❗️18+❗️• 19 • where i indulge my interests • just a humble reblogger making their way through the internet • this is an irrelevant blog you shouldn’t follow lol
summary (request) you're job at hr just got significantly harder now that you've got a little office crush who isn't afraid to put the moves on you during working hours!
It's late, well beyond working hours, but as you walk past the offices, you can't help but notice that the light to her office is still on. So, quietly, you sneak your way up to her office, leaning against the door as you watch her eat her take-out. "Little late to be here, don't you think?"
Blazer's head instantly snaps up, some noodle bits falling out of her mouth. "Oh, uh, I was just-" She quickly swallows her food, nearly choking on it, before wiping at her mouth to address you. "You, uh, you caught me. You want some?" She offers, hoping you'll accept. She's been wanting to spend more time with you, outside of work-related reasons.
"That wouldn't be very appropriate, now would it?" Her eyes widen in worry.
"Crap, I- You don't have to- I wasn't trying to-" But when you laugh, the sound like paradise to Mandy's ears, she can't help but stare in awe of you. The tips of her ears tint pink, and she relaxes a little as you calm down from your laughing fit.
"Sorry, I was just messing with you." You say, walking into the office and taking a seat across from her. She offers you whatever you want from the plethora of food. "A lot of people would try to get rid of me as quickly as possible," You confess, "Thanks." Her heart skips a beat.
"Probably shouldn't make jokes like the one you did," She says, and you chuckle, nodding in agreement.
"Yeah, you're right, probably doesn't help." You look up from your food through your lashes, smiling oh-so-sweetly that it shakes Mandy to her core. "You never shied away from me though." Damn the rules, Mandy thinks.
Yeah, Mandy decided, she's a goner- but she doesn't really care all that much if its for you.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
flambae (chad)
warnings: moaning, flambae harassing the gym equipment.
Flambae grunts louder than he should as he lifts the weights with ease. It's been like this for the lat few days now, Chad working out at the same time as you, making the most obscene, pornographic sounds with each movement he does.
Your eyes are trained on him as he all but moans as he thrusts the barbell up with his hips. He looks over at you, making eye contact as he does it again. You feel like you should be concerned, especially since there are a few other people in the gym, but all you can do is watch.
"Like what you see?" He huffs in your direction, his smirk only growing when you look away shyly. Chad does one last rep before he sets the barbell aside and walks up to where you're on the treadmill.
Just as he makes his way to you, so does some rando. "Should I make an HR complaint directly to you, or...?" The person questions, making Flambae freeze in his spot. Shit. Holy-fucking-shit. Had he been making sexual advances towards someone from the HR department? Was he going to lose his fucking job?!
"I'll handle it," You wave your hand dismissively to the random guy who approached you- who walks away thinking he did a good job. He doesn't realize you have no intention of punishing Flambae.
"Sorry...?" Flambae manages to get out, coughing into his fist to cover up his nerves. "I won't-"
"Oh, don't stop on my account." You stop the treadmill to approach him, getting way too into his personal space. "But if you're going to make those kinds of sounds for me, at least take me out to dinner first."
The flame in his eyes is lights up again, and he runs a hand through his silky locks. "Alright, bet. You free Friday?" Flambae had never not regretted his actions more.
"W- We really shouldn't be doing this," Invisigal shuts you up with her mouth, kissing you deeply and making you breathless. You really have no idea how it led to this- multiple meetings to discuss her less than professional behavior has now led to you committing the same crimes in the very same conference room!
"God, you're so hot when you're uptight," Courtney groans, pulling away from you to unbutton the first few buttons of your shirt. You stop her, your hand gripping her wrist and looking down at her sternly.
"Seriously, Invisigal...I should be scolding you," She grins, you may have stopped her hands but her lips are free. She's nipping at your exposed skin.
"You know it'll only serve to turn me on more if you do," You bite back a groan, letting go of her wrist and letting her continue to unbutton your shirt. You really should know better, but you can't help it- she's just so addicting.
"Fuck," You curse, inhaling sharply as the cool air hits your chest. "There's a meeting scheduled for two in this room," You finally pull away from her, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a sharp glare.
"Then you should punish me quickly," You stare at her, and for a minute Courtney thinks that maybe she went too far, but then that look in your eye appears and Courtney feels a rush of excitement. "Well? I've been a bad girl, so punish me."
And a very severe punishing she had indeed, so severe you might just have to continue the punishment outside of the conference room, should she act out again.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
malevola
Malevola was proud of herself, that much was obvious, when you traveled your way to the dispatching floor from your floor. She had no shame, even as you held up the bloody goat horn she had set on your desk earlier that morning. "Malevola," You say, "We need to talk."
"Okay," When you turned around, she gave a thumbs up to the Z-Team, fully believing her actions were going to lead her to scoring a date. Instead she's met with a very frustrated expression.
"Look, I don't know what I did to you, but you can't keep threatening me- and as an HR representative, I should report this, but-" Malevola's eyes widen. Wait, wait, what are you talking about? Threatening? No, she wasn't trying to threaten you.
"I'm trying to date you." She blurts out before she can think things through. When you pause, staring at her with wide eyes, she awkwardly continues. "I didn't realize you'd think they're threats- they're... offering... like, to gain your approval, so I can court you 'n shit?"
"Oh!" You look at the blood-covered goat horn that lays on the conference table. They were gifts? Albeit definitely strange, you now find the object a little more endearing. "I see..." It's quiet, a heavy tension in the air. "That's sweet, but maybe chocolate would suffice next time?"
"So you're not mad?" She perks up, you look over to see her hopeful expression. Malevola can only hope that you understand now she had no ill intentions. "You won't report this?"
"Oh, no, I definitely have to report this, so many of my coworkers saw it..." You say with a frown, and Malevola deflates a little, "but I can fight that it was a simple misunderstanding, so hopefully you won't get too badly reprimanded."
Malevola lets out a sigh of relief at that, the last thing she needs is to lose her job on top of totally losing any chance she had with you.
Even though Malevola is certain you'll decline, she still has to take a chance. "So... about a date, is that, like, totally of the table, or...?"
"Hmm... Saturday, at seven." Malevola nearly jumps out of her seat in joy, and once she's dismissed, she's portaling away to tell the Z-Team about her new date.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
mechaman (robert robertson)
"Okay, you got me," Robert sighs, already annoyed with the Z-Teams chattiness and teasing today. "I have a small dick, can we move o-" He's interrupted by a clearing of the throat, and he has to bite back the very loud exhale he wants to let out. He slides one side of the headphones off and turns around to see you.
"I feel like I should report that," You say, "and remind you that all calls are-"
"are recorded. Yeah, I know." He glances back at the computer to see everyone is still returning to the center, so he has a little time to chat. He slides the headphones all the way of now. "Won't happen again."
"Mm, I'll keep my expectations low," You give him a pointed look, but it quickly dissolves into you both letting out little chuckles instead.
"So, any particular reason you're watching over me?" And just like that, that familiar tension is settling over you both. "Or you just like watching me?" You cringe at the wolf whistle you hear from over his headphone and he mutters a quiet curse as he mutes his end of the comms.
"I have some other business on this floor, but I thought I'd visit..." You trail off, and it makes Robert feel a little prideful to hear you stopped by to see him despite your heavy workload.
"I'm about to take my lunch, if you wanted to uh," Robert holds back a wince at the slight crack in his voice, "you know... have lunch together?"
You accept his offer with an easy smile, and Robert swears he's never seen a more beautiful sight. Robert begins to think back to the guidebook he was given at the beginning, and if it mentioned anything against dating a coworker?
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
prism (alice)
"Prism! They're watching us," You whisper, albeit very obviously. She takes a glance around the very busy office, noticing that not a single soul is really paying attention to anything but themselves. She looks back at you with an unimpressed look.
"They should be," She says, "But they aren't, so relax." Despite her words, you tense up at the way her hand sneaks into yours. You two have been in the talking stage for quite sometime, and now that it's threatening to move up a level you begin to worry for your job! But Prism? She doesn't care one bit, respectfully.
"We really shouldn't be doing this during work hours," You say, trying to act casual despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach from her simple touch. She gives you one look, and softens just a little at your nervousness.
"You want me to stop?" Prism doesn't want to make you uncomfortable, but she certainly doesn't want to hide her feelings either. You hesitate, but when she starts to untangle her fingers with yours, you quickly clutch her hand tighter. "Oh? I thought this was 'inappropriate,'" she teases, causing you to huff in response.
"Don't even start," You two round the corner, entering the breakroom you've grown used to visiting during your trips to the dispatch floor. Prism grins like she's the cat who caught the canary.
"I'm just saying, it's interesting how quickly you change your mind." As you two bicker, Sonar walks into the breakroom and gasps, pointing at you two incredulously.
"Since when have you two- wait, is that why you never get called down to HR?" You open your mouth, but close it just as quickly. It might just be better not to interact with the HR Violation Master personally- Prism has no problem putting him in his place for you though.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
royd (roy)
"Roy! There you are, I was hoping to catch up with you!" Royd, who you had actually be ogling whilst he work on Mecha-Man's suit for the past hour, turned around with an innocent grin. He set down his tools and lifted his goggles off his face.
"Hey!" He grabbed you into a big hug, making both of your hearts do summersaults. Royd held on perhaps a little longer than he usually did, if only because he couldn't help himself! You smelled nice, you were nice to hug, you always made him feel better, the list goes on!
When he finally does set you down, you almost feel guilty for having to tell him about the complaints that have been coming in. "Roy, I actually need to talk to you about something work-related."
"Sure, what it be?" You open your mouth, before closing it, before deciding to just get it over with and say it.
"You know, I love a good hug, but uhm... some people have sent in some complaints but your, uhm, touchier habits." Roy frowns at this- were you... one of these people? He hopes he never made you uncomfortable!
"Shit, my bad," Roy puts his hands up defensively. "I'll try to do better," You give him a smile, thanking him for that. He wants to pat your shoulder, but hesitates and instead gives a thumb up. "No prob," His hands itch to touch you, to hold you, but he restrains himself as best as he can.
"But, you know... If someone asks for a hug, then it probably wouldn't be a problem." You mention, and he blinks at you in confusion before you add on. "I wouldn't mind a hug, if you're okay with it."
And the giant smile, along with the bone-crushing hug he gives you, lets you know that everything will work out.
─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──
sonar (victor)
warnings: 'mommy' kink mention (not at reader).
"Do you know why I've called you here today?" Sonar lets out a dreamy sigh, shaking his head innocently. You frown, because deep down you hate to have to scold him- just look at how cute he is! It should be illegal, really, if you think about it, for a grown man to be this cute!
"Maybe because you're finally going to accept my invitation to dinner?" He asks, hopeful. You have to bite your tongue to hold back from instantly agreeing.
"N- No, it's not about that." You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter, trying to seem more professional. "It's... well, it's been brought to light that you keep calling Malevola 'Mommy,' which, even if it's an inside joke, is starting to make certain individuals uncomfortable."
"Jealous?" Sonar leans in closer to you, and despite the way his cologne makes you want to lean in as well, you lean back and avert your eyes. "You're cute when you're shy."
"Yeah, so that's not-... that's exactly the type of behavior I'm talking about..." You only relax a little when Sonar finally sits back in his seat, a little grin on his face. "You can't say stuff like that, especially not in public."
"So it would be okay in private?" Sonar asks, tilting his head. You want to bite your fist, because you'd love to scream out 'only if you call me things like that in private' but alas, you can't so you take a deep breath instead.
"That's not what I meant." He blinks, leaning even further back in his chair and hums in consideration. "Anyways, let's not make these meetings a habit, okay?" Sonar perks up, his hand sliding across the table to take yours.
"I think we both know, these meetings are def becoming a habit." He stands up with that, sending you a wink. "And I'll pick you up at seven, I know a place you'll like."
"I-..." You can only give a solemn nod, wondering just how long you'll last in the HR department when you can't even properly scold Sonar, instead accepting to go on a date with him.
Sibling dynamics are kind of an untapped gold mine in media. Relationships between siblings can be so weird. We experienced the same childhood but in very different ways. I helped raise you. You helped raise me. You’re the only person I’ve ever really punched. You drive me fucking crazy but if anyone ever hurt you I’d chase them to the ends of the earth. You’re the only one who understands what it was like to see our parents slowly come to hate one another. Stop stealing my fucking socks.
warnings: semi-public sex, sort of straight up public sex cause the z-team is listening to you over the comm, sex in an abandoned office, riding, piv sex, oral sex, tongue fucking, creampie, mentions of the knot™, hint of edging/orgasm control, although not entirely on purpose, cum eating, light feels at the end, Robert not getting paid enough for this shit.
word count: 2k | loosely part 2 of this piece | part 3
summary: In which Sonar talks you into a joint mid-shift break and the rest of the team gets an unwitting front row seat.
