i think its funny how superman and superboy prime are literally the alternate versions of each other yet act so so differently
not even just from their behavior, but from the way they fuck too. and how did you know? well, probably because superboy prime was balls deep behind you while your hand was wrapped around superman’s cock
“ohhh baby, you’re a star” clark— superboy prime— moaned, his hands ruthlessly pulling your hips to make contact with his and his chin resting on your shoulder to whisper in your ear. “jerkin’ off superman and gettin’ fucked by superboy prime” a dazed smirk formed on his panting lips. “now that’s what i’d call an intro—"
a choked moan left him when he felt your pussy squeeze him. the pace was almost merciless, the speed and depth of his thrusts making lewd noises come out of your poor cunt. it pulled out an ah! ah! ah! and other soft sounds from your parted lips
meanwhile, clark — superman— was panting under you, his blue eyes blown and pinned on your boobs bouncing with each thrust as his hand was on top of yours, guiding you. your name left his lips in a moan, feeling your soft hand brush a vein on his cock just right it made his length twitch in your grasp
“just like that, honey” clark whined, his big chest heaving and his hand speeding. “god, you’re perfect” it was amusing, really— the great superman, now undone and at your mercy just by your touch
“look at him” clark— prime— whispered in your ear, his eyes on his alternate self. “look how ruined he is, all from your— hah— hand alone” his mouth went behind your ear to place an open-mouthed kiss with a chuckle. “and hear how well she’s takin’ me”
of course, he was talking about your pussy— the same one that was handling each and every inch of his cock, wet slaps and squelches heard
“clark i— ohhh my god, clark!” which one were you moaning about? probably both
and to add on to the stimulation you were already feeling, clark’s other hand slipped down to press on your clit with his thumb. the added pressure along with clark’s cock— prime— drilling in you made a loud moan leave your lips and your hips jolt as a response
but the large hands on your hips immediately pulled you back, holding you back in place. “ah ah” clark— prime— murmured, his hands sliding up to your boobs to squeeze and fondle with them, his pace not stopping for even a second. “not yet pretty girl, let me fill you up first”
could this be considered a threesome if you were fucking two alternate versions of the same person? yes and no, but who cares?
Summary: you help Jean-Paul when he can't fall asleep
Content/CW -> gn! reader, nightmares/insomnia, mentions of past violence
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> okok i was sooo nervous to write this one and yet when i sat down to write it i found it went smoother than the booster gold one i was trying to write so :,) lowk i think i need to add him to my regular rotation bcs he's such a sweetheart
Even the rain gently pattering at your window isn’t enough to soothe Jean-Paul back to sleep.
He’s stiff as a board, sitting upright on the mattress next to you, his mind racing. You’re sound asleep next to him, comforter tugged up to your chin, blissfully unaware of the horrors he’s experiencing.
He should wake you up. He knows he should—you’d asked him to—and yet, he can’t. You’re too peaceful, too warm, too wrapped up in the cozy comfort of whatever it is you dream about every night. He wouldn’t dare disturb you, not for something as silly as this.
Still, the things he’s done as Azrael continue to plague him when he closes his eyes, blurry visions of gore burned into the backs of his retinas.
He swipes a few long, blond strands from his face and reaches to the nightstand to put his glasses back on. Squinting at the alarm clock on your nightstand, he cringes when he sees the time. Well past three in the morning.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, mind set on washing those few extra dishes you’d left in the sink before bed. He’s not getting sleep anytime soon, he might as well make himself useful.
He’s just about to stand, half of his weight already in the balls of his feet pressed against the floor, when he feels your soft touch on his wrist.
He glances at you over the shoulder, forcing a smile when he sees the sleep-ridden concern on your face. Your eyes are still half-closed, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Jean?” You yawn, “what time is it?”
“Late, sweetheart.”
You nod, tugging at his wrist, drawing him into you. He gives in, letting himself flop back into the mess of pillows and blankets, laid flat on his back next to you.
He frowns, “did I wake you?”
“Told you to wake me if you couldn’t sleep.”
The guilt sets in, a new weight over the already unbearable weight he carries every day. “I’m sorry.”
“S’fine,” you murmur, rolling over to lay on his chest.
He’s warm, chest radiating heat like the sword that plagues him. You press a hand against the bare skin of his stomach, snuggling close to him. Jean drapes an arm over your side, pulling you in.
“What was it tonight?” You ask.
“Same as usual,” he admits quietly. “Thinking about the things I—Azrael did.”
You look up at him through your lashes, tracing soft circles on his skin. Goosebumps raise where you drag your fingers, muscles relaxing beneath his skin.
You press a kiss to the side of his pec. “You’re not your past.”
“I know, it’s just—“
Sometimes the voice get so loud. Sometimes they roar at him in the dead of night until it’s all he can hear. Punish the guilty, be the avenging angel, seek vengeance.
“It’s too much,” he admits. “Some nights, it’s just too much, and the world is so quiet and—and my head is so loud.”
You prop yourself up on an arm to look at him properly. “What helps to quiet it?”
He pauses for a moment to think, remembering the techniques he’s used to get himself through nights much worse than this one. Nights before you were at his side, before the safety net that he finds in your arms came to be.
“Stories, mostly. About the Saints and other things.”
“Tell me one,” you say.
And he does. He starts to regale you with a story about a Saint you’ve never heard of, spouting off each detail like it’s second nature to him. The sound of his voice soothes you, has you relaxing back into his chest, your breathing steadying.
Telling you the story has him soothing himself, too. The voices aren’t so loud, the guilt doesn’t plague him as heavily, he doesn’t see the snapshots of violence behind his eyelids anymore.
Before he knows it, he’s reached the end of the story. You’re fast asleep on his chest, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He finds his own eyes feeling heavy for the first time tonight, sleep finally clasping his hand.
He brushes a thumb over your temple, “I love you so much.”
dc masterlist | navigation
thanks for reading & have a wonderful day /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Or: Clark returns after a seemingly never-ending mission with the Justice League
Warnings: Not really, a little angsty at the beginning but only because you miss / are worried about Clark. Pure fluff after. — NOT PROOFREADING DONE
Morph's thoughts: Hadn't done one of these for Clark yet so here it is, I'm thinking weather i should do masterlist by charters now that i have one of each recurring character or wait a bit until there's a bigger collection — Also, I'm preparing a little series of fics that i hope to get out before June ends, if i don't please pretend i did. Thank you.
