nsfw, 18+; sub!matt kinda? brat!matt? yeah; oral (f receiving); matt comes untouched; grinding; pet names; look me in the eyes and tell me this man doesn’t have a pain kink. that’s right, you can’t.
matt murdock eats pussy like…
nsfw, 18+; oral (f receiving)
bruises
nsfw, 18+; grinding, riding, p in v, pain kink; hints of sub!matt?; creampie
full
nsfw, 18+; sub!matt; pegging; pain kink strikes again; i have a thing for matt’s lips, can you tell?; “matty”; “baby”
adrian chase x f!reader
for once in your life
nsfw, 18+; oral (f!receiving); adrian’s a masochist ok; sucking fingers; adrian shut up challenge; edging; denial; grinding;
cfnm/sub!adrian/handjob drabble
nsfw, 18+
sucking the strap drabble
nsfw, 18+
bruce wayne x f!reader
let not light see my black and deep desires
nsfw, 18+; oral sex in the bat suit god bless; bruce creams his jeans leather; bruce kind of a sub…
A/N: A little drabble because I was inspired. I wrote this for @ayybtch even though she mercilessly teased me. Something, something, they go low, we go high. All typos are my own because I barely proofread this. Enjoy!
Matt looks sinful like this. One his knees. With his face buried between your legs.
Heavy-lidded eyes closed in reverence, lids pale as the velvet light of the lamp washes over him. The warm, neon glow surrounds him like a halo, bathing him in alternating flashes of pink and blue. But the red streaks are the most striking.
Blood red over pale skin. Crimson refracting off of a lust-filled gaze. Bathing half of his face, turning his jaw to the sharp blade of a knife. Somehow making the bruises that bloom on his torso stand out more.
It’s in moments like these that you really get a glimpse of the Devil in him. The careful perch of his lithe body, muscles tense, ready to strike. The slight tilt of his head as he listens to your stilted breath and the erratic pitter patter of your pulsing heart. And an alluring curl to his full lips that had whispered pious prayers and the sugared sighs of sins in the same breath.
warnings: nsfw, 18+; oral sex in the bat suit god bless; bruce creams his jeans leather; bruce kind of a sub…
Bruce stumbles out of the armored car, cape swishing behind him, the squeal of his leather boots rubbing against the leather of his suit.
You stand at the desks of tech equipment, shutting down equipment he’ll no longer be needing. He grips your hips from behind, dipping his head to speak into your ear, “I need you.”
You raise a hand to feel the cool leather of his mask, pulling his lips to kiss at your neck. “Get on your knees.”
The room is quiet, save for quiet flapping of wings and the humming of the fluorescent lights. Bruce eases himself onto the concrete floor in front of you, his chest heaving.
You pull the desk chair away from the bright monitors, sitting against the cool fabric. Bruce inches closer on his knees, leather squeaking when he raises his muscled arms to stroke your calves.
His lips press a kiss to your knee, his lips warm even through the fabric of your leggings, “Please,” he croaks out.
Bruce hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, pretty eyes looking up at you, waiting for permission. You give it to him in the form of lifting your hips, letting him pull the right fabric from your body.
The groan he lets out at the sight of your bare cunt is heavenly, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting to restrain himself. Leather scrapes against the concrete as he positions himself, a large hand falls between his legs to position himself, there, too.
Bruce is shrouded in shadow even in the harsh full light of the cave, the cape falling around his broad shoulders, the only beams of light coming from his light eyes, his pleading eyes. And even then that light is almost extinguished, his pupils blown so wide. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” you gasp, hand resting between the bat ears on his helmet. He gives you no time to prepare, his hot mouth envelopes your clit, a gravely fuck leaving his lips.
Obscene sounds fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting in your ears. The nose of his mask digs into your mound, delicious pinpoint of pain distracted by the way Bruce sucks and licks like a man starved.
He doesn’t stop for a breath, he focuses on your clit with precision; his eyes never close, they stay studying your face, your tits, your belly. His hand loosens it’s grip on your thigh, through hooded eyes you watch it disappear beneath the cape.
He grows louder, you hear him groan, “Please, come. Please, I need it. I need to feel it.” The only time Bruce Wayne, the Batman, rambles is when he’s on his knees for you, when he’s desperate for you.
You let go, your thighs close around his head, the cool leather icy against your hot skin. Your heels dig into his armored back, and Bruce’s lips suck tighter at your clit.
What sends you into overdrive is when his thick arm whips back his cape. His hard cock presses an outline into the leather of his pants, bucking into the palm of his hand while licks at your clit with ravenous strokes.