Your name in Roberts voice crackles over the comms.
"Hey, uh, you seen Sonar anywhere?" the question rings in your ear but almost doesn't register.
It's hard to concentrate really when your thighs are pressed against the man in question's waist, burning like you've just beat your PR in squats and your field of vision consists only of two grey, fluffy ears. The owner of which is currently occupied suffocating himself between your tits. He pops off your right breast, tongue drawing back in his mouth long enough to mumble before going right back to suckling at you.
"Might wanna answer that," he hums around your nipple, laving at it in a way that sends sparks straight to your clit. His cock, hard and warm inside you gives a teasing little twitch that you know is purposeful.
He's laughing.
Asshole.
The subtle shake of his shoulders under your hands gives him away. It's times like these that Victor's more villainous tendencies become increasingly evident.
"Hi, Robert," you pause your movements, knees and pussy aching as you come to rest fully in his lap. "Ah, uh no, haven't seen him today."
There's silence on the line. For a blissful moment it seems you may have evaded detection. This is by no means the first time you've ever fooled around, but it is the first time doing it on the job, so to speak.
"It'll be like getting paid to cum your brains out," Sonar said when proposing the idea, holed away off route in a largely abandoned office park. You'd been halfway to hitting him when he pulled you in, double fisting handfuls of your ass. "C'mon, I mean like in a totally mutual and non-exploitative way."
He's not so cocky now, you note, grumbling into your chest and pulling at your hips until you bounce on him again. He adjusts himself under you, leaning back on the desk he's sat on with one hand. The bulge of his bicep through his jacket is mouthwatering. You tilt your hips up until just the tip stays pressed inside and drop down on his dick, drinking up the way he groans into you.
It's kinda pathetic how bad he wants it.
The icy thing inside you that pumps blood through your veins melts a little bit every time.
"That's weird, cause it says on the map you guys are in the same location?" Roberts voice, way more grating that you recall, blares from your earpiece.
"Fuck," you swear, pausing this many times is working you up more than you're used to. Victor's not really one to, well, deny himself or you for that matter any kind of pleasure.
Robert, on the other hand, is apparently really into edging.
Or just doing his job, but hey, anything can be a kink if you fuck about it.
"Are you going to answer him or...?" you hiss at Victor's head as he resurfaces only long enough to send you a milk glass glare for stopping again and shrugs.
You're going to hit him. Maybe not now, but you will.
"Huh, that is weird," you take a steadying breath before responding over the comms, hoping that Robert'll just fucking drop it, so you can start dropping it all over the frankly delicious cock and cum your brains out as promised thank you very much. "Guess he's around here somewhere, I'll--"
You choke on the words and the gasp that's forced out of your lungs. Below you, Sonar has stopped mouthing at your tits--bruised, skin hot and shiny with spit--and is settled with a hand snaking around your lower back and a foot hiked up on a desk draw for leverage. He gives you another rough thrust up, nearly toppling you right off his lap with the force of it.
Pitched forward, you scrabble at his chest, fingers grabbing that stupid fucking tie and gripping on.
"What the fuck--" you get out halfway before he rolls his hips up again and grinds. The thick fur that spills from his open fly is soaked from your pussy all nestled up against it. The coarse strands feel like heaven on the wildly firing nerves between your legs.
"You keep stopping," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and braces himself, picking up a steady rhythm of upwards thrusts.
There's a smug little grin on his infuriatingly pretty face. You wanna bite and tug and claw at it. You want to kiss him 'till he loves you.
You don't want think about that too hard.
"You cut off there," Robert saves you from examining the urge anymore thoroughly. "What were you saying?"
Sonar's smirk grows a little wider, slender white fangs flashing as he pants with the effort of fucking up into you at the pace he's set.
You need to respond.
And he's not stopping.
Fucking asshole.
"Sorry, ah, I--um, was just saying I haven't seen him," you manage to grit out, trying to stay as level as possible. A feat you ought to be praised for considering there's a diabolical half bat creature currently seconds from creaming inside you.
Sonar's eyes have gone glassy, jaw hanging slack and drool spilling out to wet the fur at the corners of his mouth. God, the level at which you want to suck his tongue needs to be studied in a lab.
"You okay? Ya sound a little out of breath."
Robert does not sound concerned in the least which is horrifying. It's like you can feel the realization dawning on him across the airwaves.
"You can, ah, tell him I'm doing fucking amazing," Sonar grunts below you, ears flicking in pleasure as the now familiar swelling at the base of his cock starts to press up against you.
"Don't you dare knot me you little shit," you hiss, hand on his tie tugging hard enough to cut off his air.
This is a frequent occurrence now which you have done your damndest not to read into. Victor's had girlfriends before you, that much is clear. That he's never popped a knot for any of them until now could mean absolutely nothing. Weird super-powered biology can be unpredictable. That it happens every time you fuck these days could also be equally meaningless.
That it gives you a convenient excuse to extend your liaisons doesn't really factor into how much you crave the feeling of him swollen and locked inside you.
You only stay the night cause it would be such a hassle to tug yourself apart. Easier to just go a few more rounds. Keep a uniform in his closet. A toothbrush on the counter. Yourself in his bed.
But right now, the last thing you need is to be stuck to this absolute bitch for the next hour.
Your hand worms it's way between your rolling bodies, wraps around his growing knot and squeezes.
The results are instantaneous. Your earpiece is jostled as Sonar gasps and paws at you, dragging you in as his hips stutter and roll, instinct driving him to lock you together. Plug you full of his cum, ensure you're bred by him alone. He whines when your grip stops him from knotting you fully, but the whole feed is blessed with a front row seat to about three seconds of amateur ASMR: Sonar Orgasm Edition.
"Guys what the actual fuck was that?" Robert phrases the question in a way that says he deeply doesn't want to know.
You scramble for your earpiece as Sonar comes down from his high, eyes blinking slowly down at the mess of his release dripping back out of your, seeping into his fur.
"No idea," you quip back, slapping at the hands trying to pet through your folds. "Must have been on your end."
The line cuts off just in time to miss your 'oof' and the rush of air leaving your lungs as your pussy is suddenly left horribly empty and your back slams against the desk.
Milky eyes stare down at you with evil intent.
"Damn I'm hungry. Can't believe you made me do all the work," Sonar mumbles, licking his way down your bare chest and continuing on the journey south. He only stops to swing your legs over his shoulders, dragging you abruptly till your ass hands off the tabletop. "Wanna snack before we go back to work."
Oh you're really gonna hit him. Maybe with a car this time. That seems like an appropriately scaled reaction.
Motherfucking asshole piece of--
The tongue that dips slips inside you is inhumanely long and dexterous. You know this, but it's surprising every time. Getting eaten out was not a personal favorite until Victor. You'd never thought he'd be a particularly generous lover, but he does loves indulging in this of all vices.
Though it likely wasn't coming from a place of generosity, you chose to encourage it regardless.
"Yeah, pretty sure that was you," Robert drones on the line, but your eyes have since taken a vacation to the back of your head, brain focused on nothing but the fingers that have joined in to rub harshly over your clit.
While Sonar works at swallowing down the mess he's left between your thighs, you get a sharp swat to the side of your ass. His free hand points to his ear.
Jesus Christ you just wanna cum. This was supposed to be quick and dirty and satisfying.
Fucking Robert.
"Not, ah, me--" you're completely fucked, out and otherwise.
The breathlessness in your voice is clear and you're sure the noises Sonar's making are muffled but audible to the whole group. It sounds more like he's sucking cock the way he slurps and moans against the mixture of his cum and your slick dripping from his chin.
When his tongue dives back in and presses up firm and hard, you shake apart. All the ups and downs and getting near to the edge before backing off create an intensity you're quickly addicted to. Thighs clamp down, flattening Sonar's ears that flutter against the raw skin, his hand holds your hips in place and his groans contentedly as you gush against his lips.
"Oh they're definitely fucking." It's Malevola this time, as casual as ever. "I walked in on them last week. "
"Hey don't fucking cum on the comms!" Punch-Ups voice rings in your ear, but you're too busy floating away on a soft cloud of pleasure and grey fur.
"Hehe, nice."
"Un-fucking-believable, guys," Robert doesn't sound nearly as disappointed as he should be. God the bar is so low in terms of team standards.
"I think it's very believable that they're fucking, actually--" Prims pipes in before you rip the earpiece out and toss it somewhere.
It skitters across the floor, but you'll worry about that later. Right now there's a warm weight settling across your chest. A pleasantly cool muzzle noses at your tits, soothing over the bite marks and broken capillaries.
"Mm, thanks for lunch," he mumbles against the swell of a breast. "Dinner's on me."
He rolls his hips against your thigh and earns himself a halfhearted kick.
"Ow."
"You deserved it," your voice is hoarse from holding back moans.
An ear flicks against your cheek and you run a finger over the velvety soft, pink flesh. It's a minute before either of you speak again.
"What's so wrong with them knowing?" Victor's voice is softer than you're used to. Younger, and more expressive. He keeps his eyes closed, mouth pressed to your sternum, the heart below beating faster than it should. "Ashamed of me, huh?"
You're not and that's the worst part.
He's heavy in your arms. You hug a little tighter. There's no excuse now to be staying like this, but you want to anyway.
Is this an HR Violation? Probably.| sonar x fem!reader - dispatch
warnings: 18+ mdni, coworker!reader, just pure smut, knotting, surprise knotting in fact (for both parties), couch sex, semi-public sex, hint of orgasm control, sonar's not yours, creampie, begging, unprotected sex, piv, cuddling after sex but you're really emotionally constipated about it
wc: 1.6k | loosely connected part 2 | highly requested they get their shit together part 3
summary: in which you and sonar have been hooking up after work for long enough now that you're pretty sure there aren't anymore surprises to be expected. you're very wrong.
"Oh shit," he gasps, the fur on his neck brushing against the sensitive skin inside your thighs.
Legs propped up on his shoulders like this, you can feel every thick inch of him press inside. Your knees nearly hit your chest with each roll of his hips. He's still got the stupid tie on, knot tugged loose and pooling in the dip between your breasts.
It's maddening how good he is.
"Dude, I'm so fucking close," Sonar groans, face all slack and open and fucked out.
He's frustratingly handsome like this, with his ears drooping and eyes glazed over in pleasure. The pink skin of his muzzle is flushed brighter red. Makes you want to dig your teeth in and suck.
"You'd better be, Mal is going to be back soon," you try not to moan--you're already stroking his cock in a way, his ego doesn't need to be getting any too--but it's hard when his tip bullies against that spot inside on every thrust. He's not even trying. That's the worst part. "And don't call me 'dude' while we're fucking."
You're close too, but you won't say it. He gets you off every time without fail. You won't tell him that either. It's easy to hear the response in his droning voice, "Harvard grads always finish the job."
But you keep coming over to his place after shifts anyway because it's true. That doesn't mean you need anyone else knowing though. Whether that's out of sheer embarrassment or something deeper, more possessive, you choose not to examine.
No need to think about him any further than just good dick. Certainly it's got nothing to do with how the fur at the corners of his milky eyes is softer than the rest. How it trails down his bare chest that's dusted in finer hair. How his shoulders are freckled and he only finishes coffee if you've made him the cup. How his ears flush pinker when he sneaks a glance your way on patrol--
"Uh oh," the low streak of panic in his voice rockets you back to reality.
"What?!" you ask, but right as the word leaves your lips in a puff of air, you feel it.
There's something firm pushing up against your folds, wider than his cock and throbbing against you. Sonar's hips stutter on the next thrust and there's a wet pop as your walls are stretched further than you've ever thought possible. If you weren't already soaking his couch you would never have been able to take it, but with another shaky rut forward, he's locked inside.
It's an almost nauseating feeling. Fuller than ever before. Drool pools in your mouth and he lets your legs fall, notching on waist, to lean forward and lick the trail from your lips.
"Don't freak out," he mumbles, tongue sliding against the backs of your teeth.
He tries to pull out once more and the knot--your brain so helpfully supplies the word--tugs at your entrance.
A hiss escapes you both simultaneously. The bulbous base of his cock pulses. You can feel it in your belly, how deep he's stuck inside.
"What is that?" you bite at his tongue softly until he pulls back.
And if you thought he looked pussy drunk before, holy fuck--
Sonar's jaw is hanging slack, the tip of his pink tongue lolling out past those fangs. His ears twitch every time you tighten up on him and his breath comes in pants. Hands stroke and grab at your sides, your hips, work their way up to your tits and back down.
"Sorry," he huffs, wincing when you wriggle under him. "This hasn't happened since like high school."
