with the motions of jerking him off. Wally tried to level himself out by slumping further down on the couch, making himself more of a flat canvas for your designs. “But I could get used to this.”

There was one feeling he couldn’t get enough of, though. As your hand skimmed up and down his shaft, it occasionally slipped up over the head of his mushroom tip and teased the sensitive surface. Every time that your hand happened to find its way to his peaking pleasure, his hips jerked up and brought your hand down his shaft, like a drop tower that wasn’t quite ready to plummet into the needy feelings of release. Wally groaned, his head rolling back on the upholstered support backing the leather backrest. His flipped cap nearly got pulled off the top of his head, a sign that could’ve been looked at as him losing his mind over how good it all felt.

You looked over at the screen, seeing things take a sharp turn as you had your legs spread over Wally’s thighs. His legs stuck out, used to the kind of stretching he found himself doing on the field for football practice, and you sat squarely on his upper thighs. One hand stayed glued to his face and slid down to his neck as you explored five percent of the surface, and your other hand journeyed into the deep blue of his jeans. The same hand cupped his growing heat; you could remember the faintest feelings of it now. When he became too big, too rigid for your hand to mold and keep from slipping through your fingers, your hand emersed from his denim confines. The motion kept flowing, though, when your ass had found a way to push him down as he presumably pushed up, an action you felt ready to mimic. His rudimentary fleshlight wouldn’t have to leave him wanting more, and you were sure to make it known.

While he was no longer new in the box, the barrier between the two of you gone and discarded in the recycling, you felt comfortable choosing to come out of yours. “I think I want you to fuck me.”

Just as you were about to step out of its confines, his words snaked around your wrists and tied you down to the box’s cardboard backing. Your motivation was restrained from where he drew the line. “Yeah, you might just want to use that sweet hand for now…”

“Why?”

“Uh, last night… we kind of did anal,” he groaned out. Suddenly, there was a cry from the TV that was unmistakably your voice, “I want you to fuck me!” Wally cleared his throat, “No, we definitely did.”

He stared down the television, entranced by its contents in a matter of seconds. The exact thing he said started to unfold. In the drunken misguidance, he had forgone lube to make the blur tinting his hindsight go a little bit faster. He carried the camera along his body until he held it in front of his face like he had when he first greeted you at the door. There was a slow, disorienting rise as he stood, showing just how tall he was. It was like the peak of the drop tower, when your stomach would twist into knots from knowing what was about to happen. You moved into frame, rubbing the bulge in his jeans as your hands rounded the waistband around to his backside, pulling his denim down.

From the view of its eye, it peered down at his torso wrapped in green knits, his cock quickly springing out and sharing the stage with your face right next to it. It was clear that your box had been perforated, and he was the cause of it.

“Oh, oh fuck. This is my favorite part–too bad my dick looks so fucking small. The TV just doesn’t do it justice, I mean come on! Look at how big it is!”

He must have been referring to the lingering shot of his dick. The camera was still panned down from Wally’s perspective to show his cock at full fuckable potential. He got up and stood next to the image of his dick, comparing the two. Just the sight of the one on his TV made you nervous, but shifting your gaze slightly reminded you that he was painfully bigger than he looked on camera. Eight millimeters of a film reel was such a small space to capture such a big thing on screen, and his twenty-six-inch TV could only do so much to blow up the image.

The picture went dark, and black filled the screen. Wally covered the camera and gave you stage directions on the tape. “Get on the couch, all fours. No. Yeah, yeah–like that.”

You felt a warmth press into your side, Wally rejoining you on the couch again. He held his hands up in the air like he was guilty of a charge you weren’t pressing, “Sorry, not my best work, I know.”

His hand pulled away from the lens. The quality was hazy, indiscernible in some things that it captured as the kitchen light behind Wally blocked his face. But you’re on full display, arching into his touch.

Wally tugged on his cock a few times before seizing all movement, “I could take you up on a handy–fuck, maybe a beej?”

“It might not feel as good as, you know.” You said, quickly averting your eyes from the television by fully shifting your body around and onto the floor. His legs were spread by habit but were now parted by necessity as you kneeled between them.

“A hole’s a hole, I won’t complain.”

His gaze only rested on you for a second, to line himself up at the sweet spot. The point of entry, a familiar place for his dick–your body–but a new place to explore–your mouth. He made sure you were on track to take him all the way down without teeth or a gag reflex getting in the way. One trip down to the base of his cock and he was already looking away, continuing the motion with a more forceful pace to make up for what he was missing.

He looked head-on at the sex tape, seeing the view of the camera as he tried to evoke as much of the feelings from last night from its point of view. Wally imagined the wet, shlurking mouth in front of him was your hole, ready to give the same abuse he gave to your ass last night. Kind words echoed from the TV. He was talking you through the pain and happily giving you pleasure when you started bouncing on his cock. He planned to mimic it at the moment, spouting on about ‘how good you took him’ and praises alike.

Then, he saw himself slamming his hips into you on the screen, your ass smacking against his hips in a way that really demonstrated just how fast he was going. Coupling it with your cries to go ‘harder!’ as you took him, he did it from your past command. You couldn’t speak with a mouthful of him, but he treated it as something you wanted now. Wally shot up from the couch, standing and taking you with him.

His eyes were trained on the screen, moaning as his hands took over from your control. In your peripheral vision, he had propped a leg up on the coffee table to fuck, not just guide you down his length. He would have done the same with his fleshlight and your hole–bending them over the table and fucking them senseless. Your mouth, and now as he reached it, your throat, were treated like those two. His hiked leg flexed and he jutted his hips forward, his pubes bristling your nose and his swinging balls plapping against your chin. Soon, as he plowed your mouth, the sound of him face-fucking you overtook the sex on the screen.

It wasn’t until the sound of you blowing a load of hot white over his chest as he did the same inside of you did he feel fully immersed in last night’s acts. He buried himself deep in your throat one final time and made you swallow what you could, taking a minute to register that he wasn’t fucking your ass.

His hands let go of your head and you pulled off, his come running down your chin and dripping onto him and the carpet. “Jesus, that was a lot…”

Wally handed you some tissues that he must have been expecting to use after watching this tape–since this wasn’t a film worth crying over–and patted the spot on the couch next to him. “How do you feel? Sorry if that was too rough.”

“You’re good, just throw in a warning next time?” You took a few tissues out of the box and cleaned up what you could. Wally filled his expected place on the couch, redressing himself quickly. He leaned towards the table he had just finished using as leverage to fuck your mouth with to get the remote. Silence filled the room as he paused the last few minutes of the tape.

“Deal,” he agreed. You took a seat in his lap this time after cleaning up, “So, is the ending gonna ruin the whole thing?”

“I, I wouldn’t recommend watching it.”

“Seriously? We basically watched the whole thing, let’s see it!” You took the remote from him, hitting the button shaped like a triangle to let it play.

Wally started speaking almost right after the sex on-camera was over, “How do you feel? Owned? Like a good boy–”

Wally lifted the neck of his letterman, burying his face into it as he heard himself say those words. It was good to know he wasn’t happy about everything from last night, but you kind of liked hearing him say it. At least you had proof to get him to do it again.

You were quick to cut him off, though. “Like I’m gonna hurl.”

You swiped the remote from the table, pausing it just as you walked out of frame. “I left because I puked?” “Motion sickness. My fault, some people just can’t handle a long ride.”

601 notes · View notes

wandasallerdyce · 9 months

Text

because i love you.

jason todd x male reader.

summary: your birthday is a memory you often ignore. jason is determined to forge a new, unforgettable one.

wc: 3k. genre: fluff, comfort. warnings: domestic!au, crying, descriptions of food.

a/n: happy belated birthday, anon! i know this was late, but i wanted to priortize this over my other requests before it would be even later, LOL. hope you had a great one, and that this was a gift to remember!

request: anon.

“so,” a gruff voice briefly broke your focus from peering through the oven door, but the cookies had seconds left in the oven, so a hum acknowledged jason’s presence. it was a painful and mundane process to squat and watch the cookie batter form into heavenly, ooey-gooey chocolatey goodness. sure, you could’ve done something to pass the time—finish your backlog of books, or even the tv dramas you promised your friends you would finish soon—but the cookies always came out perfect like this.

once, you decided to do laundry while letting the cookies bake. as soon as the oven rang, the thought of over-baking your perfected recipe of cookies, that everyone had gleefully devoured and expected at every potluck, chased you faster than a wild fox could. to your bewilderment (and exhaustion), even a few seconds in the oven changed the texture of the baked treats. though no one noticed, even if you insisted that the taste changed as well, it ruined your entire day and since then, you’ve made a silly promise to yourself to never let these cookies out of your sight.

even if your boyfriend was squatting with you, kissing you at the neck now.

“earth to (m/n),” his lips brushed deep into your skin, and you could hear him inhaling your natural scent. for a minute there, he forgot you were baking, so the smell of chocolate and brown sugar certainly awakened an unexpected appetite in him. it growled.

“hello.” jason stretched a whisper into your neck, and you chuckled when his gruff voice tickled you, vowels vibrating lowly into your skin.

“someone’s needy.” you turned to finally greet him with a smile, some kind of acknowledgement, and he begrudgingly accepted it with a kiss. it was almost as sweet as the sugar crystals in the cookie batter he sampled earlier.

two more minutes now.

“guess i’ll have to bake myself into a cookie to get your attention these days,” jason muttered, pressing his chest to your broad back. the heat from the oven radiated in front of you, yet your back felt warmer.

your head leaned back on his shoulder, grinning towards his frown while he tucked his chin in the vacant space between your neck and shoulder. “whoa, are you envious of my cookies now? that’s kind of sick considering you inhale them within seconds after i take them out of the oven—“

“i eat anything.” jason stated dryly, his palms roamed over your stomach to chase his appetite away as if your body and his were connected. his lips found your neck again, adding to the flush of your skin while one hand slipped under the waistband of your shorts to satiate a different craving. your legs slowly sprawled to accommodate his inviting touch, humming. “they make a great pre-workout.”

and with the close of your legs, access had been denied. “so, they’re not delicious like you’ve been claiming?”

jason widened his eyes, yanking his hand out of your shorts to put his hands up defensively. “wait, no. that’s not— okay, we’re getting off-topic!”

