This is my personal library of comic book related fics. I'm mostly into DC at the moment, but always open for some Marvel content.
⋆. 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𐙚˚ || 𓄹 ⊹ . 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 . 𐐒𐐚₊⋆｡˚
Inbox and dm's are open, and so are requests (but pls read the rules)!
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₊˚⊹⋆ I'd very much prefer that minors do not interact, specially with nsfw pieces. I don't want to police my own content, so be aware that nothing is this blog is shared with the intention of being interacted with by minors. You're in charge of the content you consume. ₊˚⊹⋆
This blog is very much a work still in progress, so any new important links or information will be added here!
˗ˋ 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬 ⋆｡˚✰
✰ The weight of betrayal
✰ How we were (18+)
✰ How the turn tables (smau)
✰ Dumb and dumber (smau)
✰ Made for it
⟡⋆ 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
✰ Wow, I want to be her...(girlfriend?) wlw pride event
✰ Picture perfect ⋆˚New issue every wednesday and sunday!˚⋆
Warnings: Shirtless men because I couldn't resist the idea of a scantily clad Bruce Wayne, sue me :p // Once more apologies for the reader insert's skin tone, my dumbass didn't notice until it was all ready to post // Part of the 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 smau series <3
Morph's thoughts: Such a clear aesthetic in my mind for this one fr // Idk how obvious i've made it because i've been trying to keep the fics sort of even between the characters but Brucie is my OG, my number 1, and it took me less than five minutes to have this whole thing ready // Feedback always welcome <3
Hal asks a question that everyone is very interested in you testing out.
Honor Guard/Reader (18+)
It’s Hal who’s the one who suggests it, and it should be understood that that’s where the trouble arises. The five of you occupy a space of physical malaise after a long shift, all having shucked out your uniforms for what qualifies as clean, casual civvies.
You’re all in John’s quarters—they’re the biggest, and they’re the cleanest—so the five of you sit around his couch and enjoy the ambience of the TV show that no one is really watching. Nurse drinks that the five of you are wont to take ambling sip from as you talk shit and make plans for when you all return back to Earth.
“You still seein’ that one what’s-his-face back in Coast City?” Guy asks as he permits himself a heady swallow from the neck of the bottle. His broad fingers hold the drink so casually as amber liquid sloshes chaotically within—the cant of his eyes pressed upon you for an answer.
To the side of you, John and Kyle work on a blueprint for something that they’re going to build when they get back home, Hal watches with the quiet interest of the layperson.
“Nah, I dumped him before I left,” You reply as you take a sip from the Old Fashioned that John made you—neat, just how you like it. You take a brooding sip over the rim and let the scald settle on the palate of your tongue.
Guy laughs, crude and layered with interest; you look at him with the good-natured patience that you’re used to having to deal with. Not that you mind—he looks good when he laughs, the way that those freckles perch on the bridge of that nose broken once-too-many-times, that flex of his impressive bicep loped over the side of the couch you both recline on.
“Whassa problem with ol’ Coastie?” Guy asks with a leer that he fixates upon you. “Not good in the sack?”
“We didn’t even get to that,” You grimace back at Guy. “He was a bad kisser.”
Guy snorts in amusement as the other three behind you go still, distracted from the peaceful tedium of their activity. Not that you notice—you’re too busy still engaged in conversation with your couch partner.
“Oh, yeah?” Guy asks, settling more into the couch as he watches you carefully. “What’d he do, slobber all over you?”
“Would’ve like a little bit,” You return with honesty borne of alcoholic consumption—Guy snorts again—“—He barely would give me a peck. Wouldn’t even try to use any tongue.”
“Not everyone’s a talent like yours truly,” Guy returns with the smug bearings of someone who know what he’s talking about—you slap the ridge of your knuckles on the muscle of his arm as he takes it on the chin.
“Like you’ve kissed someone in a while?” You ask dryly, taking a brief respite to water yourself with the acrid burn of your drink. “Unless you and Kilowog got back together?”
“Ol’ Kil wishes he could have me back,” Guy plays along with a smirk, “But besides—”
He leans into you with friendly, conspiratorial manner, so that you can get ample whiff of the cologne layered over masculine, heady musk—“—It’s like riding a bike. You never lose the skills you pick up along the way.”
At this, you can’t help but let your head loll back and make a boozy laugh—Guy’s no worse for wear at this, leaning back with satisfaction on the landscape of where he sits, taking another swallow.
“Yeah, sure.” You say, inspecting the liquid that takes dwindling occupation in your highball. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Why don’t you put it to the test?” Interrupts a voice from behind you and Guy. At this, two of you look to the interloper in your conversation to see that there’s a new presence that has since joined the territory of the couch.
Hal sits besides you as he lets his beer hang lazily from the languid grip he holds on it, lets it settle on the curve of his knee, beer growing ample sudsy foam within.
There’s something layered in the arc of his expression as he watches you, gauging you for something that he’s hungry to confirm. Interest, you realize—in whatever he’s about to propose.
This is when you realize that the two of you have had audience to your conversation as you see how John and Kyle stand at attention in nearer distance than they had before—and something profoundly electric begins to take center-stage in the room.
You remember that you have to speak, and turn back to Hal, who still watches you with patient intent. “How?”
“You say you haven’t been kissed in a while,” Hal asserts, holding out a hand, “Kissed well.”
“So it goes,” You reply back calmly as you take another sip. You feel like you’re going to need to drain the drink to hear him out.
“We know you pretty well—we’ve all worked together, know the ins and outs,” Hal continues along as though he’s casually proposing a business closer, “So we know what you like.”
“Mm-hmm,” Is all that you can think to supply in response as you pluck the orange rind from the watery grave its taken residence in. Hal takes this as permission for him to levy his challenge your way.
“So why don’t you see which one of us is the best kisser?” Hal asks. And it’s here that you feel that odd prickle of sensation, that dearth of heat that was so absent suddenly rekindle to life in the pit of your abdomen, in between your legs.
"You mean you actually want to kiss me?” You ask, letting your eyes drape over the very articulated interest in the ken of everyone’s faces, realizing that this is something that they’ve all come to silent agreement in.
“Why not?” Hal asks, and there’s something that’s so velvet yet rugged in the directive of his voice. “Haven’t you been curious?”
As he says this, you can’t help let your eyes drag involuntarily to the full-bodied lips that are already pulling into a knowing smirk. Let your eyes drag up in slow, meandering fashion to the way that his eyes are alight with a wicked kind of mischief that you’re interested to see how he articulates with his body.
“Okay,” You say, holding your drink out behind you to where you assume Guy will cover for it, “I’m game.”
“Not gonna be a drop when you get it back,” Guy warns as he accepts the cup in the swathe of one hand—the rough pad of his thumb draws against your finger. You know that if you turn back to regard him, to look at John and Kyle who are murmuring something in each other’s ears in your periphery, then you’ll lose your nerve for certain.
All you can do is find your way over to where you are inching closer yet to the spread of Hal’s legs. He lets them tick wider at your approach, lets that smile show a little more in dazzling display.