He's making intoxicating little noises. High pitched bursts of sound that trail off into whimpers you'd sooner expect out of fucking Waterboy. Your clit gets stiffer, burns with every moan that leaves him.
"Victor," you burry your fingers in the fur between his ears and pull. "Did you just knot me?"
An uncomfortably maniacal giggle bubbles up from his chest at the use of his real name, but it quickly devolves into a series of hisses and gasps as you bear down on him, nudging his ass forward with your heels to feel him that much deeper.
You want to be mad about it, furious and unaffected but this is quite possibly the hottest thing that's ever happened to you.
"You gotta stop doing that shit," he gasps, forehead resting on yours. Glassy eyes on your face. "It's gonna make me cum, ah, and I can't pull out--"
"So don't cum then," the grin on your face is not as sweet as you meant it to be, though Sonar's too far gone to tell. "But I'm going to."
Your fingers drop down, drawing tight, fast circles on your clit. It's number three of the night, and the two of you are on a time crunch, so this can't take very long.
Bummer, but you're definitely going to get him to do this again without contemplating the consequences or meaning of it at all. Not going to think about how your blood feels thick in your veins, how his throbbing length is so perfect stuck inside that you'd let him lock you on his cock in front of the whole fucking team rather than feel him pull out.
Heat starts to build immediately, beginning where your hand rubs at your pussy and radiating out in waves. Above you, Sonar is reduced to a furry, whining mess, but by the way his belly flutters and tenses against you, the panting in your ear, you can tell he's trying to listen.
Trying to be good.
It's that thought that really gets you.
Has you squeezing his length and shaking under his weight. It's getting unbearably wet between your thighs as your orgasm washes over you. Your slick must be bleeding permanent stains into his trousers. It's the best high you've ever had in your life.
You'll never be able to live without it again.
Sonar sounds like he's in fucking tears, growling in your neck with the whites of his fangs pressed up to the skin there. Underneath the stuttering breaths and feral whimpering you can hear him mumble.
"Fuck, please, I gotta--let me, please."
You're pretty sure this man has never asked nicely for a single thing in his entire life. Probably has never asked for a single thing in his entire life. Just used to taking and taking and taking whatever strikes his fucked up fancy.
It's good practice, you think, to encourage this kind of behavior. That it's also a convenient excuse to get pumped full against your better judgment is neither here nor there.
"Go on then," you whisper back, nudging him till you can get his mouth back on yours, trace your tongue over his incisors. "Fill me up, Victor."
You can feel it when he lets go, the pulsing of his cock stretches you even further. His hips grind up against your pussy, the thick, coarse hair between his legs ghosts over your clit and sends little aftershocks of pleasure through oversensitive skin. He's making those pretty, desperate sounds again, and you suspect some in a frequency you can't even hear.
It's intoxicating. Your fucking cross faded on him all around you, painting you inside with ropes of searing cum that sits warm and heavy in your belly.
With one last surge of strength, the world turns as he yanks you up towards his chest, gets his knees up under himself and flops back. The springs creak as he settles, your chest pressed up against the hastily undone buttons of his shirt and blazer. Sweat slicked fur peaks through and tickles your breasts.
"Holy shit," you swear this time and a rumble of agreement reverberates from him through your ribs.
Neatly manicured nails scratch softly down your bare back and his wet muzzle noses against the top of your head. You're sure if you could look up, his ears would be cocked at opposite angles and flicking happily.
It's not something you've done before together. This whole after bit. Usually you're quick to give yourself a cursory wipe down and suit back up for the walk home with not much more said than, 'thanks' and when you're feeling especially generous a 'see ya tomorrow.'
But this...is nice.
Nicer than you've ever let yourself think it would be.
Not that you think about doing this.
Or him. After. When he's not around.
It's easier too. Your muscles are lax and soupy, so you seem to melt into him. Sonar's scent is stronger with your nose buried in his pelt. All salt and night air. It's dreamy in the sense that you feel it must be a fantasy.
"Hey," he mumbles against your ear and it's the simplest thing in the world to follow the hand guiding your head up.
Lean into his lips, kissing lazily as the steady throb of his length still locked inside washes over you. He's softened too--not between his legs--but everywhere else. You hum at the way he lets you move him, guiding his head to tilt further so you can lick your way down his throat. Once you work through the fur, you can run your teeth against the soft pink skin underneath.
Sonar shivers in your arms.
"So," you start, giving a little experimental roll of your hips that has him groaning all over again. "When exactly is this going to go down?"
"Uh, not sure," he has the decency to look a little sheepish, nose and ears growing a darker shade of pink. "Last time it took like an hour or so--"
"An hour?!"
Your hands stop in mid air, halfway to wringing the neck you were just tonguing at. Both your eyes shoot towards the door on the opposite wall.
The metal sound of a key in the lock echoes through the room.
sonar who can’t sleep without at least one hand up your shirt. he gets all spooned up and then snakes his fingers up your belly so he can cup your tits in his hand and he’s OUT immediately, breath softly ghosting over your ear. he just likes how it feels, loved being so close to you
He hears everything; it’s not entirely your fault. He’s sure that if you knew he could hear the faintest sound, you wouldn’t do most of the things you do in your apartment.
Truly, he would feel guilty if it weren’t for the innocent facade you wear, ducking your head coyly and biting your bottom lip raw when he sees you like you don’t keep your hands busy at night.
Pretending like you’re shy, like some innocent fawn stumbling over your feet when he flirts with you in the hallway.
But he hears you.
Hears the way your heart flutters just a beat faster when you think about doing it, the way your panties—god, he can only imagine what you’re wearing, sound sliding down your legs. The way your breath already sounds uneven before you’ve even managed to touch yourself.
He rarely feels anxious, that’s a feeling that’s long been forgotten, but he can feel it through you. Through your heartbeat and the speed at which your lungs fill.
And when you do finally touch the moist warmth between your thighs with a wet squelch and soft gasp his ears stand tall, turned towards your apartment.
God knows he’s a pervert, but he can’t help it when your shallow breaths become his favorite sound. Or the cute noises you make, voice quivering weakly as you continue your ministrations.
It’s gotten so bad that he knows when you’ve got your fingers plastered to your clit, when you press them into your cunt, even when you’ve got a toy inserted.
Could you believe that? His ‘coy’ neighbor with a dildo to appease the cravings in their core.
The vibrators are his least favorite, even if they do make you whimper the loudest. The annoying vibrations muffle the way your pussy squelches, and if he can’t see it, he wants to hear exactly how drenched you are.
By the time your heart is racing in your chest and your breath is stuck in the walls of your throat as you reach your climax, he’s painfully hard against the metal of his zipper and debating if he should rub one out.
He’s just grateful you’re never satisfied with just one orgasm.
Can you do Sonar x reader headcanons where he has a huge breeding kink and gets turned on when you do domestic/parental things around him? (bonus if reader is fully aware of the effect they have on him and does it on purpose)
𖣠 BREEDING FANTASY 🪲
-> warnings :: fem implied reader ,, mating season ,, breeding kink ,, shower sex ,, knotting mentioned
-> word count :: 487
-> an :: been a minute since i did headcannons :D i love doing them tho bc it lets me say a lot while also keeping it short and to the point <3 !!
the longer you lived with sonar, the more accustomed you became to his antics. living with sonar entailed a lot; lights off all around the house, strange white powder left on the counter, his chirps in the morning and screeching at night.
it took time, but you got used to it. you didn't even bat an eye anymore when he chirped, or would act upon his instincts. especially during spring when his mating season would hit. he was more than just a horndog during that time.
things you'd do around the house would cause him to nuzzle against your neck. he'd press himself against you, hardened cock leaking through his clothes. victor will whine until you help him with his problem.
you can't even fold laundry anymore without him trying to lead you to bed.
"you don't understand! i'm just…. helping with the water bill! it's better if we shower together from now on, it saves money." his schemes didn't even phase you anymore. you just obliged, even if it meant he'd reach his hand down between your legs while his fangs nibbled at your neck.
doing the dishes leads to his arms wrapped around your waist and his hips humping against you.
"are you serious right now, victor?" you asked with a monotone voice, feeling his bulge rut against your bum. his fingers flexed against your stomach, whining softly against your head. "i'm more serious about this than anything else right now. help me please?"
when he succeeds in his advances, he's eager to breed. his hips will rut faster than before, humping mindlessly as he cums inside. seeing his seed leak out of you is enough to make his softened cock grow hard again.
sometimes you'll do it on purpose. when he starts to display signs that mating season is near, you'll do more acts of service for him. making him meals you know he loves, or cleaning up in general. he'll follow you around the house, doting and affectionate whenever you do anything.
he wants the best for his mate, after all! is that so wrong?
when you start to bathe together, paying close attention to his fur and caring for it makes him hard. he's not even sheepish about it, blatanly stating how he wants to pull you in the tub and bury deep inside you.
when he's at the peak moment of his mating season he won't let you do anything. he's already on it! victor has to, especially with how long he kept you up the previous night. he has you cuddled up in a bunch of blankets, almost like a nest, as he cleans for you.
he may not be the best cook, but he could try to make you a meal! or he could doordash what you want. knowing you're warm, belly full, and filled with his seed is more than enough to make him flustered and heart flutter.
it was a little worse when he was knotted to you. swelled cock deep inside, with the knot preventing you from leaving. you'd better hope there were no other plans that day, because it'll take a while before the knot goes down.
during it, he'll be kissing your face and pampering you with praise, whispering adorations to you. saying how good you treat him and how he'll be good for you.
being held in his arms during it isn't so bad anyways.
CONTENT: You're a Dispatcher from another program. What happens when you catch the eye of the Phoenixes? Or how the Z-team acts when they have a crush on you <3
Oh, he has enough problems to deal with. Mostly from his own program. So why the fuck is he thinking about someone from another?
The first time he encountered you was in the break room, when you were cursing the damn stupid fucking coffee maker that won't work and he helped you out by plugging the unplugged cord.
He'll never forget how your eyes widened, lips parting in disbelief, before you turned to face him and he almost sputtered in shock when he saw your face fully. You told him it was the stress from your program getting to you, and Robert could barely contain his amused smile at that.
After a short introduction and an embarrassing apology, Robert watched you leave the room with a dangerous curiosity curling in his chest.
He quickly finds out you're another Dispatcher in their branch, but how come he's never seen you before? As if a flip has been switched, he begins to notice you every time now.
He gets distracted when he hears your voice cutting through the channel, providing him assistance whenever his program needs it.
He always bumps into you during morning coffee runs, almost spilling his coffee on you one too many times. Or vice versa.
The two of you are the only ones ending the shifts late, and he purposefully slows tidying up his desk just so he could wait for you to finish.
He wonders if you were a former hero like him, and spends his free time obsessively analyzing you from across the room just to guess which one were you.
It got to the point Chase notices it, and Robert has never lived a day without his former babysitter now mentor teasing the ever life of him.
Whenever the two of you end your shifts late again, Robert waits until you're done and walks up to you with Beef in his arms. Then, he'll ask if he could walk you home, just to make sure you get home safe, and lights up when you agree—for the third time.
He brings you coffee every morning, just the way you like it. He gives you advice and spends late night conversations walking home, wanting to stretch the hours just so he could spend more time with you.
Z-team already caught on before he knew it, and every single one of them makes his life a living hell by pulling the most embarrassing things at work just to tease him.
Chase even comments about, "Next thing I know, you're gonna fucking settle down and start the fourth Robert Robertson with them." But somehow, that thought doesn't seem too bad in his mind.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
INVISIGAL
Oh, she would be the most annoying bitch in the building.
You know how cats are? Actively seek your attention, purr in delight when they get it, just to act all hissy and avoid you for the rest of the day when you spoil them too much. In the end, they'll continue coming back for more because they're so curious.
Yeah, it's like that for Visi.
She'd have this stalkerish tendencies of following you whenever you go while invisible, just to know what places you like to visit or what food you eat.
She'll leave snacks on your desk, the ones she found out while following you, but never tells you it's from her. Just watches from the corner you look around the room, confused, while she tells you to eat the fucking thing in her mind.
Following that cat-like behavior, she'll also leave you random gifts she has stolen from different shops. The exact ones that she saw you eyeing through a glass window, or heard from a conversation with another Dispatcher.
Wants to desperately talk to you, but figured you're busy with your own program so she settles on staring at you while Robert hasn't called for her yet.
The time she finally gets to talk to you was when Robert was talking to you first, and she casually slides into the conversation, ignoring Robert's baffled expression.
When you laugh at one of her jokes, Visi took that as a cue and proceeds to steal you away from Robert. Then, chaos ensues.
She begins to hover, appearing out of nowhere just to surprise you. Especially in the most inconvenient times, which happens to be her favorite. She does it one time when you're changing in the locker room, and has the audacity to laugh at your terrified expression while you're half-naked on the floor.