“hey,“ the oven sang, and with a delighted hop, you abandoned your boyfriend on the floor to tend to your long-awaited baked goods. “you’re the one that brought it up!”

the smell of chocolate and sugar billowed in the air when you opened the oven, and jason’s appetite returned like a parasite once the delicious aroma hit his nose.

it hadn’t been that long since you’ve started baking, but your hobby had quickly become a beloved activity (and expense), and your affection for it was telling through the wear and tear of your oven mitts. you burned yourself a few times when the baking sheet pressed into various ripped holes, but despite jason’s concern, you never found it damaged enough to purchase a new one. besides, it didn’t take very long to learn the pattern of the hot spots.

two baking sheets, filled with freshly-baked cookies, slid onto the stovetop, and you closed the oven, turning it off after. steam rose from the bloomed batter and you marveled at the sight: rustic, crinkly brown doughs that harbored mounds of comfort and nostalgia in one snack. though for some people, in one bite. the smell hits you after, stung your nose with brown sugar and chocolate chips, and you approved the batch with a deep inhale.

“what did you want to talk about?” a crack of kosher salt was topped to the cookies, adding to the rustic presentation of the baked goods.

“well,” the smell of the cookies pulled him back to his feet, then by your side as he watched the chunky salt enchant the goods to a higher level. “it’s someone’s birthday soon.” though he knew not to, he reached out to sample an edge of the dough anyway.

“careful,” you watched him with amusement and high curiosity, eyebrows raised to inquire him of the taste. though you knew the answer by the time the chocolate hit his tongue, it was tenfold more interesting than the topic of your birthday. “what about it?” you asked, and he hummed in approval, greed guiding his hand back to the piping hot cookies.

“so—ow,” the heat bit at jason’s fingers and his hand yanked back to immediately flick remnants of the sting off. “didn’t you want to do anything? a party? dinner? you never even told me what you wanted for your gifts.”

“hm,” you took the oven mitts off and directed the draft towards the steam with quick and light swings, then towards jason’s fingers as he began picking at the chocolate that oozed out. “i never took you as someone who cared about birthdays that much.”

“yeah, well,” he blew on his chocolate stained finger once more before pressing it to your smile. “we’re learning more about each other every day, aren’t we?”

“and it’s kind of incredible how you haven’t dumped me yet.” you laughed and licked the bittersweet stain off your lips. jason only joined with a mere chuckle. he never liked it when you talked about yourself like this.

“seriously though,” jason leaned on the counter with his elbow, nudging your waist with a gentle pat. his hair delicately parted to the side, watching you like you were the only one. “what do you want to do? we can do whatever you want.” devouring the cookies was the last thing on his mind now.

you’re the only one.

“jason,” the steam slowly waft in the air as you averted your gaze to the cookies cooling. salt glinted under the lights, and they have never looked sweeter. “it’s sweet of you and i appreciate it, but…” yet, there was a bitter aftertaste when you nibbled on a crumble. “i don’t really celebrate my birthday.”

“what?” his immediate instinct was to hold you, taking you by the waist as if it could protect you from the memory of the past. “how come? did something bad happen?”

“no, no. nothing like that!” laughing it off always helped you alleviate the bitterness of your thoughts. “it’s just…” but for some reason, your throat began to swell when you do.

“just…?” jason pressed his hand to your waist in a heartfelt attempt at squeezing an answer out of you. “come on, i’m at the edge of my seat here.”

you laughed, taking his hand off and then into your own, as you guided him out of the kitchen and to the living room. the sweet smell was dizzying now. plus your legs hurt from the squatting earlier. you needed some place to snuggle yourself into. preferably, your couch.

“my family could never afford stuff, so it hasn’t been a thing since…” a yawn escaped your lips as you found comfort into the embrace of jason’s arms. his broad chest was a pillow you never asked for, and these days, you found it to be the best solace your head demanded for. “i guess when i was eight?”

“oh,” jason realized, then began stroking the side of your head as an apology. “i didn’t mean to pry or—“

“it’s no big deal.” in between his caresses, you quickly tilted your head back to press a kiss to his palm—a measurement to dispel his worries. “i’ve spent a longer part of my life not celebrating it, so it’s just a norm now! honestly, i didn’t even notice that my birthday was coming up until you mentioned it to me.”

closing your eyes, images of your family appeared in soft, fading blurs. they smiled through gritted teeth, as did you, and sweated through hard labor of work that managed to put food on a table. “and i also don’t blame my parents, if that’s what you’re thinking. i did at first, but shit happens.”

though, never a cake.

“you really do nothing since then, though? not even cook yourself dinner or something?” the affection caresses spread to your cheeks and the warmth pulled at the corners of your mouth into a smile.

“i did once,” you shifted to connect your warmth to his. in midst, you were reminded that the smell of jason’s cologne will always triumph over the scent of your cookies. “but it just kind of made things sad, to be honest. it felt weird.”

“but you celebrated my birthday.” the memories warmed him. “for someone who never celebrated their own, you sure knew how to throw a great party.” laughter, a delicious dinner, and drink shenanigans echoed in passing. “even if it was only us.”

you chuckled at the irony of it all, satisfied that you’ve managed to impress your boyfriend despite your inexperience.

“well,” glancing up, you then held jason’s doting stare, collected it into your soul, and then sealed it into a vault.

“that’s because i love you.”

the stroll from your car and to your apartment seized all the energy left in you. aside from carrying bags of groceries, the heavy weight slowly drained your arms of life, the long day of work had a major factor to your exhaustion. awaiting approvals while you were approaching a tight deadline was never ideal, but luckily it got extended, so you can sleep a teensy-bit better tonight.

grunting, your veins pulsed when you lifted the heavy bags with one arm to punch in the code to your keypad, refusing to be defeated by packs of frozen fruit, greek yogurt, jason’s protein powder, and his mandatory cereal boxes. the beep and green light compelled a satisfied noise out of you and you immediately bouldered into your apartment, stumbling through the garden of your shoes and jason’s, and into the kitchen within a single, hurried stride.

“jase?!” you grunted loud from below, setting the groceries down as soon as the handles pressed into a certain spot in your vein that made you wince. jason’s voiced boomed from above.

“yeah?!”

as much as you hated it when jason left his soda out, today would be an exception. you downed it in one dreamy gulp, and you could feel your body absorb the sugars, working overtime to churn it into energy afterward.

“can you put the groceries back for me?! i want to go shower!” the kitchen sink alleviated some of that humidity built atop your hands, but you needed it off your body.

“yeah!” jason shouted out. “i’ll be down in a sec!”

it took you a moment, still high from the amount of energy you’ve exerted within the short amount of time, but the air smelled sweetly familiar. of vanilla, brown sugar, a hint of cinnamon, you sniffed out.

must’ve baked the cookies i froze for him. you looked around, a sudden desperate need for another ounce of sugar in your body after your commendable performance today.

and of course, he ate them all.

as soon as you came up the stairs, jason met you outside with a kiss—a password to your bedroom, you’d reckon.

your arms opened up for a hug. “they didn’t have the flavor you wanted, so i—“ but embracing the body of your lover, they were immediately occupied by a pile of your clothes for the night.

“yeah, yeah! that’s fine.” jason began nudging, then pushing you to the bathroom, scrunching his face. “you stink, go shower.”

“wait, why are you acting—“ bewilderment passed you as you stumbled back, and your curiosity was met by more push back, literally. the latter looked nerved, unusually antsy, and that was never a good sign. “jason, are you okay—“

“uh-huh, yeah! yeah, yeah. fine.” before you could even get another question out, the door slammed shut. “wash up! i’m gonna put the groceries back!”

oooookay..?

it took a few beats to register what exactly happened, but all of it was buried to the back of your mind as soon as you started the shower. refreshing and cooling as that soda you downed earlier.

damn, i should’ve restocked on that…

the cold draft cooled your damp skin when you stepped out the bathroom, releasing harbored humidity, and your stress for the day left along with it.

“hey,” your voice echoed while you stepped downstairs, expecting jason to either be on the couch or in the kitchen, most likely eating away at your snacks. “what do you want to eat for dinner—“

“jason?” instead, you were met with complete darkness—well, as dark as it could be while impending dusk approached your windows.

he wasn’t on the couch, entertainment-free.

you stepped into the kitchen. not there, either. the groceries were put away, but the plastic bags were scattered around the floor. not a single soul, a whisper, or a sound, except for the crinkle of the bags as you stashed them into your recyclables.

either the shower cleared your sinuses, or jason plugged in a new wall fragrance, because the smell was sweeter compared to before. chocolate in its new top note, and vanilla, again, in its base.

it was strange, you checked the oven. though it was warm, nothing was out of place. then the fridge, nope—jason didn’t stash any leftovers there. once again, catalogued the entire kitchen, suspiciously nothing.

you figured you’ll ask jason about it later, whenever he would come back, but for now, your priority was satiating that grumble in your stomach. as you browsed through your fridge for ingredients after turning on the lights, the cooling air wafted the sweetness away, only for it to return stronger.

and just as quick as the smell of chocolate returned, the lights flickered off.

“what the—“ you turned, and your curiosity was immediately startled by the presence of the missing man. “jesus, jason. where were—“

the only source of light that lit the room came from a soft yellow blur that flickered near jason’s chin. gentle, then not so when he took a step. another waver of light when the draft caught onto the light as he approached you. the light grew bigger, flickered stronger, as if it was connected to your heart and memorized every beat, and the smell of chocolate was pleasantly stringent to your nose.

cake.

it was a chocolate cake all along, and jason held it with a smile that had been shadowed by the candle. anxiously, you’ve never seen him wore it with a grin before, but it made your heart skip another beat, then two when he confessed.

“happy birthday,” the dark of your orbs refracted the candlelight, yellow and orange light reunited with a wave, several excited waves as if they’ve lost you, and the smoke burning off it cooled the impending wetness of your eyes.