You know that that smile’s been enough to encourage people into bed—and here you are, drawn by invisible tether to approach it.
You let your thigh drag against the denim of his pants, let your arm settle against the press of his torso so that you can feel the delineation of muscle that his loose shirt does little to disguise. Feel the scalding heat of his body against yours, second to the cant of his eyes as he appraises you and the detail of your face.
“Hey, angel,” Hal chuckles in soft intonation—the press of his thumb as it draws your chin up to him leaves such tactile sensation that you have to physically resist the shiver. As it presses against the bottom of your lip an you have to intake silent, regulatory breath.
“Hurry up and kiss ‘em already, Jordan,” Guy comments from the back. “You got a lot of people in line.”
Hal chuckles as you try to bite back the anxious smile taking presence on your face. You want to feel his mouth, feel his tongue. Feel more than just his hand that is taking encouraging hold on the cliff of your jaw.
“Gotta make sure they remember it,” Hal says, “Don’t want to disappoint.”
The syllables are spoken on the full of your mouth as he draws in, as he makes chaste, introductory connection with the seam of his lips—and then he closes the distance fully. Lets it linger, the nuance of his mouth adjusting to the shape of yours before you feel the lap of a tongue that requests the taste of yours.
When you open your mouth to him, you’re surprised by the moan that you make as he rakes his hand up the nape of your neck, summoning a shiver that he swallows with a needy groan.
Another hand takes residence on the slope of your face, letting him deepen the kiss, adjust angle so that he can properly appraise the back of your teeth, let you savor the IPA that he drank.
Hal hums into your mouth, a noise of savoring, of pleasure—and you can’t help but make vocal chord in kind. He’s good at this—a slow, soporific sensation is taking root over your body, under the sinew of your skin.
When you pull away, it’s with the sluggish regret of someone who wishes that they could have more. And it’s clear in his eyes that his thirst is little slaked by this at all.
“Like that?” Hal asks with that charming grin that you’ve seen before—just never exercised on you. You can’t deny the way that it makes your heart flip in the caging of your ribs.
“Not bad,” You comment back—he chuckles at your deflection, knowing the effect that it’s had on you. “But I have three more people I need to try out.”
At this, you find your footing, realizing at this belated instance that you’ve had your hand drawn over the slope of Hal’s shoulder. When you slide it from the press of that coiled muscle, he watches it go with a melancholy longing that you want to revisit.
But first—you settle on your next target, who leans on the counter with a knowing smile, his beer sitting besides the crook of his elbow. Watching you with that handsome face and those brown eyes set in such incandescent illumination that he looks heavenly in your approach.
“Hi, John,” You grin as you pull up in front of him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I could say the same for you,” He says as you lick your lips—and as his eyes commemorate the sight to memory, “How’d we end up with a bunch of fools on our team?”
“I couldn’t tell you,” You grin as you worry your fingers around the width of your wrist, “But sometimes they have some good ideas.”
“Yeah, I’ll give them that,” John says in quiet deliberation; and at this declaration, his hand draws up the side of your cheek, replacing the tactile afterimage that Hal’s left behind. You surprise yourself when you find yourself leaning into the comfort of his touch, your hands already draping up the firm plateau of his chest.
“Ready?” John asks with a crooked grin that suits him so well—you can’t help but feel at ease as his other hand wraps in secure fashion around your back, settling well in the sloping groove of your body.
“Hurry up and kiss me, Stewart,” You chuckle. When he obliges, you’re surprised by the soft quality of his lips, the way that he keeps the pressure slow-blooming and consistent as he works his mouth against yours.
He’s not like Hal, who proceeded with quick alacrity into your mouth—he keeps the flex of his jaw to keep pressing kiss after kiss against the terrain of your lips.
It’s a gradual crescendo of intensity, the way that you find your hands roaming the musculature of his body, as he pulls you flush against him. As your mouth works in tandem with his to allow him in, to finally press the flat of your soft palate against his—it’s a reward that you’ve worked to.
A taste of orange peel and whiskey that leave you starved for more as he makes reticent groan into the landscape of your tongue. And your hands clench tighter into his shirt, needing more of him under your hands, more of his drunken kisses, more of him—
You suck in a tight breath as you refuse to pull away from him, his leg sliding in between yours so that you can properly find some modicum of relief, grinding on the unyielding column of his thigh.
In your vague periphery, you’re aware of Kyle saying “Oh, fuck,” in abject want, while Guy makes dirty, throaty chuckle from the far distance.
You only pull away because you know that there’s two more to go. And it’s clear that John is reluctant to let you go, something drawn in the slant of his eyes as he evaluates you in new light.
No—that’s not quite correct. In light that you realize with delayed comprehension, that he always has. But now has finally had opportunity to act upon it.
“Wow,” You breathe with a chuffed laugh that he makes in parallel; his hands don’t move from where he’s secured you to him.
“I’ll say.” He returns, the rumble of his voice going to all the right avenues of your body.
“I got to see a few more people,” You say back with shy reticence, “But my verdict might be changing.”
“Yeah?” John asks as he lets his hands finally release you from the meter of his grasp. It’s clear that it’s an unwilling action. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Me, too,” You smile—and then you make advance to your third target for the night, who apparently has made conclusion of his drink in the moments of your previous departure. Who looks both nervous and flushed and bearing an excitement he can scarcely contain in the real estate of his body.
“Evening, Kyle,” You comment breezily as you find yourself face-to-face with him, “Is that a beer in your pocket or are you happy to see me?”
“Can’t it be both?” Kyle asks, but there’s a definitive creep of a blush that is taking spread over his cheeks, dousing the tips of his ears, blooming down the column of his throat.
“Sure it can,” You reply with ease. “Are you gonna kiss me, or not?”
“Gladly,” Kyle says, and you go into arms that are already ticking out to accept you. It goes without saying that you can feel the hum of nervous energy that he articulates with his body as he looks down at you, makes thick, regulatory swallow.
His hands are so warm and sport a tremble that you won’t make mention of, something boyish and shy in the way that he looks to your eyes—before glancing down to your mouth curved in salacious smile.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Kyle groans in half-uttered confession. When he leans in to kiss you, it’s with such quick, consumptive motion that he’s eager to close—and he’s quick to get to work.
He kisses you with a potent need that is articulated through the spread of his arms as he pulls you tight to him. Your fingers rake through his hair as you open your mouth to him, letting you savor the moan that is made as you pull him closer.
This spurs on a bout of courage that he was perhaps too nervous to make, his hands finally drawing down the slope of your waist and squeezing.
You make a noise caught between pleasure and surprise, which allows your mouth to draw further open—Kyle, seeing his advantage, takes the chance to draw it into the wet heat of his own. And when he sucks on it, you can’t help but groan into it, letting your grip grow tighter upon him, prompting his own to draw greedier, hungrier.
“Givin’ you a run for yer money,” You hear Guy direct in the background to someone—but you don’t care. You and Kyle are in an oasis of your own making, as you catch his bottom lip between your teeth and lave your tongue upon it. The sound that Kyle makes is punched-out and obscene.
