★ I am apart of the multifandom. *gasp* so expect the occasional, rare, unexpected. I usually do Mortal Kombat related things, (obviously) but I can be versatile.
★ What to expect, like actually? Lots of NSFW/SMUT, x reader stuff, head canons, imagines, fics. But the blog is not bound to only those subjects. I also enjoy SFW/fluff/hurt/comfort/angsty/thriller/horror/fantasy etc.
★ Yes!! you are allowed to reblog if you so please!! I do not mind! You are free to use my tags as well! But it’s not mandatory. Any and all interactions are ALWAYYYS welcome and appreciated!!!
Rules
★ I like to write all kinds of stuff! And I am always expanding my writing style. Or trying to at least…Though there are a few things I will refuse right off the bat.
★ I DO NOT write beastiality/pedophilia/blood incest/piss/scat or anything similar. I don’t mind dark/kinky content— but these are lines I will not cross.
★ DO NOT shame, belittle or chastise me or my content. If you do not like it—simply block this blog. I absolutely will not tolerate any bigotry or hatred PERIOD.
★ DO NOT mistake my writings for support of violence, abuse, toxicity, dub con, non con, infidelity, etc. I do NOT condone these actions and writing about these do NOT accurately reflect my views or opinions on said topics.
★ DO NOT incessantly repeat the same request, please!! I read EVERYTHING in my inbox pookies—trust me when I say, you sent a request, I definitely got it.
Requests (Closed)
★ Shoot me a request anytime!! just please provide me with the basics of the relationship on said characters. (Crush? Platonic? Relationship? Situationship? SFW? NSFW? Fluffy? Angst? Just let me know!)
★ And if you have specific sex/pronouns you would prefer—of course, please let me know!!! I usually do (afab) and stick to gender neutral pronouns if not specified.
★ Be patient. I’m more of a quality over quantity person. So my works take time. Some longer than others. And if I haven’t gotten to a request in a reasonable amount of time—it’s safe to assume I’m not interested in writing it. Okay!! Thank you, that is all! Enjoy the blog!!
Omg the Coupe x Author Reader was so amazing!!! I love reading those kind of stories, they build suspense and make me want to read more!! Will there ever be a part two?!! I’m dying for Coupe to realize the reader is the author 😔🤟🔥🔥🔥
Book Club of Two//Reveal
👽: First Part Here//🩶
🖇️: Coupé x Fem!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: TOOTH ROTTING SAP/FLUFFY/CUTENESS OVERLOAD/you confess that you’re the author!!/enjoyyy :3
★ Week three was quick to come and go. Then week four. Then week five. The ‘book club’ becomes the center of your week, everything else orbiting around it.
★ Coupé gets bolder with her analysis. Starts asking questions like, “Do you think the author has experienced this?” and “What do you think inspired this dynamic?” You get better at deflecting. Mostly. (You also get worse at hiding the way you look at her.)
★ Week six, and she’s poured the wine and you’re both settled in your usual spots—close enough to share body heat, far enough to maintain plausible deniability—when she says,
★ “I wrote to the publisher.”
★ Your heart stops. “What?”
★ “The author’s publisher. I sent a letter.” Shes blushing now, actually blushing, and it’s adorable. “I know it’s probably silly, but I wanted her to know how much these books mean to me. How the writing is—” She struggles for words. “How it’s changed the way I think about storytelling. About connection.”
★ You’re going to tell her. Right now. This moment.
★ “Coupé—“
★ “I probably won’t hear back,” she continues, not hearing the confession building in your throat. “But I had to try. I had to at least tell someone that this author is—” She looks at you, and her eyes are so soft it hurts. “That she’s brilliant. That her work matters.”
★ “I’m sure that—” Your voice cracks. “I’m sure that she would appreciate it.”
★ “I hope so.” She smiles, and it’s shy and hopeful and you are gone. “Because I meant every word.”
•••
★ The letter arrives at your publisher’s office three days later. Your editor forwards it to you with a string of heart emojis. You read it seven times, alone in your room, and try not to cry.
★ Coupé’s handwriting is neat and careful. Her words are thoughtful and specific. She quotes your own passages back to you like their poetry, analyzes your themes with the precision of a scholar and the passion of a devotee. At the bottom, she’s written,
★ “Please tell the author that her books have made me believe in magic again. The real kind. The kind that happens when someone sees you clearly and won’t look away.”
★ You hold the letter against your chest and let yourself feel it. Everything. Holy cow you’re in deep.
•••
★ Week seven.
★ Youve been writing her into your new book even more lately. The love interest has started quoting Coupé word for word. Has her laugh, her careful way of holding eye contact like it’s something precious. Your editor has noticed.
★ “This is your best work yet,” they’d written. “What changed?”
★ Everything, you thought. Everything changed. Now you’re standing outside Coupé’s door with wine and the letter—you brought the letter, folded in your pocket, evidence and confession both—and you think…
★ Fuck it.
★ She opens the door.
★“I need to tell you something.”
★ Her expression shifts. Careful. “Okay.”
★ “Can I—can I come in first?”
★ She steps aside.
★ You walk to the center of her room, and you turn to face her, and you pull the letter from your pocket.
★ “This is from you,”
★ Coupé’s eyes widen. “How did you—”
★ “Because I’m the author.” The words come out in a rush. “I wrote the book. And the other two. I’ve been writing under a pen name because I needed the money and also because I was processing some stuff, and I never thought—” You stop. Breathe. “I never thought someone like you would read them. Would love them. Would see—” Your voice breaks. “Would see me in them.”
★ Silence.
★ Coupé is staring at you like you’ve just rewritten reality.
★ “You,” she says finally. “You wrote—“
★ “Yeah.”
★ “The throne room scene. The knife scene. The—” She presses her hand to her mouth. “The rain scene?”
★ “All of it.”
★ “Oh my god.” She’s laughing now, breathless and disbelieving. “Oh my god. I’ve been sitting here telling you—analyzing your own work like some kind of—” She breaks off, and when she looks at you again, her eyes are shining. “You let me.”
★ “I liked hearing it,” you admit. “Hearing what you thought. What it meant to you.”
★ “It meant everything.” She crosses the space between you in three steps. “Do you know how rare it is? To find writing that feels like someone reached into your chest and pulled out all the things you’ve been too afraid to say?”
★ “I—”
★ “That’s what your books did.” Her hands find yours. “That’s what you did.” She leans in slightly, whispering now. “The rain scene, when you wrote that, were you—” She pauses, gathering a bit of courage. “Were you writing about someone real?”
★ “I was writing about what it felt like to want someone I thought I couldn’t have.”
★ “And now?”
★ “Now I’m standing in her room, holding her hands. Hoping I didn’t just ruin everything.”
★ “You didn’t ruin anything.” She squeezes your hands. “But you should know—I’m going to have so many questions about your writing process.” Her lips curl into something genuine and you laugh, shaky yet relieved. “Yeah?”
★ “Yes. Starting with,” She nearly closes the space between you, and her breath ghosts your lips. “Starting with whether you’d let me kiss the author of my favorite books.”
★ “I think that could be arranged.”
★ She kisses you, and it’s soft, certain and tastes like wine and possibility. When she pulls back, she’s grinning. “This book club just got a lot more interesting,” she says.
★ “Two person club,” you remind her.
★ “The best kind.” She kisses you again, quick and sweet. “Now come on. We have six more chapters to discuss, and I have notes.” You let her pull you to the couch, let her settle against your side, let yourself have this. Coupé, curled warm against you, talking about your words with that same awe.
★ And when she pauses her analysis to kiss your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, you think ‘This right here… is what I was writing about all along.’