And god, the sex jokes. They never stop. At first she does it for shits and giggles, until she starts to drop more and more around you. To the point when you finally reciprocate it, catching her off guard and flustered for once.
Whenever you feel someone's staring at you, it's most likely Visi. Just standing there at the corner whenever you're on shift, staring and waiting, with that dark indecipherable glint in her eye.
She also does not shy away from checking you out. Continuing to do so even after you catch her and call her out. She just gives you this coy smirk and wink, before she disappears from sight.
Clings to you for the rest of her remaining free time, just chatting, yapping, and teasing. When she jokes about you taking her on a date, you agree casually. She freezes and gives you this wide-eyed stare, before vanishing yet again.
After a long day and shift, you're just about to leave the building and head home when you feel an invisible tug on your arm and see Visi manifesting there—grinning up at you.
"You still owe me that date, casanova."
────────────── ★ ───────────────
WATERBOY
Oh, the poor guy's a goner the moment he develops a crush. And he's terribly obvious with it.
I can't decide between two HCS of him. Either he's clinging to the person he likes or entirely avoiding them (much like in my waterboy fanfic), but for now let's HC him as both.
During his time as a janitor, he'll avoid you at all costs. Because he thinks you're way out of his league, and he's just a nobody cleaning after everyone's mess. But what made him like you instantly was your politeness.
Even when it was his job to clean up, you always made sure to tidy around a bit to save him some trouble. He'll approach you, shaking and nervous, telling you how you didn't need to do that and you shouldn't bother with it.
Instead of disregarding him, you just gave him a soft smile and told him you didn't mind. "I've seen you working hard around here, you deserve some help too. And in case no one has told you yet, thank you."
Oh, heart eyes behind his goggles. Next to Robert, you're the second person to acknowledge him with kindness and patience. It's the bare minimum, but after a long time of enduring bullying, being taken for granted, and not being recognized—it was like a beacon of hope.
He asks the first person he trusts for advice, Robert, about how to have more confidence and not make a fool of himself around you. But even after receiving a few advice, Waterboy still cannot work up the courage to talk to you.
It's only after Robert chose him to be a part of the Z-team when Waterboy builds a little more confidence in himself. Maybe because the others have been a bad influence on him, but he sees it as a good thing.
The next time he talks to you, he doesn't stutter as much. He still gets nervous, terribly nervous, but somehow your comforting energy calms him. He doesn't see any malice or judgement in your eyes, you welcome his presence whenever you're eating in the break room.
He also greatly admires your skills as a Dispatcher, being one of the top programs in the branch, and he sometimes wonder how it's like working under you.
And– And not in that way. Maybe.
With his newfound confidence, he's able to initiate more conversations with you. He'll show you pictures of his grandma's cats, bond over your similar interests, and hang around the break room during your free time.
He buys you your favorite snacks and leaves little sentimental notes on your desk. As well as gifts that reminded him of you.
He won't hesitate to clean your desk up, even when you tell him you're perfectly capable of doing it, he still takes the initiative. Not because it's his job, but because he wants to reciprocate the kindness you've given him.
And the entire team is either supportive or disgusted (affectionately) whenever you pass by and greet him with a smile, because this man will turn into a puddle—staring after you dazedly as he waves back with the dreamiest smile you'll ever see him wear.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
FLAMBAE
This guy. God, this guy becomes unbearable.
You know those kinds of people who'll take any and every opportunity to show off in front of their crushes? Yeah, Flambae will absolutely do the most just to get you to notice him.
At first he doesn't notice you. Why would he? He doesn't have the time for others, especially when they're not anywhere near his level.
But then the team goes out for drinks one night, when he sees you there at the bar—still donned in your SDN uniform like Robert—and he gapes in shock because, woah, how come he's never seen you before? Surely, he would've noticed a pretty face like yours around the place.
After downing a shot, he makes his way over—suave, sure of himself, and totally ignoring his team exchanging cash behind him—and slides beside you.
"New around here?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. "Pretty sure I would've seen someone like you before, cuz you're very easy on the eyes. Mind If I buy you a drink, hot stuff?"
He only receives an eye roll, before you grab your drink and smile at him. "Already bought myself one. Try again next time." Then, you slip away towards your booth, leaving him bewildered.
He's not even focused on Prism cheering loudly with cash in hand or Malevola groaning in disappointment in the background, because in his head, the game's only just begun. Oh, it's on.
He immediately locks in on you the moment he sees you at work, headset on your shoulders in that ugly blue uniform that you somehow pull off.
And the show begins. He unironically flexes his muscles every time you pass by, not even sparing him a glance. He stops by your cubicle to strike up a conversation, but it's more like him bragging about his recent missions and how awesome he is, to which you'll always sigh.
Sometimes, he'll ignore Robert's direct orders to stay focused on the mission. Because he'll see you walking around Torrance on your day off, and immediately flies after you. Much to your dismay. At least he became useful carrying all your grocery bags back to your apartment.
It doesn't stop there. If anything, he takes it up a notch and personally asks you out for drinks. Once, twice, until three times isn't enough, and the fourth time involves him dropping off a pack of tacos on your desk—still no luck.
The fifth was when he sees you entering the elevator, and he swiftly slips past the doors just before they shut. The moment you make eye contact, he grins while you sigh again.
"So," He pants, slicks his hair back. "That date? Gonna give me a chance? I promise you, it's gonna be great! Because you're gonna be with me. And I'll make sure it's gonna be awesome."
He expects another rejection, he wouldn't mind trying for a sixth time, but then you sigh again and smile at him. "You know what? Sure, why not? But if it sucks, I'm gonna report you to HR."
Fuck yeah.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
PRISM
One thing about Prism, she likes to shine and let others watch her shine. She'll absolutely let you know if she likes you.
But I feel like she wouldn't approach you at first, she's the type to let others do the first move. She's a popstar after all, not a fan. The others should be the ones approaching her.
And that's what you did. In the break room, she sees you standing at the entrance and feels your stare. Normally, she'll let the moment pass and ignore it. After all, she's used to fans and shit.
But that changes when you approach her, and you reveal that you've been listening to her music recently. Especially during writing up reports late at night. Not as a fan praising their idol, but as a genuine compliment from another person.
And wait, you're actually cute up close. She might just be interested in you after that.
Somehow, after that encounter, Prism starts opening up to you. She'll show up in the office, and starts calling you pet names in front of everyone. Her favorite one is baby, because she enjoys the look of shock and the tiny blush on your face.
Gives you special treatment than her actual fans, makes you listen to her unreleased drafts, and even takes candid photos of you whenever you're busy.
She even starts decorating her vape with embezzled jewels with your initials, thinks it's cool and shows it to you.
She even tweets cryptic things on her page like "god my baby's so cute" "y'all ever wanna drop to your knees and worship a god? not religious, but i might!" or even "looks like I have a new type ;))"
Watch her fans go crazy and try to come up with theories who she's referring to. A whole investigator level type of shit that absolutely amuses her. But really, she only has one target audience. And that's you.
She starts taking more pics of you, actually good ones that compliment your features, and even poses with your face out of the frame to post it. Just to see her fans go wild. She then asks you for your number to send them—smooth, casual, and a total score for her.
You give it to her, and she's immediately spamming you with your pics later that night. Her pics. Song recommendations. Show recommendations. As well as places while following with a "wouldn't it be nice to go here for a date?" message after.
She's not exactly subtle in work either. Blows a kiss in your direction, lets her touch linger on your arm, your shoulder, and back when she's passing. She becomes bolder, wilder, and she's not stopping until she gets what she wants.
Late at night, she's glued to her phone again—scrolling through tweets and current trends—when she sees your contact name (my baby) and opens it to see your message replying to the place she sent for a date idea.
She only laughs and maybe even melts a little when she sees your message, "how about I take you out there sometime?"
────────────── ★ ───────────────
PUNCH UP
His recent break up with Coupé left him considering his romantic preferences afterwards. Not that the relationship was bad, but they were both villains at that time, so it really didn't last long.
For a while, he's not really interested in another relationship. That is until he met you. And shite, he understands why they call it love at first sight.
The first time he sees you is during a conference meeting with the Z-team. You enter the room to call for Blonde Blazer, and Punch Up's jaw literally drops and his eyes widens comically at the sight of you.
He remembers sitting up straighter, trying to appear taller, and fiddles with his mustaches while he sneaks glances in your direction.
On the outside, he appears confident and sure if himself. But deep inside him, he's conscious that someone like you wouldn't be interested in him. Hell, he already expects a rejection.
If only his powers didn't fucking make him shrink to this size, he would've been more forward in courting you. Plus, he figures you wouldn't want to be with someone half your fucking height.
Still, Punch Up can't help but puff up his chest or slick his hair back whenever you cross paths. He'll even compliment you on your work, to which you're surprised at, but you'd smile down at him in gratitude.
That gave him an inkling of hope, you didn't look at him weirdly or find his approach off-putting, so he decides to take a step further.
Starts leaving flowers on your desk. Gives you random compliments and encouragement just in case you need a boost in morale. Brings you coffee—bittersweet and light—when he notices you looking down after a shift.
Totally becomes a gentleman to make up for his lack of height, but the latter part didn't seem to bother you at all. You always thank him with a warm smile that never fails to heat his cheeks and make him feel all giddy.
Like Waterboy, heart eyes every time he sees you. Visibly melts when you smile at him. Grins so wide whenever you make a joke or laugh at his. He quickly becomes your cheerleader and hype man, providing both encouragement and comfort.
He jokingly suggests he could give you some massage after seeing you rolling your shoulders around, lightly bragging about his firm touch and expertise, and is totally shocked when you agree.
Yeah, he's spending the whole time grinning so wide while he's giving you back massage in the break room. Also, glares at everyone who enters and gives him a weird look.
You make him feel like he's normal, like he doesn't need to prove anything just because he's lacking in certain areas. You treat him just the same as everyone, and he actually thinks you're perfect.
He will absolutely do anything to protect you. He may not be the brightest, but hurting you is the last thing on his mind.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
COUPÉ
Contrary to popular belief, Coupé is an absolute flirt—genuinely trying or not—and she has no problem using her charm on everyone. Proven and tested on Sonar and Punch Up. Robert too, if you include that time in Crypto Night.
The first time she sees you in the office, her eyes gleams dangerously like the knives tucked into her wings. You're not even doing anything remotely interesting, but something about you triggers her fascination.
And if you knew Coupé, then that would be a dangerous thing to develop.
Starts gathering more information about you, using her skills as an assassin to remain undetected. And like the crime in her profile, she's a stalker. But then again, that's part of the whole package.
Once she has eyes on something, or someone, she develops an unhealthy fixation on them. Spends so much time lurking, eavesdropping, and stalking just to find more details about you and your life.
She doesn't even know why she became so entranced by you, but all she knew was whoever dares to approach you, they'll have to answer to her.
Okay, yeah. I'm picking up on slight yandere tendencies to her. Something about her screams obsession at first sight, and as an assassin, she never stops until she captures her target.
Or in this case, you.
She memorizes your routine outside SDN, your work and personal schedule, every time you clock in and out of the office. Then, she uses all her gathered information to her advantage.
Meaning, she'll weaponize them into getting your attention.
Going back to the first bullet, she'll use her charm to disarm you the next time you go out for drinks. She's always one step ahead of you, already there in every corner you turn, just so she can make sure her existence is branded into your mind.
Then, after introductions that's where she'll flirt. Gets touchy immediately after a couple of words exchanged. Lightly plays with your hair, strokes your jaw, whispers low in your ear.
An absolute tease once you get close to her. Or rather, once she gets close to you. She always keeps her gaze on you from every corner of the room. Steps in immediately if she detects someone linger too close.
Hey, this might be a bit manipulative to others' taste. But it hasn't stopped her from getting what she wants. Plus, she's not doing anything illegal. She just has a terrible crush on a Dispatcher from another program.
And if you ever say no to her, she'll do whatever it takes to change your mind.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
GOLEM
Golem is a certified green flag, and I will DIE on that hill. Have you heard his voice lines when talking to the girls? Marriage material, honestly.
Okay, I'm gonna be honest, this is gonna be difficult because he literally is a construct. But we're not going past that, we're just going to stick to crushes.
Golem rarely develops any romantic interest in anyone, mostly because he knows he doesn't have any chance with them. Thinks everyone is way out of his league, and they wouldn't want someone like him.
But when it comes to you, he's SMITTEN. This man is my goat right here, he deserves so much love pls. Anyway, he literally stands still like a deer in headlights—you'd actually think he turned into a clay statue—the first time he sees you.
Canonically, he loves listening to music and poetry. So he starts hyperfixating on making playlists and poems with the thought of you. He already has a hundred songs dedicated to you, the Dispatcher from another program, and written at least thirty poems about how you look.