“what— what is this?” your breath hiked, and the candles found it calming, like the sea breeze as it brushed against them—through them. “what are—“

it felt like an eternity since you’ve been celebrated. no, it had been an eternity.

tears slowly rolled down your cheeks as you felt years pass by, heard the cries of a child that received nothing.

the first year, it was because you were expecting of it. a gift that was never promised, but your hands were bare of nothing.

the second year, it was hope. something that clung onto because you were promised something.

the third year. it was denial. it had to be this year, right? you rocked yourself to sleep the night before.

the fourth year. anger. you screamed as if a gift was the only testament in the world to truly display a parent’s love for their child.

then, the fifth year. acceptance.

and since, you’ve matured, learned why, and thought it was for the better.

“make a wish,” jason said calmly, breaking you from the spell of your own thoughts.

“what?” you croaked weakly.

years of sheltering your birthday made you clueless, but luckily, jason was here to teach you—to remind you.

“make a wish, then blow.” as much as he wanted to hold you right now, he couldn’t risk his hard work dropping to the floor.

“oh—“ you did as you were told. you wished silently, closing your eyes until another swell of tears were forced to roll out, then blew.

when jason turned the lights back on, the sight of the cake pulled a laugh out of you. slanted in its position, chocolate smeared all over the cake board, thick icing to cover up the mistakes, you laughed until you wiped tears.

“did you bake this for me?” you snickered, taking the cake and setting it down, because you needed to hug him, embrace him, squeeze him.

“god,” jason laughed, pressed a kiss to your head as he took you in with a strong hug. “if i bought a cake that looked like that, i’d demand two refunds. one for the cake, and one for the happiness they swindled from me.”

“i told you not to, though!” you playfully beat at his chest, the blush on your cheeks pulled a smile wider than you have ever felt, than jason had ever seen. “why?”

“because,” he sighed, then pressed his forehead to yours, holding your damp gaze like it was a prayer. the tension in both your bodies go limp, and he held you closer, worshipping you until he became besotted in your smell, your voice, your gaze, your touch.

“because,” jason repeated, and you held his cheeks, caressing his rough skin.

until even your existence wouldn’t be enough to sober him.

“because i love you.”

917 notes · View notes

wandasallerdyce · 9 months

Text

lessons in kissing.

dick grayson x male reader x peter parker.

summary: dick and peter become your professors in kissing 101 (& more).

wc: 6.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!peter, top!dick, bottom!reader, handjobs, blowjobs, kissing, cum-swapping, mouth-fucking, threesome, unprotected rough!sex, reader's first time, characters are aged up!

notes: yeah, so um... this might be my dirtiest smut yet. this was also my first time writing a threesome soooo, i hope i did okay? thank you, anon!

request by: anonymous.

“you’re lying! you’ve really never kissed anyone before?”

“dude, like, ever?!” peter gasped, and you turned towards him, slowly nodding while you grew cautious of everyone’s confusion.

“not even when you were in kindergarten?” you twisted your neck for the nth time at the sound of dick’s voice again, and shame unexpectedly crept onto you the more the two men collected their bafflement together.

your cheeks and neck flamed as they both stared at you, bewildered as if your confession was akin to an unmasking of a superhero—like a family of lemurs, a small one, you’d reckon.

“geez,” your hand clutched onto the can of sparkling water harder before downing it, ridding your insecurity in several hard and fizzy gulps. “if i knew i was going to be interrogated, i wouldn’t have told you guys in confidence.”

“no, it’s just…” a careful exchange was puzzled together by the two men. dick shrugged and peter stammered, following you into the kitchen of his apartment. “i mean, not to make you feel weird or anything, but you’re not ugly.”

“i- pete, was that supposed to be a compliment?” your eyes narrowed at him jokingly, maintaining the coldness of your gaze to break peter into nervous stammers.

“w-what, no!“ he shook his head and approached you closer, a mixture of awkward laugher filling the feigned tension between the both of you. “wait- no, i mean, yes! it’s a compliment.”

you’ve always found it cute.

“i think what peter means is…” bouncy steps followed you two into the kitchen, more-so to sate his appetite for pizza after losing his tenth consecutive match on a game, but consider his curiosity piqued. a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese didn’t stop him from joining. “you’re handsome, he talks about it all the time.”

“dude...” peter grumbled and instinctively turned his body away out of your sight, sipping at nothing in his cup. the only fizz left was the glare he sent dick; like a sparkler on holiday festivities.

“oops, my bad,” another bite, and dick took his cup of soda to gulp the grease down. “we find you handsome—though, i’m pretty sure (m/n) knew that since i hit on him when we first met.”

“god,” you laughed it off, picking the pizza box of gloopy cheese to take it in your mouth. “can you imagine? my first kiss being with you? or even peter?”

yes, you can imagine. those thoughts had run rampant since you met them in freshman year of university, expanded upon it even. what would it be like to date dick? how soft were his lips? and the same for peter. sometimes, you’d even think about making out while he was in his spider-man costume, but that fantasy was shamefully bookmarked into a deep abyss of thoughts, only sprouting when you would touch yourself at night.

“why?” peter turned back, almost offended, while dick’s laughter joined you, and you swear you can feel a draft from how quickly he twisted around. “is that weird?”

“kinda?” the conversation made you shift on your feet. it was more intimate than what you were used to, and they knew it too, judging by the way they both stared at you again—hyenas. “i mean, i guess it’s because we’re so close now, so…”

“pft, that never stopped me,“ it was like a magic spell drew that confession out of dick. your fingers would have to be cut to coerce that out of you, but you weren’t dick—shameless and confident, you admired it on good days.

nonetheless, you and peter both gave dick a questioning look. offended would be a regular person’s first reaction, but from the brief exchange you and peter shared, it was unanimous that curiosity took the lead.

dick’s gaze shifted from you and peter, and when the silence drew out for longer than he would’ve thought, a welcoming draft in the room awaited his rebuttal. “come on- you seriously think i stopped thinking about you guys just because we’re best friends now?

“dude, you think about me?” peter’s eyes widened. it would’ve been hilarious if you weren’t involved. you would’ve passed this off as a banter, no more than that.

you hated to admit it, but you felt yourself throb at this revelation. blood rushed downwards in light speed and you were barely conscious to the drone of peter and dick’s chatter, but you shook it off, laughing at their banters like you aways did.

the day went on like usual. peter’s collection of video games kept you guys entertained for a few hours. when you felt fatigued from mashing your thumb onto the buttons for the ninth match, a walk downtown sufficed. laughing and bantering were the core of your friendship with dick and peter—like every friendship you’d imagine.

but at its finest, it was their vulnerabilities to you, and yours to them, that kept the foundation strong. they trusted you with every secret of theirs, aided them in a few missions of their own, and your friendship thrived.

the next few days haven’t been exactly the smoothest. you were quieter than usual, and they both took notice because you’d pick at your food while their voices—questions and comments—were ignored, passersby to the street of hearville.

was it that weird to have never kissed at your age? to never have had sex? to not even have had held hands with another guy? they never made fun of you, but you couldn’t help but let these thoughts run rampant.

no. no, it wasn’t. people have their own pace. mine... just somehow happens slower.

you weren’t insecure, but you still felt weird. you suddenly became moody when you saw dick and peter, like you want to be left alone, push them out of your apartment when they drop a visit, drop their pants and suck them off-

oh.

ohhhhh.

dick and peter.

“teach me.” you suddenly spoke out and the two men looked up from their plate of food, exchanging a look with each other before questioning you, humored because you barely spoke all day. the tv played in the background and you were all sitting on the ground, eating off of peter’s very… very small coffee table.

“ah, i almost forgot what your voice sounded like, (m/n)!” dick laughed, twirling his fork into his pasta before shoving the food into his mouth.

you made a slight pout, only because they weren’t taking you seriously. though, to be fair, you have been acting weird all week.

“with what?” peter noticed, a little more serious in his inquiry. but food was more of a priority for him, you can see him practically sweating at the thought of leaving his spaghetti cold.

“pete, you can still eat-“ you laughed, taking a bite of your food.

“oh, thank god.” and peter does the same, chowing down on his spaghetti after a hard day of saving lives.

dick cleaned his palette with a cold gulp of soda, a refreshing hiss when the bubbles trickled down his throat. “so, teach you what exactly?” he continued on. “fighting? oh, dude, are you going to be a vigilante-“

“no, no! does it look like i have the strength to be like batman or something?”

“well, i’m guessing that’s why you came to us for training?” dick amused himself, and peter chuckled, much to your annoyance.

“guys, i don’t want to be a vigilante.” you grumbled, beginning to bury your confession deep in the pit of your stomach somewhere. “or a superhero, or a guy in a spider-suit with weird web things.”

“hey, they’re not weird-“

“i want to…” it was calming to watch the way your fork swirled itself into the pasta, metal tongs pierced and capturing a wave of sauce and spaghetti all in one swirl. “learn what it’s like to kiss.”

peter choked on his glass of water.

you continued, hot in the cheeks because you can see peter’s widened eyes even when you look away. “handjobs, blowjobs, everything…”

and a piece of dick’s meatball was caught in his throat.

a low drone accompanied the silence once the tv was muted and while a huge weight lifted off your shoulders and chest, you felt small knowing how vulnerable and weird your request sounded.

“so, you want us to teach you how to…” dick cleared his throat and you feel like you could hear a smile, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind trying to convince you that everything was fine. “kiss and… other things?”

“yeah,” you continued to avoid your gaze, opting for the wooden floor instead. “i know, it’s weird. you don’t have to say yes or anything, it’s just-“

“is that why you’ve been acting stand-offish lately? peter was worried. he was the type to always blame himself of someone else’s behavior, no matter how much you tried to reassure him. though, you guess, he technically was the reason why you became so moody—part of it, anyway.

“mhm.” the silence was defeating, you can hear their necks turn to look at each other—of judgement, most likely.

and it was all but confirmed when you can see them hopping back onto their feet and running—running as far from you as possible. “guys, wait, i’m sorry-“

you looked up and watched them dash to peter’s bathroom, immediately chasing after the trail of their steps in bewilderment. “what are you-“

“first step, make sure you have good breath.” dick handed you your toothbrush, his spare one at peter’s already brushing into the foaming spearmint in his mouth.

“atleastluntilhelikeyousenough” peter gargled thick and incoherent, brushing into his jumbled sentence.