How about that a recap from that night at the bar with our lovely Robbie 🧐
Also, love love love your fics! Have read EVERY SINGLE ONE! You're PERFECTION 🖤🩷💜
The Night Before
👽: hehe thank you, and yesss. how about that night? hmmm… *twirls nonexistent mustache deviously*
🖇️: Robert Robertson x gn!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SEXUAL/SUGGESTIVE THEMES/drunk shenanigans with z team/little sprinkle of bi activity/the club goes hard//enjoyyy :3
★ The bar smells like whiskey and regret. And it’s one of those smells you’ve become familiar with. Comfortable, even. Coupé’s laugh is velvet rough against your ear, her fingers grazing yours as she reaches for her glass—accidental, maybe, but the way she lets it linger says otherwise. You’re dizzy already, and you haven’t even finished your first drink.
★ “You always this trouble?” You murmur, leaning close enough that your breath ghosts her cheek.
★ “Only on weeknights.”
★ You grin. “Good thing I like weeknights.”
★ The warmth spreads from your chest to somewhere lower, but then Colm’s voice booms across the bar—“Drinking contest! Now!”—and suddenly you’re being dragged toward a row of shot glasses that glint like tiny threats under the lights.
★ Sonar’s already two shots in, grinning like a clown. Colm cracks his knuckles like this is a sport. And you? You’re stupid enough to say yes. The first shot burns. The third one stops burning. By the fifth, you’re not sure if you’re laughing or choking, and honestly, it doesn’t matter because you’re winning.
★ “Holy shit,” Sonar wheezes, gripping the counter. “How are you still—”
★ “Built different,” you slur, slamming another glass down.“Clearly.” Sonar hiccups, watching with admiration at this point. Colm groans, head in his hands. “I’m out. I’m fuckin’ out.” You watch Coupé stifle a laugh while she tends to him, patting his head affectionately.
★ Well, shit, at least you earned some bragging rights for actually—genuinely out drinking Punch-Up. (Barely) Hell yeah.
★ Prism’s cackling from across the room, phone held high, livestream chat probably going insane. Flambae wolf whistles sharp enough to cut through the bass heavy music, his grin wicked and proud. “Damn—you’re fucking crazy, bitch!” he shouts, and you blow him a kiss that he catches—pretending to take a sassy bite out of it like an apple.
★ The night fractures after that.
•••
★ Malevola finds you near the bathroom hallway, all sharp eyeliner and sharper smile, her hands sliding up your arms like she’s got nowhere else to be. “You’re trouble, babes” she says, but she’s already pulling you closer.
★ “Everyone keeps saying that.” You hum.
★ “Because it’s true.”
★ And then she’s kissing you—quick, messy, her black lipstick smearing across your mouth like evidence. It’s almost cruel, the way she casually pulls back with a smirk, thumb swiping your bottom lip.
★ “Looks good on you.”
★ You’re still catching your breath when she disappears back into the crowd, and you’re left there, dazed, lipstick stained, wondering if that actually just happened. Do you follow? Fuck, you wanna follow. You’re already moving through the crowd, pretending not to be desperate.
★ The music swells. The lights pulse. You catch Courtney and Mandy at the bar, standing way too close, Mandy’s hand resting on Courtney’s lower back in a way that’s definitely not platonic. You knew some gay shit was happening between those two. (You make a mental note to ask about that later. Maybe. If you remember.) You keep moving, Malevola still out of sight. Damn…
★ Golem’s wedged into a corner booth—took three people and some creative maneuvering to get him through the door, but he made it. Of course only after getting him in, did they check his I.D. (They let him stay anyways. It took too much effort getting him inside…) He’s nursing something in a comically small glass, looking content as hell, and honestly? Good for him.
★ You stumble toward Phenomaman, who’s smiling at nothing in particular, just happy to be here it seemed. You were trying to say something about the music or the drinks or literally anything—maybe if he’s seen Malevola. But then the world tilts. Someone spins you around, and suddenly there’s a hand at your waist, steadying, grounding.
★ The lights blur into smears of gold and violet. The song shifts again, slower, less hectic. And when you look up. It’s Robert. His eyes catch the light, dark and intense, and he says your name like it’s the only word he knows. You flush. Stumble. He catches you, easy, like he knew you’d fall. “Robert, what are we doing…?”
★ “Dancing.” His voice is smoke and honey. “What does it look like?”
★ “Looks like you’re—”
★ “Looks like you’re trying to talk when you should be moving.”
★ His hands settle on your hips, firm, deliberate, and suddenly the crowd doesn’t exist. Just him. Just the beat thrumming through the floor, through your chest, through the space where his body presses close to yours. “You always this handsy after a few drinks?” you tease, but your voice shakes just enough to betray you.
★ “No.” He doesn’t elaborate, just pulls you closer, his movements fluid despite the alcohol humming through both your veins. His nose brushes your temple, then lower, tracing the curve of your jaw.
★ “You smell like bad decisions,” he murmurs against your neck. “You smell like worse ones.” You quip. His laugh is low, then his lips are pressed below your ear—soft, testing. When you don’t pull away, he does it again, this time with teeth. Your breath hitches.
★ “Robert—”
★ “Mm?”
★ “We’re in public.”
★ “I know.” His hands slide lower, thumbs tracing circles against your hips as he sways with you, keeping rhythm. “You didn’t seem to mind when Malevola had her tongue in your mouth over there by the bathrooms, though.”
★ You pull back just enough to glare at him, heat flooding your cheeks. “And you would?” You retort. His grin is lethal. “Oh, no. I mean—of course I wouldn’t mind, look at her.” He says honestly, “But I’d kiss you better, is what I was getting at.” His hand moves up, thumb wiping away any lingering lipstick from Malevola before resettling onto your hip, pulling you back against him.
★ It’s supposed to be banter. Supposed to be playful. But the way he says it with certainty, his hips already rolling against yours in a subconscious rhythm that’s got nothing to do with the music, makes it something else entirely. Your heart skips two beats. Because you can feel him. The heat of his body. His hand placement. The tension between you and—oh fuck.
★ He’s hard.
★ Your breath catches. Your eyes flick up to his, and he’s already watching you, jaw tight, something like apology and challenge flickering across his face all at once. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens, one hand sliding up your spine, the other still anchoring you against him like he’s daring you to say something.
★ You don’t. You just press impossibly closer. His head drops, forehead to your temple, then lower, lips brushing the shell of your ear again, and you feel the words more than hear them, “Wanna get out of here?”
★ It’s not really a question. More like a match struck in the dark. You nod before you even realize you’re doing it, throat dry, heart doing something crack head level in your chest. “My place,” you manage, and it comes out softer than you meant. Breathier. He pulls back just enough to look at you, then he grins. Slow. Dangerous. The kind of grin that makes your knees forget they have one job to do.
★ “Let’s go, then.”
•••
★ The Uber driver doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t say a word. Probably sees this kind of thing every weekend, but you’re grateful anyway because Robert’s hand is on your thigh, his mouth on your neck, your jaw…
★ You kiss him at a red light. He kisses you back like he’s been waiting all night. His hand slides higher. Your fingers twist in his shirt. The driver clears his throat, and you break apart just long enough to breathe before you’re back at it, laughing against his mouth.
★ by the time you stumble through your front door, you’re not sure who pulled who inside first. Doesn’t matter. Robert’s hands are on your waist, your back hits the wall, and his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, hotter. (Fuck maybe he was a better kisser than Malevola…maybe. Might have to try again with her just to double check.)
★ The thought is fleeting. You tug him toward the bedroom, and he follows without hesitation, fingers tangled with yours, grinning like he’s won the lottery. And when you fall back onto the bed, him right there with you, all you can think is, fuck. yes.
sappy male reader... kising flambaes missing fingers... please and thank you <33
love your fics btw!!