You know that you have one left—so you pull away to regard your latest dance partner. See something glassy-eyed and wanting in the arc of his gaze as he devours what is left to him visually.
“Not bad, Rayner,” You smile cheekily at him, admiring the flustered mien that this inspires in him. As his face draws deeper pink and his eyes run askance of you in such uncharacteristic shyness.
“Same to you,” He grins, and you can’t help but resist the urge to press one final lingering kiss to his mouth that he returns with mirrored eagerness. And then you’re off to your final foe for the night.
“Had to save the best for last, huh, honey?” Guy asks with such self-satisfied glee as you return back to the couch. You can’t help but feel your grin exhibit teeth in response to the challenge that he levies with the proud spread of his body, the wide meander of his arms lounging about the back of the couch.
“Had to come back for my drink,” You reply casually, “And take a seat.”
“Yeah?” Guy taunts. “I gotcher seat right here.”
With this, he claps a hand to the musculature of that thigh housed in his starched jeans. And you, never being one to sacrifice a game offer, find yourself climbing on, your legs spread over the terrain of his. He jumps his thigh unexpectedly, so that you’re made to hold on to his shoulders for balance that is more unmoored the longer this night goes on.
“Dick,” You groan back without any heat—he laughs as he works his hand around the curve of your hip, keeping you steady. It’s a slick, sordid laugh, but you can’t help but accept it.
“Saved some’a that drink for you, too,” He grins as you adjust yourself on his legs, feeling the interest that has already awakened to life in this passion play, “Just lemme know when you want it.”
At this, he lets you take visual assessment of his tongue, luridly pink, for the taking. And you know an opportunity when you see one—so you close in.
When you lick the rasp of your muscle against his own, you can feel the rumble of amusement more than you can hear it. But you’re not done—you take care to make sure that you get your money’s worth of whiskey consumed, sucking it from the marrow of his soft palate.
Letting his hands ease down in roaming navigation to the cleft of your ass so that he can squeeze.
When you whimper at the touch, the odds are back in his favor—and so he takes advance into your mouth, his teeth clacking against yours. His lips chapped and rough but only making you want more of that terrible scrape against you, want more of that smart mouth.
He chuckles at the way that you melt against him, letting your body conform in perfect unity to his, your arms easing around the toned expanse of his shoulders. But he doesn’t stop; only taking more opportunity to explore your teeth, your tongue, your lips.
You only break the kiss because you’re dizzy, overwhelmed with maelstrom of fractaled stimulation—of bodies that have searched for yours with a starvation you didn’t expect, of hands that still hold you. Of eyes that are all keen to watch the display of you exchanged between them.
“Well, sweetheart?” Guy asks with a salacious grin, admiring his handiwork at reducing you to such disheveled state. “Who’s your choice?”
At this, he grinds his hips into you in torturous rut. And you know that the five of you are going to break John’s bed-frame tonight. Oddly enough—you get the feeling he won’t mind at all.
Why and/or how do I keep on getting series ideas?? lmao
I have so many wips and reqs waiting for my attention and my brain is like "hmm what if we instead focused on this theme that requires 18 different one shots for it to be completed and is all too summer-y for it to be posted at another time but also too specific to have finished quick enough to post during summer"
Anyway, I'll try to slowly chip away at it and hopefully it's good to go by the time we reach some type of milestone like 1k followers or something. Sigh
Also to add to this, thank you so much to everyone because we’re actually like roughly 200 followers short from 1k and that’s insane????
I avoid looking at it as much as possible because i truly don’t want this to become about numbers for me and i know the least i look at it the better, but also i wanna check from time to time just to say THANK YOU
You’re all amazing and i’m just so happy to think that what i write about reaches other people in this way <33
Why and/or how do I keep on getting series ideas?? lmao
I have so many wips and reqs waiting for my attention and my brain is like "hmm what if we instead focused on this theme that requires 18 different one shots for it to be completed and is all too summer-y for it to be posted at another time but also too specific to have finished quick enough to post during summer"
Anyway, I'll try to slowly chip away at it and hopefully it's good to go by the time we reach some type of milestone like 1k followers or something. Sigh
Currently watching: The Bear (i am grieving the fact that is the last season pls don't walk to me about it i watch like one episode a week to make it last longer lol)
Current obsession: Idk DC probably lol, maybe some Marvel mixed in too. Haven't been focused in just one thing for a bit now, we'll see how long that lasts
Currently reading: Comic-wise, most of the Absolute line, beside that, i got a comentated version of "The Cradle Will Rock" that contains the theatrical and movie scripts and think pieces that i've been slowly getting through.
Currently working on: Way too many things haha - I have your lovely requests + a few started wips like the Nightwing one i put up the poll for + all the ideas that are on my notes app and haven't made it to Ellipsus yet
Currently wearing: A t-shirt that is like five sizes too big and pj shorts lol
Last google search: cuteinternet.com (i use it for the fancy lettering on the titles lol)
Favorite flower: Forget-me-nots / Scorpion Grasses however you call them
No pressure tags: As always feel free to ignore this if you're not up to it or have done it before and i didn't know haha @batwngs @luviery @pinkisinthecloset @inkievoid @starl1ghtgr4yson @cherryysunshine @cherryvvave @froggibus @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @chemistasshat + anyone that wants to join :D
pinterest tag game: lyrics, colour, character, place, outfit, aesthetic.
thank you for the tag @fluttervoid <3
no pressure tags: @targlocket @ghostlybfgf @smurfelle @vlarrtrgryn @fawnindawn @captainfern @rhaenyras-crown @anoddsightcomeoutatnight @snoopysupe @puppyboydominatrix + anyone else who would like to join !!!
Pinterest tag game: lyrics, character, color, place, outfit and aesthetic
No pressure tags: @pixelbfs @iridescentlightshow @ilovehaljordan @redbull-gave-me-iridescent-wings @gothamorphosis @cherryysunshine + anyone else who would like to join 🫶🏽
Thank you for the tag Dreamer <33 (and thank you @kooriandr too <3, i got the notif right after making this one lol)
Pinterest tag game: lyrics, character, color, place, outfit and aesthetic
No pressure tags + i feel like half of you probably have already been tagged / done it and i haven’t seen it lol : @pinkisinthecloset @batwngs @starl1ghtgr4yson @luviery @chemistasshat @froggibus + whoever else feels like joining 🙂↕️🫶🏼
jason todd never indulged in gossip
“you’re fucking with me”
“honest to god”
why would he? it was immature and ill-mannered to talk about someone’s life! their decisions are their decisions
“she slept with him. in his office”
“yup”
... at least that's what he liked to believe in
jason gave you the most baffled look you’ve ever seen on his face. it made you snort and wave a hand at his face. “hello? earth to jason”
immediately, jason blinked and snapped out of it. both of you were sitting on the couch, your legs sprawled on his lap and his hands idly tracing your knee.
“wait wait wait—" he slightly shifted his body to face you, the traces on your knee stopping as his large, warm hand just rested flat on it. “let me get this straight. you’re telling me that nancy—"
“uh huh”
“the same one who tried to get your promotion months ago--"
“that’s her”
“was caught sleeping with your boss at his office—"
“not caught, per se.”