He REALLY wants to show you all the work he's done, but hesitates because what if you think he's being creepy?
Thankfully, maybe because of some miracle, you're the one who approached him during his break time outside the building. His usual spot is by the parking lot, where he'll just sit and listen to his newly made playlist and write poems about everything he sees.
"Whatcha listening to, big guy?"
It takes a lot to scare Golem, but the sound of your voice—soft and curious—startles him. He immediately snaps his gaze towards you, blinks, and just stares. Not saying a word. Totally starstruck as if you're top tier a superhero. Maybe you were in the past.
You apologized for scaring him, but he simply shakes his head and quietly shows you his phone. The current song he's listening to makes your eyes brighten, and he has to stop the clay on his body from physically melting.
He finds out you two have similar tastes in music, and when you ask about what he's writing, he doesn't even hesitate on showing you.
He doesn't even stop you when you get to the ones he's written about you. He later reveals how they're all about you, better get it off of his chest and move on, but he's more surprised to see you smiling.
You told him it's the first time anyone has ever written a poem about you, and he's honestly shocked by that.
Oh, one thing about poets. Once they like you, everything they do will be tied to your name.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
SONAR
God, this fucking pervert. Really, he is a pervert.
But somehow, he manages to keep himself maintained in front of you. Barely. He still likes to let his eyes linger on your body. Once. Twice. Okay, maybe lots of times.
Malevola actually hit him hard on his head after catching him drooling over and eyefucking you, and not wanting to anger her, he promises to keep himself in his best behavior.
Again, barely.
The best thing he can do is resort to his intelligence. Cuz c'mon, not to brag or anything, but he's a Harvard graduate. So, that's gotta impress you right?
Yeah, he was humbled immediately when you just stared at him and proceeded to give a thumbs up. "Cool, man. I mean, I have some friends from there as well. But we're not in touch anymore."
Just when he thinks all hope is lost, you follow up a question on what his majors were. Oh, watch him turn into the most insufferable yapper known to existence. Infodumps intensely, sticks to your side even when you're busy on the job, and just rambles.
He secretly wonders if he's bothering you or you're just accepting everything he's saying because you pity him, but you genuinely seem invested and even quip a comment every once in a while.
Okay, good. Maybe this can work out just fine. Except that his attraction towards you becomes more obvious. He squeaks more around you (a habit when he's nervous) and his ears twitch when he hears you talking, even from across the room.
He asks a lot of questions about you as well. He plays it off as mutual interest, but he desperately wants to know if he truly has a chance with you or if you're way out of his league to even bother to court.
But that's not what seals the deal. It was when he managed to make you laugh at his dry jokes the first time, and he swears it was the best day of his life.
He's actively trying not to overstep his boundaries, also asks about your interests and is genuinely thrilled to discover you have similar ones. Besides drugs and boobs, or maybe you like the second one too, but he's not gonna ask about that. Yet.
Sonar is actually a sweet guy once you get to know him well enough. But not the kind of sweet you typically see on romance stories, but the kind that annoys you at the same time.
But he means well, he's smart enough to know not to fuck this up. It might be his only chance after all. Even Malevola's constant teasing how you're way out of his league, he still continues to impress you with new things day by day.
Sonar now has three favorite things: drugs, boobs, and the new addition, you.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
MALEVOLA
Malevola, much like the other girls, can be a massive flirt if she wants.
But most of the time, it's all just for fun and it's how she normally interacts with others. If she liked them, of course. Platonically or romantically. She does it so naturally, kind of forward at times to the point that it might make others uncomfortable and she doesn't realize it. Or maybe she does, she just continues to do it for her own amusement.
So when she develops a crush on you, oh it's not gonna take a rocket scientist to figure it out. Even Sonar notices it the moment his best friend starts eyeing someone from across the room. Follows her line of sight, sees you getting up from your seat, and immediately says to himself, "Oh, they're so fucked."
"They're about to be," Malevola casually quips, winking at the bat hybrid. "Watch and learn how it's done, batman."
She proceeds to harass charm you during your free time. Literally glides the tip of her tail along the length of your leg as you walk by, startling you completely, before she boldly pins you to the wall and grins deviously at you. "Hey there, cutie. Didn't catch your name before. Mind throwing it?"
All she received was a shocked and scandalized look from you, before you slipped under her arm and walked away—continuing your day as if nothing happened. And the whole time, Sonar was hiding his giggles while recording the whole thing. "Holy shit, that was fucking bad. They're so not impressed, Mal."
But for the demon? That's nothing but a challenge. She just grins wider and crosses her arms. "Playing hard to get, huh? My kinda game."
Now you got yourself a literal demon warrior harassing flirting with you wherever you go. If you think Flambae was extra, this woman is much worse. Pops out of nowhere through her portal and surprises you. Gets really touchy when you're in the break room, arm around your shoulder and leaning so close to your face. Her voice lowers, thickens, and drips with suggestion every time she talks to you.
All the while, both you and Sonar are the victims of this. Especially you. And over time, you get used to her advances, even tolerating her touches to some extent. Toss your own flirtatious remark here and there. But you still jump away when her hands start to wander lower than you'd like, causing you to glare at her and she winks at you.
"I get that your love language is physical touch, but that's straight up harassment." Sonar comments one day, to which Malevola rolls her eyes. "Aren't you like worried about getting reported?"
"I should've been reported already," She retorts, shrugging. "But I wasn't. Something tells me they're interested too."
But for your sake, Malevola downplays all her advances to friendly pats and light flirtation. She's not worried for herself, but she's worried about your reputation. Something she didn't take into consideration at first. So, for the next following days, she keeps her hands to herself and refrains from making you too uncomfortable
In front of everyone, she turns into a saint. Addresses you politely, never lets her eyes linger for a second too long, and doesn't approach you as much as she used to before. Sonar is not the only one confused, even you are baffled at the sudden change. She treats you like you're mere acquaintances, nothing more, and she notices the way your eyes begin to seek hers whenever she avoids yours.
However when she finally gets you alone in the elevator, she pins you to the wall again with her hands rest on your waist. "Okay, I'm done playing pretend. You want this or not?"
You raised an eyebrow at her, but not making a move to remove her hands. "We're at work. We could get into trouble."
Malevola grins down at you, hands falling lower. "We could get into trouble elsewhere then?"
This time, you don't stop her.
────────────── ★ ───────────────
BLONDE BLAZER (bonus)
HR department is either nonexistent or is fucking blind to everything happening in this branch.
Because Blonde Blazer is not exactly subtle when it comes to her little (not-so-secretive) crush towards you. Hell, everyone already knows how much she likes you. How obvious she is just being around your cubicle all of the time and the lingering shoulder touches she does.
Everyone knows, except you.
And it honestly frustrates her, because she's pretty sure she's being as straightforward as she could. Asks you out for lunch or dinner outside the office during your free time. Hovers around you, literally, when you're walking home. You know, just making sure you get home safely.
Even though she knows she needs to be professional, she just can't help the nervous flutter in her chest when she's around you. You unknowingly make her feel like Mandy, and not Blazer. The way you talk to her, as if you could see past her powers and her amulet, makes her hopelessly pining after you.
Everyone else just keeps quiet, and at this point, no one bats an eye anymore. Chase even tells her to give up, Robert advises her to make her intentions known directly, but she ignores both of them because she knows she can do this.
Honestly, if she doesn't know about your past, she'll be convinced your superpower was being oblivious.
Because you honestly can't see the special treatment she's giving you. The praises and compliments that spill out of her mouth. How her voice and gaze softens when around you.
And you just accept everything like it was normal, maybe you honestly think she was being nice.
She even invites Robert for a drink, sitting on top of the billboard again, a bottle in her hand while she's venting her frustrations and he's chugging his own beer with a deadpanned expression.
Blazer with a crush is honestly just like a Golden Retriever. Hopeless, loyal to a fault, adorable yet kinda a mess. She ends up drinking Robert's beer after he offers it, then composes herself once she chucks the empty bottle into the unknown.
"Just tell them how you really feel," Robert shrugs, quite done with the whole ordeal. "What's the worse thing that can happen?"
"Rejection? Resignation? Not being able to talk to them anymore?" Okay, maybe she's a little tipsy now. But honestly, she doesn't fucking care anymore. Maybe she should stop with the whole thing, move on like she did with Phenomaman, but that was easier than this.
Robert claps her shoulder, a look of pity visible on his features. "Hey, don't take it personally. Next time, you can–"
Her phone beeps, a notification, and Blazer holds up a finger as she checks it. She almost shot up to the skies and threw her phone or Robert when she reads your message.
"Soooo, Chase filled me in with the whole thing. Says you're doing all these because you like me? Sorry for being oblivious and not catching on quick :'D"
Then, before she could type a reply, another message shows up.
"How about a date tomorrow night? My treat ;))"
────────────── ★ ───────────────
Holy shit, that was a lot. I'm gonna drop dead (sleep)
A/N: tumblr is being spicy and won't let me post this, so I thought I'd give you lovelies the link to it on my ao3 instead <3 i know it's not exactly the same, but i'm not gonna fight tumblr today
Wordcount: 2.1k
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Thought about this earlier and then I had to write it or I'd die. Let me know what you think 💖
Edward Nashton x Roommate! Reader
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, masturbation (m), language, sexual references, this is rushed because i have an assignment due at midnight but i couldn't work on it until this was done.
"You got a package."
Edward hears you as soon as he walks in the door, ditching his messenger bag and rain-spattered coat. It's not new information—he got the delivery confirmation while he was still at work, which made focusing pretty close to impossible—but his heart still jumps in his chest as you gesture to the box on the table.
"Oh, thanks."
He grabs the box immediately, glad to see the company was honest when they'd promised discreet packaging. It's a little lighter than he expected, and he weighs it in his hands, drumming his fingers against the top of it and trying to decide if it would be less suspicious to go immediately to his room or linger here a few moments longer.
"Whatcha get?" you ask casually, flipping through the pages of a magazine as you recline on the couch. Maybe guilt has put him on high alert, but the question feels almost too casual; Eddie has to wonder . . . do you know?
He's being ridiculous, but still.
"Computer parts," he answers, watching you closely for any signs of suspicion. There's nothing in your expression, though. You're not even looking at him, showing only the barest amount of interest.
"Cool."
It's not cool, and he knows that. The only thing less cool than computer parts would be the box's actual contents.
"Yeah," Edward says, wishing he was still wearing his jacket so he could have somewhere to put his free hand, "well, I'm gonna go, uh, put it together."
"Sounds good, Eddie," you tell him, "when you're done we can think about dinner, if you want. I've been craving that Thai takeout we got a few weeks ago."
"Yeah, okay."
Eddie reaches his room and twists the lock on the door, triple-checking to make sure that it's actually locked, and then giving it a few extra tugs for good measure. You never came into his room without knocking anyways, but today's not a day to take risks.
Scissors in hand, he sits on the edge of his mattress, trying to shake the nerves before he slices a clean line through the tape.
Eddie never thought it would come to this, but the situation is dire. Being your roommate has ruined him in some of the best ways, and more of the worst.
He'd always been satisfied enough with a little lotion and a collection of tissues, tugging at his cock whenever the urge struck him. He'd been satisfied picturing whatever porn star he'd latched onto recently, thinking about the way they'd look with their knees buried in his carpet, or how their breasts would bounce in his hands while they impaled themselves on his cock.
He'd been satisfied, until you fucking ruined everything.
With your fucking low-cut sports bras and your morning yoga routines in the living room, your laundry basket full of lacy panties peeking out from under a pair of jeans. With your kind smiles and thoughtful questions and the hot press of your body when you curled up against him on the couch.
Fuck, he couldn't jerk off enough anymore—developing fucking callouses on his palm every time he snuck off to the bathroom during movie nights and morning coffee, practically sobbing into his palm if the bathroom smelled like your shampoo.
This was his last hope. The only way to stop himself from going fucking crazy.
The inside of the package is a little underwhelming—just the two items he bought and some bubble wrap to keep them from rattling too much in the box. He grabs the bottle of lube first, since that's the least foreign of the two, popping the top and rubbing a few drops between his thumb and forefinger.
Eddie slicks up his first two fingers, his breathing growing harder, cock stirring in his jeans.
He'd heard you once, late at night when you thought he'd be asleep. Walking back from the kitchen after grabbing a glass of water and passing by your door, Eddie had been stopped in his tracks by a sound on the other side, knees weak. Even as his stomach churned with guilt, he'd pressed his ear up against it, and had his suspicions confirmed—only there long enough to hear the wet friction of your fingers in your cunt, and another stifled moan.