The Important Hand
🖇️: Flambae x masc!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: SFW/SAPPY/FLUFFY/CUTESY/AWWW/established relationship/you comfort your fiery boyfriend about his little nubs. LOL.
★ The TV’s murmuring something about a cooking competition—knives flashing, someone dicing onions with theatrical precision—and you feel Flambae’s hand twitch where it rests against your chest.
★ “Show off,” he mutters at the screen, but there’s something else in his voice. Something quieter.
★ You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s focused on the TV, but not really. His right hand has curled slightly, tucked between your bodies like it’s trying to hide.
★ “Babe?”
★ “It’s stupid.” He huffs a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Just—watching that guy. Makes me think about… you know.”
★ You do know.
★ You’ve heard the story. Robert. The fight. The way everything went wrong in the space between one heartbeat and the next. How anger cost him two fingers and nearly cost him more.
★ “Hey.” You shift, turning in his arms until you’re facing him properly. “Look at me.”
★ He does, but his jaw’s tight. Self conscious in that way he gets sometimes, when the missing pieces feel louder than the ones that remain.
★ So you lean in and kiss him. Soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that says I’m here and you’re here and that’s enough.
★ When you pull back, you catch his right hand before he can tuck it away again. You bring it to your lips—press a kiss to his palm first, then his thumb, then each finger that’s still there. Taking your time. Making it deliberate.
★ Then you kiss the space where the others used to be. The pinky. The ring finger. Just the tender nubs remaining, the ghosts of what was two little fingies. Flambae makes a sound—somewhere between a laugh and something shakier.
★ “What are you—”
★ “Shh.” You kiss them again. “These too. All of you.”
★ His breath catches.
★ You guide his hand up, settling it against your cheek, and he cups your face like you’re something precious. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and his eyes are doing that thing where they’re too bright, too soft, too much.
★ “You’re ridiculous,” he whispers.
★ “Yeah, but you love me.”
★ “I really do.”
★ You turn your head just enough to kiss his palm again. “Besides,” you murmur against his skin, “you’ve still got your ring finger on the left hand.”
★ He blinks. Then he gets it.
★ His laugh this time is real—surprised and warm and a little watery. “You are such a sap.”
★ “That’s what really counts, right?” You grin. “The one that matters.”
★ Flambae pulls you back against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His right hand stays cradled between you both, but it’s not hiding anymore. It’s just there. Part of him. Part of this. On the TV, someone’s plating a dessert with gold leaf and unnecessary flourishes. Neither of you are watching.
id like to request coupe x reader x punch-up. either male or gn reader please! sorry if this isn’t super specific ive just had this idea for awhile
its kinda similar to the coupe/punch up comic about how they meet. coupe and punch up are dispatched to take care of a villain and it turns into heated tension. just loved the concept in the comic of showing up to kill somone and accidentally falling madly in love with
thankyouthankyou
Tied Up and Compromised
👽 : the way I read the comic and my jaw dropped like DAMNN. anyways here’s my take. Light✨ inspo from the comic.
🖇️: Punch-Up x gn!reader x Coupé
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️:SUGGESTIVE/SEXUAL TENSION/LOTS of flirty banter/instead of being sent to kill you they’re sent to catch and interrogate you before your arrest/you get felt up/three way make out sesh lowkey/enjoyyy :3
★ You’re not sure when it goes wrong.
★ Maybe when you swung too wide. Maybe when Coupé caught your wrist mid punch like she’d been waiting for it. Or maybe—definitely—when Punch-Up swept your legs out from under you with a grin that said gotcha. The concrete rushes up to meet your back. Hard.
★ For a second, the world is just the ache in your ribs and the echo of your own heartbeat. You hear Coupé demand a simple “Colm!” And then there’s weight—solid, unrelenting—and you’re staring up into hazel eyes that are far too amused for someone who just got clocked in the jaw.
★ “Easy now,” Colm says, voice all gravel and warmth. He’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, and the other is braced against your hip, holding you down like you’re something wild he’s trying not to hurt.
★ You thrash. Hard.
★ He doesn’t budge.
★ “Christ, you’re a lively one,” he mutters, and there’s admiration in it. Actual admiration. You hate how much that makes your pulse stutter.
★ “Get off, you little fuckin—
★ “Not yet, love.” His grip tightens, just enough to make you still. “You gave us a hell of a run, but it’s over now, yeah?”
★ Coupé’s heels click across the warehouse floor. You can’t see her, but you can feel her—like a shadow with teeth. When she crouches into view, her smile is sharp enough to draw blood.
★ “Still got fight left in you?” she asks, tilting her head. “Good. I’d hate for this to get boring.”
★ The chair is old. Wooden. The kind that creaks when you so much as breathe wrong.
★ Colm doesn’t ask if you can walk. He just hauls you up like you weigh nothing—one arm hooked under your knees, the other around your back—and suddenly you’re airborne, with a shift, he’s lifting you above his head. and your brain is doing that thing where it forgets to be mad because holy shit he’s strong.
★ “Easy,” he says again, softer this time, and sets you down in the chair with a care that doesn’t match the situation. His hands linger on your thighs, just for a second, pressing down to keep you still while Coupé moves behind you.
★ “Don’t,” you grit out, squirming.
★ “It won’t hurt,” Coupé murmurs, and her fingers are quick, efficient, wrapping rope around your wrists with the kind of precision that makes you think she’s done this before. “Much.”
★ Colm’s still in front of you, hands firm on your legs, thumbs pressing into the meat of your thighs to keep you from kicking. He’s not even looking at you—he’s focused, brow furrowed, like this is just another Thursday. But his jaw ticks when you twist, and his grip tightens, and—
★ “There,” Coupé says, stepping back. “Snug.”
★ Colm finally lets go, and you immediately test the bindings. Wrists behind the chair. Ankles tied to the legs. You’re not going anywhere. Fucking awesome. Great, really.
★ He pulls up a crate, sits on it, and folds his arms. “Comfy?”
★ You glare.
★ He grins.
★ The comm crackles. Robert’s voice filters through, clipped and professional. “Coupé. Punch-Up. Good work. I’ll need you to sit tight while I coordinate with the SDN. Don’t let them out of your sight.”
★ “Copy that,” Coupé says, leaning against the wall. She’s got that look—like a cat with a bird in its mouth.
★ “And, uh—” Robert pauses. “Try to get them talking. They’ve got intel we need. Memory chip. You know the drill.”
★ “Understood.” Coupé glances at Colm, then at you. “We’ll keep them entertained.” The line goes dead. Silence settles, thick and humming. Then Coupé smiles. “Lucky you. A couple hours with us before the cops show up. Riveting company, if I do say so myself.”
★ “Thrilling,” you deadpan.
★ Colm laughs—low and rough, like he’s surprised it came out. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”
★ “And you’ve got an accent that’s doing a lot of heavy lifting.”
★ His grin widens. “That so?”
★ It starts simple enough. Questions. The memory chip. Where is it, who hired you, what’s on it—standard interrogation fare. You play dumb. You’re good at playing dumb.
★ “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
★ “Right,” Coupé says, circling you slowly. “And I’m the Queen of England.”
★ “Your Majesty.” You dip your head in mock deference.
★ Colm snorts. “You’re funny. I’ll give you that.”
★ “Thanks. I’ll put it on my résumé. Right under ‘great at getting tied to chairs.’”
★ Coupé stops in front of you, arms crossed. “You know, if you weren’t on the wrong side of this, you’d fit right in.”
★ “Flattering. Truly.”