It had been an exhausting two weeks. You'd been woken up by Clark in the middle of the night, now fifteen days ago, brain still too sluggish to fully comprehend all the information he was throwing at you while getting his Superman suit on. Still, you had caught enough of it, something about a Justice League emergency, some intergalactic things going on that required his help. All you'd managed was to nod along to his words, getting out a quick request for him to be safe and make it home to you before he'd pressed a soft kiss to your lips before disappearing though the bedroom's window.
When your alarm had woken you up the next morning, eyes opening to find his empty pillow instead of his usual sleepy smile, it had dawned on you. It hadn't been a weird dream, Clark had really left for a mission that you had no idea how long could last.
Still, you'd avoided dwelling on it for too long, taking a shower and getting ready for the day, mentally reassuring yourself that it would go by quickly. After all he hadn't gone on his own.
That strategy had worked for about three days, where you'd been busy enough with work and meeting friends and family to not think about it too hard. But when the weekend had arrived —and just your luck, it being one of the very sparse rainy weekends in Metropolis— you'd found yourself spending most of your time in a too-quiet apartment.
This is what you hated the most about this kind of mission, how lonely it felt without Clark around. If he was somewhere on Earth, even if he was gone for days at a time, he'd always sneak in a call or a message, something quick to check in. However, the moment he had to go into space all forms of communication got cut, even the coms system Oracle had given you that one time your phone had been compromised by Luthor.
From then on the days had dragged on by, the hours at work feeling long, but those spent alone in your apartment feeling longer. By the week and a half mark you'd started to space out your meetings with friends, clearly none of your non-super friends knew about your boyfriends identity so your worry over his "work trip" had started to rise questions about the well-being of your relationship. And your mutual friends that knew of Superman, well, they were preoccupied with the same intergalactic-level threat as Clark.
The best way you'd found to distract yourself was to have something playing on pretty much all hours of day. Like right now. It was bit sad, spending a Friday night cooped in while eating takeout from the Chinese restaurant down the street —one you'd have to avoid for a bit after Clark got back, given that they had greeted you by name as soon as they'd picked up your call— in an old pair of your boyfriend's pyjamas while watching some kid's movie that was playing on TV.
It's not that the plan itself was a bad thing; however the fact that your usual Friday night would entail either date night with Clark or a couple of drinks with Lois and Jimmy added to how frequent the take out and random movie combo had been just in the last week, did make you feel a little extra bad tonight.
Pitying yourself a little too much, you'd set down the chow mein container, getting up from the couch and shuffling your way into the kitchen for a much needed glass of wine.
The task of finding the bottle opener and managing to take the cork out had been arduous enough after the last two weeks that you hadn't heard the balcony door squeak open. What you had undoubtedly recognised though was the sound of Clark's voice calling out your name from the living room.
In an instant the half-filled glass of wine had been completely forgotten as you run back into the room, jumping into your boyfriend's awaiting arms. Not caring about the dust and grime clinging to his face and suit, you hold onto him like a koala, pressing kisses all over his face.
He laughs as his arms wrap around you, tight, and gods how you've missed that sound. It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy, like you've laid down in a sunny spot after a long day at the beach. You only stop your rain of kisses when one of his hands moves to cup your cheek —the other arm easily holding you up— guiding your lips to his.
"I'm back," he murmurs softly, lips brushing against yours with every words. "In one piece, just like i promised." He steals your breath with another kiss, and then another. Your forehead rests against his while the two of you focus on catching your breath. Your eyes lost in his blue ones when he steals one more little peck. "I'm home, baby."
Summary & CW: hurt/comfort, fwb, post mission, yearning bruce final boss, reader gets hurt, second person, no use of y/n, minor love confession
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 0.9k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to the beautiful @cherryvvave for requesting, I hope you love it diva <3333
Consciousness comes to you with fluorescent lights first.
The migraine was already teasing at your periphery.
The next sense that kicks in is smell. The air reeks of sharp disinfectant and latex. Your skin was itching, begging to claw its’ way out of the polyester gown that you don’t remember changing into.
Ah.
You’re in the hospital.
Slowly, blinking away the fog clouding the front of your mind, the memories start racing back. There was a sledge hammer, a gun, and Tim in the crossfire. While he was holding off the man with the hammer, a gun pointed at his temple. Doing the only logical thought that came to your mind in the split second you had to act, you dove in front of him.
The rest of it was pretty hazy.
A squeeze of your left hand grounds you to the hospital bed. Turning your neck ever so slightly, a disheveled and considerably more exhausted Bruce Wayne comes into view.
He’s insufferable. No one should be able to look as gorgeous as he does in a hospital room. Yet here is doing what he does best, going against the normal flow of the world. He’s in a wrinkled dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, that you’re positive he’s rolled and unrolled a thousand times since being here, bags under his eyes that have faded from grey to purple, and hair that has defied its original clean style by having a careful- almost invisible- part down the middle from where his hands ran through it.
Then there’s the look he’s giving you.
It’s dark and tired with a hint of relief behind the dulled intensity of his gaze. For someone who was so carefully neutral, his eyes constantly betrayed him as a portal to everything he tried to hide. They changed with the seasons of his feelings. There were mornings where they were lighter than clouds, and nights when they mirrored a hurricane from the Atlantic. And now, they were dimmed to a grey you never wanted to be on the receiving end of again.
“You’re here.” You manage to croak out, your voice rough.
His thumb hasn’t paused form rubbing mindless circles on the back of your palm, a grounding measure for you or him? You’re not sure.
“I am.” His voice is gravelly from lack of use.
“How-” a cough. “How’s Tim?”
At the sound of your disruption, Bruce springs into action. He stands from the chair at the side of your bed to grab a conveniently placed glass of water on your night stand. Pushing it in your direction, the cold cup is a nice sensation on your lips. His eyebrows furrow together watching the water trickle down your throat, making sure you swallow it. His other hand never leaves yours.
After a few sips, he returns the glass back down on the side table. “Tim’s okay,” he’s acting carefully even about the whole thing. “I believe a thank you is in order.”