Imagining it's your slick coating his fingers has him painfully hard, all his embarrassment swallowed by need. He slides the fleshlight from its box, dropping it beside him on the bed before kicking his pants down his legs and forcing the band of his boxers under his ass.
His cock flops against his stomach, dribbling a little on the bottom of his button-up, and he's already so sensitive, gritting his teeth just at the rough feeling of the fabric.
Eddie grabs the toy again, bringing it close to his face, skin hot as he studies the silicone model of a pussy. He's learned the basics from porn—knows that the clitoris is at the top and the folds around the opening are the lips—but there's a difference between seeing it and feeling it, even in plastic form.
He presses his thumb against the little nub at the top, rubbing slow circles around it, like he'd seen done before. What kind of noises would he hear if it was yours?
Eddie's thighs constrict, and he forces himself to take a few deep breaths until the feeling subsides. He's going to cum before he even gets inside the little plastic cunt, if he's not careful.
Eddie grabs the lube from his bedside table, smearing some over the entrance of his new toy—coating it until it shines—and then adding a few drops to his hand and stroking it over his cock for good measure.
He feels silly, lining up the swollen head of his dick with the little plastic entrance, feels silly enough that he can't look as he presses the toy down until it swallows the tip.
"Fuck."
He whispers the word through clenched teeth, and there's not much else to say, except that it feels so much better than his hand. Squeezing him from every angle, and there's blood in his mouth from the way his teeth dig against his chapped lips, hips bucking off the sheets.
With a little more lube, Eddie's able to fit the toy over the entirety of his length, lightheaded when he sees the opening stretched around the base of his cock, a little lube dripping from its surface, displaced by this first thrust.
"So, god, so tight," he speaks his thoughts out loud even though there's no one to hear it, no one to be praised for how good he feels. He can't stop himself, moving his hand with a few shallow strokes, eyes rolling back at the feeling. "Just- just like that."
Like this?
Eddie hears the words in your voice and he groans, slapping his free hand down over his mouth to quiet the noise.
Eddie, he imagines your fingers at his wrist, pulling his hand away as your hips bob up and down over his cock, don't do that, honey. I want to hear you.
"Mhhmh—" it's all he can manage, forcing his fist against the sheets, hot tears pooling against his lashes. Just the thought of you here with him has him fucking crying, body on the edge of collapse.
Good boy.
Eddie is your good boy, pumping vigorously now at his cock, letting the lewd, wet noises rush over him as sweat drips down his flushed temples. He's caught enough accidental glimpses of himself in the bathroom mirror to know his whole face is bright red, cheeks and forehead shining.
But he thinks you might like that, would want to see your good boy coming apart beneath you, your pretty fingers circling his neck as you rode him to oblivion.
"M'gonna cum," he mumbles, unable to stop his release once it's started. The website had a whole bunch of tips for increasing your stamina—stroking patterns and ways to stop an orgasm—but those are long gone, his whole body a tightly clenched fist.
Go ahead baby, since you've been so good for me.
He swears he feels your lips against his just as the shock of it hits him, spurts of cum leaking from the open cunt as he fucks himself through the electricity of it, your name in his lungs and his mouth and the curl of his toes until the feeling subsides.
Jesus. Even if he never used it again the toy would be well worth the money he'd spent.
He's still sensitive as he slides the toy from his spent cock, a few dribbles of cum landing against the sheets. Eddie grimaces. He'd have to put a towel down the next time.
"Hey, Eddie?"
Shit. There's no time to strip his sheets now, not when he hears your fingers rapping against his door frame.
"Just a second," he calls, throwing his covers over the leaking toy and running to his closet, "I'm changing."
He leaps into a pair of gray sweats, ripping the buttons of his shirt open with clumsy fingers before throwing the cum-stained garment into his hamper, pushing it deep into the basket.
He unlocks the door with shaking fingers, and you slide in as soon as there's a gap available.
"So," you glance at him before looking around the room, "did you get it put together?"
"What?"
A crease appears between your eyebrows. "Your computer?"
"Oh, yeah." He glances at his clearly untouched computer desk, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
"Were you watching something? I thought I heard voices."
You're being too generous with him; he knows that by something you really mean porn, which means you know he was getting off only a few moments ago.
"No, I was just—"
Talking to myself. That's what he was going to say, but those words are long gone when he watches you grip his comforter in one tight fist, throwing back the sheets.
He watches you take it all in: the fleshlight, the bottle of lube, his cum staining his sheets.
God, there can't be anything worse than this. Eddie would rather be killed on the spot than hear what you say next.
Which is why he's so surprised when he feels your hand against his cheek.
"Oh, honey," you coo at him, and he has to open his eyes to make sure you're really there this time, "there's no need to be embarrassed."
"What?"
God, you are there, looking up at him with glossy eyes and a patronizing little grin. He feels your fingers in his sweaty hair, teasing at his scalp.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but listen, and you were making such pretty sounds for me—they were for me, right?'
Eddie just nods. Of course you've known this whole time. He lets you guide his hand to your waist, a sliver of warm skin meeting his fingers, feeling far away from his own body.
Your lips are at his neck, tongue just pressing against his skin and Eddie can't breathe.
Here's the second part to He's Gonna Burn This House to the Ground, my loves. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Requests are open but I'm slow 😬
Neighbor!Riddler x Femme! Reader
Warnings: NSFW (18+ ONLY), dry humping, hand job, slight non-con/somnophilia, language, descriptions of injuries, unhealthy relationships, mentions of murder and attempted relationship violence.
2.6k words
The GCPD officer stands with his hands on his hips, already bored with this conversation. “And what do you expect us to do about this?”
Jesus. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, forcing your eyes to meet his so they don’t roll back. You’re glad you’ve never had to call these guys in a real emergency.
“Well, I don’t want him to try and hurt me again,” you say, and the contempt you’re feeling for the man in front of you certainly makes the lie easier, “and I want a restraining order against him if he tries to come back here.”
The officer sighs, peering over your shoulder to the place Eddie sits at the counter, “and what about you, buddy? You wanna press assault charges?”
Eddie shrugs his slight shoulders—still swallowed up by the oversized jacket—before nodding behind a bag of frozen peas he holds to his nose. The cop looks back to you after the barest glance in his direction.
“I’ll tell my guys to keep the building in their rounds for a week or so,” he says with finality, already turning towards the door, “have them on the lookout for suspicious activity, but I can’t make any promises. We get pretty busy in neighborhoods like this.”
You hold back a snort. The cops you saw were busy, alright—busy chatting up the pretty girls outside the club next door.
He turns back once he’s at the door, like he’s just remembered that he has a job to do. “You might wanna change the locks as well—if he still has a key—and push something heavy in front of the door until then.”
“Thank you, officer, I’ll do that.” There’s a plastic smile on your face, but he doesn’t see it. The door is closed before you’ve even finished your sentence.
God, what an ass. You never thought you’d be grateful for Gotham’s abysmal cold-case homicide stats.
When you turn back, Eddie is watching you vacantly, his eyes large and still a little teary from the pain. He must be able to see well enough to know that you’re looking at him, because he drops the bag of peas onto the table beside his glasses.
“So . . . do you think that will work?”
“I do.” His voice is hoarse, and he clears his throat, sitting taller in his chair. It’s funny—even after all the time you’d spent with him—how you’d never managed to see through the camouflage. He wears those plain button-up shirts and the too-big jacket like armor, and there’s power in invisibility.
You wonder who he is underneath all that.
Uncrossing your arms, you cup his face in both hands. There’s a space between his denim-clad legs, and you step closer, stroking your thumbs over the soft skin of his cheeks as you examine the extent of the bruising. The swelling in his nose has gone down, his features a little more familiar.
Eddie lets a ragged breath out through his parted lips, unnecessarily heavy, his hands resting in tightly-clenched fists on the tops of his thighs. He’d touched you so freely before, with blood-covered palms. You almost wished you could bring them back.
“Thank you,” he whispers. You brush the sweaty strands of hair off his forehead with a delicate but deliberate touch. It’s different, after spending so long skirting around any contact with him. You'd never wanted to give him the wrong idea. It was a shame you’d missed out on this. Holding him makes you feel brave, too.
“I should be thanking you, Eddie.”
Taking stock of your body, you find no sadness, no mourning. In a way, Andy’s been dead for a while now—moving so fast he’d never bothered to notice that his heart wasn’t beating. You could feel it though, the hollow space in his chest on the rare nights he held you in his arms. You’re glad it’s finally caught up to him. “And you’re sure that when- when they find him . . .”
“They won’t trace it back,” Eddie says with finality. You believe him so easily, the stopper pulled on your fears. For the first time in days, there’s a smile stretched across your lips. Eddie shifts one curled hand forward, emboldened slightly, just barely brushing the tips of his knuckles over the edge of your thigh, and the skin pebbles beneath his touch.
His eyelids flutter closed, lashes pale and shining against the dark purple shadows. You’d never let yourself notice how pretty the rushing blood looks beneath his cheeks, how quickly your heart beats when he’s nearby. You run your fingers over the chapped skin of his lips, and they part, trembling, humid breath sticking to your fingers. The swooping feeling in your chest makes your knees go weak.
He still smells like blood, though, and that turns your stomach. “We should get you cleaned up.”
You lead him hand-in-hand to the bathroom, keeping him close so he doesn’t stumble over his own feet. The little room fills with the sound of falling water, running frigid from the tap before you can feel the tell-tale signs of coming warmth over your fingers.
Eddie stiffens when you turn back, chewing nervously at the dry skin on his lips, and his eyes stay glued to the white tile of the wall behind you. You watch the rhythmic tensing of the muscle in his jaw as you slip your hands up the front of his button-up, sliding beneath the edges of his jacket and pushing it off his shoulders. It falls to the floor with a plastic splat.
“Can I?” you ask, hands at the first button of his shirt. He’s leaned his head back far enough that you can’t see his eyes, and you’re left instead staring at the long, taut column of his neck.
His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, chin drawing a line up and down in the barest approximation of a nod.
You’re feeling a little lightheaded yourself, as you slip the buttons on his shirt from their gaps, the dried blood on the plastic flaking off in little shards. Trembling fingers brush over the bones in his hips as you pull his undershirt from where it’s tucked into his jeans. His skin is warmer and more solid than you’d expected.
He’s breathing like a drowned man pulled from the water—deep, shuddering breaths that flood his lungs—and his pale, freckled chest heaves. When you meet his eyes, they’re full of fear.
You haven’t kissed him yet. You’ve kissed him back, but that’s not really the same thing. He keeps his eyes on your lips, looking like he’s ready to run when you lean in closer, holding back for just a moment more before you press them gently to the corner of his mouth.
Then he's got you in a crushing grip, forcing harsh indents into your cheekbones and tangling in your hair; he kisses you again, but harder than before, hungrier than before, a little moan of pain on his lips when he buries his nose against your cheek. You stumble back, catching yourself against the cool tile with one hand, the other planted firmly against his bare chest. His skin sears against yours.
How long had he held back from this? The depth of his feeling is hard for you to comprehend, and you’ve barely left the shoreline, feet still comfortably buried in the sand of the shallows. How had he managed not to drown for so long?
You hold him in place, gently, leaning away from his burning lips, and his eyes brim with tears, the grip of his hands slackening. There’s a lifetime of disappointment on his face—a certainty of rejection that can only come from repeated experience.
You smooth the worry from his brow with the pad of your thumb. “Later, Eddie, I promise. Just . . . clean yourself up first?”
He nods, a few tears trailing down his cheeks, and you brush them away as gently as you can.
“I’ll just be in the bedroom.”
The closet door is open still from when Andy unpacked, and you wander over, rifling through the clothes he’d left, all his suits hanging and still covered in the dry-cleaning plastic, like bodies at a morgue. There’s not much you’d have to throw out, when the time came. Most of his wardrobe had been consolidated, made to fit the tiny life he lived in indistinct hotels. That made you part of the excess—the things he threw away when they took up too much space in his suitcase.
You thought the room might look different—knowing Andy wasn’t coming back. You wait for the feeling of emptiness, for that wave of sadness people always talked about after a tragedy . . . and nothing comes. The clock on your bedside table reads 11:18. You’ve been awake for more than twenty four hours, and every minute weighs on you, pulling you deeper into the great expanse of your sheets. You climb into its shelter, hoping to rest your eyes—just for a moment. It’s cold in your room, even under the covers, but the rush of water through the old pipes reminds you that you’re not alone.
Maybe Eddie will keep you warm when he’s done.
The rain is heavier on the windows when you wake, but that’s not what pulls you from your sleep.
Eddie has an arm around your waist. His grip is bruising, buried in the soft flesh below your ribs, long fingers digging like he’ll only be satisfied once he feels the scrape of your bones under his nails. You’re sandwiched against his chest, and the fabric of your t-shirt is damp and sticky, sliding higher along your spine every time he moves.