★ “I’m serious.” She tilts her head, studying you. “You held your own out there. Not many people can say they landed a hit on Punch-Up.”
★ Colm rubs his jaw, grinning. “Oi, that was a good one. Didn’t see it coming.”
★ “Neither did I,” you admit. “Reflex.”
★ “Hell of a reflex.”
•••
★ It shifts. You’re not sure when, but suddenly Coupé’s closer, and Colm’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and the questions aren’t about the chip anymore. They’re about you. Your fighting style. Your tell. That thing you do with your left foot before you pivot.
★ “You noticed that?” you ask, and it comes out more breathless than you intend. “Hard not to,” Colm says. His eyes are brighter up close. “You move like you’re dancing.”
★ “That’s—” You swallow. “That’s not a thing, really, basic training I had.”
★ “It is a thing,” Coupé murmurs, and her hand brushes your shoulder, featherlight. “Graceful. Controlled. Right up until you’re not.”
★ Your pulse is too loud. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
★ “It means you’re interesting.” Her fingers trail down your arm. “And we like interesting.”
★ Colm shifts closer, and suddenly you’re boxed in—Coupé on one side, him on the other. His hand finds your knee. Coupé’s mirrors it on the opposite side. You’d clamp your legs shut if your ankles weren’t restrained to the legs of this god forsaken chair.
★ “This is—” You try to sound indignant. It comes out shaky. “Highly unprofessional.”
★ “Is it?” Coupé’s smile is wicked. “We’re just being friendly.” Colm’s thumb drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate. “You don’t seem to mind.”
★ You do. You don’t. You can’t think. “I—”
★ “Relax,” Coupé says, and her voice is silk. “We’re not going to bite.”
★ “Unless you want us to,” Colm adds, and his grin is all teeth. Holy shit. Holy hell…
★ It happens fast. Coupé’s hand on your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. Colm’s breath warm against your neck, kissing along your shoulder. The space between you shrinks, and then, shes on you.
★ Her lips are soft. And you whimper into the kiss because you’re fucking pathetic. Then your head is turned to Colm. His lips are not soft. You melt anyways. You forget how to breathe. It’s a mess of heat and pressure and the kind of tension that’s been building since the moment Colm pinned you to the concrete. If we’re being honest here. Coupé tastes like something sharp and sweet, and Colm’s stubble scratches your skin in a way that makes you groan, and—
★ Sirens.
★ Distant, but getting closer.
★ Coupé pulls back first, smirking. “Saved by the bell.” Colm sighs, leaning back with visible reluctance. “Timing’s a bitch.”
•••
★ The cops arrive in a blur of flashing lights and stern voices. Coupé unties you herself, fingers lingering just a moment too long. Colm watches, arms crossed, as they cuff you and guide you toward the car.
★ “You know,” Coupé calls out, “the Phoenix Program’s always looking for recruits.” You glance back. “That an offer?” Colm grins. “That’s a suggestion.”
★ The car door closes. Through the window, you watch them—Coupé leaning against the wall, Colm’s hands in his pockets, both of them looking far too pleased with themselves.
•••
★ The walk back to the building is quiet at first. Just the sound of their boots on pavement and the distant hum of the city winding down for the night. Colm breaks the silence. “So.” Coupé glances at him. “So.”
★ “We didn’t find the chip.”
★ “Nope.”
★ “Not in the warehouse.”
★ “Nope.”
★ “Not on them either.”
★ “Also nope.”
★ Colm scrubs a hand over his face. “Robert’s gonna love this.”
★ “Oh, he’ll be thrilled,” Coupé says, “You want to tell him, or should I?”
★ “You’re better at the whole ‘delivering bad news’ thing.”
★ “Because I don’t immediately start apologizing in that sad puppy voice you do.”
★ “I don’t—” Colm stops. “Do I?”
★ “‘Sorry, Rob, we tried our best, we’ll do better next time,’” Coupé mimics, pitching her voice lower. It’s not even close to accurate, but Colm glares anyway.
★ “That’s not what I sound like.”
★ “It’s exactly what you sound like.” She taps the comm. It rings twice before Robert picks up.
★ “Coupé. Punch-Up. Status?”
★ Coupé doesn’t miss a beat. “Warehouse was clean. No chip. Subject didn’t have it on them either. We did a full sweep.”
★ There’s a pause. A long one.
★ “Shit. You’re serious,” Robert says slowly, “after all that, we’ve got nothing. Fuck.” He’s isn’t angry—more so disappointed.
★ “We’ve got a very cooperative detainee,” Coupé offers.
★ “Who doesn’t have the one thing we need.”
★ “Correct.”
★ Robert sighs—long, tired, the kind that says he’s already three steps into reworking the entire operation in his head. “Alright. Get back here. We’ll debrief and figure it out. Still, good job out there, both of you.”
★ “Copy that.” Coupé ends the call. “Well. That went better than expected.”
★ “These things happen, he gets it.” Colm shrugs.
★ “Right? He didn’t even sigh that hard.”
★ “That’s basically a win.”
★ They walk in silence for another block. Then Coupé smirks. “You know what’s funny?”
★ “What?”
★ “They almost got away.” Colm huffs a laugh. “Almost. If they’d gone left instead of right—”
★ “They’d be halfway across the city by now,” Coupé finishes. “Smart. Fast. Good instincts.”
★ “Great instincts,” Colm corrects. “That feint in the second round? I actually fell for it.”
★ “You did.” Coupé’s grin is sharp and delighted. “I saw that. You went full tilt the wrong direction.”
★ “Aye, well—” He shrugs, sheepish. “They sold it.”
★ “They sold you.”
★ “They sold both of us at different points, let’s be honest.”
★ Coupé hums, thoughtful. “True. That move where they used the wall for leverage—” She makes a vague gesture. “I didn’t even know you could do that in a fight without special gear or equipment”
★ “Right?” Colm’s eyes light up the way they always do when he’s talking about a good scrap. “And the way they twisted out of that hold I had on them? Flexible little—” He stops himself, clears his throat. “Uh. Flexible.”
★ Coupé’s eyebrow arches. “Oh yeah?”
★ “I didn’t—”
★ “You were going to say ‘flexible little shit,’ weren’t you?”
★ “Maybe.”
★ Coupé smiles softer this time. “You like them.”
★ “I—” He falters. “I respect their skills.”
★ “Uh-huh.”
★ “They’re a good fighter.”
★ “Sure.”
★ “And they’ve got a smart mouth, which is—” He stops. Regroups. “It’s impressive. Tactically speaking.”
★ “Tactically.” Coupé huffs a small laugh. “Aye. Keeps you off balance. Makes you second guess. It’s clever.”
★ “Right.” Coupé’s smile is growing. “Very tactical. Nothing to do with the fact that they called you out on your accent and you grinned like an idiot.”
★ “I didn’t—”
★ “You did! You grinned. I saw it. You looked like a kid who just got handed a lollipop.” Colm groans, tipping his head back. “Christ.”
★ “And then,” Coupé continues, clearly enjoying herself now, “you said that thing about them moving like they’re dancing, and I swear to God, Colm, I thought you were about to recite poetry.”
★ “I was being observant—”
★ “You were being smitten.”
★ “I was not—”
★ “You were. You are. It’s fine.” She bumps his shoulder with her leg. “I get it.” He looks up at her, suspicious. “Yeah?”
★ “Yes.” Her voice softens, just a fraction. “They’re… something.”
★ “Yeah,” Colm says. “They are.” They walk in silence for a while. The building comes into view, all lit windows and the low hum of late night dispatch operations. “Think they’ll apply?” Colm asks.
★ “To Phoenix?”
★ “Aye.”