A small chuckle falls from your lips, and thankfully it doesn’t turn into a coughing fit. “Of course Bruce, it’s nothing.”
He straightens at that, “it’s not nothing.”
Swallowing, you don’t know what to do from here. You haven’t navigated this terrain with Bruce. This was a dance you haven’t done yet. You and him had weren’t quite something but not nothing either. It was a weird in between that only really sprouted from early morning showers and kisses in the sheets.
“I’m fine Bruce, really.” You weren’t sure how convincing it was considering you could feel the stitches in your abdomen, but you didn’t know how else to communicate it. “They’re your boys and you trusted me with them. They come first.”
“It’s not a matter of who comes first, it’s matter of you being careless with your life. Do you know how agonizing it is to hear over the comms that you were shot and it was almost fatal?” That’s a bit dramatic, the bullet went straight through you. Clean shot, you’d suffered worse. “The kids are my life, they’re my children. But you- you are everything to me.”
Maybe it was exhaustion or maybe it was the drugs, but your jaw physically drops. Your eyebrows furrow together and you couldn’t hide the shock that ran through your body. Digesting your reaction, a small smile fights its way onto his lips.
It wasn’t the billionaire playboy smirk or the warm one he wears when his kids are in the manor sitting room squabbling about a biscuit. No- it’s something more gentle, as if your presence lights him up from the inside out. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed and leans forward. His lips press to the corner of yours and the warmth from him floods through your body.
“It’s amazing,” he whispers as his forehead falls to yours. “How you truly are one of the smartest people I know, and you still can’t tell that I would do anything for you.”
No words are coming to you and you choose to blame it on the medication. So you do what anyone would do after a mind-numbing love confession, you kiss him.
You push yourself forward off and meet his lips. The feeling is something close to the divine, but not quite. It’s more. It’s like everything in the world finally clicked into place and it all went quiet. There was no beeps from a heart monitor, no nurse rushing down the hallway, no robins interrupting, it was just you and him.
And now, you finally understand what fine means, because the bullet to the stomach led you down the road you’ve been wandering for too long.
For the neglected characters event can we just ask for a character or do we have to attach a scenario to the request ?
Very excited for this event ! I have gone on a characters tag only to find like 10 fics one too many times. So thank you !🙏🏼
its totally up to you!! you can just do a character + a genre (fluff, angst etc) but if you want more of a specific plot, you can totally do that too <3
Jason Todd/Reader, 671 words [request from anonymous sender]
-> cw: makeouts, gn!reader (no description of features/clothing)
masterlist ao3 requests
Whenever you make out with Jason, there is one thing that you were never poignantly aware of before—that he was able to unlock a new avenue of sensation. After all, before you met him—you had never really been with anyone before.
And you had definitely never even been with someone that you could readily make out with. And you had never been with anyone that was able to take you down this avenue of…tactile discovery.
Because that was the thing: every time that the two of you kissed—there was a flare of heat, a blooming of insistent need that would take reckoning of you whenever the two of you shared both space and privacy.
But one thing was for certain: every time that Jason got you alone, he would alone have the privilege of being able to enjoy the sanctity of your mouth against his.
Much as he does now, as he holds you on the terrain of the couch, his mouth pressed against yours. His hands searching out the details of your body, roaming up the width of your thighs wrapped around the spread of his thick waist.
You can feel the instinctive grind of his body against yours, against the junction of your legs. This lets you become quite aware of something burgeoning with lustful intent. As if the ways that he was making you come undone with his mouth was no clear indicator.
And oh, the things he's doing with his mouth right now—the way that he takes his tongue and presses it at the seam of your lips. The way that your mouth opens to give him access, and how he takes what you've given him without any hesitation.
And you can feel his tongue scrape against yours—and encounter the beaded pearl piercing that dots the center of the muscle.
There's an exquisite shiver that blooms inside-out as you feel the way that his tongue laves at the spot, desperate to commemorate the taste of you against him.
And his hands, while already exploratory, become so much more desperately hungry for more. They grab in avid handfuls to ensure that you will remain trapped under him—a captivity that you're happy to endure.
He knows you like it; after all, the moan that you make into him, that he swallows with another slick lap of his tongue against yours—the heady rush of sensation from the crown of your head that jolts straight between your legs—
He knows what effect it has on you. He understands all-too-well how much it drives you wild, and he'll do his best to ensure he can continue to encourage those reactions out of you. He searches for the back of your teeth with an expert swipe of his tongue; your hips roll into him with an instinctiveness that you cannot resist.
Jason only pulls away when the necessity for air demands him to, so that he may admire the flustered state that he has reduced you to. So that he can see the glassy manner that your eyes arc up to him with, the boozy smile that you take aim with.
He huffs an amused breath through his gritted teeth—after all, he can't resist the grin at this prize that he's got below him. Not when he's been able to undo you in such manner.
"You like when I kiss you, sweetheart?" He asks, his eyes mercurial—dark with intent to fulfill his duties to the very letter. All that you can do is nod with unabashed glee, unabashed mischief that spreads your smile wider.
"Are you gonna keep doing it?" You ask him with a sly undertone to your voice. He doesn't miss it; if there's one thing your boyfriend is good at, it's picking up on a hint.
"Sure am." He groans as he begins to consume the distance that has elapsed between you both. As he seizes his mouth against yours, and takes care to finish the job that he started.
dividers and banner made by me, Jason Todd art drawn by @/deathstar_soy on instagram
$ log - after a messy breakup, you turn to tony stark for some rebound fun. spoiler alert: he’s obsessed with you and endorses all your actions!
$ warn --nsfw --fem!reader --dom!reader --sub!tony --obsessed!tony --rebound-sex --doggy --revenge --filming --teasing --uninhibited -spiting-your-ex --tape-leaks --dirty-talk
$ wc -w 2.2k
$ cd masterlist
$ echo “lowk js wanted to infodump abt env variables” > authors-note.txt
$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger
The penthouse was swallowed in a suffocating, expensive silence, broken only by the rhythmic, wet slap of skin hitting skin and the low, frantic breathing of two people engaged in a beautiful act of malice.
The only light in the room was the cold, blue bleed of the city skyline through the floor to ceiling glass and the predatory, rhythmic pulse of a small red LED on the camera propped in the corner. That tiny blinking light was the heartbeat of the room, the silent witness to the wreckage you were building.