You come down from your high, loosen your thighs, staring deep into his eyes. Bruce’s lips meet your inner thigh and he pleads, “Can I come? Please, God, I need to hear you say it, tell me I can come.”
“Come,” you gasp, “Come for me, Batman.” He loses it then, you can tell. “Big, strong Batman,” you taunt, “On his knees, coming in his fucking pants.”
You stroke his jaw with your hand, his head falling to rest in your palm while he milks every drop of cum from his throbbing cock. “That’s it,” you coo. “That’s it, baby.”
He presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, slumping forward against you. “Goddamnit,” he gasps.
“You need to get out of the suit,” you whisper. “Need to see if you’re hurt.”
He finally stands, approaching the desks, pealing the contacts from his eyes. Damn contacts.
Bruce smirks, fast-forwarding the footage until he sees you above him, “You’re so pretty.”
warnings: nsfw, 18+; oral sex in the bat suit god bless; bruce creams his jeans leather; bruce kind of a sub…
Bruce stumbles out of the armored car, cape swishing behind him, the squeal of his leather boots rubbing against the leather of his suit.
You stand at the desks of tech equipment, shutting down equipment he’ll no longer be needing. He grips your hips from behind, dipping his head to speak into your ear, “I need you.”
You raise a hand to feel the cool leather of his mask, pulling his lips to kiss at your neck. “Get on your knees.”
The room is quiet, save for quiet flapping of wings and the humming of the fluorescent lights. Bruce eases himself onto the concrete floor in front of you, his chest heaving.
You pull the desk chair away from the bright monitors, sitting against the cool fabric. Bruce inches closer on his knees, leather squeaking when he raises his muscled arms to stroke your calves.
His lips press a kiss to your knee, his lips warm even through the fabric of your leggings, “Please,” he croaks out.
Bruce hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, pretty eyes looking up at you, waiting for permission. You give it to him in the form of lifting your hips, letting him pull the right fabric from your body.
The groan he lets out at the sight of your bare cunt is heavenly, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting to restrain himself. Leather scrapes against the concrete as he positions himself, a large hand falls between his legs to position himself, there, too.
Bruce is shrouded in shadow even in the harsh full light of the cave, the cape falling around his broad shoulders, the only beams of light coming from his light eyes, his pleading eyes. And even then that light is almost extinguished, his pupils blown so wide. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” you gasp, hand resting between the bat ears on his helmet. He gives you no time to prepare, his hot mouth envelopes your clit, a gravely fuck leaving his lips.
Obscene sounds fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting in your ears. The nose of his mask digs into your mound, delicious pinpoint of pain distracted by the way Bruce sucks and licks like a man starved.
He doesn’t stop for a breath, he focuses on your clit with precision; his eyes never close, they stay studying your face, your tits, your belly. His hand loosens it’s grip on your thigh, through hooded eyes you watch it disappear beneath the cape.
He grows louder, you hear him groan, “Please, come. Please, I need it. I need to feel it.” The only time Bruce Wayne, the Batman, rambles is when he’s on his knees for you, when he’s desperate for you.
You let go, your thighs close around his head, the cool leather icy against your hot skin. Your heels dig into his armored back, and Bruce’s lips suck tighter at your clit.
What sends you into overdrive is when his thick arm whips back his cape. His hard cock presses an outline into the leather of his pants, bucking into the palm of his hand while licks at your clit with ravenous strokes.
You come down from your high, loosen your thighs, staring deep into his eyes. Bruce’s lips meet your inner thigh and he pleads, “Can I come? Please, God, I need to hear you say it, tell me I can come.”
“Come,” you gasp, “Come for me, Batman.” He loses it then, you can tell. “Big, strong Batman,” you taunt, “On his knees, coming in his fucking pants.”
You stroke his jaw with your hand, his head falling to rest in your palm while he milks every drop of cum from his throbbing cock. “That’s it,” you coo. “That’s it, baby.”
He presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, slumping forward against you. “Goddamnit,” he gasps.
“You need to get out of the suit,” you whisper. “Need to see if you’re hurt.”
He finally stands, approaching the desks, pealing the contacts from his eyes. Damn contacts.
Bruce smirks, fast-forwarding the footage until he sees you above him, “You’re so pretty.”
warnings: nsfw, 18+; oral sex in the bat suit god bless; bruce creams his jeans leather; bruce kind of a sub…
Bruce stumbles out of the armored car, cape swishing behind him, the squeal of his leather boots rubbing against the leather of his suit.