★ Coupé considers it. “Maybe. If they’re smart.”
★ “They’re smart.”
★ “Then probably.”
★ Colm grins. “Good.”
★ “You’re thinking about sparring with them, aren’t you?”
★ “I’m thinking,” Colm says, “about how much fun it’d be to see them try to land that punch again. Properly this time. With a mat instead of concrete.”
★ “And maybe some post spar drinks.” She adds.
★ Colm’s ears go red. “Coupé—”
★ “What? I’m just saying.” She shrugs, all innocence. “They were fun. I wouldn’t mind round two.”
★ “Neither would I,” Colm admits. They reach the building. Coupé holds the door open, gestures him through. “For what it’s worth,” she says, “I think they liked us too.”
★ “Yeah?”
★ “Yeah.” Her smile is small, a bit devious. “They were into it. You. Me. Us.”
★ “Into it,” Colm repeats.
★ “Very into it.” She assures. Correctly so.
★“Huh,” he says.
★ “Huh,” Coupé agrees. They head inside.
•••
★After debrief, after Robert’s resigned acceptance that the chip is still MIA and they’ll need to pivot strategy, Colm catches Coupé by the lockers. “Hey.” She looks down. “Yes?”
★ “If they do apply—”
★ “When.”
★ “When they apply,” he corrects, grinning, “we’re calling dibs on training duty.” Coupé laughs, bright and startled “Absolutely.”
•••
★ Later, in a holding cell, you think about it. The Phoenix Program. Redemption. A second chance. And absolutely, definitely nothing to do with the way Colm’s hands felt on your thighs or the way Coupé looked at you like you were the most fascinating thing she’d seen all week. Or the way they managed to kiss you. Together.
★ Nothing at all.
★ …Maybe.
👽: You’ve left quite the impression on these two. And they’ve left one on you. You’re bound to be within reach again. Probably sooner than you think. Hehehe.
please do anything with Royd. He’s so big and strong and handsome and sexy and I knowwwww he talks you through it I knowwwwww he’s just the absolute best at giving aftercare PLEASE RAINY I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO SO VERY MUCH!!! (We are very low on the royd fics and I know you’re one to bring light to his amazingness.)
~☎️
Big Lover//Royd Boyfriend Head Canons
👽: I’m honored! lol. I hope I did his character justiceee
🖇️: Royd x gn!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SEXUAL THEMES/Just a bunch of head canons on how Roy would be as a lover Tehehe/I need a hug from him/Need him to hold me, cradle me, bend me over and—ENJOYYYY :3
SFW
★ Every time Roy puts on those reading glasses to tinker with some circuit board or manual, you catch him peeking over the frames at you. “What?” he’ll say, grinning. “Jus’ making sure you still there.” Like you’d ever leave when he looks at you like that.
★ He doesn’t just call you “baby.” It’s “baby girl,(boy/honey)” “sunshine,” “my sweet thing,” sometimes all three in one sentence when he’s feeling particularly soft. And when he’s working? You hear him muttering to his tech, “C’mon now, don’t be like that—” in the same gentle tone he uses with you.
★ After you kept stealing his hoodie (the worn one that smells like coconut oil and motor grease), he bought five more. Different colors. Left them everywhere. “So you always got one,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck, “even when I’m wearing one too, yeah?”
★ You have ritualistic market visits. Roy insists on going every Saturday, your hand tucked in his much larger one, that tattoo on full display. He knows all the vendors by name. Buys you fresh flowers weekly. “Orchids today? Or you like da plumeria?” And he carries everything, won’t let you touch a single bag.
★ When he passes you in the kitchen, the hallway, anywhere really—his hand finds your head automatically. Sometimes it’s a kiss pressed to your crown, sometimes just his palm resting there for a heartbeat. Grounding himself. Reminding himself you’re real.
★ You’ll find him at 2 am, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, fixing some gadget with a focus that’s almost reverent. When you pad in sleepy eyed, he pulls you into his lap without looking away from his work. Keeps one arm locked around your waist. “Go back sleep if you like,” he murmurs. “I gotchu.”
★ This man’s camera roll is seventy percent you. Candid shots mostly, you reading, laughing, sleeping in his shirt. When caught, he’s unapologetic. “What? You pretty. I like lookin’ at pretty things.”
★ He’s so fun and whimsy with you. First time thunder rolled through, he built you a blanket fort without being asked. Fairy lights he’d been “meaning to install” suddenly appeared. He crawled in beside you, this giant man folding himself small, and distracted you from the hectic storm outside with banter and stories from his past.
★ You get a monthly allowance. And it’s fatttt. He insists even if you make your own money. And still insists on buying you things, having you save your money for you. He’ll pay for your nails. (If that’s what you like.) Take you out to expensive restaurants and eat with amazing views. If you wanna have a fun night and go clubbing he’s basically your personal body guard. He’s great at extravagant. It’s easy. But he’s also sentimental.
★ He’ll buy the book you mentioned once. The specific tea or coffee you like but can’t always find. A weighted blanket because he noticed you sleep better when he’s holding you. (It’s especially nice when he’s out working.)
★ When you talk, everything stops. Phone down. Tools down. Eyes fixed on you like you’re reciting scripture. And he remembers everything—your best friends promotion, that song you hummed Tuesday, the outfit you glanced at while out. All the small things really matter.
•••
NSFW
★ Those huge, rough hands that can manipulate the smallest wires, the most delicate circuits? They know exactly how much pressure, where to press, when to be gentle and when to grip hard enough to leave memory shaped shadows on your hips. “Tell me if too much, yeah?” Even when you both know you’ll never say stop.
★ His accent deffo gets thicker. Especially when he’s inside you, words spilling against your throat. “So good fo’ me—das it, das my baby—”
★ Roy doesn’t just compliment, he worships aloud. A running commentary of “Look how perfect you stay,” “You know how beautiful? Nah, you don’t even know,” “Gonna take care of you so good, baby, I promise—” until you’re dizzy with it.
★ Cockwarming. Elaboration? Sometimes after, he just… stays. Keeps you connected, pulls you onto his chest, idly plays with your hair. “Not lettin’ go yet.” Like the separation physically hurts. And when you clench around him—involuntary, aftershocks—his breath hitches, “Shoots, baby, tryin’ kill me?”
★ He’s strong as fuck. He knows this. And enjoys it. There’s something about being able to maneuver you exactly where he wants you that makes him almost feral.
★ Lifting you against walls or holding you suspended, one arm banded across your waist, back against his chest while he shoves his free hand down your pants, thick fingers fucking into you. “So light, baby, like nothing. Can do this all night, yeah? You like?”
★ He joins you in the shower “just to help.” Runs soap slick hands over every inch of you. Presses you against cool tile, water pourinh over both of you. “Gotta make sure you all nice and clean” You’re the cleanest person alive by the time he’s done.
★ One time, he took you down to the shore after dark. Blanket. Stars. His hands under your shirt while waves crashed nearby. “Nobody around but us, baby.” The ocean was loud enough to swallow your sounds. He took full advantage.
★ Roy leaves marks. Thoughtful about placement, where only he’ll see them, where they’ll peek out just enough to remind you. Sucks bruises into your inner thighs with the same focused patience he uses on his tech. “Jus’ one more, promise.” (It’s never just one more.)
★ Aftercare Isn’t Optional. The man who takes you apart so thoroughly is meticulous about putting you back together. Always. Warm cloth, cold water, gentle hands checking in.