His hips shift against the curve of your ass; you hear a harsh grunt—almost a moan—muffled by his fingers. The heat of his stiff cock reaches your skin through your shorts, pressed against you with every stifled thrust.
“Eddie?”
He goes still. The trembling breath he takes echoes through your chest.
“I’m- I’m sorry,” he whispers, you can hardly hear him even with his lips pressed against the shell of your ear, “I’m so so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just-”
You maneuver around in the twisted sheets, turning to face him and the apologies don’t stop, even as you run a hand through the damp strands of his hair. The bruised skin over his nose is shining in the limited light, the purple shadows beneath his eyes sticky with tears.
“Don’t be sorry, honey,” you whisper, and he quiets a little, looking up at you with round, disbelieving eyes, “I meant to wait up for you.”
Eddie swallows hard. “Really?”
“Yes, really. I didn’t want to fall asleep.”
You don’t recognize the t-shirt he’s wearing—he must have gone back to his own apartment for something to sleep in—and you rest your hand against his chest just to feel the way his heart thunders. Tracing your fingers down over the pilling fabric, you watch carefully as his eyes fall closed, forehead flushed and dotted with sweat. His lips part, and his breathing grows louder. The room is filled with the sound of his steadily filling lungs.
“Can I touch you, honey?”
Your body is warm and pliant, well-rested and molten with the thrill of having someone beside you, someone who wants you so badly they’d ruin it all to get a taste.
“Please.”
His hips buck up against your palm—the fabric of his sweatpants is distorted by his cock, aching and stiff where it presses against his stomach. There’s a little damp patch in the fabric, right by the head must be, and you trace your thumb over it lightly, your mouth growing wet, a hunger ache at the back of your throat.
He whimpers. You shift closer, molding yourself against his side, sharing the same pillow so you can watch the way his fluttering eyelashes catch the light. Eddie turns to face you, hot breath on your face. His pupils grow wider, swallowing the green of his irises when you slip your fingers under the waistband.
A wordless moan streams from his lips, and he tries to fight it, slapping the palm of his hand down without any care for his nose, tears pooling in his lower lash line from the pain.
“Don’t do that, Eddie,” your voice is warm and sweet like honey, and you peel his hand away from his face with sticky fingers, “it’s okay, I wanna hear you.”
You kiss him, carefully, his tongue hot and clumsy against your teeth as you skim your hand down the damp material of his shirt again, sliding beneath the waistband. He spasms against you when you take his dick in your hand, short, soft strokes to get him acquainted with your touch.
“Does that feel good?”
He nods. His eyes have turned into slits they're clenched so tightly. You feel the shift of his other arm beneath your ribs, and you move in close enough that your shirt brushes his, giving him access to his previously pinned elbow.
“You can touch me, Eddie.”
He must have been waiting for permission. His arm wraps around your waist, holding you against his chest. You press your face tight against the crook of his neck, peppering the skin with soft kisses just to hear the little noises he makes right against your ear.
Your bodies find ways to intertwine, moving against each other, both thrilled to have someone to share a moment like this. His thigh ends up warm and taut between your legs, body shifting against yours until his knee catches against the sweaty fabric at your cunt.
The heavy breath would have been imperceptible to anyone else—to anyone but Eddie—because even as he whimpers, thrusting his hips into the wet circle of your fingers, he still notices everything about you.
“Are- are you . . .?”
“Yes—”
His voice grows panicked, “I don’t, I mean, I’ve never—”
The back of his neck is burning your palm, but you keep your fingers buried in his golden hair. “Just stay where you are, Eddie.”
He’s so obedient. You’ve never met a man like this before. He goes still, letting you take your pleasure against his thigh. He doesn't move, even though your hand is sticky with the spend he’s leaking, slipping easily up and down his shaft. You press the pad of your thumb against his slit and he mewls, gasping as you examine the thick vein down the side.
“Are you gonna cum, honey?”
There’s a damp spot in your hair, spit leaking from the corner of his mouth. “Uh- fuck, yes.”
“Good, Eddie, I want you to.”
He lasts for a few more strokes, and then he's spilling heavily into your palm, cum dripping from your skin onto his, smearing into the fabric of his sweatpants as the muscles of his stomach go tense. He’s got your name on his lips. You think he might be crying.
God, it makes you wild. You plant your hand on his hip, positioning him the way you’d like, digging bruises into his skin when you feel yourself slipping away, dizzy from the rushing blood and the way his lips feel mouthing at your neck.
“Tell me what to do,” he whispers, sensing your nearing release, desperate to be a part of it. You take his free hand in yours, slide his slender fingers between your thighs. Every muscle in your body goes tense as you grind your hips down against him, a sob on your lips.
You kiss him just as it hits you, and he holds you so close you wonder if he can feel it, too.
You feel stiff, muscles still seizing and your body caked in sweat as you lay there, learning how to breathe again. It must feel horrible to be pressed against you under the heavy fabric of the duvet, but Eddie doesn’t move, and you don’t either.
“You did so good for me, Eddie.”
You don’t know what prompts you to say it, but it’s true. Blond streaks of hair cover his eyes and stick to his forehead; he blinks at you like he thinks he might be dreaming.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
“Can I stay?” he asks, fingers trailing down over your spine, still a little shy.
You nod, not knowing if he means the night or longer. You have to hope it’s the latter.
For the lovely @trelaney. It's her fault I can't stop thinking about Paul Dano 🥰
Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated! Let me know if you’d like to see more of the riddler 💖
Neighbor!Riddler x Femme! Reader
Warnings: language, unrequited (and then requited) feelings, mentions of sex, blood, infidelity, unhealthy relationships, violence, threats of relationship violence, mentions of stalker behavior, murder.
3.8k words
In hindsight, moving to Gotham hadn’t been the best idea.
Not for any of the reasons you anticipated, of course. Your family’s incessant check-up calls and friend’s demands that you share your location every time you left your apartment ended after a few weeks. Gotham wasn’t a safe place to live, by any means, but there were pockets of lesser danger—your apartment, with its heavy deadbolt, and the job you’d managed to find on the better side of town. Your commute after work happened during daylight hours, and the only people who you ran into in the mornings were the rheumy-eyed old men on street corners asking if you had a dollar to spare so they could buy a cup of coffee, which you gave them.
And it was exciting, being in a big city. Andy had painted that picture clearly enough—the sights, the people, the fast-paced adventure you’d always craved after years in a sleepy suburb. You can still feel the warmth of his hands, strong fingers stroking over your thumbs, and see the light in his eyes as he said those words. We could be together, babe. Whenever you want.
You'd like to believe that was the only lie he ever told you.
The reality is more miserable than you could have anticipated—an anemic version of the promises he’d made. The “quaint” apartment he’d found for the two of you was perpetually gloomy, with grime-coated windows that blocked out the rare Gotham sun and ancient, peeling wallpaper. You’d tried to keep the creeping anxiety out of your expression as you climbed up and down the creaking stairs, carrying in the dozen or so boxes that contained the sum total of your life. You tried to find it in yourself to be happy that you were together.
Andy saw right through it, though. He wrapped you in his arms, and let you bury your face in the ratty, worn t-shirt he refused to throw away, and for a few minutes, you could almost pretend that you were home.
“I know it’s not the best, baby,” he’d consoled you, “but it’s only going to be for a little while. Once this promotion goes through, we’ll be out of here as soon as I find a place that’s good enough for my girl.”
You’d let him kiss the tears from your cheeks, held onto his wrists like a lifeline and believed every word that came from his mouth, even though months passed, the promotion came—just as he said it would—but the walls around you never changed. You found little places to hold some joy in this period of waiting, like the plastic plants in the window and the old but reliable washer and dryer that came with the apartment. You occupied yourself with little projects—re-grouting the tile in the bathroom, or picking out new dining room chairs at estate sales, and when Andy returned from another business trip he’d smile so wide and pull you into his arms and you pretended like it was enough to see him every few weeks.
So it wasn’t the worst life you could have imagined. It was just really, really lonely.
Until the mice.
It’s a miracle he opens his door. You’re hammering away at it like you’re possessed, sobbing loudly enough that he must hear you through the paper thin-walls. Even as you’re doing it, you know it’s an overreaction, but you can’t find it in yourself to stop because you haven’t been able to sleep since Andy last left and it’s been raining for weeks with no end in sight and a mouse just crawled over your fucking foot.
Your head pounds in time with the thump of your fist on the door, and it stops so abruptly, you’re shocked out of your tears.
You’ve only seen your neighbor a few times in passing. He might not even recognize you, like you do him. He stares at you, his sandy blond hair flopped over his forehead, a little bug-eyed behind thick lenses.
“Eddie—” was that his name? You think back to the stilted introduction in the stairwell where he wouldn’t meet your eyes—trying to remember if he’d said Eddie or Edward—before deciding that it’s too late to correct yourself, “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I think there’s a mouse in my apartment and I don’t have any traps or anything and . . .”
And what? Your skin sparks with shame. He must find you ridiculous, making such a commotion over something that was probably very common in the city. You could survive until the morning, stuff an old sweater under the door of your bedroom and buy traps on your way home from work.
He frowns at you, long lashes magnified by his glasses, and he blinks once, twice, three times before he speaks.
“Wait here.”
You shift from foot to foot, tears drying in sticky tracks on your cheeks, standing alone for only a few moments before he returns with some supplies: an old plastic bucket, a jar of peanut butter, and a scrap of wood.
He assembles the makeshift mousetrap in silence, smearing peanut butter around the rim of the bucket a few inches down the inside, handing you the spoon before setting the board up like a ramp.
“We’ll need to be quiet, if you want them to come out.”
You press your lips together, clutching the handle of the spoon in a tight fist. You should probably let him go back to his own apartment. The clock on the microwave ticks another minute closer to midnight, and he must be wanting some rest, considering that he leaves for work as early as you do.
“Do you want any coffee, or tea, or . . . anything?” you offer instead, and he shakes his head, pulling a beaten-up ledger from under his arm, its pages cleaved in half with a ballpoint pen, and you gesture him in the direction of your couch.
After some hesitation, and a glance back in the direction of the bucket, you curl up in the love seat, opening up to the first page in the book you’d been trying to read. Time passes, marked by the turning of pages and the sound of his messy scrawl. You don’t notice the effect his presence has, not until the latent ache starts to manifest in your shoulders, muscles finally letting go of all their tension, body sinking into plush velvet of the chair. You’re breathing easier as well, unflinching at the sound of sirens passing the building, or the creaking floors in the hall.
It’s not like you’re still afraid—like you had been initially—that you were only moments away from being murdered at any time. Besides, Eddie doesn’t look like he’d last much longer in a fight than you would.
Still, you’re glad he’s here. And if you were murdered . . . it’s nice to know you wouldn’t die alone.
You pass the hours in relative silence, occasionally broken up by the sound of his soft giggling. He explains when you ask him what’s funny, speaking in a low whisper so as to not frighten the mice. You don’t always get the joke, but you laugh anyway, just to hear the way it sounds with his. It’s been so long since you’ve laughed with someone.
It’s almost morning when you hear the first plastic plop, and then the scampering of little feet, followed by another a few minutes later. You rub your eyes with balled fists, arching the stiffness out of your back before standing. There’s a decent chunk of pages on the left half of the book when you place it face down on the arm of your chair.
Two mice run circles around the edge of the bucket when you peer inside, their little paws coated in peanut butter and they scramble against the walls, watching you with big, sad eyes.
You don’t notice Eddie until he’s right behind you.
“I can take them out for you,” he says, peering over your shoulder and you jump, your shoulder blade brushing against the soft fabric of his sweater. He’s taller than he looked at first glance.
You nod, watching as he shies away from you, blood flooding beneath the skin that covers his rounded cheeks. He coughs, bending down to grab the bucket.
He’s almost at the door when you take his arm in your hand, wrapping your fingers around the thin bones in his wrist.
“You’re not going to kill them, are you?”
You don’t know why you care. He shakes his head, and when your face breaks out in a grin, his does, too.
It’s only hours later that you’re knocking on his apartment door again, plastic bags brimming with Chinese food rustling in your hands. He’d stayed up all night with you; it was the least you could do to thank him.
He sits across from you at the dining table that’s much too big for two people, eating in silence. You watch him, gnawing absentmindedly on your own food. Eddie sits with his arms tucked in at his sides, hunched over the table like he's always trying to turn himself into a smaller target, and he never looks in your direction—so careful to give you a wide berth that it must be on purpose. His eyes wander the rest of the apartment, settling for a few moments on Andy’s guitar propped up in the corner.
He swallows thickly before speaking, but it still comes out broken and breathy. “Do- do you play?”
