bout to pull some freaky shit but out of all the variants i think lensless mark is the type to absolutely love ruining orgasms and also using the worst possible excuses for doing it
bonus points if you're tied up , which means you can literally do nothing about it
"oops sorry the toy ran out of battery"
"sorry babes ,, my wrist hurts a little"
like he knows you're right at the edge , and you can see the stupid fucking grin on his face as he does it . you know damn well that this man can do a lot of things with his wrist before he gets tired , and getting you off is NOT one of them .
what kink would all invincible/mark variants collectively have?
overstimulation
and I don’t mean just the typical overstimulation. I mean borderline painful
mainstream! mark — in good will; wants to make you feel mind-boggling pleasure for days
mohawk! mark — pure evil; wants nothing more than to leave you breathless, senseless, mindless, and completely mind-broken
omni! mark — dominance; as a means to show you who is in charge and WILL remind you about that no matter how much you’re sobbing uncontrollably
sinister! mark — pain; he wants you to feel pain, as much as it. he doesn’t care if it’s “too much”, you WILL orgasm how many times he wants
viltrumite! mark — uncaring; you are simply the carrier for his child, whether or not you can keep up doesn’t matter
no goggles! mark — sadistic; he knows you’re fragile, and he can’t help but “accidentally” push you over the edge, every time.
and so on. variant mayhem, more like variant freakhem am i right
𝄃𝄀⠀⠀pxssessive⠀╲ mark + variants ֤ࣨ🫀𖥔 ݁ ˖
summary mark and his variants have very few things in common, the main one being that they simply can not stop at making you come once.
tags overstimulation (ofc) | the variants being jerks | everything purely consensual | dom & sub dynamics (omni!mark) | viltrumite!mark is lowkey mean as hell | pain kink | ooc sorryy | just a little mix of blurbs and headcanons | mentions of blacking out (sinister! mark) | incubator mention (viltrumite! mark) |
notes uhm this took so long for me to write, i’m so sorry 😭, but i wanted to get it done i loved this request the “freakhem” comment had me crying during vacation. i hope you enjoy and please excuse any typos or grammar mistakes
when it comes to sex, mainstream! mark simply doesn’t know how to hold back— his entire objective is to leave you a whimpering, shaking mess. this is especially clear when his mouth is on your pretty cunt.
unfortunately for you, he could sit there for hours.. strong arms wrapped tightly around your thighs, center nice, open, and pliable to his perfect mouth. mainstream!mark is sucking on your swollen bud, tongue gliding across your slit, even driving the thick appendage right into your fluttering hole.
even when you protest about the ache running through your entire body, mainstream!mark simply can not leave you be until your throat is practically sore from how much you’re screaming his name.
“ma—mark, baby, please— i need to breathe!” there’s tears trailing down your reddened cheeks, coating the old trails from just moments ago. your fingers are gliding in his fluffy locks, stuck between bringing him closer and pushing him away— a silent battle between mind and matter.
fuck, do you look so good like this, mainstream! mark could practically come in his pants— grinding right against your bed whilst he came off your clit with a harsh pop; quickly replacing his lips with his thumb.
“i know you have another one for me, baby.. c’mon i got you.” always so encouraging and sweet, tone dripping with honey as he stared at you with those lidded eyes.
eyes that were so hypnotizing, you couldn’t help but give in to his every command. even if it if your “giving in” was nothing more then a whine and you practically shoving his face into your sex.
mainstream!mark would only giggle, hand gliding across your thigh a simple that’s my girl vibrating against your wetness.
. . .
everyone, and i mean everyone knows mohawk!mark is a jerk that does things for his own entertainment. this is especially true during sex.
the man cares for you, in his own twisted away, yet enjoys showing you just how human you truly are.
mohawk!mark will fuck you for hours, maybe even from afternoon to early morning. he doesn’t care, he will use your body to exhaustion all with the shittiest little smile on his face.
always bouncing between positions (doggy, reverse cowgirl, cowgirl, missionary, standing up) nothing is off the table. the man has even fucked you against the window, simply cause he could. you’re too tired to protest anyway.
three.. five? was that how many orgasms that’s ran through your entire body in the past thirty minutes or so? you couldn’t tell, with the way mohawk!mark was practically bullying your sensitive cunt, hands kept tightly at your knees as he pushed them against your chest.
your voice didn’t even sound like your own anymore, completely foreign to you with the way it sounded so raw and dry— throat abused just as much as your poor cervix. and through a glossy gaze you could see the man responsible, the way his eyebrows were pushed close together, a sickeningly sweet grin pulling his lips.
the moment mohawk!mark caught your eyes his smirk only worsened, shoving himself so deep you swore you saw stars.
“you still with me, babe?”
that gave you assurance, trying to reach over and push at his hips, a silent plea to slow down— only for it to trickle down the drain the moment the man swatted your hand away, leaning over your body as his hips snapped against yours without a care.
“nuh uh.. i’m not done with you, not one bit.”
. . .
oh, sweetheart.. what did you do? you know better, right? getting into a relationship with omni!mark, it was made clear from the start the expectations placed upon you. always obeying, quiet when needed, etc..
he wasn’t too hard all the time, you were human after all; the man made an effort to let little things slide.
only this time, he couldn’t. maybe you mouthed off inappropriately, maybe you looked at him in a way he hated, doesn’t matter— all omni!mark knew is you disrespected him, and that wouldn’t slide.
you needed a punishment, one that really drilled into your pretty little head the importance of your roles.
“i—i’m sorry, f—fuck! i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” tears are streaming down your face as you shoved it into the mattress below, weak sobs shaking through your entire body as the man abused your fluttering hole.
with each thrust omni!mark was practically fucking you right into the mattress, thick length dragging across your tortured gummy walls in such a steady rhythm you couldn’t even think.
your mouth hung open once again in an attempt to plead your case, only to cry out the moment his hand pushed at your neck from behind and he thrusted sharply right against your cervix.
“i’ve told you before about your mouth..” you would think the man didn’t love you, how his eyes were glaring down at your body, shoving himself into you relentlessly. “you should be thanking me for giving you so many chances..”
before he could give even get it out, gratitude was falling from your lips, wet gasps escaping between each word. omni!mark couldn’t help the way his cock twitched as a result, pulling you up to his chest in one swift motion while thrusting up into you sharply.
“why do i have to punish you for you to behave?”
“i—i’m sorry, i’m sorry!”
“i know. i’ll let you know when i’ve forgiven you.”
. . .
do you think sinister!mark just wakes up with a set number in mind and is like.. that’s how long i plan to torture the human i supposedly care for, no matter how much they protest?
honestly that’s what i think. the man has killed millions without batting an eye, you truly think he’s gonna give a damn about how much you beg for mercy? nope, not at all.
on the contrary sinister!mark simply can’t help getting harder at your instance of a break, cock swelling so much inside you swore he grew a few inches.