★ “You good? Need anything? Tell me true now.” Wraps you in his arms like a shield after, nose buried in your hair, “Did so good fo’ me. Always so good.”
im literally in love with your works!!! youre the only writer ive found that still writes for mk! can i request sub johnny cage? it could literally be anything. its like im in a desert for johnny content lol. im begging you ON MY KNEES for just a crumb of sub johnny cage🙏
youre literally single handedly keeping my mk delusions alive :P
★ Johnny lay sprawled on the Alaskan king sized bed, his sunglasses tossed carelessly on the nightstand while you bracket his hips with your thighs. He was shirtless, chest rising and falling, heart racing despite his try hard chill demeanor.
★ “You sure about this, babe?” he’d teased earlier, but the huskiness in his voice betrayed his excitement. You silenced him with a kiss, your hands already working the buttons of his jeans. Now, fully stripped, his cock heavy against his thigh, already half hard, you leaned over and reached for the silk blindfold first.
★ the black fabric is cool against your fingers. “Trust me,” you murmured, leaning in to brush your lips over his. He nodded, eyes fluttering shut as you tied it snugly around his head, plunging him into darkness. His breath hitched, hands flexing at his sides.
★ Next came the ropes—soft but insistent coils of red silk that you looped around his wrists, securing them to the headboard with practiced knots. He tugged experimentally, muscles rippling under his skin, but the binds held firm. A low groan escaped him, equal parts frustration and thrill.
★ “Fuck, this is.…intense,” Johnny muttered, his voice dropping an octave. You smirked, trailing your nails down his arms, over his pecs, watching goosebumps erupt in their wake. From the drawer, you pulled the small flogger—thin leather strands attached to a short handle, perfect for stinging teases without real harm. You flicked it lightly against his thigh first, the snap echoing in the quiet room. He jerked, a sharp inhale turning into a whine. “Shit—“
★ You didn’t let up, dragging the tips across his chest, then snapping it against his nipple. Johnny arched, head tipping back, lips parting in a breathless whimper. “Please...” The word slipped out unbidden, his usual bravado crumbling.
★ You leaned down, licking the reddened spot, soothing the sting with your tongue before whipping it again, lighter this time. His body trembled, cock twitching fully to life now, thick and veined, leaking a bead of precum at the tip.
★ You kissed down his abs, nipping at the V of his hips, while the whip danced over his inner thighs, snapping close enough to his balls to make him buck. “Oh god, you’re killing me,” he whined, voice cracking, hips grinding up into empty air. His cock throbbed visibly, desperate for touch, but you denied him, instead wrapping the leather strands around the base like a makeshift tease, tugging gently to pull a strangled moan from his throat.
★ Finally, you set the whip aside, your hand hovering over his length. Johnny sensed the shift, blindfold hiding his pleading eyes, but his body begged openly—thighs quivering, chest heaving. “Touch me,” he whined, the sound raw and needy, nothing like the action hero swagger he wore in the ring.
★ Your fingers encircled him slowly, gripping the hot, velvet shaft. He was thick in your palm, pulsing as you stroked from root to tip, thumb circling the slick head to spread his precum. You let a string of saliva drip to help with the slick. Johnny’s head thrashed against the pillow, ropes biting as he pulled against them. “Fuck, yes—more,” he gasped, but you set the pace, deliberate and teasing, squeezing just enough to make him leak more.
★ You pumped him steadily, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, watching his abs clench and release. His whines grew louder, all desperation— “Please, baby, don’t stop... oh shit, i’m—“ Precum dribbled over your knuckles, his cock swelling in your fist. You sped up, base to tip in firm, relentless strokes, your other hand lightly scratching up and down his thigh. Johnny shattered, body bowing off the bed as he came with a broken cry, binds straining, hot spurts painting your hand and his stomach in thick ropes.
★ But you weren’t done. His cock twitched in your grip, still rigid and oversensitive, the blindfold keeping him in that hazy void of sensation. You kept your hand wrapped around him, stroking slowly through the aftershocks, drawing out whimpers that bordered on sobs. “Look at you, Johnny,” you purred, voice dripping with command as you leaned close to his ear. “Cumming so quick for me already. But im not finished. I want every drop out of this greedy cock.”
★ He bucked weakly, the ropes holding him in place as your fingers tightened, milking him for all he’s worth. His spent shaft jerked in protest, but the friction built a fresh wave of heat, “Too much—fuck, it’s too—ha-fuck,” he whined, voice high and fractured, hips twitching erratically. You ignored the plea, teasing and pumping faster, your thumb pressing into the underside to rub that vein relentlessly.
★ “That’s it, whine for me,” you taunted, breath hot against his neck. “Big tough Johnny, tied up and leaking like a faucet. You love this, don’t you? begging for more even when it hurts so good.”
★ The words hit him like the whip had earlier, his body shuddering as you twisted your grip, coaxing out the remnants of his first load, then sliding down to tug at the base. Cum, saliva, more pre-cum—it all slicked your palm, making each stroke glide smoother, wetter.
★ Johnny’s head lolled side to side, blindfolded eyes squeezed shut beneath the silk. “Please... oh god, yes—no, I can’t— His contradictions spilled out in a torrent of whines, chest heaving as overstimulation clawed at him. You spit on the head again, your fist flying now in tight, rapid jerks. The whip returned briefly, snapping against his thigh to punctuate your dirty command. “Milk that cock dry for me.”
★ He broke with a guttural keen, his cock pulsing—body convulsing as a second, weaker orgasm ripped through him—sputtering pulses that barely coated your fingers this time, but the intensity left him trembling, ropes digging into his wrists from the strain. “Fuck—yes, yours, all yours,” he babbled, voice wrecked.
★ You slowed finally, easing him down with lazy strokes that made his jerk and twitch, until he slumped, utterly spent. Gently, you untied the ropes, slipping off the blindfold to reveal his dazed, flushed face. Johnny blinked up at you, lips parted in a dopey grin amid the heat.
★ “Holy shit... that was... wow.” He tugged you close for a sloppy kiss, body lax against yours. “We gotta do that again sometime. Top or bottom, you're the boss.” You chuckled, nestling into his side.
Meeting Sonar at a bar and hes there with the Z team, and you think he's hot. and suddely a big demon woman Malevola comes along.
and you get to bottom along with Sonar for the hot demon
I LOVE Malevola and Sonar as a duo
A Bat and a Demon Walk Into a Bar
👽: oh pookie this prompt is so HOTTT UGHHH!!!
🖇️: Sonar x gn!reader x Malevola
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SMUT/EXPLICIT AF/AFAB reader/kinda long oh well/it’s your first threesome/two bottoms one top/pussy eating/blowjob/finger fucking/dick riding/face riding/threesome activities frfr/ya’ll break the bed/sorry if I left anything out/enjoyyyy :3
★ The bar’s louuud. Too loud, maybe, but in that good way where you can pretend the bass is your second heartbeat and no one will notice if you stare a little too long at the guy leaning against the counter.
★ You weren’t planning to fall into someone’s orbit tonight. But then again, you never really plan these things, do you? They just happen—like tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, except instead of concrete, it’s a six foot bat.
★ He’s tall—really tall if you count the ears. And yeah, you’re counting the ears. Because why not. Dark fur, sleek build, dressed like he walked out of a magazine that knows exactly how hot he is. His posture’s relaxed. His eyes already on you. Have been for the last fifteen minutes.
★ You look away. Look back. He’s still watching.
★ Shit.
★ You take a sip of your drink like that’ll somehow save you from whatever’s about to happen, but it’s too late because he’s already pushing off the bar, weaving through the crowd with the kind of confidence that makes your stomach do something stupid.
★ When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t need to.
★ “You’ve been staring,” he says. Flat. Blunt. Like he’s reading the weather forecast. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—ha—no, I wasn’t—”
★ “You were.” He tilts his head, ears twitching just slightly. “It’s fine. I get it.”