“whatever” jason waved it off and continued. “and to top it off, she’s married to drew for— how long?”
“8 years” you hummed, scooting closer to him and biting your bottom lip to hold back a laugh from the look on his face as he was processing this new information you gave him. and when it did, he just sighed and shook his head, his fingers now resuming the slow and lazy circles he traced on your knee.
“sweetheart, your office environment is crazy” you could still hear how he was still slightly bewildered from the bombshell you just dropped on him. he was also confused as to why HR wasn't involved already
“hey, it pays the bills” you joked, lifting a hand to run through jason’s soft hair in that slow and gentle manner that always had him melt into your touch. “plus, at least there’s something to keep me entertained while i work in boredom”
“you know you can leave your job and i can take care of everything, right?” jason reminded you— for what felt like the millionth time—but you just smiled softly and nodded. “yeah i know, but how else am i gonna come bearing news to you?”
“…touché. i still need to know why carol and jesse aren’t talking to each other”
now that you couldn’t hold your laugh for. the wide smile on your face and your laugh softened jason’s eyes, a smile of his own appearing. his hand slipped beneath your knee to pull you close, the other hand cupping your face as he pulled you into a kiss
you could practically feel the smile on his face turn into a grin, and it made your smile grow as you kissed him back. it was a kiss of quiet contentment— slow, familiar and overflowing with the kind of affection that only came from loving someone for a long time
his hand remained cradling your cheek, his thumb lazily brushing across your skin with a small hum slipping out from your fingers combing through his hair
slowly, both of you broke the kiss, foreheads leaning on one another with nothing but pure love and adoration for one another
“so how was your night?” you asked, now laying your head on his chest. he just hummed, shifting his arm to drape over your shoulders and keep you close. “it was fine”
a beat
“…so bruce was basically being annoying like always and—"
okay maybe jason indulged in some gossip. keyword—some
you cannot tell me dick grayson doesnt have the craziest morning boner
he would wake up with you lying on your side, back pressed against his chest and sleeping soundly. all unaware from the large poking that was on your ass
poor man didn’t wanna wake you up because one, it was seven in the morning. and two, you were sleeping so peacefully he couldn’t bring himself to ruin your slumber
so instead, dick would just lazily grind his boner on your ass, pressing his lips on your shoulder to hold back any sounds and pant on your skin. and when you would shift and unknowingly press your ass more to his cock, he would shut his eyes and throw his head back to let out a quiet yet deep groan, his voice still laced with sleep
that’s it, his last fucking straw
“babe” dick carefully nudged you, desperation in his voice. but there was no answer from you. he trailed a path of kisses from your shoulders all the way under your jaw, only to hear a small “hm?” leave your sleepy lips
“dick, it’s too early” you mumbled, eyes still closed and about to reach for dick’s head and press his face more into your neck. but your eyes slowly fluttered open from something poking and rubbing on your ass
“dick? what are you—"
“please, baby…” you could hear the slight desperation in his morning voice, his hips not stopping and still slowly rubbing on your ass. “woke up with the craziest boner… fuck, i need you”
scratch ‘slight’, he was desperate desperate. begging from behind your back at what, seven in the morning?
you let out a breathless sigh from dick already nudging your panties down slowly, giving him a slow nod and already closing your eyes to fall back asleep. “just don’t wake me up, i need to be up soon” and as a confirmation, you spreaded your legs a bit more and pressed your ass more to his cock
god, that was all he needed to hear
“i promise” dick whispered in your ear, thumb rubbing small circles on your cunt and feeling your arousal slowly form. “you were always too good for me, thank you baby” a small whimper left your lips. even when you were asleep— or at least trying to— his touch always pulled out reactions from you
he took his thumb off to pull his boxers down and line his hard and tip with your pussy, pre cum slightly glistening from the head. a relieved sigh left dick’s lips when he began to slowly insert his cock in, the familiar warm walls of your cunt greeting him with a welcome he so desperately needed.
“thaaat’s it” he murmured on your neck, one hand shifting to slide under your shirt and fondle with your boob— which made you let out a small moan— while the other gripped on your hip. “fuck, just what i needed”
your lips slightly parted for a small moan to slip, your closed eyes now rolling to the back of your head as dick moved your bra strap from your shoulder to leave open mouthed kisses while sinking more of his length in you
and once his cock was fully buried in you, dick stayed like that just to take your warmth in, groans humming on your skin and brushing his thumb on your nipple. a gasped moan left your lips, the sleep slowly fading from your body and your eyes fluttering open
"dick” you whined, squirming your ass as a sign for him to move. “i need you to move. please”
he let out a chuckle from behind and you could practically feel a lopsided grin form on his lips. “thought you wanted to sle— ohhh fuck”
dick moaned when he felt you bury his head more into the collar of your neck and your fingers sliding into his hair, his cock twitching in you as a response. you let out a small chuckle but it trailed into a moan when dick slowly rolled his hips to your ass
“attagirl” he groaned, sending another lazy yet deep roll of his hips to your pussy and going crazy from how you were sucking him in. “just like that”
the depth of dick’s thrusts was making up for the pace— which was more than enough since he was already huge. and it did nothing but make the sleep fade from both you and him
“dick— oh god” you let out a breathless sigh from his tip nudging deep enough that it was hitting all the right angles, your back arching instinctively and pressing your ass more to his hips for more.
and to add more with his lazy yet deep thrusts and groping, dick whispered all kinds of things to you in that morning voice you loved while fondling with your boob
“that’s it, gorgeous. take it for me”
“look at her go, fuuuuck. all for me”
“cmon pretty girl, give it to me. make a mess”
another deep roll of dick’s thrusts and it made you clench all over his cock for your orgasm to come crashing, broken chants of his name leaving your fully gaped lips and your wide eyes almost seeing stars from how hard you came
he let out a groan, the thrusts now sounding wet as he felt his own orgasm slowly approach. dick’s hand from your boobs trailed up to tilt your head up for his lips to meet yours in a slow, intimate kiss that were filled with pants
one last roll of his hips made dick moan on your mouth, feeling his warm cum now fill you up as his cock still slowly dragged itself to fuck his cum in you. a pleasured sigh left yours into dick’s mouth as he kept murmuing small “thank you, oh thank you so much” repeatedly in your mouth
his cock finally stilled in your pussy, now soft and feeling the warmth of your pussy and his cum now buried to the brim in you. slowly, both of you pulled away from the kiss with a trail of saliva before it broke immediately
your gaze met with dick’s blue ones as both of you were catching your breaths. his hand shifted to cradle your cheek and his lips panted a smile, tucking a messy hair strand behind your ear
but right where he could kiss you again more softer and tell you what a good job you did, the alarm began to ring on the nightstand
Matt Murdock/Ben Poindexter (Bullseye)/Frank Castle/Reader, 3.6K
a/n: i got nothing for this one y'all im just writing fantasies atp
cw: suggestive content, bad wagers made over cards, reader is the prize, makeouts, biting, dubious consent, gn!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Only, you don’t expect the prize to be you.