“tightening up so fucking much.. shit.. ha— did you black out again?”
amusement is practically dripping from every word that escapes his lips, sinister!mark staring down at you with harsh eyes, enjoying the way you tried so desperately to catch your breath— only to track right back to square one the moment he thrusted into you.
he’s giggling to himself, leaning down close, chest brushing against your own as his lips pressed against your ear.
“you black out again, i’m adding two more.”
you couldn’t help but release a sob, pathetically hitting at his arms in a last ditch effort to disclose how much you hated that idea. sinister!mark is laughing at you, shoving himself so deeply there’s a bulge protruding through your tummy.
he’s quick to snatch your hands, shoving them against the mattress as he bruised your poor walls, eyes staring down at you with so many emotions swirling through his gaze.
“you aren’t escaping this.. not any time soon, anyway.”
. . .
viltrumite!mark is.. probably the least caring out of all of them entirely. sex is fun, sure, but his main purpose is shoving his seed into you to get a kid. he’s ruling the planet with the expectation of spreading his power across dimensions, of course he needs someone to keep up his legacy.
that’s where you come in, his perfect little human partner, the perfect little incubator for his objective.
whenever the man has downtime (which isn’t a lot mind you) you will find yourself under his mercy for hours, filled to the brim with his seed so much you’re wondering if your stomach is bulging at this point. he’s quick to shove every drop back in, even having the decency to research which positions is best to get a kid.
“mark.. mark please..” you’re crying at this point, overstimulated and filled to the brim, sweat trickling down your body. however your calls of his name are falling on deaf ears, viltrumite!mark not even focused on you, but instead your pussy.
he’s pulling his hips back, spotting the sticky ring of combined juices around the base of his dick, gaze focusing on the way his seed was dribbling down to your taint.
the man is clicking his tongue, eyebrows pushed close as he gave a particularly hard thrust into your cunt.
“stay in..” viltrumite!mark mutters, as if lecturing your pussy, throughly expecting it to obey his command. his hands are tight on your thighs, legs tossed over his shoulders as he fucked into you.
he doesn’t even stop the moment you reach for his hip, instead allowing his harsh gaze to drop to your features, as if confused on why you were touching him.
“ma—“
“we will stop when i, say so. until then, quit moving.”
. . .
no goggles! mark knows no bounds. his sadomasochism is always shining, especially during sex. when he learned what overstimulation was — or rather learned the reactions he could get from you during it — every single time the two of you have sex, he’s pushing you to the brink; abusing your body so greedily, a perfect toss between pleasure and pain.
even when you beg, cry, sob— the man is only giggling above you, maybe even planting the wettest kiss to your already damp cheeks. it doesn’t help he’s encouraging too, sickeningly sweet words that don’t match the way his hips are slapping against your own without a care for your body.
speaking of, it’s trembling at this point from the aftershocks; running from your head to your toes in an ache you simply couldn’t describe. you were breathing manually at this point, splotches of black invading your already blurry vision.
you’re reaching out for your lover, blindly, hand raising about only to wince the moment no goggles! mark snatched it, linking your fingers, and shoving it to the mattress.
“can’t take it can you?..” the man is muttering, hissing in delight the moment he felt your nails drag across his skin, eyes wildly soaking in the way your swollen lips pulled into a pout, whining for mercy.
yet he doesn’t give it to you, no, he simply can’t— not with the way you look beyond delicious under his mercy.
no goggles! mark tuts, a mocking sound that you would have slapped him for if you were in the right state of mind — albeit the man would probably just ask for another, harder slap —. his free hand is tight on your thigh, angling his hips perfectly to strike your g-spot with each thrust. you’re a whimpering mess, shaking like a damn leaf with no sign of calming down.
“i’m not done, and you’re not done either— i know you got more in you.. fuck, baby you feel so good!”
okay so i've seen the concept of mark fucking the reader's clothes but what if we reversed that ??
so like ,,, picture this; you're hanging out in mark's room . he's currently helping his mom with dinner, so you're left by yourself up there.
but rather than reading comics or finding a video game to play, you entertain yourself with his superhero suit.
don't worry -- he told you himself that he's invincible, so having your hands on his suit was expected
but you're not examining the pattern or the fabric material. instead, you've got it bunched up and shoved against your cock, hips grinding into it. bonus points if you're on his bed w/ your face shoved into his pillow to get as much of his scent as possible.
sure, there were plenty other clothes you could be humping, but you could get your hands on those at any point. hell, you probably had some hoodies and sweaters you stole from him hiding somewhere in your closet.
using his suit felt like having a piece of him that you didn't really get to be near very much.
the powerful hero that would be whisked away to deal with a threat in an entirely different country.
the one who's faced blow after blow in battle yet still brought himself back up again ,, because all he could think about was protecting this world. protecting its people. protecting you.
the man who smelled like the thin air of the ozone layer after flying miles above, the scent imbued in each thread of his suit and every strand of hair as he soared the skies.
you love all of him, even the parts you can only watch from the window or through the tv screen. his superhero suit smells different from the rest of his clothes, but it's still undeniably him.
as you rut yourself into the balled up clothing, you can't help but think of him actually fucking you while wearing it. all torn up and disheveled from a fight, his body wound up and needing nothing more than to fuck you until he forgets.
the thought has you cumming on it in no time, your hips stuttering as the fantasy's vividness becomes just as potent as his scent.
now it's got your cum on it.
well, you can't exactly leave it there , so you pull it away and straighten it out so you can clean it up properly.
but when you turn, you see through the small crack of the door, one you had no clue was slightly ajar.
there he stands, wide-eyed, cheeks burning like a stovetop ,, and a painfully obvious tent in his sweatpants.