★ “Oh, do you now?”
★ “Yeah.” He leans one elbow on the bar beside you, close enough that you can smell whatever cologne he’s wearing—something dark and woody that should be illegal. “I’m very stare-able.”
★ You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Stare-able?”
★ “It’s a word.”
★ “It’s really not.”
★ “Harvard would disagree.”
★ “Oh, Harvard,” you repeat, biting back a grin. “Well, excuse me, professor. Didn’t realize I was in the presence of academia.”
★ His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or interest. Hard to tell with the monotone. “Sonar,” he says, offering a hand.
★ You take it. His grip is warm, firm, and lingers just a second longer than it should. Long enough for your pulse to forget what rhythm it’s supposed to follow.
★ “Nice to meet you, Sonar.”
★ “Likewise.” He flags down the bartender with two fingers, orders another drink without asking what you want, and somehow gets it exactly right when it arrives. “So. You come here often, or is tonight just lucky for me?”
★ “Wow.” You take the drink, shaking your head. “Did you actually just use that line?”
★ “Did it work?”
★ “…A little.”
★ “Then yeah. I used it.” He takes a sip of his own drink,something amber and strong, and leans back just enough to look you over. Not sleazy. Just… thorough. “You’re fun.”
★ “You don’t even know me.”
★ “Don’t need to. I can tell.”
★ “Oh, can you?”
★ “Yeah. It’s the way you’re sitting. All relaxed n’ shit—but you’re ready. Like you’re waiting for something interesting to happen.” He pauses, tilts his head. “You think I’m interesting?” He asks.
★ You meet his gaze head on, and there it is again, that pull, that thing you can’t name but can definitely feel. “Jury’s still out.”
★ “Fair.”
★ The conversation spills out easy after that. Too easy, maybe, like you’ve known him longer than ten minutes. He’s got this way of talking that’s dry as hell but somehow makes everything sound like an inside joke you’re both in on. You learn he’s part of some team—the Z Team, he calls it, and yeah, they do save the world sometimes, but mostly they help people, just try not to die and occasionally succeed.
★ You look over his shoulder, see a very, very short man down a pint while a woman in silver claps excitedly. Surrounded by several others you assume to be apart of that team.
★ “Sounds glamorous,” you say, eyes flicking back to him.
★ “It’s really not. Lot of running. Lot of yelling. Someone’s always bleeding.”
★ “Sexy.”
★ “Right?” He deadpans it so perfectly you almost choke on your drink.
★ You’re mid laugh when a shadow falls over both of you.
★ A big shadow.
★ You look up.
★ And up.
★ And—Oh. She’s… tall. Like, absurdly tall. Noticeably taller than Sonar. with horns that curl up from her head like a crown and a tail that moves behind her like it has a mind of its own. Muscles that could probably crack a building in half. Skin that shimmers somewhere between crimson and ruby in the bar light.
★ And she’s smiling.
★ “There you are, you little shit,” she says, voice thick with an Australian accent that somehow makes the insult sound affectionate. She claps a hand on Sonar’s shoulder hard enough that he doesn’t even flinch, just rolls his eyes.
★ “Malevola.”
★ “Don’t Malevola me. You said you’d wait for me at the table, and instead, I find you over here chatting up—” She stops, gaze sliding to you, and her grin widens. “Well, hello.”
★ Your brain short circuits.
★ Is this his girlfriend? Did you just flirt with someone’s—
★ “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, already half standing. “I didn’t know he was—”
★ Malevola ignores him, sticking out a hand that could probably bench-press you without breaking a sweat. “Malevola. And you are?”
★ You give your name, still a little dazed, and she shakes your hand with surprising gentleness.
★ “Lovely. First round’s on me.” She flags down the bartender, orders three shots of something that sounds vaguely illegal, and slides onto the stool on your other side like she’s been here the whole time.
★ Suddenly, you’re sandwiched between a bat and a demon, and the air feels about ten degrees warmer.
★ “So,” Malevola says, leaning an elbow on the bar and propping her chin in her hand. “Sonar here borin’ ya to death yet?”
★ “Not yet.” You smile lightheartedly.
★ “Miracle.” She grins. “He’s got, like, two jokes. Both of them are about tits.”
★ “Three,” Sonar corrects.
★ “Oh, sorry. Three.”
★ You laugh despite yourself, and Malevola winks at you. There’s something disarming about her, like she’s the kind of person who’d fight god and then buy him a beer after. The shots arrive. You take one. They take the others.
★ “To new friends,” Malevola says, raising hers.
★ “Cute new friends,” Sonar adds.
★ You clink glasses, and the liquor burns all the way down.
★ The conversation shifts after that, looser, warmer, like the three of you have been friends for years instead of minutes. Malevola tells a story about a mission gone wrong that involved a helicopter, a very angry dispatcher, and Sonar’s inability to keep his mouth shut. Sonar counters with something about Malevola punching through a wall because he offended her by commenting on her cooking. Unseriously, might we add.
★ “It was a good meal,” she insists. “It was fine.” Sonar tests.
★ “You ate three plates.”
★ “I was hungry.” (He knows that shit was bussin.)
★ You’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt, and somewhere in the middle of it, you realize you’ve stopped keeping track of where you end and they begin. Sonar’s arm brushes yours when he reaches for his drink. Malevola’s tail curls lazily near your ankle, not touching but close.
★ “Good.” She exchanges a look with Sonar. It’s quick. Loaded.
★ Your pulse kicks up.
★ “Why’s that good?” you ask, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
★ Sonar sets his drink down, finally cracking the faintest smirk. “Because we’re about to make your night a hell of a lot more interesting.”
★ “Or your year,” Malevola adds. “Depends how you look at it.”
★ You glance between them, heart doing something Olympic level in your chest. “What are you—”
★ “Threesome,” Sonar says. Blunt as ever.
★ Malevola laughs at your expression, reaching over to pat your knee. “Subtle, isn’t he?”
★ “I—” Your brain’s still catching up. “Wait, are you two—?”
★ “Best friends, practically.” Malevola says easily. “With benefits. Very good benefits.”
★ “Very good,” Sonar agrees.
★ “And we were wondering,” Malevola continues, leaning in just enough that you can see your own reflection in her eyes. “if you’d like to join us tonight.”
★ The world narrows to three points—her hand on your knee, Sonar’s gaze locked on yours, and the wild, reckless yes clawing its way up your throat.
★ You should say no. You should probably think about this, huh? But thinking’s overrated when a demon’s smiling at you like you’re the best thing she’s seen all week and a bat’s looking at you like he already knows your answer.
★ “I…” You swallow. “I’ve never—”
★ “We’ll take care of you,” Malevola says, and it’s not a promise. It’s a guarantee.
★ Sonar finishes his drink, stands, and offers you his hand.
★ “You coming?”
★ You’re following behind, almost tripping over your own feet.
•••
★ The hotel room door closes behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the air’s different. Thicker. Charged. Malevola’s tail flicks behind her as she kicks off her boots, grinning over her shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable, darl. We don’t bite.”
★ “Much,” Sonar adds, already shrugging out of his jacket.
★ You stand there, heart hammering, trying to remember how your lungs work. Malevola notices. Of course she does. She crosses the room in three strides, stopping just in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet her eyes.
★ “Hey,” she says softly. “You good?”
★ You nod. “Yeah. Just—”
★ “Nervous?”
★ “Maybe.” You flush. Embarrassed.
★ “That’s okay.” Her hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “We’ve got you.” And then she kisses you.
★ It’s not what you expected, not rough or demanding. It’s slow. Warm. Like she’s got all the time in the world and she’s choosing to spend it on you.