On the edge of the silk sheets, you held the position with a commanding, effortless grace. You were on all fours, your spine arched in a receiving curve that directed each scene of the night.
Every time Tony drives into you, his body slamming against yours with a frantic, desperate energy, a performance even. He was exuberant, his eyes darting toward the lens in the corner as if checking to ensure the angle was perfect, his movements calculated to maximise the visual impact for the man who would eventually watch this.
His large hands were wrapped firmly around your chest, pulling your breasts upward and back, forcing them to bounce in a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence that synced perfectly with the heavy, punishing thrusts of his hips.
He wanted it all captured: the sweat glistening on your skin, the way your head tossed back in a display of effortless pleasure, and the sheer, unbothered dominance in your gaze. There was no guilt in the room, only a shared, dark intoxication.
As he groaned, a low, guttural sound of pure, manic devotion, he leaned in to whisper against the shell of your ear, his breath hitching with every heavy lunge. "Look at the light, baby... make sure he sees how much you love this," he urged, his voice thick with a twisted kind of pride. He was helping you dismantle a man, piece by piece, through the sheer visual evidence of your satisfaction.
You didn't even bother to look back at him with affection; instead, you cast a sharp, predatory glance toward the blinking red eye of the camera, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.
You were the architect of this chaos, and Tony was your most willing, most enthusiastic demolition crew. Every time his hips collided with yours, sending a jolt of sensation through your core, you felt the delicious weight of your power.
Don't get anything wrong here, you weren't someone mourning of a lost love. No, here, wrapped in his strong arms with the zooming lens ahead— you were someone celebrating a conquest.
As Tony’s hips pushed into you with a bruising, rhythmic intensity, you let out a low, melodic laugh that sounded more like a challenge than a moan. You tilted your head back, eyes lidded and sharp, catching the glint of the camera lens.
"Hey, Tony," you purred, your voice dripping with a sly, effortless confidence that made his breath hitch. "You sure this camera is ultra 4K? It better be. It needs to catch every single detail from the way my tits bounce to the exact moment he sees how much better this feels than him."
Tony let out a choked, manic sound, half groan and half laugh, his grip tightening on your waist until his knuckles went white. He loved it. He loved the sheer, unapologetic cruelty of your satisfaction. He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his voice thick with a twisted kind of pride. "It'll be perfect, baby. Every inch of you. He won't be able to look away even if he tries."
He drove into you again, a deep, punishing lunge that forced a sharp, satisfied gasp from your throat. You didn't shy away from the sensation; you leaned into it, arching your back to present yourself even more brazenly to the lens. You were a masterpiece of calculated hedonism, and you knew it.
"Good," you whispered, a predatory smirk playing on your lips as you felt him shudder against you. "Because when he watches this, I want him to feel every single thrust. I want him to see exactly what he lost, and exactly how much more a real man can give me."
Tony let out a guttural groan, his movements becoming frantic, almost desperate to satisfy your demand for perfection. He'd lost himself on fucking you solely, his hands were almost worshipping you, trailing over the smooth expanse.
Tony’s breathing was a ragged, desperate thing, his chest heaving against your back as the intensity in the room reached a fever pitch. He was obsessed with the spectacle of you, satisfied to the brim.
With a low, predatory growl, he shifted his weight, his hands sliding down from your waist to the insides of your thighs. He gripped you firmly, spreading your legs just a little wider, angling your hips to ensure the camera had an unobstructed, intimate view of your most sensitive parts.
"Watch this," he hissed, his eyes fixed on the red blinking light, a manic glint in his gaze. "Watch how she takes it."
As he continued to drive into you, he reached down with his free hand, his long fingers slick and expertly poised. His thumb found your clit with a precision that was almost surgical. He began to rub, a firm, rhythmic friction designed to be as visually stimulating as it was physically devastating.
He made sure to do it right in front of the lens, a deliberate display of how easily he could unravel you.
"Look at her," he groaned, his voice a dark, gravelly rasp as he watched your reaction. "Look at how she's fucking breaking."
The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of heat that started at the point of his contact and radiated through your entire body. You didn't hide the pleasure; you leaned into the vulnerability of it, letting your head fall back against his shoulder, your head tossed back in a display of sheer, unbridled ecstasy. Every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, was a deliberate note in the symphony of your triumph.
"That's it, baby... give him everything," Tony urged, his voice a feverish command. He increased the pressure of his thumb, his movements becoming faster, more relentless, ensuring the camera caught the frantic twitch of your muscles and the slick, glistening evidence of your arousal.
He was driving you toward the edge, watching your eyes glaze over with pleasure, knowing that this exact moment of vulnerability would be the most devastating thing your ex had ever seen.
The tension snapped. A shuddering orgasm ripped through you, your pussy clamping tightly around him as you cried out, a sound that was half sob and half triumph. You arched your back so hard, your breath coming in jagged, desperate hitches.
The sensation was so intense it felt like you were being unmade, but even in the throes of your release, you kept your eyes flicking back to that red light, making sure the visual of your undone state was captured in high definition.
Tony didn't let you settle. He used your release to fuel his own, his thrusts turning heavy and punishing as he chased his own peak. He watched you with a hunger that was almost terrifying, his face illuminated by the manic joy of a man who had just helped his queen win a war.
He leaned down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder, his voice a wrecked, triumphant whisper. "There it is... look at that, baby. He's going to fucking die when he sees this."
The sterile, cool air of the lab was a sharp departure from the feverish heat of the penthouse, but the tension hadn't dissipated. It had simply evolved into something more cerebral, more dangerous.
You prowled lazily through the rows of humming servers and glowing holographic displays, the soft soles of your feet silent against the polished floor. In your hands, you held a sleek tablet, the screen casting a cool glow over your face as you scrolled through the raw footage.
"Damn," you murmured, a slow, satisfied smirk tugging at your lips as you watched the high definition playback of your own arched spine and the way his hands had gripped you. It was visceral, a masterpiece of spite captured in 4K.
Tony didn't even look up from his workstation, his fingers dancing across a holographic interface with the practiced ease of a man performing surgery. He was focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he meticulously cropped the footage.