Love it when you're trying to look up something inappropriate in inappropriate site and the site tells you their site may contain inappropriate content. Like WOW Pornhub I wouldn't have known Pornhub had porn in it if you didn't tell me! Gee whiz! Thank you for saving my innocent pure virgin eyes 🙏👼 come on.
okay so i've seen the concept of mark fucking the reader's clothes but what if we reversed that ??
so like ,,, picture this; you're hanging out in mark's room . he's currently helping his mom with dinner, so you're left by yourself up there.
but rather than reading comics or finding a video game to play, you entertain yourself with his superhero suit.
don't worry -- he told you himself that he's invincible, so having your hands on his suit was expected
but you're not examining the pattern or the fabric material. instead, you've got it bunched up and shoved against your cock, hips grinding into it. bonus points if you're on his bed w/ your face shoved into his pillow to get as much of his scent as possible.
sure, there were plenty other clothes you could be humping, but you could get your hands on those at any point. hell, you probably had some hoodies and sweaters you stole from him hiding somewhere in your closet.
using his suit felt like having a piece of him that you didn't really get to be near very much.
the powerful hero that would be whisked away to deal with a threat in an entirely different country.
the one who's faced blow after blow in battle yet still brought himself back up again ,, because all he could think about was protecting this world. protecting its people. protecting you.
the man who smelled like the thin air of the ozone layer after flying miles above, the scent imbued in each thread of his suit and every strand of hair as he soared the skies.
you love all of him, even the parts you can only watch from the window or through the tv screen. his superhero suit smells different from the rest of his clothes, but it's still undeniably him.
as you rut yourself into the balled up clothing, you can't help but think of him actually fucking you while wearing it. all torn up and disheveled from a fight, his body wound up and needing nothing more than to fuck you until he forgets.
the thought has you cumming on it in no time, your hips stuttering as the fantasy's vividness becomes just as potent as his scent.
now it's got your cum on it.
well, you can't exactly leave it there , so you pull it away and straighten it out so you can clean it up properly.
but when you turn, you see through the small crack of the door, one you had no clue was slightly ajar.
there he stands, wide-eyed, cheeks burning like a stovetop ,, and a painfully obvious tent in his sweatpants.
Sex scene as character study is so good. What is your relationship to your body? What is your relationship to your partner? What lessons have you absorbed from the culture about yourself as a sexual being? How much do you have to trust someone before being comfortable with intimacy? What fears and insecurities come to the fore for you when you take your clothes off? It's so good.
cw;; overstimulation, kemonomimi (kinda), pet play, mentions of breeding/pregnancy, body dysmorphia(?)
alternate title—the juicer spends an entire post being a fucking FREAK (it's just nsfw headcanons for my oc)
general hcs
(❄️ = exclusive to mainstream!beau / ✨ = exclusive to angelic!beau)
Beau absolutely loves being treated like a pet in bed. It's not that hard to rile them up, but collar them or call them a "good bunny" and they'll be gushing <3
Beau is turned on by brat taming or even being called out whenever they're trying to avoid something. Kinda like a tsundere type of situation? They act like they hate it, but they don't
It's difficult for Beau to stay still sometimes (outside of the bedroom) and is much more squirmy and bouncy when in private. Of course, this means they won't stay still in bed, but a bit of rope or some handcuffs should do the trick ;)
Absolutely LOVES the idea of overstimulation — having that denial/unruliness fucked out of them until they're a sobbing, incoherent mess begging for mercy? Yes please
Beau will have sex just about anywhere, but they often prefer to do it in dark, comfy spaces. Bonus points if they're given blankets to make a burrow out of beforehand—that way, they can hide in it w/ their partner after getting steamy
Aftercare is super important for Beau, regardless of the dynamic during the deed. They need the reassurance that they did good, and that they won't be abandoned the moment the heated part is over
Beau's bunny ears and tail are very sensitive — the smallest of touches to them will make them melt like a damn popsicle (❄️✨)
Though Beau's bunny features (ears/tail) aren't always on them, they still have the same behaviors (❄️)
Beau's powers often react to their state (emotion, physical, etc.) — Their bunny ears & tail are more likely to sprout first when they're surprised or aroused (❄️)
Due to the bunny genes, Beau doesn't have a menstrual cycle & they're always fertile. Additionally, their sex drive is extremely high (❄️✨)
variant specific hcs
mainstream!beau
Beau always keeps their top on or will cover their chest when having sex — this is because they hate seeing the scar along their sternum from the GDA's experimentation
Beau will only let someone else see their chest IF they trust that person 1000%
If the person gives praise or reassurance regarding it, they'll be likely to take their top off more around the trusted person
moonflower!beau
So the brat taming thing? Yeah, Moonflower is that but cranked up to the max.
Moonflower enjoys dirty talk & being verbally degraded
Moonflower is more on the CNC side of things. They prefer their partner take control while they fight back. Of course, they always have a safe word or specific signals in place in case things go south for either them or their partner.
angelic!beau
Unlike the others, Angelic doesn't really like brat taming too much, often preferring the softer/vanilla dynamics. They won't do it unless explicitly asked to.
Angelic enjoys overstimulation not because of the whole "fucking the unruliness out of them", but because they like the idea of having their partner just shut off their brain through sheer pleasure.
Angelic loves praise and will put their partner's pleasure over their own. They're very insistent about servicing their partner.
Angelic can't quite handle being degraded in any capacity, especially in bed. They need constant affirmation that they're doing well and that they deserve love.
mohawk mark ,, going out of his comfort zone to care for you
he's used to being served and tended to — he thinks he's entitled to it.
but when he sees you curled up to his side after he basically fucked you like he hates you, he can't help but feel compelled to make sure you're comfy ,, and clean ,,, and well fed ,,,
he tries to act like it's just common sense to clean you in the bath or cook you food, but the both of you know damn well it's because he loooooves you <3
he likes taking care of you. in and out of the bedroom. it doesn’t matter if it’s a small or big action—it never fails to make your face heat up, the way he coos whenever you avoid eye contact. he makes you feel loved, which isn’t something you’re too use to.
but with him, you’re going to have to.
especially when he’s pressing kisses to your tear stained cheeks, scarred hands squishing your waist and playing soft skin. three orgasms in, and he’s tapping your twitchy clit with the tip, face flushed and expression happy as ever. it get on your nerves—he had you shaking and twitching, and has the nerve to comment on how pretty you are.
“you’re doing so well,” he hums, and his eyes flick down to your hips. the couch is definitely ruined. he’ll clean it later when you’re napping. “i think you’re ready.”
he’s been holding off for a while now. you know that for a fact; you’ve seen the goddamn dick print whenever he walked around in nothing but his sweats, hair messy and mussed from sleep and toothbrush hanging from his mouth. you’ve felt it whenever he just ‘wanted to feel you’—and would proceed to grind and moan against you like you were a deity.
and while you aren’t one to be embarrassed so easily (lie), you flush and glance down, visibly shuddering.
“that is not. going to fit.”
and the way he giggles at you? you’re fucking dead.
“i hate you—mmh! i hate you, i hate you-”
“you’re so cute.” he moans right into your ear, hips stuttering as he tries to catch his breath. the sounds coming from your body that were a result of him pushing back in, making your eyes roll, were outright pathetic. if you were in your right mind, you’d be ashamed of yourself.
well, you were ashamed, but your brain had turned into mush by now. you couldn’t put much thought into it when your boyfriend was rearranging your guts, and you swear you hear angels singing when he presses his weight down and stays there.
“haah . . . i told you i would make it fit.”
it would be easier to hate him if his smile wasn’t so bright—so pleased and loving as he watches your eyes roll back when you cum.