“uh-huh, okay… seems a little obvious, but…” you spread the toothpaste on the bristles of your brush and began brushing, a smile forming because you have to brush the front teeth too—but also because of your best friends.

you can always count on them.

“you ready?” dick naturally became the leader of this impromptu training program. he was the most experienced considering how many women and men you caught him with, and as much as you hated that when you were roommates with him, his expertise was needed in this moment.

“yes.” you sat in the middle of peter and dick, rubbing your sweaty palms against your shorts. a mere flash of regret ignited inside of your beating heart, but peter rested his hand on top of one of yours, squeezing ever so gently to warm and soothe you—to pacify you.

and your worries were quelled when dick does the same, his smile softer, countering his usual playful attitude. “just stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable.” he made you feel safe.

you looked at peter, and he nodded in agreement, his fingers now intertwined with yours. he had always kept you safe, feeling safe, this was a normal feeling towards him. “same with me.” “i will.” your voice was quiet in the bedroom, a mere soft whisper, but they recognized your will to be more vulnerable with one another, to blossom. and dick appeased it with a kiss.

light and feathery at first to test the water, but once dick heard your breath hitch, he applied more pressure in between your lips, capturing them in a slow waltz that kept you on your toes, yet flat on your feet to contain your excitement—your relief.

it was awkward at first, to find your footing. your nose would bump into his, teeth as well, but dick chuckled, assuring you this will always happen.

unbeknownst to you, dick’s been wanting to do this since he met you, and he savored every second. “remember what i told you… build it up.” he reminded you because you were getting eager, following his lead but returning his kiss in hard sucks. “nice and slow.”

peter’s palm on your thigh pressed gently onto your bare skin, mistakenly under the lift of your shorts because he was too in awe of the kiss, but they grounded you from your brief flight to the heavenly clouds nonetheless.

“nice and slow…” dick repeated, and you succumbed to his reminder like a prodigy. “that’s it.” it lasted for a few seconds longer until you pulled away to capture your breath again. your lips tingled still, remembering the taste of spearmint when dick’s breath ghosted on your skin.

“was that okay?” an innocent question, but you swore you stole that exact same tone from a porn you watched the other day.

“a natural,” dick laughed, stroking your hair back and you’ve never see him so affectionate—loving, as he doted on you. “try it on peter. more touching though, if you’re okay with that.”

you nodded and turned your head, meeting peter’s gaze with a flushed smile, your lips slightly swollen from your previous endeavor. “I’m okay with that.”

“me too.” peter smiled, only softening when you leaned in, and it completed hid against you when you captured his smile with a kiss.

his hand gently placed on the back of your head when you did and he pulled you closer into him, returning the kiss, and spilling his breath into yours, while at the same time, drawing yours out. “rub my chest, i like it when people do that.” peter whispered in between each kiss.

you do as you were told, a gentle hand to peter’s broad chest, and you feel yourself tightening, satisfied with how intimate this all is as you felt the muscles on his chest through the fabric.

in the meantime, dick’s been squeezing at the bulge in his pants, containing his will to completely ravish you simply by watching the way you and peter made out. he’s always been observant, noticing the strong twitching of peter’s own erection, and soon yours when peter slid his tongue into your mouth.

it was tantalizing—breath-taking— watching intimacy build up and vulnerabilities become unimaginably pliant before him. the pink muscles looped and swirled with one another, spreading and sharing sticky saliva until your mouth and peter’s were practically coated in it, glossed in sheen.

when peter pulled away, your lips were immediately stolen by dick again, kissing you with more strength than before, stubbornly refusing the chance for you to restock on oxygen as he wanted a taste of you too. the air became thicker, harder to breathe, but you basked in the taste, the wetness of dick’s tongue, and allowed yourself to become weak in his arms when he took you in, embraced you closely. “mmf...” you moaned out, breathing harder.

but just like dick, peter wasn’t finished with you, directing his tongue and lips to the back of your neck when you turned away. his ticklish and fleeting kisses pulled you back into peter’s arms, but dick noticed and pulled you forward: a stubborn game of gentle tug of war.

they wanted you, every piece of you. it was telling as peter sucked into your neck, venomous and poisoning, and when dick began directing your hand under his shirt, allowing you to feel his toned stomach and chest, and eventually his clothed erection, making you squeeze around it with an open palm.

lessons have completely escaped to the back of minds, and all that remained was pure lust.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to.” dick reassured. though, ironically, his hand atop of yours, relieving the ache in his pants continued.

through swollen lips, you managed to mutter, distracted by peter’s bruising sucks to other areas of your neck and skin, whimpering when he bit a little too hard. “i did say teach me everything…” his hands were under your shirt now, warming your bare skin with his palms, excited, but fleeting as they immediately tied to the buttons of your shorts when you gave the okay.

“hey, hey,” dick laughed, watching the way peter has grown grandly impatient. “you’re going to scare him, horn dog.” he left a kiss on your lips, a quick one before leaning past you to kiss peter.

you watched in awe at what a kiss was supposed to be like: burning with ease and passion with every stroke of their lips, no hesitation at all—just a moment of time that they’ll remember. you backed into the bed and leaned against the headboard as they kissed at the foot. you don’t remember having your hand down your shorts, but you do, palming yourself to your own private show.

the kiss ran sloppy, drool dripping down either chins, stained with intimacy, and clothes were quickly tossed to the side, with no care in the world.

you followed.

even though you were similar height to peter, he was stronger—they both were. and now, you felt smaller as they climbed onto the bed, towards you, bare and hardened. you watched breathlessly, as their cocks swung heavy with heat. peter’s pre-cum dripped thickly in yearn for something to fuck, while dick’s throbbed for something to fill—a porn scene come to life—and you were left agape, jaw and legs.

“kinda surprised we’ve never done this sooner,” peter said, you weren’t used to his voice so low. kneeling on the bed, by your left hip, he took your hand and kissed the palm, the wrist of it, skimmed his lips over your forearm before guiding It toward his cock, aching for your touch. “though, was hoping i’d have you to myself, but…” gently, your hand was cradled to wrap around his shaft, warm and running with veins, it pulsed. “this works too.”

your chest rose with every spoken word, and peter has never looked hotter. taking control of you like that made your skin crawl, a spell that commanded you to move your hand back and forth, conjuring you to pump him in slow strokes.

contrary to his overall demeanor, his actions were of warmth. caresses to your head, doting on you with honey dripping from his gaze and cotton in touch while you sinned.

you didn’t know where to look—to fall in love with the way peter gazed at you like a painting in a museum, or to salivate over the way his pre-cum leaked thickly over your hand when you squeeze it out of him, like a bottle of maple syrup.

that became more a problem—a dilemma—when you felt a wetness over your right nipple, then a sting when dick bites to get your attention—selfish and stubborn, like always. “are you sure this wasn’t a tactic to get all three of us in the same room? you seem comfortable.”

he tongued your nub, flicking back and forth to make you squirm, to hear the sound of your moans, to be the reason you have trouble sleeping at night. alongside, his palm ran over your body—chest first, down your stomach, and finally, your erect cock and balls.

you watched, breathless, continuing to stroke peter’s cock and he’d lean over to give you a few kisses here and there. for the most part, he was content like this, watching you squirm while maintaining to do the best to pleasure him.

“no, i swear- it’s just-“ dick played with your balls, squeezing and tugging on the tight sack to loosen them. every man was sensitive down there, you were no exception. “you guys made me feel safe, so…”

“well,” you looked up when peter spoke, his eyes fluttered shut, and you only got them to open when you thumbed the slit of his head, rubbing slick all over his glans, then the length of his cock when you continued stroking. “we are superheroes.”

you all laughed, switching gazes between the both of them, but it was dick’s mouth suddenly wrapping around you that made you concentrate only on him.

“oh, fuck…” warmth surrounded you, inhaled you in one shallow breath, before dick pulled you out of his wet mouth, taunting you with the loss of heat.

“it’s just like kissing,” he said, licking a stripe over the underside of your cock, tonguing his favorite spot: the neck of the glans and the frenulum. dick followed the lines of flesh with precision, leading the very tip of his tongue into the duct of your urethra—once again, tonguing it while his eyes focused on you, devious. “but let curiosity take you further and explore every part of their body.”

“m-mm…” you were sure there was meaning to his words, but they fell on deaf ears. instead, you focused on the ample heat that engulfed you again, moaning.

“every.” dick took you in and pulled you out with a pop.

“fuck-“ you breathed out, curling your toes into the sheets.

“part.” holding your cock up and stroking sloppily, he inhaled your ballsack. sweaty and musty, they must’ve been, but dick devoured the scent, the taste of sins with hungry sucks and licks—ardent and full of fervor.

and at the moment where you most expected to let out a moan, it was shoved down your throat when peter suddenly situated you in between his legs and filled your mouth with his thick cock, smelling of sweat and sex when you inhaled near his trimmed hairs.

“come on,” peter briefly pulled out, tapping the plump tip over your lips. “you learn best when you demonstrate what you’ve been taught.”

peter covered your view of dick, but you weren’t sure if you needed to see him because you felt every maneuver of dick’s tongue, now drowning your cock with his mouth while he continued assaulting your sensitive balls, tugging and squeezing.

you looked up and peter never looked bigger, more intimidating, but it’s become your new addiction, and you take his cock, holding it thick and take in what you can. it was barely past the tip before you could feel yourself gagging, but with peter’s reassurance, you swallow more of him every time you went down, slicking him up with your spit.

“how’s he doing, pete?” your cock was left cold when dick pulled away to speak, but he made up for it with his hand, stroking his spit with your cock.

“he really is a natural.” peter chuckled, watching you with a scrunched face of pleasure whenever you pulled him deeper into your mouth. almost down your throat now, but he pulled his cock back completely before you can fully take him. “you try.”

“fuck, yes.” dick leaped over and used the spit from your length earlier to lube his own cock, spitting in his palm and stroking when it wasn’t slicked to his likening while peter scooted back to kneeling at your side, stroking himself now.

as your head was positioned in between both their cocks, dick’s was bigger, thicker—a mouth stretcher you’d imagine. but peter’s was longer, veinier, and the only thing they had in common was that their balls hung loose. in porn terms, hung like a horse.

and on this very day, you considered yourself a lucky man because you have no objection to either, no will to pick and choose.