He was careful, surgical in his precision, cutting away the recognisable lines of your faces, leaving only the intimate, anonymous geometry of your bodies, the rhythmic motion of your hips, and the undeniable evidence of your pleasure. He was making sure the mystery was just as enticing as the act itself.
"How are we leaking this, though?" you asked, leaning against a sleek metal workbench, your eyes never leaving the screen. You tapped a finger against the edge of the tablet, your voice lilted with a casual, teasing curiosity. "I like the idea of videos, but 'leaks'? It sounds so... messy. Uncontrolled."
Tony finally paused, his fingers hovering over the holographic display as he turned his chair toward you. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, the kind of expression that made it clear he had been thinking ten steps ahead of everyone else.
"It’s not a leak, baby. A leak is an accident. This? This is a targeted strike," he said, his voice dropping into that low, confident register that always signaled he was about to show off. He tapped a command, and a complex schematic of a network architecture bloomed in the air between you. "I’m not just uploading this to some random site where the whole world can see it and dilute the impact. That would be amateur hour."
He gestured to the glowing nodes of the diagram. "I’m building a private, localised server. It’s going to be a digital ghost encrypted, high security, and completely invisible to standard scrapers. But here’s the best part, I'm going to manipulate the environment variables so the access is incredibly narrow. It’s not going to be a wide open URL that anyone can stumble upon. Instead, it’ll be a gated, high level protocol. I’ll set the permissions so the server only recognises a specific set of IP addresses and device IDs specifically, your ex's phone, his laptop, and the devices belonging to his closest circle of friends."
He tapped a sequence of commands, and the holographic nodes pulsed a deep, menacing violet. "To anyone else on the internet, the server won't even exist. It’ll look like dead space, a ghost in the machine. But for them? It’ll be the most high definition, inescapable humiliation of their lives. They’ll get a notification, a direct link that bypasses every firewall they have, and they’ll be forced to watch you take exactly what you want, exactly how you want it.
Most people would have felt a chill at the sheer, surgical malice of his plan, the idea of a digital trap designed specifically to haunt a handful of men. But as you watched the violet nodes of the server architecture pulse in the air, your smile didn't falter, but it widened, turning sharp and hungry.
"That sounds great, actually," you said, your voice smooth and utterly devoid of hesitation.
Tony’s eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, the genius engineer vanished, replaced by a man completely intoxicated by the darkness in your soul and the unadulterated joy of your shared depravity. He lived for that look the way your eyes glinted with a predatory satisfaction that most people would find terrifying, but to him, was the most beautiful thing in the world.
You turned away from his holographic masterpiece, your eyes drifting back to the raw footage on your tablet one last time. You compared it to the edited version on his screen, noting how the subtle blurring of your faces only heightened the voyeuristic intensity, focusing the viewer's attention entirely on the raw, rhythmic friction of the act itself.
It was perfect. It was anonymous enough to be a haunting mystery, but intimate enough to be a direct slap to the face.
"After this, I'm riding you," you called out over your shoulder, your voice echoing through the vast, high tech expanse of the lab. You paused at the threshold of the hallway, a mischievous, wicked glint in your eyes
"Hey, we could even make this a cam series," you added, letting out a final, melodic laugh that drifted down the hallway like a taunt.
Tony sat in the silence of the lab, the blue light of the holographic displays reflecting in his eyes. He didn't answer immediately, since he didn't really need to. He simply watched the empty space where you had just been, a slow, reverent smile spreading across his face.
He was a man who had spent his life solving equations and mastering complex systems, but you were the only variable that truly mattered. He would build empires, destroy reputations, and rewrite the very laws of digital privacy just to see that wicked, triumphant glint in your eyes one more time.
He would do absolutely anything for you, and the most terrifying part was that you didn't even have to ask.
froggi… slice of life with colossus and my life will be yours. Maybe painting together because that’s one of his hobbies? Or working in the garden? I DUNNO BUT I TRUST YOU WITH MY MAN 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽
Summary: you spend an afternoon painting with Piotr outside
Content/CW -> gn! reader, wholesome fluff
— requested as part of my neglect week event
froggi yaps -> i am sick today so apologies if there's any typos ;-; lowk it hurts to look at screens but f it we ball :p i hope the 8 colossus fans enjoy this <3
The bright sun above paints Piotr’s face in perfect shades of gold, reflecting off his canvas and back onto his skin. It filters through his fingers, clasped tightly around the paintbrush, and turns his dark hair reddish.
You tighten your own grip on your brush, resisting the urge to reach out and card your fingers through his hair. He’s always handsome, but under the late afternoon sun, he looks ethereal. God-like.
The muscles in his arm rib and flex while he moves his arm along the canvas, each stroke smooth and perfect. He hums to himself while he paints, some quiet song you don’t quite recognize but wish you could listen to forever.
Sitting outside the X-Mansion, the summer air rustling over your skin, you find yourself wanting to live in this moment for the rest of your life.
You turn back to your own canvas, still blank save for the background you’d started painting. You swirl your brush around in your cup of water, wracking your brain for something to paint, if only so you don’t get caught staring at your boyfriend like a creep.
You’re so caught up in your own thoughts that you don’t even notice him staring at you until he speaks.
“What are you thinking about?”
You flinch slightly and flash him a nervous smile. “Trying to find something to paint.”
He nods, tapping his chin the way he does sometimes when he’s deep in thought. It’s something you’ve always found cute, even before you started dating. One of his many little habits that he doesn’t even know he does.
“What are you painting?” You lean over slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of his canvas.
He shuffles slightly, blocking the view with his broad shoulders. “It’s a surprise.”
You bat your eyelashes at him. “Please?”
He smiles guiltily, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s always had a hard time saying no to you, the very word feeling heavy and awkward in his mouth.
You giggle slightly, shaking your head. “It’s fine, Petey.”
He breathes a sigh of relief, going back to painting on his own canvas. Despite yourself, you can’t look away from him, from the way the light paints him perfectly, the way he slightly sticks his tongue out in concentration.
You blink, an idea finally coming over you. You turn back to your canvas, dipping your brush in the paint and finally making a stroke. And then another, and then another.
The sun sinks lower on the horizon, the warm air fading to a cooler breeze as the sky darkens around you, and still, the two of you paint. You’re almost done when a particularly cold breeze washes over you, forcing a shiver up your spine.