— kamado tanjirou , MIDORIYA IZUKU, YUJI ITADORI, HAKUJI/akaza, MARK GRAYSON ; all of your favs if you want lolol
I tried to write something small for Valentine's Day and it was not small. Haaaaa.
Warnings: Bondage, breeding kink, exhibitionism, degradation, abduction?, foodplay, forced dating?
Main!Mark: 464
Lensless!Mark: 1052
Shiesty!Mark: 584
Mohawk!Mark: 755
Omni!Mark: 1382
Viltrum!Mark: 1002
Sinister!Mark: 1627
Total WC: 6.8k
Main!Mark pulls out all the stops… to make sure the house is empty! Mom and Paul are out-out, and going back to his. Ollie is doing his first human friend sleep-over. And you? He's been promising you quality time for months. ("Sorry Cecil, better call your backup heroes, cause my phone is off!") The bed exists somewhere under a mountain of rose petals, and Mark definitely took the challenge of speed-lighting one hundred candles seriously. (Hard to do as a Viltrumite due to air displacement.)
He wants blindfolds, dipping sauces and strawberries. He wants slow kisses and a strip-tease to the god-awful sleazy jazzy playlist Music Streaming App suggested for V-Day. And when he lays you down on his bed, as gently as a lamb but grinning like a wolf, he wants our sweet, whole-hearted moans. He wants those ahs to be punctured with praise for him. "Oh god! Yes Mark! Right there!" Oh, those gentle first strokes are tender, expressing all of his love for you, for your unending patience. Then he's rougher, faster, harder, to a chorus of bed squeaks and your screams of his name. "God, don't stop Mark! Keep going! More, more!" He drags your thighs close around his waist, his super-powered grip on your hips as he works into you. Your pleasure is his heart's desire, his cock digging deeper into the soft piece of heaving, rubbing against your velvety wet walls. His cockhead kisses your womb and you squirm and mewl beneath him. "Come on, sweetie. Let's come together." He smiles at you, with such radiant love that you forgive him for taking away your ability to breathe or form a coherent sentence. You've gone gaga for his cock and that's okay.
Because you know, after he comes inside of you, he'll take good care of you. Three heavy, final thrusts of his dick, stretching you out to an impossible fullness, and he's buried deep. Hot seed fills you, tiny little grunting thrusts pushing it deeper, overwhelming your already sensitive cunt. You can feel the rush of your own orgasm, the hot flush of your cheeks as you know he's marked you so fully from the inside. Your pussy clenches, milking the last of him as he groans, back arching, a beautiful curved profile in the candlelight. As you come down, you whine softly, thighs pressing around him, core clenching as you try to force him out. "Sorry sweetie, did I overdo it?" He's sheepish but not regretful as he pulls out. He leans down, kissing your clit, humming in appreciation for how you taste of both of you. Your shiver of anticipation makes him grin, his face brightening. "Oh yeah? Want more? Cause I will never stop loving you baby… And I have you all night."
Lensless!Mark approaches Valentine's Day like a game, much like everything else in his life. He's hidden a bingo sheet under his pillow of all the nasty things he wants to do to your body. Who's going to moan the loudest? You. Who's going to have fifteen orgasms? You. Who's going to pass out out and wake up with cum-face? Well, a boy can dream, but let's be real here: you. He's gone the extra mile for this fuck-fest and loaded up with a collection of sugary treats and energy drinks. Cans of whipped cream, gummy snakes, heart candy and sour straps line his chest of drawers.
But the piece de resistance is the harness and pulley system he's rigged in his room, a step further in the rope games the two of you enjoy together. Colourful soft silk looks beautiful wound around your body, pressing into your delicate skin. The expertly woven knots create tight pressure and no pain. Even now, he's grinning as he ties you up on his bed, wolf whistling when he finishes. "Look. at. you, babes. My little snack, all trussed up and ready to go." He gathers you up in his arms, kissing you like he's trying to inhale your hair, deep and moaning into your mouth. He nips your lip as you part for him, then trails hot kisses down your neck as he carries you over to the harness. He straps you in with wandering hands, squeezing your breasts made prominent by the shibari, squeezing the fat of your thigh to watch you shudder and gasp. He loves knowing he can have you anywhere, unresisting. And you love knowing he's taken the time to slow down, to stay still, to focus wholly on your body.
He starts with the whipped cream. He shakes the can, and sprays the cold delicacy all over your nipples and breasts. His other hand settles between your thighs, stroking the intimate creases where hip meets pelvis, a teasing, trailing sensation against your sensitive skin. "You know what to say if this gets too much…" He murmurs, his eyes devouring you already. He leans down, pierced tongue darting over your erect nipples, lapping up creaming and making you buck into the rope. The other hand moves unerringly between your slick folds, stroking your slick over the lips of your pussy. He hums in delight around your breast, grinning as you groan in want. His index finger flicks your clit as he nips the point of your boob, catching it in his teeth before sucking. As you buck in the ropes weightlessly in the ropes, his index finger slips inside you, unfurling expertly, stroking down the walls of your cunt until he finds the spot that makes you sing.
Len knows how to unmake you. Your body has been his playground for a while now, and you're his favourite toy. He, proudly, loudly claims he was made for two things in life: fighting and fucking you. He's good at both. A second finger stretches you out, and he's rubbing his cheeks into your creamed up breasts, a sigh of contentment as he makes a mess out of both him and you. His fingers pump faster, listening to your heart as you moan and twitch in the gentle prison he's made for you. "Babes, you sound so good like this. Oh yeah, gonna make you cum. I can hear it in your heart. Sing my name! Do it." A third finger now, a stretching pressure that makes you lose your mind. "Be good for me and I'll give you even more." He purrs, licking your body as you squirt around his hand. "Oh fuck, soaking me already? Fuck, you're so slutty." He says it like it's the highest praise- and as you clench around him, head tilting back as you moan for him, it really is the nicest thing he's called you today.
"That's one babes. Let's go for more!" He sing-songs in that sweet, frustrating way of his. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing your cunt with the heel of his palm to watch you shudder in overstimulation. And then he's back with the whipped cream, spraying the whole of your front, drawing patterns in cream and laughing to himself. He presses heart candy into your nipples, and then grabs what looks like a giant shaker. "Look baby! I even got sprinkles for you." You stare up at him in a daze. Because he's about to sprinkle all over you. That boyish laugh is an infection and you're sick for him.
The multicoloured sprinkles turn your body into a wrapped up rainbow of sugary delight. He moves now, adjusting your body slightly on the harness. The suspension makes you feel weightless, a doll for him to touch and move as he so desires. "Ooh, so wet." He murmurs, pressing his hard cock against your entrance, teasing you with the tip as he covers himself in your slick. "So tight. You always take me so good." Like he hasn't done this a million times already- somehow still loving how fucking tight you get for him when he pushes into you in one solid stroke. He holds you steady as the force of him makes you swing away, and before you have time to adjust to him, before you can catch your breath, he's pulling back out and then in with a slap of skin against skin. His moans are just as filthy and sweet as yours. "Fuck yes! Fuck! Always wanted to fuck a cake!"