“look at you,” dick’s voice was rugged, deep, and he pushed his cock past your swollen lips. there was a clear difference in girth. your mouth was stretched wide, and you could only hum a sound of satisfaction, even with the slight sting from the stretch of skin. “who knew you’d be such a cock lover, hm?”

“he can’t get enough of it, god…” peter was in awe, salivating and stroking quicker at the sight.

two hands kept dick’s cock still in your mouth while you sucked on the bulbous tip like a lollipop. the rest of your hands stroked whatever you couldn’t mange to fit in your mouth. you were apologetic at first, but dick’s smirk told a simple story of his ego, clearly aroused by the size of his own cock as it only grew wider when you struggled downing him, gagging with a whimper.

“come on… (m/n), you can do better than that. you were so good at sucking peter off, kissing us too. what happened?” dick pulled away to stroke himself with your spit, but he quickly buried any excuses into your throat when he pushed himself into your mouth.

“you’re too comfortable now, (m/n). you’re slacking…” peter joined the banter, and when dick pulled out of your mouth, peter’s cock replaced the loss of warmth to your surprise.

holy shit, this is happening.

like a see-saw, the two men alternated in filling your mouth, stuffing saliva further and further down your throat, without allowing a single excuse from you to escape. it’s buried now, deep in the pit of your stomach, and all you can do was be the prodigy that they wished for you to be.

when it was dick’s turn to stretch your mouth, you made sure that peter’s cock wasn’t left abandoned, stroking him with distracted strokes, and vice versa when it was his turn at your throat. you overworked yourself in pleasuring your two best friends, making sure they were satisfied with you, with your mouth as you took more of them without a single plea for a break.

“fuck, there we go…” occasionally, dick would take control by holding the back of your head and fucking inside of your tight mouth. drool leaked down either corners of your mouth while you let him, tears brimming in your eyes when your throat tightened again, a familiar feeling that dick encouraged to hold back. “there’s my star. taking cock like a good student.”

if there was one thing that these very brief lessons have taught you, you were exactly what they named you: a cock lover. you slurped at whatever—whoever—entered your mouth absentmindedly, spat on cocks that have begun to look more or less the same, because it was dizzying now. your cock was left alone, but it stood tall and proud, throbbing as the two men harassed your face and mouth with their erections. one would gag you while the other had his balls shoved to your face and nose, sliding its wet, dirty slick all over your skin, staining you with lust.

it alternated like this for a while, and you were content, so was dick and peter. but you needed more—something to fill you elsewhere that wasn’t your dirty mouth. and you pleaded with your eyes, looking up at your best friends with delighted tears, a mouthful of cock, and a gaze only a cock loving whore could have—and they recognized it.

peter was reluctant to pull away, he was so close. but he’s always been selfless. he released his hold on you and it was a struggle to pull you away, but he did with your lips suctioning off with a quiet pop. a thick string of spit that once connected between your lips and peter’s cock laid like webs on your chin, cooling as you watched the two men reposition themselves.

“i’m going to assume we don’t need a lesson in how to finger yourself, hm?” dick whispered against your swollen lips and kissed you again. you were entranced under his tongue, swirling all over yours like ocean waves while you touched yourself to his licks. you twisted and pinched your nipples, tugged on them with the occasional help from dick, then stroked your cock while dick continued from peter’s original trail of bruising kisses to mark his own territory on your body. you were as horny as they were, if not hornier, and you needed them inside of you, in any way possible.

“fuck, i need you guys so bad.” breathless in your moans, your legs squirmed when you felt something wet between your thighs when they were raised, peter’s nice girth sliding in between the plump skin.

he thrusted himself slow and steady while he worked on your hole, reaching down to prepare you with his lubed digits, one by one. you’ve done this before, they were surely aware, so it wasn’t a unit that was particularly focused.

in between preparation, your mouth remained on dick’s cock again, delivering him your fullest attention with several lathers of your tongue, sucking hard and hollow, deep into your throat. you remember what he taught you and occasionally stuffed your mouth with his balls, sucking on the weight and letting go with a pull because you got off on seeing how they tensed and jiggled when you did.

“i’ll go slow.” peter leaned in with your legs hooked over his shoulders, bending you back, and kissing the tip of your nose when he was close enough to your face. “tell me if you want to stop.”

once you nodded, allowing him the will to deliver on his promise, peter made sure to lube himself up once more before pushing inside of you, slow and steady. he was careful, watching your face as it scrunched when the head slid in—burned when the rest of him filled you to the brim.

it was almost like you couldn’t breathe. it was too much, to be bearing all of this pain alone, but at the same time, you held peter close, wrapped your arms around him to prevent him from leaving you while you buried tiny whimpers into his neck, because you don’t want to stop feeling it, so full and devoured. it was written all over their faces when you glanced at them—they didn’t want to stop either.

peter and dick decorated your skin in wet kisses, distracting you from the pain while peter began to find a rhythm. although slow, you were beginning to familiarize yourself with this pain. soon after, pleasure, when he struck something inside of you, a certain spot.

“oh- peter, right there, fuck.” your legged tightened around him and the sweat from your thighs rolled back onto your stomach when peter re-adjusted himself to fuck you at a higher angle, folding you onto your back.

“yeah? right here?” peter thrusted into that spot dead-on, like a dart to a bullseye, and you groaned, your throat aching in pleasure, but dick pacified it with his cock again, filling you up once more. “oh fuck, look at you. all of your holes are filled up, fuck… so fucking tight”

“baby, you’re doing a great job, god…” your heart beat when dick called you that. it was always something he said as a joke when he arrived to your place. honey, darling, you name it, but the fact that it came out so genuine, it made your skin flush red and you could only respond in moans while you sucked him off. “i think he likes it when you fuck him like that, pete.”

for the first time, you felt wanted.

peter’s thrusts were hard and strong, his balls swung into with every rhythm. you can see the muscles in his thighs flexing whenever he pounded down into your tight hole, your bodies colliding like waves to a rock. it stung whenever his skin slapped into yours, sweaty and musky, but the sinful sounds were well-worth the prize as you basked in them, in the taste of dick’s cock, the sound of peter’s grunts, the flutter of dick’s eyes when you gargled his cock again, deeper, the sweat dripping from peter’s forehead and body—the bedroom hailed of sex. it rocked of brutal creaks and slams as both of your holes were violated and filled to the very brim, all driven by pure lust.

after some time, they switched spots, tag-teaming so dick can have his turn at your hole. unlike peter, he was rougher, immediately pounding into you because he was sex-crazed about you, couldn’t stop thinking about you since day one of meeting you.

“fuck, better than i’ve ever imagined,” he laughed into your mouth, kissing you sloppily, and pulling away when peter’s cock impatiently wedged himself in between the kiss, and you were back to sucking and jerking off cock again—no complaints. “still so tight, even after peter fucked you so hard…”

“it’s like he was made to be a whore, right?” such vulgar language from your best friends broke the original portrayal you had of them. now, all you could think about was how they wanted to absolutely make a wreck out of you, de-blossom your naive thoughts of what your first time should’ve been like.

it wasn’t what you had imagined. it was supposed to be with one person. a full-time commitment to your relationship. a loving pair holding each other close when they both climax. it was going to be special.

but this… you thought to yourself as you were fucked into the bedsheets with absolutely no mercy, your ass pained and bruised from dick’s muscular hips driving into you every time he came down, harassing you in that familiar spot again.

this was… peter pushed on your bottom lip with two fingers to open your mouth, then spitting in the void, some catching onto your tongue, before shoving his swollen cock inside of you again, aching to touch—to fuck.

dick palmed your cock as you writhed, bent under him, moaned around peter’s long cock. he gathered all of his strength left to tickle you deep, to reach inside of you with his cock, breathless and panting with every thrust that rocked the two of you together—three, when peter fucked into your mouth.

this was so much fucking better.

“holy shit-“ under dick’s touch, you came hard in several thick ropes, all over his fist, and then the sweat of your body when he opened his palm. you were a natural shooter, accidentally spraying your face with your own thick semen, and you heard peter and dick moan in unison, in awe.

seeing you dressed in cum like this had them race each other to their climax. dick fucked you harder, his grasp on your hips bruising and white, while peter held onto your head and met your throat with his cock, repeatedly forceful in strength. you gagged around him, and they only benefitted from every sound you made.

“fuck, i’m going to-“ you watched peter’s abs flexed, tightened as his stomach pooled with pleasure, and you can hear the holy bells ring when he pulled out of your mouth, jerking his wet and slimy cock off until he came undone in thick spurts, all over your pretty face. not a single shot was missed, painting you in white like a canvas with every last drop.

you were still high off of your own orgasm, and you turned your head to watch dick fuck himself into you, clearly wonder-strucked by the scene before him. you were covered in cum all over. they beckoned him to join, the many loads on your body. they were begging now, a mantra of pleas pulled him closer to you, and he can smell the sex off of you, inhaled peter’s musk as well, and again—those holy bells rang.

with the speed of lightning, dick pulled himself out of your abused hole and climbed over to kneel over your chest, fucking into his fist while simultaneously jerking his cock off over your face. to your cum-covered body, to peter kissing his spunk off your cheek and chin then your lips, to the taste of your own cum when you swiped a load off your chest and fed it into dick’s mouth. he suckled, bittersweet salt spread over his tongue, and he was ravished by the taste of you.

dick then pushed his hips out and aimed his cock over your lips, still connected to peter’s for a messy kiss, stroking until the only reason he tore his gaze away was because his lids fell heavy, ceased his sight to roll his eyes back, and came with a shudder. thick ropes of cum inked on your face and peter’s, but most of it fell to your connected lips.