★ When she pulls back, you’re breathless. “Still good?” she murmurs. “Yeah.” You answer
★ “alright then.”
★ Sonar’s behind you now, you didn’t even hear him move, and his hands settle on your hips, light but steady.
★ “This okay?” he asks, voice low near your ear.
★ You lean back into him, and that’s all the answer he needs. His breath is warm against your neck as his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to skim the skin of your stomach. Goosebumps prickle up, you’re caught between Malevola’s steady gaze and the solid press of Sonar behind you. Her tail curls around just to trace along your thigh, caressing. Up. Down.
★ She leans in again, capturing your lips in another slow kiss, her tongue sliding against yours with lazy confidence. You melt into it, hands finding her waist, feeling the heat radiating from her red skin.
★ She tastes like smoke and spice, her hand sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck, holding you steady as she deepens it. Sonar’s breath ghosts your ear, his fingers digging just a bit into your hips, pulling you back against the hard line of his cock pressing through his pants.
★ You break the kiss with a gasp, and Malevola chuckles, low and rumbling. “See? Not so scary.” Her eyes flick to Sonar, and she reaches past you, grabbing his shirt collar to yank him in for his turn. Their mouths meet over your shoulder, rougher than yours was, Sonar’s snout brushing her cheek as he groans into it. You watch, heart pounding.
★ Sonar pulls back first, his white eyes meeting yours, an almost shy grin splitting his face. “Your turn to watch?” he teases.
★ You laugh, breathless, shaking your head. “S-sorry.” You awkwardly shift between them, trying hard not to be a third wheel…Malevola’s grin widens, her tail curling around your thigh, the tip brushing upward teasingly.
★ “Bi panic hittin’ ya already?” she murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll ease you into it.”
★ She guides you both toward the bed, her hands firm but gentle, stripping off your shirt first. Cool air hits your skin, but Sonar’s warmth is right there, his mouth finding your shoulder, kissing softly as Malevola strips you completely. You arch into it, fingers fumbling with Sonar’s belt while she works your jeans down your legs. Laughter bubbles up when you nearly trip, Sonar steadying you with a snort.
★ “Smooth,” he says as he kicks off his pants, cock springing free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip.
★ Malevola sheds her clothes last, revealing her red skin stretched over toned muscle, horns curving up from her forehead, tail swishing. Your eyes widen at the sight. Holy shit she’s ripped…and she catches it, your admiration. “Like what you see?” She smirks.
★ “Fuck, yeah,” you whisper, and Sonar echoes it, his hand wrapping around his own length, stroking slowly as he stares.
★ She pushes you both onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. “On your backs, darls. Let me take care of you.”
★ You comply, heart pounding, as she climbs between you. Her tail wraps around Sonar’s ankle, pulling his legs apart while her hands roam your body, pinching your nipples until you whimper. Sonar watches, his chest heaving, and when Malevola’s mouth descends on your breasts/chest, sucking hard, he reaches out—hesitant at first—his fingers brushing your arm.
★ “Can I...?” he asks, voice cracking a little.
★ You nod, grabbing his hand, interlacing your fingers. The touch grounds you, but then Malevola shifts, her tail flicking up to tease Sonar’s inner thigh, and he jolts, laughing in surprise. “Holy shit, that’s—“
★ “Sensitive?” she finishes, grinning against your skin. “Good. Means I can make you squirm.”
★ She works you both with deliberate slowness, kissing down your stomach while her hand pumps Sonar’s cock, thumb circling the head. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the nerves quickly melt away when Malevola fucks her tongue deeper into your cunt. And when she pulls Sonar closer, guiding his hand, freeing it from yours to trace your thigh, encouraging him to touch, you invite it.
★ His fingers tremble as they slide toward your pussy, dipping in alongside her tongue, the position slightly awkward as you shift close to him, the both of you still on your backs for her. You moan, hips bucking, and he freezes. “Like that?”
★ “Yes—fuck,” you gasp. Malevola lifts her head, lips glistening. “That’s right.” She says encouragingly, moving to Sonar. Her hands are on him before he can settle, She wraps her lips around the head of his cock, sucking hard and deep, her tongue swirling along the underside as she bobs her head. Sonar groans, but Malevola shoots him a glare. “Finger them, mate. Make em’ wet for me.”
★ His hand continues with doubled effort. You gasp as he pumps two fingers in and out, curling them against your inner walls. The rhythm matches Malevola’s mouth on his cock—wet, messy sounds filling the room as she takes him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with each pull. Your hips buck against his hand, pleasure building as you watch her devour him, her golden eyes locked on yours.
★ But suddenly, Malevola pulls off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking. “Enough of that. Sonar, pull em’ over your lap.” She stands suddenly, moving to the side of the bed and crawling over Sonar’s face.
★ Sonar doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around your waist, hauling you across his body until you’re draped over his lap, nearly straddling him. He makes sure you hover just above his cock, not dropping you onto it just yet. You’re dripping onto him. Literally out of anticipation.
★ Malevola climbs on, straddling his face, looking right at you, she grips his shaft, lining it up with your soaked entrance, and that’s when he lets you sink down. hard. “Fuck, yes,” she moans while watching, her hands moving along his stomach, dragging her nails and leaving red lines. she starts to grind against his face, and you start to bounce on his cock.
★ His hands grip your hips to steady you, letting Malevola absolutely suffocate him. his dick hits that sweet spot inside you with every single thrust. the bed creaking under the motion. Malevola reaches forward, her fingers finding your nipple, pinching it sharply. You yelp, the sting shooting straight to your core, grinding down harder against Sonar.. “That’s it, love,” she growls, leaning over you to capture your mouth in a harsh kiss. Her tongue invades, biting your lower lip as she grinds down on Sonar’s face even harder.
★ She breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your ear. “Now, spell my name on his cock love.” You twist slightly, obeying—M, then A, tracing the letters wetly while she watches, her free hand reaching between her thighs to rub her clit. Sonar moans beneath you two, his cock throbbing inside you as the bed frame groans louder.
★ Malevola suddenly lifts off him, barely, his snout slick and shining. Giving him a second of air. Before dropping back down. He laps at her folds hungrily as she rocks her hips. One hand slaps onto her thigh while his other still holds you in place. Her hands roam to your chest again, pinching both nipples this time, rolling them between her fingers until you whimper.
★ She pulls you up by the hair, crashing her lips against yours in another brutal kiss, teeth clashing, tongues battling as she rides his face. Her juices smear across his furry cheeks, his muffled groans vibrating through her. “Spell it again,” she demands between kisses, lightly laughing, guiding your mouth back to her own chest. “With your tongue this time.” with flicks and swirls, you eagerly listen. the humiliation mixing with heat as she watches, her own climax nearly over the edge.
★ The bed shakes violently now, the headboard banging against the wall. Malevola’s moans turn to cries, her body shuddering as she cums hard on Sonar’s face, her tail curling around his ear and tugging mindlessly while flooding his mouth. He bucks his hips uselessly, finally coming undone. Whimpering between her legs.
★ You cum immediately after, soaking his thighs in a messy fashion. And in the frenzy, you all collapse in a tangle of limbs, panting and sweaty.
★ Then—a sharp crack—the bed frame splinters beneath you, the mattress dipping suddenly into the broken supports. You all tumble into the sag, laughing breathlessly.
★ Malevola pulls you both closer, sandwiching herself between you two. her tone playful. “Well, bugger me, we broke the bloody bed. Best threesome ever, eh?” Sonar chuckles, nuzzling your neck, and you can’t help but grin, the three of you cuddling in the wreckage like it’s the coziest nest in the world. (They definitely made your entire year.)