He pulls you around him, pressing deeper inside of you until you're sweating through the ropes at the impact of his cock against your walls. He leans down, licking stripes along your cream-covered navel. He rubs the bulge he makes in your pelvis, watching himself with a feral grin and an expression of awe as he holds his pace and fucks in tiny little strokes, hitting the spongy wall where cunt meets cervix. "Gonna cum!" He mutters, pulling out even as you squeeze his dick tight, hand shifting to rub himself out all over your stomach. His eyes are glued to the mess he makes, fingers mixing through the cum and cream all over you. "Awww, you make the sweetest little cum-cake. Cumcakes, that's your new name."
Shiesty!Mark doesn't give two shits about Valentine's Day, and is an asshole. But fortunately he's dating an asshole too, and you're about to remind him exactly why he should be worshipping you at your feet. It starts with him creeping home at ungodly hours of the morning, then him stretched out on your bed, arms folding behind his head in a rare moment of relaxation. You tug his stupid tracksuit pants down, hoisting down his boxers, and then you're gripping him, stroking his dick until he's firm and heavy in your hands, his thick girth leaking beads of precum to a gentle melody of him groaning and cursing you for teasing him in equal measures.
You bow your head over his member, coquette beneath a veil of thick lashes, kiss the tip and lick the salty cum, and then bite him. Hard.
"FUCK!" His body jolts, pushing himself to sitting as he stares in disbelief at you. You press your hand on his chest and push hard, although he doesn't move unless he wants to. "You forgot about Valentine's Day?" You ask, grinning up at him from where your hold his dick as a prisoner. "Didn't forget… just don't give a fuck about one day when I can have you whenever I want." Gruff but somehow soft, a plea that's wrapped up in his force of will, his desperate desire to conquer you without needing to be conquered in turn.
"Uh huh. Sure buddy. Sure." You bend your head again and his body is still. You can feel the tension in his abdomen from where he's trying not to squirm, not so how how much he's waiting for the next bit of pain or pleasure you'll give him. You open your mouth wider, your cunt clenching as you swallow the meat of him, tongue wrapping around his shaft. His pleased moan of triumph quickly turns to another cursed fuck as you graze your teeth up and down his length, letting him feel how exquisitely you can manipulate him through his dick, how quickly he'll say whatever needs to be said just to get you to play nice for a moment. Your pull off until your teeth catch his tip, the pressure just enough to hold him place. His face is wide, brown eyes full of wonder and adoration as you hold him there on the edge.
And then you bite down again, and he bucks, groaning once more. You can't hurt him, not really- Viltrumite dick is as tough as it is hard when they're ready to go. But the sensation isn't lost on him, the pain turning to pleasure as you suck and bite him in equal measure. "Fucking hell…" He mutters, and then submits to your touch at last, watching with a dazed expression of love as you punish him for forgetting again. He cums in your mouth, filling your throat with a thick, salty load. Before you've even pulled off, he's holding your arms, hoisting you bodily over him until he can rip a hole in your pants and seat you on his still-hard cock. "You wanna play dirty babe? Gonna hold you here and impale you over and over again until you cry. Got it? I'm gonna show you the best fucking day just to shut you up." And then he laughs as he makes good on his promise and threat, bouncing you up and down on his cock until you're gushing over him, pleading for him to cum.
Mohawk!Mark expects the gifts and the adulation- it's what he's used to, after all. He chased you hard until you finally said yes, and the afterglow of triumph still carries through every moment he fucks you, smug and smirking, until you're begging for him to release you. Loving Mohawk isn't easy, but he always goes extra hard when you call him 'my king', 'my emperor', or fuck forbid, 'master'. It's more than just a kink- it's the natural order of things in his mind. You, on your knees, servicing him, is the way the world should be.
So imagine his confusion when he bursts through the door of your shared apartment and you greet him with an off-hand wave, busy with your own self-care routine involving a lot of towels and nail polish. The shit-eating grin falls away, replaced by something meaner, a dark look of furrowed brows and sharp teeth. The air grows more and more heated. You flow from one activity to the next, never leaving yourself open, dancing with danger as the tension escalates. It's not long before he's catching your wrist, trying to pull you into him, and you're having to bat him away with a hand. "Not now, Mark. Give me five minutes." Five minutes, ten minutes, there's always another five to go. He's trailing you in a way that says it's entirely accidental, but his eyes never leave your face, never leave that slowly growing smile as the teasing ramps up.
It's when you're getting changed from sweats to a cute little dress that he snarls- a pure, animalistic sound that vibrates from head to toe. "I know what you're fucking doing." You turn that sweet smile on his face, batting your eyelashes in a picture of innocence. "What's that?" You prompt, and his dark look of fury turns into a grin, still just as potent, but now vicious in the way he wants to rip you apart. "Testing me. Taunting me. Acting like you're too good for me. Well, fuck you too."
"Oh, really?" Your voice is so sweet it's liquid syrup in the air. You turn to him, your body an open invitation, boobs packed tight into a dress two sizes too small and a hem too high to be reasonable. His eyes travel the length of you and you can practically feel the huff of air from his nose.
"Fuck. I'm going to fucking ruin you. Get here now." It's that deep, bossy timbre that sets you off, a mad little giggle that delights in his fury. He doesn't wait, he's too hungry for that, but he crosses the room in two long strides and pushes you up against the wall. "You fucking little tease, look at this. You've been playing me all day." He mutters into your ear, but his hand has reached beneath the flimsy cotton of your dressed and pulled your panties aside. He strokes the slick, sweet as anything, and then shoves his fingers in your mouth. Your eyes widen in surprise, breath hitching. "Taste that?! Know what that is? That's you, fucking praying I'll open your legs tonight and fuck you into tomorrow." He laughs, a low sound that tickles against your neck. Then he's biting your neck, sucking huge hickeys into delicate skin.
He's a fast worker when he wants to be, effective and practically cruel in his treatment of his employees. First it's up against the wall, spreading you with his knees whilst he frees his cock and fucks you, clothes still on. Then it's on the bed, your face planted into the covers, your dress around your waist as he holds your arms back and fucks you like a doll. He grunts when he cums, slapping your ass and chuckling roughly at the sound of your moans. The third time he comes, he's holding your hip with one hand and the back of your neck with the other, folding you against him so he can work deep inside of you. You're bruised, ego shattered, and mewling for more as he fills you with his cum, sticky seed spilling out and running down your thighs. "You love being used. Love it when I can fill you up over and over again. Tell me you fucking love me."