“fuck, that’s hot…” dick muttered, rolling his shoulders back while he milked himself to you and peter making out, cum-stained and all. you moaned at the taste, saltier than yours and peter’s, and peter does the same while scraping a load of warm cum from the corner of your cheek and into his mouth before kissing you again, swapping the gloopy residue with a sloppy exchange of tongues.

he was envious, watching how the sticky load caught onto your lips then peter’s when he squeezed himself dry. before you and peter could take all of his cum for yourself, he leaned down to join peter for a kiss, stealing the mound of cum that peter has expertly hidden on his tongue. dick didn’t know who he was tasting anymore. but whether it was you, peter, or himself, it was delectable, and he wanted to share the delightful taste with you. he spat the mixture of cum and spit inside of your mouth before webbing his lips to yours, sealing it with one final breathless kiss.

“so, are lessons still on for next week or?” peter lay by your side, and dick joined the other, still dizzied from his high as telling by his shut eyes and drawn out pants.

“i mean… i’m still up for it if you guys are?” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to peter’s cheek. you took his smile as an answer and looked to dick for his.

“mm... yeah.” dick sleepily opened his eyes, his locks stuck to his sweaty forehead while he buried himself under the blanket. you felt his arms wrap around your waist once he got comfortable, muttering a kiss to your shoulder before dozing off.

“we’re good teachers, pete.

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wandasallerdyce · 9 months

Text

⚣ Cocky Bastard 😡

⚣😡 A/N → My first Hal Jordan post from my previous account. Conner and Hal fics in the works including the third installment for Primal. Since I revamped the first two parts (especially the second), I pretty much had to re-do the entire piece from beginning to end. So that's why it's been taking a little bit longer than usual but it's coming. Anyway, thank you guys for 100 followers and as promised, those fics are coming. WARNINGS: Dub-Con. Coercion, Implied Jealousy, Slight Harassment, etc. Full NSFW version will be posted to Patreon and AO3.

⚣😡 Prompts Used → @cursedspaceofair – "You know you love me." @thelonelyempath – #7 "Be a good boy and swallow for me."

⚣😡 Summary → Hal Jordan has been an annoying little pest and a thorn in your side ever since you joined the Justice League. His over-inflated ego pushes you to avoid him as much as possible, which in turn, only makes the superhero pester you more. So, how do you succeed in getting the cocky bastard to leave you alone?

⚣😡 Words → 2.2k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💚

⚣ ENJOY 😡

You’d had it up to fucking here with Hal fucking Jordan, the cocky bastard.

Ever since you joined the Justice League, Hal made it his fucking mission to get on your last nerve. Going out of his way with all types of crazy antics to annoy you and get your attention.

And why was he doing it in the first place?

Cause the fucker didn’t have a life, obviously, and just loved messing with yours!

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Superman said while you and he were walking down the hallway after getting out of a meeting.

You joined the Justice League a little under six months ago after your involvement in helping to prevent the world and reality itself from collapsing on itself. Superman, Batman, Flash, Wonder Woman, and others were impressed with your capabilities, and they recruited you into the organization almost immediately. The pure excitement you felt after being invited into the superhero community was unmatched by anything else you had ever felt.

Upon your initiation and induction into the group of crime fighters, they let you create your own superhero alias and supplied you with your own suit that attuned to your abilities. Apparently, they had a guy who specialized in making suits for heroes, so you were excited to see what he came up with.

All your new comrades were super friendly and welcoming. If you had fanboyed a bit when you met some of your favorite heroes, they gave you the grace of pretending they didn’t notice. Of course, not everyone was open upon the first meeting, but you still got along with them just fine, keeping everything cordial and as professional as possible.

Then, you met Hal.

“You the new recruit?” Hal asked, approaching you in the hallway while taking a break from one of your training sessions with Black Canary.

“Yep, that’s me! You must be Green Lantern. It’s good to meet you. I’m a big fan of your work.” You said with a smile while holding your hand out for a handshake. The green-masked man only smirked back at you, not acknowledging your outreached hand while placing his own on his hips in a semi-pose.

“Of course, why wouldn’t you be?” He replied, the cocky look on his face not doing much to help his first impression on you.

You slowly put your hand down, realizing you were only embarrassing yourself by keeping it up, waiting for him to return your gesture. When you figured there was nothing else to say, you started to make your way back inside the training room.

“Let me know if you want any pointers on combat. I saw you training there, and no offense, but you definitely could use my help.”

The way your body immediately came to a screeching halt was almost comical. You turned around to see him still looking behind you, only now he was dusting and shining his ring. Holding in your temper and the less-than-holy words at the tip of your tongue, you just gave him a nod in return. “Will do.”

You continued into the training room, quickly moving before he could say something else that would piss you off. Black Canary noticed a little more aggression in your combat after that and asked about it, and only had one response in mind.

“I hate cocky bastards.”

Anyways, back to you and Big Blue.

“No, Superman, it really is that bad. I swear I’m this close to punching the dickwad in his dick.” You fumed, barely holding yourself back from creating a hole in the wall.

“Well, what has he done?” The Kryptonian asked.

“What hasn’t he done?!” You exclaimed.

It was true. And though the Kryptonian was feigning ignorance, he could clearly see his comrade in green was purposely going out of his way to irritate the Justice League’s newest member. He wasn’t doing anything to hide it, either. Batman had to say something to get him to lay off for a bit, but this was Hal Jordan we were talking about. When does this guy ever listen to anything that’s not the sound of his own fucking voice?

No, seriously. The dude’s got a thing for hearing his own voice. Cyborg found a folder of voice recordings on his phone of Hal boasting about himself, saying some of the most outrageous things making him seem like the god of all heroes. You’d definitely be holding on to that for blackmail if it got to that point, and knowing this fucker, it would.

First, it was the snarky comments on every little thing you did.

“Wow, the way you just sat there and took that beating. Next time, just call me for help since you obviously need it.”

He almost got slapped for that.

“Seriously, a child could disarm a bomb better than you did. You’re lucky I was here to shield you. Guess that means you owe me one.”

He was really just asking for it at this point.

“Wow, you really must be desperate. You know, just cause most of us do wear skin-tight clothing for our suits doesn’t mean we go around just trying to show our butt to every guy that walks by unless you’re Nightwing. But either way, Superman’s not going to fuck you just cause you’ve got a fat ass.”

Somehow, everyone knew it was you, turning their gazes in your direction when Hal walked into the tactical meeting with a bloody nose and a big purple bruise on his cheek.

But you’d think Hal getting his shit rocked would get him to start backing off and leaving you alone. Again, this was Hal fucking Jordan we were talking about. The man couldn’t recognize a back-off warning if it punched him in the face. Which, you did…hard.

Apparently, that was all he needed to turn up his asshole behavior to another level.

You’d swear this man was a teenager in high school. He’d hide stuff like your phone or civilian clothes around the Watchtower when you were in the showers after a training session or workout. Always going out of his way to one-up you on missions, proving his ‘superiority’ over you. He took your suit and dyed it your least favorite color (how he knew that was a mystery), making you the posterboard joke of the League for a week until they could get the dye out.

All because you commented how Batman would have a better chance in a fight against Superman than him because he took time to study his opponent and used whatever resources he had on him or around him while Hal was too busy living up his own ass to remember to charge his ring sometimes.

You’d even brought up how Hal got his ass handed to him twice in under five minutes when he met Superman for the first time during the Darkseid invasion.

It was a fair point!

“Okay, I get it. You’re upset. But Hal has actually been quiet lately, hasn’t he?” Clark stated, trying to find a middle ground. He’d been hoping you two would have found a resolution by now while the others made bets on when you would snap and who’d be the victor in the fight that surely would never happen.

Yeah, no. This was more entertaining than some of the missions they went on.

Though, your comrades, including Clark, were not aware of something. Why you were so mad right now was also tied to the reason Hal had calmed down in his routine of making your life hell in front of everyone. Now, he was doing it behind closed doors.

It was last week. You were in the command center, studying over some paperwork Batman assigned to you so you could understand protocols and codes more. It was quiet in the Watchtower, considering most of the heroes were either off on a mission or doing whatever they do in their personal lives. The quiet was enjoyable, or at least it was until a certain brown-haired pest came and disturbed your peace.

You did your best to ignore him, but the motherfucker was persistent. At one point, he’d grabbed the papers you were reading and held them away from you when you tried to get them back. He laughed at the frustration on your face making your fist twitchy again to re-introduce itself to his cheek.

“Hal, give me back those files. I need to finish reading over them before tomorrow.” You demanded, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aw, does the little rookie have to finish his homework, or Daddy Batman might ground him?” He mocked you in a baby voice. You eyed the papers he kept trapped in a green bubble, moving them away from you anytime you got too close.

The sixth or seventh time he yanked it out of your grip, you were seriously ready to murder this man.

“Oh my god, why are you so insufferable!? What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?” You snapped.

“You know you love me. Though, it’s hard for me to tell since you’re always spending so much time with Superman and never actually pay any attention to me.” He replied.

You couldn’t believe your ears, “Are you fucking kidding me? You constantly fuck with and annoy me just because you want attention?”

“That’s what I just said, didn’t I?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to hold on to the #1 rule Batman taught you about not killing. Though it wasn’t really working at this moment.

“Hal, have you ever once considered that maybe I don’t want to be around you because all you do is talk about yourself or find ways to insult and degrade others because you’ve got an ego the size of the galaxy?”

“Yes. But, in my defense, I’m horribly insensitive.” He stated with an indifferent expression.

At least he was aware of it.

“Oh, my god. Fine, whatever. If I spend the next ten minutes with you doing whatever you want, will you leave me in peace for the rest of the night?”

His eyebrows shot up in an intrigued manner.

“Whatever I want?” He asked, clarifying your statement.

You nodded your head but suddenly felt like you should have just turned around and left the room when you saw the smile on his face.

“Deal.” He said, holding his hand out for a handshake.

Oh, now he wants to shake hands.

You grasped his gloved hand, feeling the fitness from his grip. You also felt his thumb tracing up the back of your own hand, but you decided to ignore that.

“Alright. Now, what do you want?” You asked after releasing your hand from his.

Without saying anything, he walked around you and sat at the long table, turning around in the swivel seat with his legs open.

“Get on your knees.” He ordered.

Now, your own eyebrows were shooting up.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get on your knees,” He repeated, the cocky smirk returning to his face, “You’re gonna suck my dick.”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to punch you again?”

“No, I want my dick sucked. Am I not being clear enough? Put your lips around my penis and suck it.”

“Are you actually being serious right now?”