Matt Murdock/Bullseye/Frank Castle/Reader
The thing is, for all of the barbs and hatred and vitriol that they’ve expressed between each other both verbally, physically—morally—perhaps—they always meet once a month for cards. Blackjack, specifically.
It’s the one that Matt can determine the braille on the embossed side the easiest, without giving away the game to Frank and Dex.
And for some reason, once you catch wind of it, the next thing on Frank’s mouth is “why don't you come along with us?”
“Who, me?” You ask with a wry grin. “I’m no good at betting games.”
“Don’t have to play—just keep Red company,” Frank jerks with his head over to Matt, who reclines on an armchair with a grimace of being caught out. “‘Specially when me and Dex wipe the floor with ‘im.”
“Gambling is not one of the virtues upheld by Catholics,” Matt mutters back in good-natured defense. You watch Frank chuckle at the gun he’s swabbing loose powder from.
“Yeah, neither’s dressin’ up at night and beating the fuck outta criminals,” Frank grins at you—you can’t help but resist a small smile of your own—“—But I don’t see you talkin’ bout that in your conversations with God.”
“Different strokes,” you suggest back with a chuckle as Frank sends you a knowing wink. You like him the best out of Matt’s alter-ego friends—something so bracing and without airs that he puts on for you.
“So, how’s about it?” Frank asks. “We’re meetin’ up tomorrow. Maybe it’ll get our third to stop runnin’ his mouth for a second.”
You doubt it—and yet here you are, sitting by the edge of the table, watching as the three of them exchange cards. Surprisingly—the fact that a veneer of civility is exchanged between the three of them is astounding to you, given the history.
Frank sits opposite you, working a stogie in the champ of his teeth that issues that acrid smoke in wreathing manner around his frame. He’s the dealer, interestingly enough. But you suppose neither Dex nor Matt would trust each other enough to let the other dole out the cards.
“Didn’t know Matt had a good luck charm,” you hear that husky, unfamiliar voice croon across the distance of the table—and so you turn to your left to look at the demon near-perched on your shoulder.
Watch the languid yet stiff way that he reclines at his straight-backed chair, his eyes watching you carefully. Perceiving everything that you do as you observe the nuances of this peace-time game.
“Gotta have something in his favor,” you send back easily, trying not to obviously bristle under that unnatural stare. There’s something uncanny in that handsome pair of eyes, in that set of that jaw that works rabid grin. He’s sizing you up.
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Dex sends back, and finally his eyes drag off of yours to look across the table, to your right. “Wouldn’t wanna go home with his tail between his legs.”
At this, you finally turn to settle your gaze to Matt, who sits in unnaturally cool repose, a jaunty smirk that works over his face as he return ire of gaze in directionless sights.
“Don’t mind him—”—Matt says your name with a slant of possessiveness that even in this smoky room you cannot ignore—“—When we go home, you can tell me your honest opinion of him.”
When we go home—staking territory not quite claimed, cutting lines into the sand between you and Dex. It’s such a startling overture that you can’t help but cock up an eyebrow in game surprise, though you don’t correct him. Though Dex already is making suffused chuckle between his teeth as he lounges back in his seat.
“No need to lie to me, sweetheart,” Dex croons back, in bid to make you return your attention back to him, “I don’t get my feelings hurt too bad.”
“Is that so?” You ask calmly, pressing your cheek into the curve of your palm. “I find that a little hard to believe.”
He displays teeth at this, impressed by your advancing offense. His reply is calm, collected.
“The packaging the words come in make a lot easier to hear,” he sends back, and when his eyes trail hot fire down the length of your body, you have to ignore the tactile goosebumps that are sent up it.
You can feel the way that Matt bristles besides you, take in the sharp albeit subdued intake of air that he makes—and you find yourself stymied without word to defend yourself with.
“Alright, ladies,” Frank cuts in, finally removing the cigar from his mouth with forefinger and thumb, “Let’s go ahead and play real nice now, okay?”
Dex retreats against the plateau of his chair with a smirk; in your periphery, you’re aware of the smile that grows on Matt’s own face, though it appears to be little more than rictus in imitation of the expression.
And you sit on the high-legged stool that you’ve taken grounding in to be witness to this tableau before you.
“I can if you can, Dex,” Matt replies back with same composed litigational intonation you’re used to hearing. You just don't usually hear the inlaid threat that comes carried in this one.
“No problem, Murdock.” Dex says. You catch the way that his eyes dart back over to you in interest, before working to accept the cards that are sent careening in direct arc from the deal of Frank’s hands.
For a second, there’s only a brief moment of contemplation as they take straight-faced observation over their cards. Dex looks at the card that is paired with his ace—Matt stares in unyielding fashion across the plateau of the table, his thumb working over the card that matches his King.
Frank takes a sizzling drag, issuing thick, arterial smoke that further clouds the heady atmosphere of the room.
“What’re we thinkin’, fellas?” Frank asks, once he deems that enough appropriate time has elapsed for them to have decided their strategy.
“Hit me,” Matt says without hesitation—Dex appears a little more reticent before he holds up an index to summon his own. Frank dutifully doles out the gold-backed cards for them to accept, as they consider the merit of their choices or not.
It’s here that Dex speaks. “How about a wager?”
“What kind of wager?” Matt asks with such immediacy that you wonder if it’s been premeditated. Or, if he is just simply expressing outward tension that he’s seemed to carry since the onset of this meeting. You watch as his knuckles jut through the housing of his skin, white-hot and clenched as they hold the cards he has yet to reveal.
“Think you know what I’m bettin’, Matt,” Dex returns back. There’s something hooded in the shadows that fall over Frank’s eyes as he takes reckoning of this. “But because I know you’re nervous about losin’ em, I’ll start small.”
Losing ‘em? What does that mean? You think across the perimeter of the table where a chain reaction seems to begin; how Matt’s shoulders bristle and tick out in barely-restrained ire seething beneath the surface. Frank makes a knowing chuckle at this, exhaling gust of excess into the dissipating air, Dex’s grin grows a little wider at the reactions instigated.
“I win next round,” Dex says in such velvet manner, and he says your name without even looking so that you’re slow to react, slow to realize what part you play in this, “—Takes a seat on my lap for the round.”
“No. Absolutely not,” Matt grinds through his teeth, so averse to the idea that you can’t help but be rendered immobilized by this wager made without even your input. Thankfully, Frank intercedes, holding out a broad hand that wields still-lit cigar, embers fading into the darkness that seems to swallow up the table.
“Easy, girlies,” Frank cuts in, “Think we oughta hear if they wanna piece of whatever dick-swingin’ you’re doin’.”
And at this, three pairs of eyes drag over to you; Matt’s head swivels to you with immediacy, Frank keeps level stare opposite you, Dex’s eyes slink over like glittering snake in the grass. All three waiting to hear your contribution to this discussion of rights to you, now that you’ve been given entry into the game.
You don’t know what you’re thinking, save for the electric heat that is thrumming through your body, through the charter of your veins, in the pulse between your legs. Matt draws still—and you wonder if he has already sensed what you have yet to confess.