And you do. In a broken whisper, ego shattered beneath your emperor's touch, you tell him how much you love it when he fucks you into a stupor.
He does it again, just because he loves the sound of your moans.
Omni!Mark is so soft and sweet with you, and Valentine's Day is a Big Day in his internal calendar of events. He never got a chance to make it meaningful until he met you, and so he goes way, way overboard. It starts with a restaurant meal, but he's booked out the whole restaurant in some fantasied idea that that privacy is better this way. There's a cook, a waiter, and the two of you; he's picked out every meal, lost sleep over pairings and trying to figure out whether you'd be in the mood for salmon or steak.
But he's here now, the picture of formality in a handsome button down shirt and a blaze that cuts his muscular figure in sharp, beautiful lines. Omni, in a suit that isn't red and white, that doesn't flutter with a cape… Somehow more vulnerable and undressed than he's ever been before, the hesitant smile, the shy gaze as he holds out your seat for you. Of course, you're dressed to the nines as well, something that catches the eye and makes a dent in his mind. You can tell he's lost the moment you arrive because his breath catches and his words fail. Speechless? Omni does silence, but not like this, not in a way that suggests his brain is entirely broken by the very vision of your beauty.
Every breath is measured, the conversation unnaturally stilted as the entree arrives (a shared tapas of dips, cured meat and pickled veg). Omni is holding his breath, waiting for your first bite as a sign of approval. Your smile is warm, cheeks flushing beneath his observant gaze. His thoughts hatch a million dreams of how this night might end. You only imagine one.
With the second course- vodka cured salmon salad- the conversation exploded after an accidental dollop of sweet mustard turned Omni as bright red as his costume. The fumbling evaporated, laughter easing the nerves. His knees brush yours beneath the table- an impossibility unless he stretches…
The third course- beef Wellington- comes with sparkling red cocktails. The strawberry liquer and dark berries hides the white wine well, giving you courage. You lean forwards and capture him in a daring kiss, letting him taste the sweet poison you both so eagerly sip. He lingers, his breath warm against your jewel-stained lips, his eyes a smouldering burn of burnished amber and old wood. He smells clean, like crisp apple and sunlit frost, and your heart thuds as your senses are besieged, swimming in him.
Dinner is finished but dessert is yet to be served. Your foot brushes his beneath the table, ankles touching. His cheeks are a pleasant red, dark eyes fixed on you, widening as you trade a blush for a coy smile and a look that invites sin. The waiter is out back with the cook, helping in the kitchen. Would Omni dare? Not without a little push, perhaps. You nudge him with your foot, trailing the tip of your stiletto heel up his calf and settling against his thigh. His body goes still, breath held hostage by your beauty and touch.
"Something wrong?" He asks, his voice a low, rough whisper.
"Sore feet." You wiggle your toes in his lap, and his brows shoot up.
"Let me help…"
The Roman straps come loose, his careful fingers unwinding the soft leather, gently rubbing along your calf. "Let me know where…" He murmurs, his gaze fixed on his plate. His fingers follow the line of your arch, the thin stockings turning his touch to a shivering feather upon your skin. Your breath catches as he traces along, settling on the pads of your flexor tendons, rubbing gentle circles into the soft, sensitive flesh beneath.
The waiter comes out. He doesn't pause, but instead shoots you an oblique look, his smile wan and lazy as he answers the waiters questions. You surely can't, breath held so as to not make a sound. He touches each of your toes in turn, running along the joint, pausing at the tip before playfully exploring the next. Yes, dessert is coming.
You exhale a huffy breath, grinning at him over your cocktail. It's real love now, a joyous, child-like feeling blossoming in your heart. It's mirrored in his expression, a quirk of his lips, the most polite flash of white teeth you've ever seen. And then he's disappearing beneath the table, your leg pressed to his hip as he crawls on his hands and knees to close the distance.
You feel his breath between your thighs, and then his hands are pushing up your dress. He trails his fingers in wonder over your bared thighs, an appreciative slowness over the garter belt, the fabric neatly portioning your tender skin for his delectable kisses. "Mark," you whisper, threading a hand through his hair, fingers carding the messy spikes.
He doesn't ask permission, not this time. A stiletto heel loosely pointed at a man's dick does things to his brain.
He rubs your core through silken underwear, nosing at the wet patch slowly spreading across the dainty cream undergarments. His other hand settles on your hip, brushing across the crease, pressing in when your body stiffens at his touch, or when your whimper or gasp. It's a reminder that you're here, in semi-public, and you need to be quiet for him. You need to be good.
Omni noses aside your panties and breathes heat over your clit and pussy. His tongue is tentative, as if he's uncertain where to start in this banquet of delight and tantalised senses. A careful nuzzle of his face against your slick cunt, and his shyness falls away. He bathes in you, drinking your essence, lapping softly like he belongs right here, under the table and between your legs. There's no meal grand enough to pull him away from his elixir you offer him, the drink of gods so sweet and dangerous that he might very well give his heart and soul for more. His tongues presses in with boldness, striking at the heart of your feminine pleasure to draw a lewd moan from your throat.
The waiter coughs from somewhere behind your shoulder, and you grip his hair tight, holding him still against your dripping cunt. "Ma'am, your boyfriend..?" He begins, laying a heart-shaped, dark chocolate and Frangelico marscapone cake before you.
"Rest room." You managed behind a too bright smile and watering eyes.
"I see." He says, in the kind of quiet confidence of a man who knows full well where this particular rest room might be. "I'll leave this here, but let me know if he would like it reheated."
Omni doesn't wait. He strains against your hand, shucking your rules just as he gave up fear and shame. This moment is all about you, all about your love, his love for you in particular. He wants you to moan as loudly and wantonly as you wish, he wants to gorge on you, fill his senses with you, and he won't be satisfied until you coat his tongue with the proof of your love.
His fingers join his tongue. One at first, curling in as his mouth moves to your clit, sucking it between his lips. A second one parts you more, and then his tongue moves, pressing his nose to your clit before shifting downwards. He licks long and deep, up and down your entrance until you're quivering, thighs shaking, then slips inside.
"God, this cake… This cake is so good."
He hums in pleasure at your words, the sensation making your mind white out. Dark chocolate cake reaches your tongue as you stroke his hair faster, encouraging him to match your pace. His soft sighs and grunts make your tummy flutter. He is a man hard at work and enjoying every moment of it, and he's all yours.
His fingers press again, and you crack, the pleasure so intense that you joke back in your seat, hips arcing. He holds you down, careful, and drinks every drop of the dribbling arousal now escaping your convulsing cunt.
When he emerges a minute late, it is with the dazed look of a victor who enjoyed the best of spoils. You dab some Frangelico mascarpone on his face, just for good measure.