Piotr’s eyes snap to you, concern furrowed in his brow. “You’re cold,” he frowns.
“It’s fine.”
He rises from his chair, coming to stand behind you and draping an arm across either shoulder. His large body engulfs you, skin warming yours wherever it makes contact. He raises a brow, cocking his head to the side as he looks at your painting.
“Is that…me?”
You look at him over your shoulder, smiling sheepishly. “Mhm. Do you like it?”
He reaches out a hand, thick fingers hovering over the freshly painted brushstrokes. He laughs slightly, “it’s wonderful.”
“Really?”
He nods, still chuckling to himself.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Come look,” he says, scooping you up from the stool you’ve been sitting on for hours.
You wrap your arms around his neck, body relaxing into his as he lifts you onto his own stool, sitting you directly in front of his painting. You blink. It’s a beautiful rendition of you, sitting on your stool, staring off into your canvas.
You giggle, “you painted me?”
The thought of the two of you, sitting directly next to each other and painting each other without knowing, only makes your heart swell with joy. He really is your perfect match.
He hums, “I had to, you’re so beautiful.”
You cup his jaw, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. He follows your lead, moving his lips along yours. Beneath the setting sun, in the warmth of his arms, there really is no place you’d rather be.
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful day /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
Summary & CW: Angst, enemies (more like rivals/they had beef with each other) to lovers , he gets jealous, blade of marmora!keith, spy!reader, reader has hair long enough that can be put up, no use of y/n, second person
Pairing: Keith Kogane x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2.4k
A/N: Another piece out the Kiln! Thank you to the loml (@starkkat) for requesting this ilysm. Yall do not know this but before zuko and Jason, there was keith <3 10 year old me knew what was up when I saw him, cannot believe I’ve been down bad for him for 10 years omg. Anyway I hope you all enjoy this fic, it is VERY self-indulgent! (Also please don’t think too much about the timeline)
You were without a doubt going to kill Keith Kogane.
After the last mission with the paladins, a source of yours reached out with the a lead you’d been investigating for months. It felt as though the clouds parted and the sun finally shone for the first time in weeks. This comet had become the biggest pain in the ass since you lost it.
The next day, you approached Shiro asking for clearance to take a pod in order to handle a personal matter.
It wasn’t out of the ordinary for this to happen. The paladins went out on their own pretty often. With the little free time they had or on their own solo missions, they took the lions freely with the only requirement being communicating about where they went.
This mission though… this one was a little different.
Under no circumstance could Lotor find out.
Allura may have grown an affinity for the prince, going as far as making an alliance with him. However, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of you.
This was a man who tried to kill you, on multiple occasions.
She may have been ready to sweep it under the rug with the discovery of his Altean heritage, but you weren’t. This was the son of a dictator. This was a prince who once held a sword to your neck while his generals had a gun to your temple, sparing you nothing but a smile.
He was without a doubt, his father's son.
So with the slight possibility at finding the remains of the comet, you had to go. You weren’t convinced that Lotor had only made one ship with it. There had to be something else.
Shiro cleared you with no problem. The only concern now was having to remove the tracking tech on the pod. You covered your tracks and came up with a whole story, but with one look at where you were, it would fall apart in an instant.
Fortunately, after four nights of messing with wires and panels with your rudimentary knowledge of Altean, you managed to disconnect the location services of the pod. You left before anyone woke and shut down all comms on the trip on the preface of fear of interception. Travel took a little under a day.
The slight dilemma about the mission was where your “lead” was. It was in the Kexeresa system. There wasn’t much information about it. They were on the careful edge of rebel fighters and Galran empire, standing on a precipice ready to fall onto anyone’s side. The team hadn’t managed to get all the way out here yet. There were only eight of you, and the whole universe to save.
The pod landed on the outskirts of the city. Thankfully, no one was guarding the entry and exit of the planet's atmosphere. Making your way into town, you were grateful there weren’t many strange looks shot in your direction. The pros of being more on the back end is no one knew your face. And seeing as you didn’t have a lion or paladin armor, it made these missions less complicated than what you were accustomed to.
The man you needed to meet was in a bar. Stepping thorugh the entryway, you almost laughed. It looked like the Cantina from the Star Wars movies you watched back at home. It was almost comical how similar the layout was. The band was in the corner, the bar top was in the center, and the pale sandstone of the walls transported you onto a movie set you hadn’t thought of in years.
Nistos was toward the back, sat in a booth with a drink in hand. While not being Galran himself, he associated with many. The picture you’d found in the system did not do his appearance justice. He was horrific to look at, his presence disgusted you. He had a hooked nose with a sage green complexion and beady eyes that eyed up every woman walking past him.
This was either going to be a lot easier or a lot harder than you thought.
Taking a deep breath and accepting your fate, you searched for the restroom. There was only one way you were going to get the information you wanted, even if it mean sacrificing your dignity.
No one was here to witness it anyway, so was there really any harm?
Your legs carried you past the swinging door and you found yourself face to face with your reflection in the cloudy mirror.
This was going to have to work.
Immediately, you pull the hair tie and let your hair fall loose from where it was strung together on the back of your head. As your hair fell around your shoulders, your fingers teased at your roots, increasing the volume while making it a socially acceptable mess. Then you pulled down the hem of your shirt. Your grip teased at the neckline, stretching it to make it sink in a way only the pervert of a man you were going to interact with be tempted by. As your final act of abandoning any class you had left, the knife you stored in your boots went to your leggings; trimming them to a length you hadn’t allowed yourself to wear at all since departing Earth. But you had a mission, and that came first.
After cutting the strips of fabric off your legs, you glanced back at your reflection. She was every bit the tramp you needed to be tonight. With a deep sigh, you don’t dwell on it any longer and leave the last shred of dignity you had with the scraps of spandex in the trash.
You’d made it about twenty minutes into the conversation when you notice him. Your hair was twirled around your index finger and you let out your fiftieth high-pitched giggle when you study the shift in environment. It was getting darker out and the bar was getting livelier. Looking past Nistos' left shoulder, your eyes gravitate toward the mask decorated by three purple orbs lingering in the shadows.
It was a miracle no one notice him.