You stand at the desks of tech equipment, shutting down equipment he’ll no longer be needing. He grips your hips from behind, dipping his head to speak into your ear, “I need you.”
You raise a hand to feel the cool leather of his mask, pulling his lips to kiss at your neck. “Get on your knees.”
The room is quiet, save for quiet flapping of wings and the humming of the fluorescent lights. Bruce eases himself onto the concrete floor in front of you, his chest heaving.
You pull the desk chair away from the bright monitors, sitting against the cool fabric. Bruce inches closer on his knees, leather squeaking when he raises his muscled arms to stroke your calves.
His lips press a kiss to your knee, his lips warm even through the fabric of your leggings, “Please,” he croaks out.
Bruce hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings, pretty eyes looking up at you, waiting for permission. You give it to him in the form of lifting your hips, letting him pull the right fabric from your body.
The groan he lets out at the sight of your bare cunt is heavenly, he takes his bottom lip between his teeth, biting to restrain himself. Leather scrapes against the concrete as he positions himself, a large hand falls between his legs to position himself, there, too.
Bruce is shrouded in shadow even in the harsh full light of the cave, the cape falling around his broad shoulders, the only beams of light coming from his light eyes, his pleading eyes. And even then that light is almost extinguished, his pupils blown so wide. “Can I?”
“Yeah,” you gasp, hand resting between the bat ears on his helmet. He gives you no time to prepare, his hot mouth envelopes your clit, a gravely fuck leaving his lips.
Obscene sounds fill the room, bouncing off the stone walls and ricocheting in your ears. The nose of his mask digs into your mound, delicious pinpoint of pain distracted by the way Bruce sucks and licks like a man starved.
He doesn’t stop for a breath, he focuses on your clit with precision; his eyes never close, they stay studying your face, your tits, your belly. His hand loosens it’s grip on your thigh, through hooded eyes you watch it disappear beneath the cape.
He grows louder, you hear him groan, “Please, come. Please, I need it. I need to feel it.” The only time Bruce Wayne, the Batman, rambles is when he’s on his knees for you, when he’s desperate for you.
You let go, your thighs close around his head, the cool leather icy against your hot skin. Your heels dig into his armored back, and Bruce’s lips suck tighter at your clit.
What sends you into overdrive is when his thick arm whips back his cape. His hard cock presses an outline into the leather of his pants, bucking into the palm of his hand while licks at your clit with ravenous strokes.
You come down from your high, loosen your thighs, staring deep into his eyes. Bruce’s lips meet your inner thigh and he pleads, “Can I come? Please, God, I need to hear you say it, tell me I can come.”
“Come,” you gasp, “Come for me, Batman.” He loses it then, you can tell. “Big, strong Batman,” you taunt, “On his knees, coming in his fucking pants.”
You stroke his jaw with your hand, his head falling to rest in your palm while he milks every drop of cum from his throbbing cock. “That’s it,” you coo. “That’s it, baby.”
He presses a kiss to the palm of your hand, slumping forward against you. “Goddamnit,” he gasps.
“You need to get out of the suit,” you whisper. “Need to see if you’re hurt.”
He finally stands, approaching the desks, pealing the contacts from his eyes. Damn contacts.
Bruce smirks, fast-forwarding the footage until he sees you above him, “You’re so pretty.”
“I forget about those,” you breathe.
“I’ll send it to you,” he replied, eyes still caught on the sight of your heaving chest. “God, look at you.”
rating: E (vaginal fingering, finger sucking, brief mention of attempted robbery)
words: 4.5k
The night is pitch in Gotham, an obsidian gloom of overcast clouds constantly looming above like a dome over the city, keeping darkness in and light at bay; an ever-present harbinger of the slow death and decay eating away at a city once bright with life – eating away one block at a time, the next story up, spreading through the trash-strewn streets like arsenic through pumping veins. The only lights illuminating the streets are flickering, jaundice yellow and far enough apart that shadows persist in blocks between the golden halos on the asphalt. They strobe every now and again like blinking eyes, searching for you. Even if the rain refuses to fall it’s still futile to search for a ray of moonlight. Nothing can penetrate the night – the rats would scatter in the light and that doesn’t really sound like Gotham, does it?
(1) Hello everyone. I'm from Ukraine. Please help spread the information about African and Nigerian students in Ukraine. #AfricansinUkraine
I read from @ nzekiev on twitter that the day before yesterday it was very hard for Africans to get on any train in Kyiv, they were letting them in the last, many managed to get in only coz they started pushing African women into the train so they had to allow everyone in. Before that if they managed to get on the train they were sent back outside with the phrase "Ukrainians first", but nobody was checking anyone's passports.