Viltrum!Mark is still learning about all of Earth's silly little traditions, but Valentine's Day is fascinating. A whole day to show you how much adores you? There's just not enough time! How can you possibly understand the depths he'd go to, just to see your face? The dimensions he'd cross just to find you again? The people he'd remove, permanently, just to give you a place beside him as he takes hold of the Empire. You're his, every day of the year- but on this most special of Day of Love, he needs you to know more than any other just how far he'd go.
The morning starts with a trip to your favourite destination. He remembers how lovingly you speak of the museums you visited there, the sightseeing, walking alongside heroes of the past and soaking in the culture. He holds you hand as you walk those very same paths, listens with keen attention as you tell him stories of an Earth he's only just begun to love in earnest.
In one of your favourite botanical gardens, he leads you to a tunnel woven of wisteria and cups your face, his gaze bright and full of desire for you. He's always been attentive- a remarkable fondness for detail and planning keeps him disciplined when his mind might otherwise wander. But in this moment, his whole, entire being is focused on you. You are the pinacle of his world, the summit he wishes to earn and conquer at the same time. He tilts your head up and presses his lips to yours, a soft enquiry that deepens at your moan. He draws you close, his hands pressing against your back, your chest against the firm plane of his muscular body, the plain white shirt a stark testament to the warrior beneath. The kiss becomes demanding the longer it lasts, his tongue dancing with yours, his teeth catching your lip whenever you try to pull away. Control and dominance fight- Markus understands the language of love in the same way he knows the plans of war. This battleground has been mapped and charted, and now he plans to take you across the field and show you exactly what loving him means.
He holds your body firm in the shade of a sprawling oak, roses planted all around, the air thick with sweetness and lust. He's got you in his lap, his between your thighs as the other cradles you against your chest. He plays your body like a dulcimer, strumming from your moans of passion as his fingers find your core and search for the pleasure that takes you beyond stars and into a universe of his devotion. There's no relenting, his kissing stealing your breath as he coaxes your orgasm in a gush of your sweet slick. He rubs your clit through the waves of your aftershock until you're whining in protest at the overstimulation. "Mine," he whispers as he watches you submit to his fingers, "to love and to hold." His smile is sweet even as he wrecks you with sin.
Next it's in the shadows of some hallowed monument, as dusk settles and tourists scatter. He feeds you pieces of strange, alien fruit dipped in chocolate as you settle onto his cock. Large and thick, you cling to his shoulders and open wide at his whispered command. A hand on your hip helps you move and keep your rhythm, and Markus stifles his groans against the heat of your neck, trailing kisses as you rock against him. His hips thrust, cocking fucking deeper into you as you get wetter and your aborted moans become filthier. The quiet groan of release fills your ears like music and makes you shudder in turn, milking him for all that he has to give. He holds you gently after that, that deep, soulful brown gaze fixed on yours, searching to see if you understand yet how much he loves you, how much he'll never let you go.
It's the hotel that really takes the cake- a reservation you hadn't known about until he flies you to the balcony and leads you into a room with a large bouquet of flowers and a selection of tiny chocolates. He tells you he's learnt more than he ever thought possible at your side, talks to you about your favourite flowers, recounting the stories of love woven into each of them. He's spent so long planning this, finding things you might like, that you can't help but melt against him, wrapped up safe and tight in his embrace. He presses you down into the bed, gentle but firm, and you don't notice the pillows beneath your hips until he's brought your ankles above his shoulders and is fucking you with that quiet, intense desperation that underlines his every action here in your world. He's fucking you to claim, filling you deeper than ever before, holding you tight and pressing his cock to your womb in the hopes of a union that'll outlast the silliest of traditions.
"Take me, take all of me, I need to see you filled with me." He whispers into the dark. Heat flushes your skin, your ravaged cunt slick with a need for this man that can't be quenched. A heat rises inside of you, making you whine and moan for more, making your walls pull him in further. The smile he has for you is tender and affectionate, and he cups your face before he comes, calling you beloved, calling you his queen. His pace quickens, your breath catching as you feel his dick throb inside of you, painting your insides with cum that never seems to end. "So full of me," he says, but he doesn't move away. Instead, his hand reaches down, gently stroking over your abdomen. "Soon, so full of me. Us, together." That dark smile, so full of pride and love for you, marks the moment you'd realise he'd give you the world if you gave him yours.
Sinister!Mark isn't officially your boyfriend- or even a friend, really. At best, he's a work acquaintance, and this solely because he comes to your place of work both in that ridiculous (adorable?) bumblebee suit and in dark leather pants and a matching sleeveless jacket. He smiles the same- a sharp and pointed grin, teeth pressed together like he's trying to remember if he's doing it right. When he's not wearing goggles or those edgelord red sunglasses, his eyes are a warm, soft brown, as sweet as chocolate and as endearing as a puppy's. He was, perhaps from the start, the most awkwardly pleasant guy you've ever met.
You'd never had such a bumbling break-in until Valentine's Day, when two supers crashed in through the front and immediately started arguing with each other.
"This is so fucking stupid man." The first yells, an aggressive drawl in his voice. He's wide across the shoulders and posturing like he's about to break another wall.
"Just do it! You think I like being on the hook for a fucking favour." The second's wearing a black ski mask with a skull print, but the top's been cut to give space for a messy mohawk.
The first turns to you and your work colleagues and says, face mask muffling the growl, "give us all your fucking money. I don't fucking know."
Ah yes. This will go swimmingly.
They don't move much before a third crashes through, adding debris to shattered remains of the wall.
Your heart quivers in your chest. "Bumblebee." You gasp, breath catching in your throat.
The second one, with the mohawk, barks a shout of derisive laughter, which is probably his last given how hard Bumblebee hits him in the face. The mohawk guy is bodily sent flying through a wall, groaning but somehow not dead. The first turns, hands raised to the heavens in what you assume must be a prayer for mercy. "Oh, fuck off!" He curses.
Bumblebee doesn't hesitate: he grabs him and catapults him through the roof with one mighty swing.
The next breath he's hovering beside you, in all of his majestic heroism. You know you're meant to fear him- the media outlets go back and forth on whether his change of heart is genuine, or a front for a cunning attempt at a second war. But you're not afraid- not of him, not of that creaky smile that opens his door like an old oak door with unoiled hinges.
His smile is hesitant as he meets your gaze, cheek smeared with blood. "You're not hurt are you?" His voice is sort and hoarse, like gentleness dripping from an open wound.
"No."
It's not quite the answer he was expecting, or wanted, but his arm wraps around your waist in a most genteel fashion, and his arms hold you tight, sweeping you off your feet.
"Not gonna let them hurt you."
His whisper is the last thing you hear before air pressure or wind force or the strange, unfathomable dynamics of flight turn your consciousness dark. He holds you close as he flies, his most precious pet.