“I get to decide if I’m okay with what you want me to do,” You say with stilted, halted thought conjured on spur-of-the-moment, “And in the meantime—I sit on Frank’s lap.”
At this, you see ripple of emotion work through the trio: Matt seems to bear resignation, Dex smug victory that spirits over his face—and Frank hoots aloud at the debacle.
“Don’t mind if I do, honey,” Frank pushes back from the table with a screech upon the linoleum, clapping a hand to the meat of his thigh. “Why dontcha come over and keep ol’ Frankie company from these two idiots?”
“Gladly,” you say, and when you stand, you hope that no one notices the tremble that your leg bears as you find your footing. As you walk over to Frank’s awaiting lap with a hand that lingers past the taper of Matt’s back, something coaxing and reassuring that makes him settle only a little.
“Happy you joined the party, sweetheart,” Frank says as he ticks out his leg for you to seat yourself upon. And do so with ease, feeling yourself conforming to the shape of his toned body, the scalding heat that seems to roil off of him, tasting the motes of cedar and teak that his cologne makes in dizzying olfactory blend.
You, for your part, play along, trying not to openly exude the anxiety that is leaching out of your body as you take comfort in Frank’s body.
“Are they usually this…adversarial?” You ask as Frank makes motion to re-collect the cards. Matt and Dex both do so obediently as they share the heat of exchanged stares. Frank chuckles, and the laugh roils through the the two of you.
“Usually. But they don’t have such high stakes on the line like this.” With one hand, you watch as he takes the 52-pickup and works it in the machinations of his fingers; the other hand takes steadying buoy on the meat of your bicep, rolling a soothing thumb up and down the skin.
You can’t help but melt into the touch, to which you receive a chuckle from Frank that goes to all the accessible parts of your body it can.
“That so?” You ask as he places the deck face down, the crook of his wrist displaying expert flex of fingers and muscle. The cards are dealt out again. Matt accepts. Dex gloats. Both of them bear kings.
“Feelin’ lucky, Matt?” Dex asks as he spares no more than instantaneous glance to his concealed card. Matt keeps impartial expression, neutral as he rolls his thumb over the embossed braille.
“Do you?” Matt asks back, and there’s a type of confidence that he bears in his voice. He does not move.
“Any of you girlies need another card?” Frank asks. You find yourself needing to wrap an arm around his torso as he leans over. Something odd is taking tumultuous flip in the pit of your stomach as they both stare each other down.
“Easy, hon,” Frank grins down at you as you tick your arm round the span of his back, “Might not wanna letcha go, you keep hangin’ on like that.”
“Can’t help it,” You mutter back; again, you’re rewarded with thundering rumble of laugh as he takes another drag of his cigar.
“I don’t need another card,” Dex returns with such smug, slick reassurance that you can’t deny the way that your heart begins to uptick in tempo.
“Neither do I.” Matt says—Dex’s teeth show in baring of canines.
“Alright. Read ‘em and weep, kiddies,” Frank says, his hand bracing as he holds you to him. And both of them reveal their cards—for brief second, you forget rules of the game as you comprehend the numbers, calculate the totals.
Dex bears King and Ten: 20. Matt bears King and ace: 21.
“No fuckin’ way,” Frank chortles. Matt’s real, genuine smile finally breaks dawn on the horizon of his face. And something releases tension in the length of your body. But Dex still continues to grin as his eyes find visual purchase upon you.
“Go find yer man,” Frank directs, clapping you gently on the shoulder to coax you up and off the safe ledge of his leg. There’s something buoyant that makes the tread of your walk light as you round the footage of the table, pausing right before Matt who beams up at you.
“Hi there, stranger.” You greet. “Mind if I sit on your lap?”
“Been waiting for you to say that for a while now,” Matt returns easily as he scoots back. When you ease down upon him, there’s something that feels so oddly fitting about the way that you relax against the plateau of his chest.
His hand settles in careful anchoring against the slope of your waist. And how easily your legs intersect in the spread of his own as you thank your good luck.
In the midst of the cozy atmosphere, Dex accepts the new cards that Frank has metered out to the two of them; Matt has to accept his one-handed as he holds you like prized possession you are.
The careful tempo of his heart thrums through you in careful deliberation, rooting you back into the moment.
“Next wager,” Dex says in easy deliberation, without looking at his second card, “They give a kiss.”
You will yourself to stay calm in the safe harbor of Matt’s arms, keep your heartbeat steady. You can already feel the possessive clutch of fingers that are working over your flesh, kneading you in mooring rhythm.
“Didn’t know you wanted to try it that bad.” You reply back, more self-assured as you take residence in Matt’s arms. As he chuckles something relaxed into the press of your shoulder.
“Whatever’s good enough for him is good enough for me,” Dex sends back without preamble. “And I want a taste.”
“Yeah, well—”—Frank cuts in as Matt’s fingers clutch tighter at the statement. As Dex gives you smug grin that he takes aim with salacious wink at you—“—Gotta win first, Dex.”
“Hit me,” Matt says as he contemplates his cards—you can’t look. There’s something better, you think, in the privilege of not knowing until final moment. Dex again signals for another and appraises the score as Matt does similar.
“Any other takers?” Frank asks, Matt makes a jutting nod of his jaw as he rubs his hand up your forearm, letting you sigh into him.
“Didn’t know you were so good at this,” You murmur to him. “Holding people.”
“Comes with the LSAT prep,” Matt sends back; you can’t help but giggle at this admission. Dex sits across the table, stewing in myriad of indiscernible emotion.
“We ready?” Frank asks, taking silence as consent. “Show ‘em.”
Matt reveals the cards: a Jack, a five, a four. 19. Dex shows his hands: 10 and 10. Twenty.
“Think I want that kiss, sweetheart,” His voice drawls in cool tether that drags across the table. Urging you to come pay your dues.
You sit in the comfort of Matt’s lap for a solid second, still reeling over the shock—and find yourself moving against your own accord. Matt's hand clenches along the surface of your body for as long as able moment is given, until you have made free work of his grasp.
And then you cross the table, making way to those eyes that hunger after you with thirst yet to be slaked.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Dex taunts, his legs schooling wide for you. “Been waitin’ for this.”
“Yeah?” You ask as you find yourself sitting down on the firm musculature of his thigh. God, there’s not an ounce of give or fat on him—he’s corded steel in every inch of his body. “How’s that work?”
His arm encourages its way around your back, slinking to get access around your waist, your thigh, sending scald wherever his fingers reach. “Well, I hear Murdock talk about you so long—”
His thumb darts over the full of your bottom lip. “I can’t help but want to see you for myself.”
“Taste me, you mean?” You ask, arching your brow. There’s that flicker of that snake in the grass again, in the span of his eyes.
“Yeah,” He chuckles, “Somethin’ like that.”
When he kisses you, it’s like making contact with marble that breathes flesh and blood. His mouth slots against yours with such intense hunger that you can’t help but try to rise to the challenge, your hands digging into his scalp as his own ruck around your hips.
When his tongue presses against the territory of your mouth, you can’t help but give it back, working to establish the hierarchy of your own against his, tasting blood. Something in your roars for more.