Today, February 27, he says the Ukrainian soldiers at the Polish border were holding them at gunpoint if they crossed the border before Ukrainians. These are students, they can't be fighting this war!!! Other people of color share on twitter that it's harder for them to cross the border, a Nigerian medical student told @ stephheharty they were told Ukrainians go first and were sent to the back of the queue by Ukrainian soldiers on Polish border.
@ Damilare_arah shared a video where Ukrainian soldiers block Africans from getting on trains. (https://twitter.com/Damilare_arah/status/1497654141350522880?t=rkNx-B9TffKopCRtfgZodA&s=19)
I can't figure out how to download videos from Twitter so I'm attaching screenshots. (https://twitter.com/Damilare_arah/status/1497855205098106880?t=gi_dUgx8nFI36KqlH-CeEA&s=19) (https://twitter.com/nzekiev/status/1497805019311218689?t=hz-3gS0hFxwAZQddLZI85w&s=19)
We must help. They can't be denied shelter while every other white Ukrainian gets to cross the border right before their eyes. @ chylady and @ Damilare_arah share all the important information for Africans and Nigerians on where to find help and also donations.
@ korrinesky is actively sharing all the information. This thread increases to this day and time:
They also have a Telegram chat for African and Caribbean students who are in Lviv but I can't seem to be able to copy the link directly so I'm sending the link to the tweet:
Use the hashtag #AfricansinUkraine and mentions @UN @RedCross @UNESCO @wateraid @amnesty @gatesfoundation @FordFoundation @ActionAid @Oxfam on twitter.
adrian likes laying naked between your clothed legs, with his bare back against your covered stomach while you stroke him gently ok? ok
nsfw, 18+
“That’s it,” you coo, stroking his thick aching cock, the mixture of his precum and lube filling the air in tandem with his moans.
Adrian loves this, being completely bare while you’re completely clothed, it makes him feel a little embarrassed, it makes him feel dominated. “K-keep rubbing the head, please? Your hand is so soft and it’s so sensitive and it feels, like, really fucking good.”
“Yeah, baby,” you reply, concentrating your ministrations on the reddened tip of his cock. You press open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, on his neck, on his shoulders.
The noises Adrian makes, whimpers and gasps at first that turn into low groans and finally into “please”s. His voice pitches up a little when he begs, “Please, can I come? Please I’ve been good, I have, I promise.”
“Not yet,” you tell him, enjoying the way his lean, toned body writhes against you, the way his thighs look with his muscles flexed and shaking. “And, you haven’t been that good.” Not that you care. But it is fun to toy with Adrian, the way his eyes shoot open along with his mouth, his adam’s apple bobs while he looks for something to say, something to convince you.
He always tries to convince you, “I swear! I swear I haven’t jerked off, I- I haven’t even thought about it, I swear on Eagly’s life.”
“Lies,” you laugh, removing your hand from his cock, watching as he contorts to try and gain some friction. His hands are balled up in the duvet, his toes are curled and his eyes stare into yours with pure need.
You have pity on him, lightly stroking him again, watching the relief flood him, soon replaced by intense desperation. “Come on, Adrian,” you coo, “You look so pretty, so desperate like this, I want to see you come.”
He lets out a dry laugh, a mixture of frustration and relief. You pick up your pace, intent to get him to the edge as soon as you can. Your other hand lays on the spattering of hair on his abdomen, stroking through it, anticipating how the dark hair will look covered in his pearly cum.
“I can come? Right, I can come?”
“Yes, Adrian, you can come,” you reply, “Be my good boy and come.”
He explodes in your hand at the promise of being a good boy, ropes of his cum spilling over your knuckles and onto stomach. The amount he comes— you start to believe him when he says he hasn’t jerked off, the way it keeps coming, the way his body shakes, and the way his heels dig into the mattress.
“Yeah, that’s it,” you encourage, working him into overstimulation, not letting go of his softening cock. You wrap a hand around his throat, not squeezing, just a reminder. “You think you could do it again?”
Adrian huffs, his hips trying their hardest to free his sensitive cock from your hand, “N-no, too much, it’s too much—“
You let him go and wrap your arms around his torso, holding him close. It’s arguably his favorite part: breathing heavy from his orgasm, wrapped in your arms, feeling needed and wanted and knowing you aren’t going to leave him. He needs it.