“You said whatever I wanted. Well, this is what I want. Now will you honor that, or will Batman have to hear about your failure in doing your assigned reading?” He said, a cheeky expression in his look towards you.

You considered just walking out the door. But, you also knew Batman would only assign you more reading to do on top of extra training if you didn’t finish this by the morning. So, you swallowed your pride and moved in front of the masked man, getting on your knees.

“That’s a good boy.” He smiled, looking down at you with leering eyes as you began to pull down his pants. You didn’t know you could even do that with his suit. You thought it was all just one piece since it would fully come on or off depending on if he had his ring on or not.

This bastard.

After that, Hal made it his mission to keep pestering you whenever you were busy in hopes he could get another blowjob. Though, it did help in keeping him out of your hair for the most part. Only, he still got extra aggressive a couple of times whenever he knew you were with Superman or even mentioned his name.

“Y/N!” Clark yelled, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” You asked, coming back to reality.

“I said Hal’s been quiet recently, hasn’t he? He’s been leaving you alone, right?” The Kryptonian asked.

Before you could answer, you looked down the hallway and saw a familiar green mask staring at you. That same dark expression in his eyes, staring at you and the blue and red-clad superhero next to you as you two were talking. Was he there the entire time?

Before Superman could notice him, he walked around the corner, but not before stopping to grab his crotch, shaking it at you before heading around the corner. You could expect a visit from him later on.

You turned back to Clark, not sure why you were about to lie for this man.

“Yeah, no. He’s been leaving me alone. He’s still a cocky bastard, though.”

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wandasallerdyce · 9 months

Text

pain and suffering

gif credits

summary: to which criminals run from the shadows, and the shadows run home to you.

pairing: frank castle x male reader x matt murdock

word count: 4k

warnings: 18+ warning, unprotected s3x, dom!mattfrank, bottom!reader, double pen3tration, blowj0bs, mentions of violence

a/n: i got this request like a whole month ago and im sorry to anon it took me a while to think of this

masterlist | more matt murdock

The night air looms over Hell’s Kitchen. A normal person might hear the honking of cars and the loud chitchat of people in the street, but to a man like Daredevil, he hears everything. He hears Sally from down the street, crying as her husband comes home drunk, or Dominic, stealing another purse to pay for his brother’s medical bills. The city is not just a cluster of sounds for a man like the Devil, it’s a war cry. His city needs help, so he braces for the jump, a leap into the battlefield.

To him, pain and suffering is a saint. The pain of every hit, every jab, and every punch. To Matt Murdock, the pain of getting hit is like lashing for every sin he’s made. He is the fist of God, the guardian angel of the Kitchen, his suffering is the price for the safety of his people. So to him, yes, pain and suffering is the saint that guides him, the adrenaline to jump, to fight, to stand back up and fight again because he knows if he doesn’t, worse men will.

He sits wounded on top of a building, the hanging laundry hiding him from plain sight. He pants, blood gushing from his lower rib. But then he smells it: gunpowder. The sound of clanking metal and rubber boots walking closer to him. He knows that smell, the smell of danger, the smell of bad news, the smell of The Punisher.

“They hit ya’ pretty bad tonight Red,” his rough voice roared across the building. He smells of blood, not his blood, but the blood of at least thirty other men.

“I don’t need your help, Frank,” Matt said, wincing as he tried to stand.

“I doubt that,” he was closer to Matt, he took the rear end of his rifle and pressed it to Matt’s wound, he cried out in pain. “See?”

“I don’t need any help from you.”

“That’s your problem, Red. You’re so self-righteous. You’re out here bleeding yourself to death thinking God sent you here on earth to be his punchin’ bag,'' he puts the rifle down, the metal butt hitting the floor. “You think your God can miraculously heal your wounds? The Devil ain’t no saint.”

“And you’re any better?” Matt spat. “You wear that skull on your chest and you think that gives you the license to be a killer?” he licks his dried-up lips, the wounds weighing on him. “You’re a beast, Frank. A wild creature with no self-control, bloodthirsty, and—and inhumane.”

Frank was right, but Matt’s pride would never take any help from Frank Castle, he’s a murderer, a cold-blooded killer, and men like him have no place roaming the streets of New York. Matt tries to walk away from Frank, he could feel the blood drip into his waist, his head dizzy. Before he could even reach a meter away from Frank he feels the pull of the earth and drops into the cement floor, out cold.

“Dumbass,” Frank spat.

—

To Frank Castle, pain and suffering is a weapon.

Pain is the bullet to the head of a wife beater, a pedophile, a human trafficker, and any other demented fuck that helps in spreading crime in his city. He sniffs in the scent, it’s nauseating, the smell of garbage and piss, the smell of dead bodies piled in a heap for the cops to find. The blood pooled on his boots, painting them red. He reloads the gun, pulling on the lever that locks the bullet in the barrel, ready for the trigger.

“Please, man. I have a wife and two kids,” the bald man begged. His shirt was soaked in blood, a bullet grazed his hip. He walks backward achingly, his back hitting the wall. “Fuck, man I swear I don't know anything ‘bout this! ”the man kneels in front of Frank, his hands together like he’s praying.

Pain is the bullet that ends all suffering.

Bang!

The man falls on the concrete, blood dripping out of his skull. Frank wipes the blood splatter on his face with his sleeve. He takes the pistol and slides it into the holster on his thigh. He grabs the man’s sleeve and pulls him into the heap. No loose ends.

Frank takes his rifle and leaves. Taking the rooftops so the cops won’t see him. His body is sore, but it was never a hindrance. He sees a red blur across the building. The Devil himself, running from a bunch of men. Frank notices the Devil walking strangely, a hand on his left to cover a bleeding wound.

He takes the sniper rifle and aims it at the four men searching for the masked vigilante. He reloads the rifle, and one by one the men drop dead. The Devil was clueless as to where the bullets came from. He walks over to the wounded man, lumped over the side of a rooftop wincing in pain.

Frank had always admired the Devil’s determination, always standing back up after a fight, the line he wouldn’t cross, it amused Frank in a way. He liked to toy with it, always putting the red vigilante in positions where his moral code is tested.

You know you’re one bad day away from becoming like me.

Frank once told him, and he guessed it wasn’t true. Despite how hard the world hit him, he never crossed that line. That’s why when the Devil ended up face down on the concrete floor he took his body into his shoulder. Carrying his body to the only place he knew would understand the situation. To the person that knew the creed of pain and suffering.

He stands in front of the wooden door, the door was locked. Not his first instinct to knock, because he knew he would always be let in. He knocked on the door, no answer. He knocked louder, banging on the door, the sounds echoing throughout the hallway.

“Jesus Christ, people will hear you,” you said, answering the door.

—

To you, pain and suffering is a curse. The curse that binds people to hospital beds for years, slowly rotting into the sheets as more and more medicine gets pumped into their veins. The curse that brings people into the emergency room, stabbed my knives, with broken knees, amputated fingers, and gunshot wounds through bone and muscle.

You earn money from pain and suffering. Doctor’s fees from people you know can’t even afford it. You always wanted to give them pro-bono, but you weren't loaded like that. That’s why when injured vigilantes were involved, everyone in the New York underground knew your number.

You had known people like Maya Lopez, Misty Knight, Ben Reilly, Ty Johnson, and Tandy Bowen alongside other masked heroes. That’s why when The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen arrived at your door four months ago you didn’t second guess your decision to help him. To you, helping these people would absolve you of being complicit in the suffering of innocent people in the hospital.

“Got your number from Spider-man, hope you don’t mind,” he said, sprawled on your kitchen table covered in blood. His muscular body contracted from the pain as you sewed his wounds shut. You never truly cared about forming connections with your clients, it was more of a get-patched-up-and-leave type of way.

He would often flirt with you whenever he came by, his dimples forming under his mask whenever he smiled or laughed. “Don’t worry Doc’ I’m a big boy,” he said, smiling at you. The smile quickly faded when you dug into his skin to retrieve the bullets on his bicep, a groan leaving his lips. You tried not to think about it, but he's pretty cute.

On one night, a man banged on your door, you rushed to meet a shadow drenched in blood as if it was raining blood from the sky, a white skull on his chest. His hoarse voice groaned as you took him into your kitchen. Multiple bullet wounds, and gashes on his chest, in your personal opinion a person with that many injuries would've ended up on the morgue.

“Did you fall into a meat grinder? What the hell,” you said. You tried your best to patch him up but he needed some blood transfusions.

“Check the bag,” he groaned. Inside were bags of blood from the hospital, all type O, what the fuck.

He stayed in your house for two nights, you checked his vitals every hour to make sure he was still alive. This hasn’t happened before, you’ve never had a client that was on the brink of death. It was always some minor injury, but this man managed to wake up and stand after two days to leave.

You found a bundle of one hundred dollar bills in your mailbox the next day.

—

“Bring him to the couch,” you said. You took Matt’s body as Frank carried his legs, you took his limp body into the sofa, a deep wound on the torso, an easy fix for you at this point. It has been months since you first met the two men in your apartment. You’ve spent multiple nights helping them, in your apartment, or Matt’s, or Frank’s bunker. You were technically associated with them to the point that you know their real names.

“The emergency kit is on the kitchen counter.”

“Got it Doc,” Frank saluted, removing his trench coat and his bulletproof vest, his muscular form bulging through his black shirt. They reeked of blood, you could taste the iron on your tongue.

Matt’s eyes fluttered, his head turning to the sound of your voice. “Hey,” he said, groaning through the pain. You cut his undershirt open, the wound gushing out blood. You took some gauze to soak the viscous liquid, making sure the clotting starts.

“Sit your ass down, Red,” Frank ordered. You managed to sew the wound shut, you gave Matt some pain relievers as his eyes fell back into sleep. You let him rest for a bit, covering him in a fleece blanket. You walked towards Frank, a few cuts on his arms, he was already in the middle of sewing some of them before you helped. “Don’t worry about me, it’s nothin’”

“Make sure you don’t die in my kitchen this time,” you said, walking to the kitchen sink to rinse your bloodied hands. You opened your refrigerator to grab a drink. “Want a beer?”

“Sure,” Frank nods.