He groans at this, at the adversarial nature of the kiss, at the way that you fight back. His tongue licks slow and leisurely against the landscape of your teeth, leaving after-taste of that iron that loiters on your soft palate.
And when he finally pulls away, there’s something glassy-eyed in the arc of his gaze. Something still hungering, but still momentarily sated as he regards you.
“Just like I thought,” Dex says—and someone snickers from behind.
You’re fairly certain it’s Frank, for you can all but feel the burgeoning hatred that radiates from Matt’s corner, where you can’t bring yourself to look.
“How about we up the stakes, Murdock?” Dex asks, and you finally bring it in yourself to use reserves of courage to look back to Matt, where he sits at full attention.
Where his jaw is set, his brow is knit, his knuckles clenched over span of table as he bears murderous thought all-but-verbally-articulated as he looks at you both.
“Name it,” Matt says, and Dex navigates his hand down the slope of your thigh so that he can track the nuance of your skin with his fingers. You swallow down whatever shiver your body wishes to make on instinct, ignoring the heat that is growing to life in marked pulse at junction of your legs.
“Whoever wins the next one gets to leave a mark on them.” Dex says.
“You can’t hurt them.” Matt warns. Something akin to adrenaline begin to resurface through your body at the notion—but Dex makes quiet noise of amusement. This does little to reassure you, as his hands keep that slow specificity of motion on you.
“Didn't mean knives,” Dex gloats, “I was thinkin’ more of a love bite, if you catch my drift.”
His free hand ghosts over your pulse, the rough pad of his thumb scraping to mark territory yet-claimed. “Right here.”
Matt looks at Dex, at you—and then turns to Frank. “Deal me in.”
“Thought so,” Dex says in such audible fashion that only you at close proximity—and Matt—can hear. Frank’s eyebrows, which have made slow ascent up the real estate of his forehead, finally settle down as he deals out this round.
It’s done in silence that is only demarcated by the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, and the subtle rasp of Dex’s fingers over your body. They both accept the cards without hesitation.
“Hit me,” Dex says, and Matt requests for similar. Again, you look away, finding something of comfort in the way that Frank levies arch of brow at you—but you shake your head in imperceptible fashion.
“Anyone else?” Frank asks. There’s no request given. “Alright, ladies—for all the money—”
Dex flips first. Ten, five, five. Twenty. Matt reveals his: ten and ten. Twenty.
“Fuckin’ tie,” Frank claps a hand to the table, “All my fuckin’ days—”
“I can share if you can, Murdock,” Dex says, but makes no indication to release you from his tenterhooks. If Matt wants to savor the delight of this draw—he must come to you. To him.
Matt draws up with such silent deliberation that you’ve never witnessed before: taking smart, deliberate strides over to the two of you. Looking down to you as you stare back up to him.
Dex tugs down the loose collar of your shirt with impatient insistence, his breath ghosting over your collarbone, hot and heavy.
“Hi, stranger,” You greet him weakly. Matt’s hand finds your chin as he gives you reconciliatory smile: no ill will borne this way. Only a need to make it right.
“Better dive in,” Dex warns, and then his mouth latches on the sensitive skin with such ferocity that you can’t help but whimper out a breathy moan at the drag of teeth, the lave of a needy tongue.
Matt is soon to follow, leaning down to the pulse that he exposes with the tilt of your head, drawing that vulnerable access of your body into his mouth with intensity that grows the longer he works against you.
And you, sandwiched in between the middle of them, as Dex marks claim on you he is happy to leave, the rugged scuff of his teeth; as Matt grates tongue against your neck to worship sanctity of the column of your throat—as you moan at the attention both of them are determined to win on the terrain of your body.
As you let yourself be lost to sensation, you know one thing: no matter who’s won, you’ve lost.
Bruce Wayne is a lot of things. A billionaire, a philanthropist, one of the world’s smartest men, and a notorious playboy.
But he is also your boss… who you happen to sleep with from time to time.
You started working for Wayne Enterprises a few years ago, and took the position to be his executive assistant. As his assistant, you were there to schedule meetings, correspondence, and perform other administrative tasks. Bruce could count himself lucky to have you as his assistant because not only are you very professional and smart, but your main focus is also to help the company grow. But he could also count himself lucky because a beautiful, and smart woman like you was also sleeping with him behind closed doors.
And nobody fucks better than Bruce Wayne. He sure knows how to please a woman.
It was late at night, and everyone already went home after a long day at work.
Well, everyone except Bruce and you.
You were in his office, body half laying on his desk, your iPad still in your hands, and your skirt laying somewhere in this room.
“Go on sweetheart. Don’t let me stop you from doing your job.” Bruce said teasingly as his fingers slid beneath the damp fabric of your panties, and traced circles against your pulsing clit.
You held your head up and take a sharp breath before you start telling him about the meetings he has for next week.
“You have a meeting with Kord Industries on Tuesday-” you let out a sharp breath as you felt one finger slide inside your pussy. “Mhhhm, at two pm.”
The feeling of his fingers curling inward made you clench your thighs together slightly.
“Good. And why are they coming?” Bruce asked you mockingly.
“Just to get an update- fuck- on how the advanced research is going.”
You were trying your absolute best at staying concentrated but it was so hard. All you can think about is how good his fingers moved in a steady rhythm inside you. You shuddered under the touch as he swiped back and forth inside your pussy.
“Any other meetings I should know about?”
“Yes. A meeting with Ferris Aircraft is scheduled on-” you stopped talking as you felt Bruce slide in another finger, increasing the pressure as he flicked against the center of your pussy. “Fuck! Mr.Wayne."
Bruce lets out a small laugh, deeply amused with how you’re on the verge of falling apart with just his fingers. He’s not even fucking you properly, and you already feel overstimulated.
“Don’t stop talking sweetheart, tell me when the meeting is.” oh this cocky bastard…
“Mhmmm- it’s on friday. Five pm.”
“Yeah? Isn’t the gala on Friday at six?”
“No, it’s on saturday.”
“Perfect.”
Your walls were sucking in his thick fingers completely, and you felt how your legs were about to give up on you. You were helpless to the avalanche of your own needs, and you felt a coil of heat tightening deep in your belly.
“Bru- Mr.Wayne, fuck, I’m about to cum.” you cry out as the need to cum grows stronger with each time his fingers curl inside you.
“Stop calling me Mr.Wayne, and I’ll let you cum.” he replies calmly.
“Bruce, please.” you start begging at this point.
“Good girl, now make a mess all over my fingers, yeah?”
You let go completely, tumbling over the edge as you create a mess all over his fingers. A breathless gasp tore from your lips as your hips bucked into his fingers.
“You’re so beautiful like this.” you hear him whisper, and felt his lips leave a small kiss against your shoulder. The next thing you hear is the sound of his belt unbuckling. His pants fell down to the floor, quickly followed by his boxers.
His bricked cock that was shifting uncomfortably in his pants was now free. A gasp leaves your mouth as you felt his cock rubbing against your clit. His free hand braced against your hip, ready to push himself inside your wet pussy.
“Hold still princess.” he uttered before pushed his veiny cock inside your wet pussy.