Your heart sunk to your stomach in an instant. It didn’t matter that you didn’t see his face. Based on the build and stance alone, you knew the exact expression that the mask would reveal. There was no one else in the universe that would attune himself to you in that way.
When he noticed that you finally found him, his head motioned the exit next to him.
Oh fuck no.
You searched for an ounce of a lead for months and now that you find it, Keith thought he could swoop in? Nice try.
With a laugh that was far too flirtatious for your liking and for what Nistos was saying, you drape your left arm over his shoulder. Your hand falls behind his neck, out of sight, when you lift your middle finger toward the man who was for sure going to ruin this.
It took him five minutes.
A bomb went off in a two-mile radius from where you were, the bar evacuated within seconds. You came to find out later that it was in fact an abandoned warehouse, so no one got hurt.
Well, no one except Keith.
Once you’d been rushed outside, you saw him slip behind the building. Nistos had already high tailed away from you, leaving you no choice but to stomped in the direction of the ravenette. Before he had the chance to turn around, your palm met the crown of his head as you smacked him.
“What could that have possibly been for?” His words came out modulated, the Marmora mask disappearing as he finished the question.
“You motherfucker.” The words were spit out like venom off your tongue.
He merely crossed his arms. “What’re you doing here? I thought you guys were planning for Lotor’s crowning.”
“I was following a lead.” You managed to grit out, teeth pressed together. It was truly mind boggling how you never managed to be in the same orbit as him without some fight breaking out.
“Really?” he deadpans, “that was following a lead?”
“Yes.”
His eyes roam over you, and you finally see it. The tick in his jaw, the way he swallowed too hard, the purple of his eyes darkening to match his pupils.
He was jealous.
“You’re kidding.” Disbelief was mixed in with your tone. His eyes flicker back to yours and defensiveness pools into his posture.
“What?”
“You’re jealous.”
He scoffs. “I’m not.”
“Oh my god, you so were. You were jealous of that piece of shit.”
Even in the darkness of the night, you can see how his cheeks tint to a pale pink and he remains silent. He knows there’s no winning this battle. You may be comfortable with sacrificing some dignity, but Keith wasn’t.
“What lead were you following?”
The desire to tease him hadn’t entirely left your system; unfortunately, there were more pressing matters.
A part of you missed this. You and Keith knew each other back from the Garrison and to put it simply, you hated each other. You were the most competitive duo in your class. After one bad decision and going out with the group, you found yourself swept across space with them.
Playing nice with Keith was probably the hardest part in the beginning. It was a long road of bickering, cursing, and full on war. It was months before you could be in the same room together without a snide remark. You still don’t really know when it happened, maybe it was at the mall, or maybe it was when Shiro disappeared but slowly, he turned into someone to lean on. One night the line between distaste and something more blurred. Neither of you mentioned it, not to the paladins, and definitely not to each other.
There wasn’t much to tell anyway. The only things that changed were that he slept in your bed occasionally, he let you near him at times when it all got too much, and you traded kisses in the dark and acted like nothing happened once morning came.
It was a quiet type of change that no one caught on. But you never missed it. You never missed how his body turned to yours, how he sought you out after a mission, how he always patched you up. How he held you on the nights when nightmares truck him.
Then he left.
He joined the blade and you couldn’t hold it against him, not really. Not when nothing was ever going to come of you two. Not when the fate of the universe rested on your shoulders.
“It was about the comet.” The answer came out oddly soft and he perked up. He was never going to forget that mission. It haunted all of you. “I got some chatter from a rebel fighter that Nistos was working with some Galran generals to transport a rare type of metal. He’s been bragging about it at the bar for a few weeks. I looked up some of the intel and when I checked the receiving port he was talking about, it didn’t exist in Galran records. So then I found the generals involved in the contract, and Acxa signed off on it. Lotor may have Allura and the paladins convinced but I’m not sold yet, there’s something more we’re missing.”
It was frustrating sometimes. The three moons on this planet managed to light up his face just right, reminding you of all the nights he held you in your room. He was staring down at you so intensely, you were tempted to look away. There was so much more you wanted to say but couldn’t.
How could you?
How could you look at him and tell him that you were happy he was here? That you were happy he found you. How could you look him in the eye and tell him that fighting with him tonight was the best thing that happened in weeks? Because being with him was better than any lead you could chase.
All he does after processing the information is nod, a small simple thing and he looks away.
“Let me get you back to the ship. I should probably say hi to the others.”
There’s a new cut on his neck. The scab was fresh and pink, fading at the edges ready to scar. Before you could stop yourself, your nails were tracing the top of it that peaked from the top of his suit.
“Where did you get that?”
His breath hitched in his throat. It had been so long since someone touched him this gently. As if he could break instead of something to break.
“Training session gone wrong,” he whispered. The night was loud around you, panicked voices from the bar, officials checking out the warehouse. It was almost necessary for this to be quiet, reserved just for you.
You hummed in reply, dropping your hand to your side once again.
“I missed you.” He whispers again, dropping his forehead to yours. You weren’t sure when the proximity between you shrank and he was millimeters away, yet you couldn’t push him away. It was almost as if your body wouldn’t let you.
His confession landed somewhere you didn’t want to think of as it cut right through you. You missed him too, it was impossible not to, but he left. He made his choice and you couldn’t follow. A small thought in the back of your head always wondered what would have happened if you asked him to stay. If you fed into that selfish desire to keep him with you in the walls of the castle. Maybe something might've come of you two. Maybe he would still hold you at night. Maybe you could look at the dip in your mattress and not be haunted by the fact he no longer comes home.
It's difficult to stomach the fact you barely talk anymore. He goes on month long missions and then calls get missed, words are lost in translation, and next thing you know it’s been three months since you’ve seen him.
“I missed you too Kogane.”
And with that, you just let it exist. You let the small confession of two young adults with a burden none should bare lay between you, because there was nothing to be done. You were going to have to miss each other until the war was over. You were going to have to love him from a distance because you were in too deep. You lost too much of yourself to this war to give up here, to ask him to come back to you.
So as a final act of love for now, you give yourself this gift. You steal this small moment from the universe behind a bar, allowing yourselves to hold each other one more time. Because unfortunately, there’s always a chance it may be your last.