You took a cold beer from your fridge, the metal caps clanking on the floor. You handed him the bottle, he took a big swig like he was thirsty for water, some liquid falling from the corner of his lips. He sat on a wooden chair, legs spread, the hem of his shirt raising a bit to show a peak of his abdomen.

Matt soon woke up. Much to your disagreement, taking a beer of his own. He took a seat in your dining area, topless with bandages around his torso. The three of you are looking at each other around the table. “So–what happened tonight?” you asked.

Matt’s frown was deadset. Frank taking gulps of his second bottle of beer. You were taking sips of your bottle, looking at the heated tension between the two. It was annoyingly anxiety-inducing. “You know, I don’t know what’s the point of talking to you two—I’m a physician, not a therapist.”

“You need to stay away from him,” Matt said, his lips a straight line. “He’s a dangerous person with nothing good going on for his pathetic life.”

“Boohoo! Little catholic boy here feels entitled about being god’s little bitch,” Frank spat. “Is that what you think bitch boy?”

“See? He’s an immature old fuck that thinks the world’s answer to violence is guns and bullets,” Matt said, downing his beer.

“He’s just using his lawyer bullshit on you,” Frank said.

You rolled your eyes, it’s always like this, them bickering. You downed the beer, the bitter taste running through your tongue. You set it down with a loud clunk. The two men halted their bickering.

“I’m not taking sides but I think both of you are annoying cry babies that should just kiss and make out!” the two men frowned their brows. “You bicker like an old couple—the two of you need to suck it up because, at the end of the day, the two of you leave a trail of blood in this city that I clean!” you shouted.“You know how many people end up in the emergency room thanks to you two, I don’t even keep count of them anymore.”

Matt called for your name, to apologize or something, but you took another bottle of beer and gulped on the bubbly drink. Instead of talking you took his lips to yours, the bitter taste of his mouth shared with yours. His hands come to your neck, fingers wrapping around the flesh as his tongue meets yours. You smell his clean shampoo mixing with the alcohol, he smelled like a man who took hygiene seriously.

You pull back to walk towards Frank, bending down to kiss him, pressing on his shoulder with your hands to guide you. The bitter taste of both of your mouths intoxicates you. He grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling you in more. He smelled of cheap soap and gunpowder. You pulled away to catch them frozen, feet glued to the floor, aghast.

“See,” you rubbed your hands. “Not hard at all.”

Frank was biting his lip chuckling, his fingers massaging his lip. He pulled you to his lap, kissing you harder, his hands falling to your ass. Your hands run through his dark hair, his stubble pricking your face. You moaned from the contact, Matt’s enhanced senses making the sound echo in his head. He hesitated but his groin turned to the noises you made. Frank’s lips fall to your neck, nibbling on the skin eliciting more lewd noises from you.

“See this red?” he said. “This little slut likes it.”

“Play with his ear, he likes it,” Matt ordered. Frank hadn’t known that.

“He also likes it when I do this,” he pinches your nipples, and you shudder from the slight pain. The two men didn’t know that you had experiences of having sex with them on different occasions. “So you’re a little whore huh, you do this to all of your clients?”

“No—,” you gasped. “Just you two.”

Matt chuckled. Frank had set you on his lap so that you were facing Matt, his hands playing with both of your nipples as he left purple hickeys all over your neck. Matt had knelt in front of you palming your growing erection. The ache in your groin grows from the lack of release. Tonight these men offer you more pain and suffering but in ways that elicit nothing but pleasure.

He takes your trousers off leaving you with nothing but your shirt, finally something to ease the pain. Matt stood to open his pants, his thick cock standing tall, the hairs neatly trimmed. “Take his dick inside your mouth,” Frank whispered, while he stretched your legs open so his fingers could tease your hole. He took his fingers to your mouth making it wet.

Matt’s hands ran through your hair, his tip teasing your swollen lips. As you took his length into your mouth, Frank's finger entered your hole curling inside drawing out muffled sounds from your mouth. You were quickly bent over by Frank, his head in between your ass cheeks licking and fingering your hole, while your head was bobbing up and down on Matt’s cock.

Frank smacked your ass so hard it left a red print as he continued to toy with your rear. Matt groaned as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Frank pulled you back with your hair, popping Matt’s cock out with a string of saliva. It was painful the way they carried you, but in some sick twist of events, it turned you on even more.

“My turn,” Frank said, as he takes your mouth to his sex, you engulf his thick uncut cock, your nose hitting his unkempt hair taking in his scent. Matt bent down to toy with your hole, curling and stretching two fingers inside you stimulating your prostate. You were turning your lips as you sucked on Frank’s cock, a hoarse groan leaving his mouth as he grabbed onto your hair tightly.

Matt stroked your cock as he moaned, eating you out with his wet tongue and playing with the rim of your hole. Frank took control of your mouth, fucking into it like you’re his sex toy, his cocking hitting the roof of your mouth at a constant speed. Frank could feel his climax coming so he pulls out leaving you a wet mess next to Matt.

“Can I fuck you?” Matt asked. You nod, taking them into your bedroom.

Frank undressed and took a seat on the small sofa chair in the corner of the room, stroking his hard cock. You were on all fours on the bed, facing Frank. His eyes glued to you as he stroked. Matt lubes your hole before slowly pressing his cock into your hole. You gasped as he sheathed into you. Frank smirked, this turned him on even more, his large arms contracting as he stroked his cock.

Matt started to fuck you slowly, his hips slapping your ass. He started to let out guttural moans, his hips becoming rigid as he gripped onto your waist, his nails digging into your skin. He bends down to kiss your neck, rutting into you, his hard thrusts ramming into you. “I’m close,” he moaned. He jerks your cock to the point that you yelp out, cum shooting out of your cock as he continues to jerk his hips before he emptied inside you, a deep groan leaving his lips as his cum fills you. You two collapsed on the bed, his body weight on top of you.

“Move over Red,” Frank said, looming over you as Matt moves over before Frank mounts you. Matt’s cum formed a slippery lube that made Frank’s cock ease its way as it thrusts. Your body was still weak from your high. He grabs onto your hair as he ruts into you, continuing his hard pace against your body. “You like that?” he said, stroking your sore cock back to hardness.

“Ye–yes, fuck,” you moaned.

Matt was at the edge of the bed, soothing your hair as he peppered kisses all over your face. The bed creaked as Frank humped you, veins popping across his arms as his grip on you tightened, you’re sure it would leave marks. He pulled out, leaving you to gasp from the sudden lack of fullness. He sits back on the headboard of your bed, legs sprawled as he gestures for you to ride him. You mount yourself on his hardness, sitting on his thick and hairy thighs. Matt sits on the edge of the bed, his erection coming back from the sight of you two.

“Take it like a good boy,” Frank praises. You hold onto his chest as you feel the hardness enter you, some of Matt’s cum leaking out. You take Frank’s lips, you now realize how abrasive his stubble was. You move your hips around and around, Frank lets out curses here and there. He pulls your head back, littering your neck with more marks, his fingers find your nipples, teasing them to draw out more moans from you.

Franks sees Matt on the side, his hard already leaking precum just from watching you take Frank’s cock. He calls for Matt to come to you two, to join back in. You feel Matt’s fingertips on your skin, your body is now so filled with stimulation, his mere touch driving you wild. You feel his erection on your back, his lips attached to your shoulders. He takes his leaking cock and presses into your hole, the size alongside Frank’s was a tight fit, your breathing quickens from all the pressure. The two men made sure to guide you and praise you as you take both of their lengths.

You cry out from the sensation. Frank takes your lips to stifle your cries, tears fall from your eyes as your tongues touch, and Matt inches to join your kiss. The three of you kiss into the pain, The two men slowly moving inside you. The pressure was so intense but the arousal overcame, your sex was so hard, leaking so much into Frank’s abdomen. They start to thrust, Matt could feel his sensitive frenulum rub on Frank’s, it made his eyes roll back, his senses overflowing.

All of you reeked of sex, the sounds of slapping skin and wet tongues fighting for dominance against the grunts and moans. The constant rocking was making the bed hit the wall, the mattress moved as if there were an earthquake. You were all covered in sweat, hair sticking onto skin, Hands gripping the wooden headboard, fingertips roaming skin, and tongues lashing on each other.

Everything felt like a blur to you, you were being rocked back and forth like a playground swing, your core sore from the fucking, and there were pairs of hands all over you touching your most sensitive spots. You could feel the climax, creeping into your body tingling your coccyx to the highest peak of your spine. You felt their erratic thrusts, Frank was a groaning mess under you, his neck all red and his face flushed. Matt was a noisy mess on your ear, cursing and calling your name like a prayer, his arm wrapped around your waist as he fucked.

You were at your peak, arousal overflowed from your body into theirs. Their cum filling into you. You all yelped out in pleasure as you rode your highs. Frank dug his hands into your thighs as Matt hid his forehead on your shoulder, rutting their fill into you. The next few minutes came to you in flashing lights, like fireworks spraying colored lights all over the room.

You woke up the next day to two heavy bodies at your sides. Matt’s arms around your waist with your head resting on Frank’s chest. All of you reeked of sweat and cum. As you turned you saw Matt’s eyes flutter, his long lashes flicking as his golden eyes beamed under the sunlight.

“Sorry about last night,” he whispered.

“Why? I had fun,” you said, peppering kisses all over his cheeks.

“You sure?” he said, as he rubbed his thumbs on your cheeks.

“Pretty sore but nothing a pain reliever won’t fix,” you said.

“I guess you’re right, making out fixes everything,” Frank said, his voice deeper. He joins you and Matt, pressing kisses all over your shoulders. Matt takes this as a sign to kiss you all over your neck, their hands snaking all over your body. “What’s good for breakfast around here?” Frank said in between kisses.

“There’s a good diner across the street,” Matt said, leaving soothing kisses on the marks they left on your neck. Your body was so sore and painful, but these men made sure to make it up to you. You woke up last night to them cleaning you up, Matt wiping you with a damp cloth and Frank rummaging through your closet to grab something for you to wear. Despite their rough lifestyles, they made sure you were taken care of. Maybe a little less pain and suffering next time though.

“But first,” you said, pulling away from them.” Shower.”

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

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