When you wake, it's amongst soft black bedding, the duvet warm and the pillows fresh beneath your face. As you stir Bumblebee solidifies into your vision. He's handsome, if you forget how his smile might break at the seams, how his fingers hesitate as he reaches to thread them through your hair.
"I made you cake."
You blink at him. "Sure." Your brain catches up. "Where are we?" Like somehow knowing will normalise this entirely.
"My place." He answers, and that predatory smile softens slightly. "I thought it'd be nicer. Safer." There's something dark and intimately cosy about the space- his bedroom, surely- but your eyes stray to the windows with security bars. Pretty, with an ornate, gothic swirling patterns.
He's got the cake now- it's surprisingly big, shaped like a heart, the scent of dark chocolate wafting tantalisingly through the room. "Did you bring me here to eat cake?" You ask him, softly, not quite believing the words that spilled out of your mouth in a haze.
He looks away, as if trying to decide what the best move might be. "Yes. Is that… wrong?"
"No." Your voice, but your brain has slowed down. You lift your gaze to meet his, the lingering darkness tinged with a hint of warmth. Deadly, yes. Your heart is pounding with the knowledge that this man has killed for far less reasons than not eating cake.
But you kind of really want to try it. It smells good.
"Can I have some?"
He looks at you, trying to see the trick or the lie in your words. Your heart continues a tango in your chest and you wonder if he can hear it. Does he know how much your heart races when you imagine his hands on you? Does he know how wide you smile when you get to watch him leave? Maybe. Or maybe this is purely innocent cake.
He doesn't have a knife. He doesn't have a fork, or a spoon, but he picks a piece with his hands and offers it to you. Slowly you open your mouth, and he slips it in, his smile widening as you receive him, cake and fingers and all, and suck thoughtfully.
"Good?"
"Amazing." You moan, and he pulls his fingers away with a grin.
"Can you guess what I used?" He picks a second piece up for you, waiting until you open your mouth to feed it to you. Your brows pucker as you think and chew, your hand reaching for his to keep his fingers in your mouth again. There's a metallic hint that sets your pulse racing and you find you want to devour him more and more. You suck a little more urgently, and his breath catches.
"No, I don't know. What is it?"
"Blood. It's a coagulant. Strengthens the flavours, too." His smile is so wide, the gleam of sharp teeth captivating you. You can't think, although you probably should. He's not intimidating, he is utterly overwhelming, and he looks at you like you're the centre of his world.
How much does he know about you? How much has he seen of what you truly are, so pitiful and desperate to feel alive again that you'd take the fear of never knowing which breath might be your last over the safer devotions of pretty much anyone else.
That you'd welcome his kiss, his touch, if he could make you feel like you belonged, with him, to him.
Those brown eyes are inscrutable, but you would throw yourself into the depths of his soul just to see where you might fit. Your gaze meets his, the intensity kindling into a live fire that consumes you both.
In a swift surge of movement, the plate is on the floor and his hands wrap around the back of your neck, holding you still. His eyes pierce yours, the intense gaze wonder and terror in equal parts. Before you can blink, he steals the breath from you in a heated kiss, hands gripping you tight, holding you still as dismantles you in an urgent press of tongue and teeth. There's an urgency to him, understated and vicious in the way he wants to claim you.
You're never going to leave. You know this… Right now, even if you wanted to run, his hands have moved to grip your shoulders. He's pushing you down, gently yes, but there's no choice in this, no backing out. He has you right where he wants you; you showed him an ounce of interest, and now he's returning the favour. The hot and desperate kisses against your neck are a mark of his wanting, sure, but the way his knee rubs against your core, the way he grinds his hips, telling you just how much he's wanted to fuck you without uttering a single word.
The soft little whimpers he draws from you as he humps you over your clothes make him chuckle against your throat. "That's it, let go for me. Show me exactly who you are underneath that mask of politeness." He's coaxing your surrender now, pulling down your panties with eager hands and hungry eyes, watching as your arousal trails from his fingers with a single stroke.
When he thrusts into you, piercing you with a single stroke, it opens you up to a new world of pleasure and pain. "Bumblebee…" You moan, lifting your hips to try and meet him. Fuck, he's big, and he doesn't seem to realise just how much, if the brutal pace is anything to judge by.
"Sinister." He corrects you with a wicked grin, hands pressed to the sides of your face as he lowers himself, grunting with animal need as he fills every inch of your pussy.
"I don't think you are." You murmur back, nipping at his stubbled jawline, before pressing a needy kiss to his lips. You drag him down on top of you, taking his weight, the full brunt of his cock as he shifts the angle. You moan and arch as best as you can as he hits the spot that makes your vision swim and your gasps turn soft and high. Your moans come quicker now- he fucks with the intent to make you cry and scream, and he wants your cum all over his cock.
"That's it. Say my name, tell me how much you want this. I'd give you everything if you let me keep you. Just stay here and you'll never have to worry about anything…" It's the sweetest of promises, one lover to another, only you'd never realised before that's what he was meant to be.
felt fluffy , maybe even silly . if ppl like my oc x canon shit , maybe i'll post more of it idk
Warmth.
It was something that they couldn't feel. At least, not very well anyway. Turns out, having control over ice doesn't warrant a balanced body temperature.
But there was something—or rather.. someone—that always managed to thaw through those frozen layers.
"Mark...!"
His gentle hands that ran across their chilled skin, his face buried in the crook of their neck as he whispered sweet words of encouragement. The way he would whine softly with each thrust as he held them close.
"Mark, please-"
Even when the air in the room seemed to drop by a few degrees, he still managed to keep them cozy, the heat between them trapped beneath the covers that shielded them from the outside. Though they were cold to the touch, their sweet whimpers were enough to spur more heat forward.
"Just a little longer.."
He somehow managed to make them feel comfortable in their own skin, like their joined bodies was.. right. This was where they wanted to be—this was how it was supposed to be.
"Ah-!"
Even now, bathed in the moonlight spilling from the sliver between the curtains, there wasn't a trace of that bone-deep chill that haunted their every move. It was just him and his warmth as they curled to his side. Cozy. Comforting.
which means at best, he has minimal feeling. and when he first gets into a relationship with you, he’s afraid that he won’t be able to give you what you want.
lucky for him, you’ve always been good at thinking on your feet.
^*^
robert’s thighs are trembling as you ride him, the sensation—even if it’s not as overwhelming as it would be if he had full feeling—is enough to carry him into another orgasm, spilling inside of you with an overstimulated whimper.
it’s almost too much—he can barely think, the feeling of you around him rewiring his brain, turning him into a fucked-out mess. it’s too much, and not enough, and Robert is sobbing your name as he cums for a fourth time.
after that, you finally seem satisfied, cleaning him up with gentle hands, praising him, saying he was so good for you. robert deserves it—all of it.
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