You closed your eyes at the feeling of your walls trying to adjust to his size. Once he pushed his whole length inside your tight cunt, he started to move. The pace was careful, slow enough to draw out the tension before picking up the speed.
“You wanna hold the presentation for the–hmph- the Ferris Aircraft meeting?”
“Yes! Fuck yes, Mr.Wayne!” a low sound rumbled as he fucked you more urgent and desperately.
A moan left your lips as you felt a slap against your ass, the stinging pain immediately turning into pleasure. “What’s my name, mh?”
“Bruce, your name is Bruce Wayne.” you cried out.
A ragged breathing escaped Bruce’s mouth and the overwhelming physical heat consumed the both of you. Your back arched inward, and sharp gasps were punctuated the intensity of how his cock felt thursting deep inside you.
The iPad fell from your hands, and laid abandoned on his desk as you held onto the edge of his massive desk. His fingers trailed down your spine, raising a sudden rush of goosebumps.
Your overheated body shaked as Bruce kept thrusting deep and rough inside you. The feeling was so intoxicating, and so hazy… you’re sure that nobody could fuck you better than your boss.
“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart.” you heard him say behind you, followed by a quiet moan. “Let me hear you, yeah? Struggle for me.”
“Bruceeee.” you whine out.
A loud groan escaped from Bruce as he felt you clenching around him, making it a little harder to push inside you.
“Such a mess for me.”
His pace quickened, each thrust driving you closer to your second orgasm. “Please, I need to cum.”
“Already?” Bruce shook his head. “I’ll let you cum -hmph- if you put another meeting for Thursday.”
“I will!”
“That’s my good girl. Now cum all over me.”
The pressure peaked, snapping the last thread of your restraint. Your body convulsed around him, earning a ragged groan from his throat. Bruce drove into you with a final thrust, and spilled his release into your pussy.
“Who do you have a meeting with on Thursday?” you ask him with curiosity in your voice. You can’t think of someone who is supposed to have a meeting with him.
Bruce sits down on his chair, pulling you by your waist, making you sit on his lap. The mixed fluid was leaking out of your pussy, and pooling on his thigh.
You immediately let your head rest against his chest, and you could hear how his heat was racing.
Summary: having a beach day with your boyfriend <3
Content/CW: mostly cute n fluffy <3
— requested as part of my 10K Celebration!
froggi yaps -> hello hi sorry this is so late 😖 lowkey i just didn’t have the time or motivation to write this BUT its finally finished and i hope you guys love it <3
The sparkling blue of the sea is almost the same colour of Dick’s eyes as he peers at you over the brim of his sunglasses. He’s grinning, head cocked slightly to the side, mess of dark waves falling into his face. Sunlight falls over his skin, catching on his freshly applied sunscreen and shimmering.
“Come on, sweetheart.” He pleads, “just for five minutes.”
Your answer comes in the form of you kicking yourself further back on your chair and spreading the pages of your book further.
“I mean,” he crouches to sit in the sand next to you, “what’s the point of coming to the beach if you’re just gonna read?”
Dick Grayson, as per usual, is absolutely relentless. He leans closer to you, sun-warmed skin tan and warm against yours. He squints to make out the words on the page you’re currently reading, eyebrows raising.
“I’m relaxing,” you say simply.
“You’ve got to be dying of heat. Come on,” he reaches for your free hand, “just take a dip with me.”
You dogear the page and set your book between your legs. “I know you, Grayson. It’s never ‘just a dip’ with you.”
His smile only spreads, a knowing look on his face. “What’s so wrong with that?”
And as if knowing you’re halfway to caving, he rises to his feet, making a big show to stretch his arms over his head. His biceps curl, muscles reflecting the golden sunlight. You can’t help but look, can’t help but trace your eyes up from the tanned muscle of his thigh, to the defined look of his abs, to the shiny white of his teeth.
You sigh. It’s the greatest curse, and blessing, that you happen to have the hottest boyfriend on the planet.
“Okay.” You officially concede, ditching your stuff on the chair and rising to your feet. “Five minutes.”
Dick’s quick to run up to you and wrap his arms around you, squeezing you tight against his muscled chest. “You’re the best.”
“You’re relentless.”
“You love it.”
And unfortunately for you, you really really do.
Dick laces his fingers through yours and tugs you after him, the two of you making your way through the hot sand to where the shore meets the water. Gentle waves lap at the wet sand, your toes sinking into the soft ground.
Dick wastes no time in running ahead and executing a perfect dive into the water, his body arcing and making a big splash as he hits it. You, not nearly as showboaty as Dick Grayson, slowly wade your way into the water until it’s up to your chest.
Dick surfaces, shaking his wet hair out like a dog. “The water is amazing.”
He leans in so close you can see the water droplets running down his face and purses his lips, pressing them against yours. The cold water on his skin rubs against you and soothes the heat that’s soaked into you throughout the day.
“You’re getting me wet,” you cringe.
“It wouldn't be the first time, right?”
You smack his bicep. “Shut up.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
i have a ton of tattoos but none that are book related (yet???)
my top five Shakespeare works are Titus Andronicus, Othello, King Lear, Hamlet, and Macbeth
i actually did a minor in literature for my undergrad degree (and had the same professor for all 6 classes for my minor LOL) and sometimes i wish i could go back to my college english classes because i miss discussing literature with my professor 💔🥀
i have just two tattoos (for now :p) and they’re for hamlet and for spiderman into the spiderverse respectively lol got them both on the same day too i was like fuck it we’re going all in
ooh you know what? king lear definitely rounds up my top 3 for Shakespeare works, definitely respect your top 5 🙂↕️🙂↕️
dude i’m not from the US and our uni system is SOO different, i wish i could’ve chosen major and minor like you guys get to :/ having so many classes about literature sounds so good man lol no wonder you miss it
i did media / communication studies (idk what’s the closest translation for it lmao), we saw everything from journalism, photography, radio, tv, cinema and more theorical and sociological stuff that fully focused on communication as a concept! i had a lot of fun, but i would’ve loved to be able to mix it up with some literature, yk, actually get all the “medias” there lmao
omg wait i love that u have a hamlet tattoo!! it was one of my first shakes plays that ultimately had me going for that track in my program (until i dropped it lol) what’s it of if u don’t mind me asking :0 and what r u thinking for the macbeth one?? i love that ur planning to match them :)
tbh it’s the most basic image for hamlet aka a hand holding a skull lmao
still!!! i drew / designed it myself, all black line, some places lighter other more heavy handed. i kept in a more sketchy style, a lot of lines and squiggles for shading. sorry for not posting a pic but i’m a bit queasy about sharing things as identifiable as a tattoo :p
for the macbeth one again, was planning on going basic, but i wanted it to be hands lmao issue is i haven’t fully decided how yet, i’m not fully sold into any of the designs i’ve made up until now
it’ll either be two hands holding a crown (possibly liquid-looking crown so it looks like it’s made of blood :p) or hands hovering over a reflection of blood-stained hands!! i really like the concept for the second one but i haven’t managed to figure a proper hand placement for it yet :/