•───────•°•♡•°•───────•
A/N: Can't believe i'm writing a voltron oneshot in the year 2026 omg
🍒 dc women’s reaction to you shaving. (suggestive. smut? fem!reader)
₊⊹ DIANA OF THEMYSCIRA: SUPPORTIVE
She didn’t seem like she liked what you’ve done. She looked… the exact opposite. She didn’t even believe you when you said you’ve shaved. Diana had to see if you were saying the truth to believe you completely.
And when she saw that you actually had shaved, she cleared her throat before saying anything. You bit your bottom lip as you scanned her reaction. You weren’t sure how she felt— you were sure she felt like that, too. She seemed very confused.
“Alright,” She said, her hand dove deep into her curly black hair. “You shaved your bush.” She said in a louder voice. You nodded, your teeth still stuck in your lip. Diana pressed a kiss into your kneecap. “It’s okay— not the end of the world, nor is it the end of your bush, right?”
“Yes, yes, right.” You replied, trying not to laugh.
“You make fun of me, my love, but you don’t understand how I feel about all of this right now.” A shiver went down your body when she pressed her finger on your bare pussy. “Next time you decide to do it, do not— For me, at least.”
₊⊹ TALIA AL GHUL: DISAPPOINTED
“You shaved your bush?”
You could never forget the emotions etched into her voice. The frustration was flowing through her eyes and mouth, her frown got deeper every second she thought about your action.
“Talia, my love,” You grabbed her arms lightly, shaking her a little bit to make her look at you. “I thought you’d like it.”
You tried to console her but with your words she frowned even deeper. “Have I given you the impression that I didn’t like your bush?”
“God, no,” You sighed. You felt her hand snake around you and grab your waist, pulling your body towards herself. Her breath hit your face, she was so close to you. “It’s just I wanted to try something new, something I’ve never tried before.”
Her hand on your waist was rigid, holding you right where you were. You weren’t complaining. There was nothing more you liked than being on her arms like this. “Oh, Beloved, please don’t give me a heart attack like this again.”
You kissed her cheek, pressing your lips to her skin to stop yourself from laughing at her reaction. “As you wish, my love.”
₊⊹ KARA ZOR-EL: SARCASTIC
“You shaved it?” She asked. “All of it?” She patted Krypto’s head, who had been running around for attention.
“Yes, Kara, all of it.”
Krypto finally sat down and threw his body over Kara, who didn’t look like believed you. You knew so well her relationship with your cunt, especially your bush. She loved the feeling of it brushing her skin as she ate you out. She loved it when it tangled into her fingers she was rubbing the most sensitive parts of your body. She loved—
“But why?”
“Well, I… don’t really know. Wanted to try something out I guess.”
She gently pushed Krypto to the couch and got up to get in front of you. She held your hands, pulling you closer. You could smell the scent of the city all over her. Her Supergirl suit was still on…
“My darling, beautiful, amazing lover,” Kara thought a little more adjectives but then gave up. “Please, don’t do it again.” Kara’s palm made contact with your cheek. “I miss her already.”
“Stop talking like that!” You tried to pushed her but she didn’t move. You saw her grin on her face. “You know it makes me feel weird, Kara.”
“What? Treating your body like a goddess’ statue? You know I’ll never stop doing it.”
Even though it made you burn up with embarrassment, you liked it when she did it.
Kara tickled your side, “Promise you won’t even think about it again?” She held up her pinkie in front of your face.
“Is this a threat from the big bad Supergirl?”
“Nope. But can be if you make it to be. So… promise?”
You linked your pinkie with hers and nodded. “Promise.”
₊⊹ ZATANNA ZATARA: FLIRTY
It was right before her night show that Zatanna had realized you shaved earlier that day. She couldn’t have the time to make any comments about it because of the show— but after it, she came up to you before you could even congratulate her.
“So,” She said as she caught you in between her body and her vanity. Her hands were on the table, right next to you and her face was so, so close to yours. You were burning up. “You shaved, huh?” She had a crooked smile.
What was she planning?
One of her hands flied right into your hair and her fingers twirled your hair around. “I have.” You nodded. “You’re mad or something?”
“I might be,” She shrugged. “But… I am so happy right now. So, I am not giving you what you exactly want.”
When you tried to hug her waist, you felt your hands pulled down to your sides. Her magic. Your breath got caught in your lungs— You were getting excited.
She always knew how to elicit something from you.
“And what do I exactly want, Zee?”
Her fingers in your hair carried themselves to your chin, and she held your face like it was something precious like diamonds. Your eyes were wandering in between her eyes and lips.
“You want me to be mad at you— Mad enough to punish you, maybe.” She pecked your lips. “Not tonight, baby.” Her finger slipped over your lips. “I can’t be mad at you right now, but if you really want me to be mean, I can be.”
“Oh god, Zee…” Your lips caressed her finger tip as you spoke. “I love how well you know me.”
“Can say the same about you.”
You blinked and when you opened your eyes, you were in her bed.
₊⊹ STEPHANIE BROWN: ANGRY
“You did what?” Her shouts made you laugh. You threw your head back into the pillow as you giggled at her. She gently slapped the inside of your thigh. “Stop laughing, this is murder!”
Stephanie averted her eyes from your face and checked your pussy again to understand if she was seeing wrong or not.
She was not having a nightmare. You actually, really shaved your bush.
“No…” She whispered against your now bald skin.
“Steph, it’s not that bad.” You tried to make her look at you but she didn’t look up. “Also, it will grow back.”
“You better keep it.” She pushed herself up and climbed over your body, placing herself right on top of you. Her curls were flowing down and covering your face like a curtain.
“I will, don’t worry.” You rolled your eyes when she lifted one of her brows in disbelief. “I don’t like how it is right now, so I really, really won’t.” When her pout got bigger you grabbed her cheeks. “Steph! I promise, baby.”
“Ugh, fine, fine! But if you butcher your bush again, I will put a sex ban on you.”
You sighed. “That’s fair.”
Stephanie pushed her body off of you and fell right next to you in bed. She rested her head on your chest and you played with your hair, waiting for her shock to pass.
I just got an elite recipe for banana pudding after having two helpings at a shindig and literally tracking down the person that made it for the recipe
If u want it…. Lmk….
i would give you both of my kidneys for that recipe, im so serious
but also i respect the hustle to track them down and get the recipe sm, you're out here doing gods work :p