“It’s my boyfriend’s.”
As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth you regret it, like you’ve just spilled a dirty secret. The shame that fills you is a double-edged sword—hurting for what you said and hurting for trying to keep Andy a secret.
Eddie doesn’t respond, moving his jaw like he’s chewing although he hasn’t taken another bite. His eyes flash to yours, and you fight to fill the silence.
“He’s not very good, though . . .” you trail off lamely. Jesus, you should shove a chopstick through your throat just to keep yourself from talking.
“How long have you been together?” The question falls from his mouth like a chipped tooth, spit lamely onto the table after the punch you’d just delivered. You shouldn’t feel guilty for having a boyfriend. You shouldn’t. So why does the hurt in Eddie’s eyes feel so justified?
“A little over a year, but he travels a lot for work so I don’t see him very often. He’s been gone for a week now.”
Andy’s absence sits like a corpse in the middle of the table, pale and stinking. You have to change the subject.
“We don’t have to talk about me, though; tell me about you. What do you do for work?”
You’re lucky you don’t know anything about forensic accounting. Eddie’s not very forthcoming, but you ply him with enough questions that he seems to relax, occasionally meeting your eyes over the table. You don’t miss the way he glances at the guitar when he thinks you’re not looking.
You’re standing in the hallway a little later, watching as he unlocks the door to his own apartment.
“Thanks for hanging out with me, Eddie,” you say, “and thanks for all your help, you know, with the mice.”
He nods without meeting your eyes, his hand resting on the doorknob. You’re struck with a sudden panic—he’ll walk back through that door and you’ll never see him again.
“And don’t be afraid to come over if you ever need company,” you’re talking too loudly, but he looks up, watching you with an analytical stare, “it’s been hard being on my own here for the past few months; I’d be really glad if we could be friends.”
The hallway is quiet except for the sound of his breathing. And then he smiles.
“Okay.”
And maybe it’s just the turn of the seasons, but the coming weeks feel brighter. Eddie works longer hours than you do, and sometimes even brings his work home with him, but you still see him a few nights a week—just to share a meal, or sit together in silence. He has weekends free, though, and you feel safer walking the streets with him by your side.
He knows a lot about the city—knows which paths are best to take depending on the time, which train cars will be the least crowded, and which diners won’t give you food poisoning. And although there’s a certain air of disdain he wears whenever you’re traversing the more crowded parts of Gotham, he’s willing to participate in the kitschy, touristy experiences you’d missed when you first moved . . . when Andy was too busy.
You’d be lying if you said Eddie wasn’t a little strange. He was intensely quiet, and introspective, his occasional outbursts always a little surprising, especially in public. But he was kind, and smart, and incredibly interesting.
So you try your best to ignore his clumsy advances—the way his thigh presses against your own when you’re jostled along by the train car, just a little too hard to be accidental, or how his hand sometimes hovers over the small of your back in crowded spaces. You don’t pay attention to the subtle shift of his hips when he sits beside you on the couch as you pretend to watch a movie, inching closer and closer, his arm stretched behind your head, fingers just barely brushing by your hair.
Things start to go missing from your apartment: a favorite mug, the sweater you’d dropped on the floor of the bathroom before hopping in the shower, the gold hoops Andy gave you for your last birthday. You don’t say a word when they show up again a few days later.
Sometimes, even—and the shame turns to acid in your stomach when you dare to admit it to yourself—sometimes you give in. You take his arm when he holds it out to you on the street as a group of dangerous-looking men pass by, leering. You rest your head on his shoulder, drifting to sleep on the train, let him spell out little messages on your open palm, solve the codes he drops on the floor as he leaves your apartment, let him spoil the answers to the riddles he asks you because he never smiles as wide as he does when he thinks he’s tricked you.
And every time, you wish Andy would come home. And every time, you wish he’d never come back.
Your wish is granted sooner than you’d like.
It’s been two days since Andy returned, and four since you’d last seen Eddie. There’s a fog in the apartment, an icy chill that sits in your chest, and you’re having a hard time breathing. You grip the back of the couch in two clenched fists while he pours himself a drink, his silence as sharp and pointed as a knife at your throat.
There are signs of Eddie everywhere: the scraps of paper in a drawer with his childish scrawl—the pen pressed so deep it had torn in some places, the 10,000 piece puzzle you’d egged him into buying with the edges already assembled, clumps of middle pieces hovering in the empty space between. There’s a picture of you that he’d taken on a Polaroid camera, pinned to the fridge. You’re standing on the deck of the ferry boat, the wind blowing your hair into your eyes, and you’re laughing—a big, deep belly laugh you can almost hear every time the photo catches your eye.
Andy finishes off his glass of amber whiskey before setting it calmly into the empty sink.
“So,” he says, “tell me about him.”
Fuck. Could you have avoided this? It’s not like he didn’t call you when he got the chance. You skirted around Eddie in every conversation, leaving him a hole in the narrative. Every word you spoke without his name had been a handful of dirt ripped from the earth, and the pile you’d made was about to bury you alive.
“Eddie’s our neighbor,” you say, gritting your teeth. Your eyes sting. “And he’s really nice.”
Andy moves behind you, placing his hands on either side of your own, caging you against the couch. The claustrophobic feeling in your chest expands; you clench the muscles in your thighs tight so you won’t flinch away.
“And how long has Eddie been fucking my girlfriend?”
“Jesus, Andy. It’s not like that.”
You turn to face him, arms crossed over your chest. He stares down at you with unkind eyes. You realize this is the first time you’ve seen him angry at you. The thought smacks you in the head, making you feel small and stupid. Maybe you didn’t really know Andy at all.
He juts out his chin stubbornly. “I don’t like him.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I don’t like that he’s spending all this time with you alone. I don’t like that he’s clearly interested in you,” he bites off the rest of his words, but you can understand them well enough. I don’t like that you kept him a secret from me.
There are tears on your cheeks, but your expression is stony. Andy pushes off from the couch, pacing in front of you. His hands are shaking, agitated, and he claws one through his slicked back hair.
“I mean, fuck, babe. You hardly know this guy, and now you’re spending all this time with him—taking him on dates to go ogle the fucking Wayne Tower and paying for his dinner every night. How am I supposed to take that? How is he?”
“What did you expect from me, Andy?” you’re crying in earnest now because he’s right, and so you talk louder, hoping that the anger might wash the hurt out of your voice, “Did you want me to sit in this shitty apartment by myself for a whole month? Did you expect me to be happy when you came back for a quick blow job in between your fucking escapades?”
He wields his words like a weapon. “I expected my girlfriend to be faithful.”
“And I expected my boyfriend to be here!”
It comes out as a shout, all the pent up anger you’d been storing for months, and he’s hit by the full force of it, like you’d slapped him.
No matter how many times you replay the next few moments, you’ll never be able to decide what he really meant to do with the fist he raised, holding it high above his head.
His eyes go wide, and he freezes. You’re poised to block the strike, fingers splayed wide to protect your face, and you stare up at him incredulously through the gaps.
“I can’t talk about this with you right now.”
That’s all he says when he finally breaks the silence. His fist falls just to the left of your body, and he swipes his jacket from off the back of the couch. “I’m going out.”
The door slams. You crumple like a marionette cut from its strings, staring at the wall that separates yours and Eddie’s apartment. You have no way to know for sure, but you think he must have heard everything.
A whole day passes. You don’t sleep, milling around the apartment without direction. You call in sick to work, then call Andy’s phone and hang up before he can answer.
There are a few times you walk to the door, grip the handle in a tight fist, about to walk out into the hallway and bang on Eddie’s door until he answers, but then you think better of it. He’s probably at work.
The orange sun is setting just outside the window when you hear the knock on the door. You answer it without knowing who you want most to see.
“Eddie,” any happiness you’d feel is overcome by the shock of the state he’s in, “oh my god, did you get jumped?”
His hands are covered in blood, and he keeps one cupped under his nose to stop more of it from dripping onto the carpet. Purple bruises bloom already beneath his eyes; there’s no way his nose isn’t broken.
You pull him inside without giving him a chance to answer your question, running around frantically as you grab a washcloth from the drawer beside the sink and run it under the cool water. You pull out a chair for him at the table, but he falls to his knees in front of you instead.
“God, Eddie,” you whisper, “what the hell happened?”
He tries to speak, but just looking at him try sends an ache through your own jaw, and you shush him, brushing a hand through his hair, lifting his fractured glasses from where they sit on the bridge of his nose.
His hands leave red smears on the skin of your thighs; he grips you as you wipe gently at the are around his mouth, clearing the blood off in messy swipes. Each time you you get it clean, another trail of blood drips from his nose.
“You gotta keep your head back, Eddie,” you chastise him gently, pulling his neck taut with your fingers in his rain-damp hair. A little whimper leaves his throat, and you start to relax your grip until you realize the sound wasn’t brought on by pain. Your whole body buzzes, lungs tight.
“Eddie . . .” There's more you want to say, but no sound comes out.
The bloody nose slows to a trickle, and then stops, the skin of his lips still tinged red and you wipe over them a few more times, seeing no improvement.
His hand is at your wrist then, pulling the washcloth out of the way. There’s a message for you, a puzzle hidden deep in the green of his eyes.
“Eddie,” you say his name again. There are no words that want to follow.
His hand is sticky where he holds you the back of your neck, pulling you down, and his lips are on yours, pressed tightly together, his movements clumsy and insistent. You pull back in shock.
Had that been his first kiss?
“What did you do, Eddie?” You don’t want to know, but you have to ask, have to ask about the blood that stains his button-up shirt—too much blood for a broken nose—have to learn about the dried scabs beneath his fingernails.
His hand disappears into the deep pockets of his coat, and he places the contents into your waiting palm. You don’t look; you already know what it is, your fingers caressing the gold band, the hefty weight of it pressing the pristine watch face into your palm.
You had stared into that same glass face for hours the night Andy had received it—a gift from his boss after the promotion. You had held it solidly in your hands, prayed over it like an omen of good fortune, of turning tides. The watch had been Andy’s prized possession. He only took it off when he slept.
“Eddie.” You think you might be crying, but your face is numb and tingling. He wraps your fingers around the watch, hiding it in your fist like a secret.
When he kisses you this time, you kiss him back. You find you don’t mind the taste of blood when it’s on his lips.
Tags/Warnings: Smut, DUBCON, stalking, PiV, semi-forced oral (m. rec), face fucking, light choking, slapping, power imbalance, dacryphilia, predator/prey, hickies/bruises, biting, degradation, use of 'Sir', dirty talk, implied and vaguely described off screen murder, sex while covered in blood, sex in an alley, clothed sex
Summary: After you go on a date with a guy you met on Tinder, you find out just how far Homelander's obsession really goes.
Word Count: 4.7k
Author's Note: Title from the song No Mercy by Austin Giorgio
There's no excuse why this is late coming out. I got caught up with chores yesterday and wasn't able to get as much done.
Dividers: Line divider by @saradika-graphics—Star Spangled Banner from Pinterest.
Tag List: @copperboom82
Kinktober 2025 Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Ever since you started working for Vought as Homelander’s ‘Personal Household Assistant’, you constantly felt like you were being watched.
In the beginning you thought maybe it was some kind of personal security team that was assigned to you to make sure you weren’t a mole or someone who would screw them over. Being in Homelander’s penthouse and being intimate with him awarded you access to sensitive information, hence the NDA you were required to sign during your onboarding and acceptance of the position.
But it somehow felt…sinister. Curious. Not the clean and clinical observation you’d expect from a professional team. It was almost, possessive, in a way.
It followed you everywhere. As soon as you left Vought Tower it was on you. It followed you on your way home, it followed you to the grocery store, it followed you when you took yourself out to dinner. Even behind closed doors with all the blinds drawn, it refused to cease. The hair that pricked at the nape of your neck and along your arms, the oil slick pooling in your stomach that made you feel ill—all of it, all the time. It was tiring to say the least.
You had never felt it before, not one to be paranoid or feel like people were out to get you or anything; there was no predisposition to paranoia or trauma that would cause it.
Stress of the job is how you rationalized it to yourself. Admittedly, being the emotional and physical chew toy for America’s favorite supe wasn’t always the most glamorous. It left you aching and tired and contemplating how the hell you got here. It wasn’t all bad, though. Especially the nights when you were too tired and fucked out to be bothered to take the train and walk back to your apartment, Homelander let you stay in his bed.
But despite the fleeting good times, your interactions were still strictly transactional, and as a normal human being, you craved the intimacy and normalcy that the arrangement with him severely lacked.
So, one night after you trudged home, thighs aching, you collapsed into bed and went into the app store. Tinder had been the first one to pop up, the one you knew the most about, and without a second thought your thumb had pressed the install button. Sure, you had as good of a chance of finding intimacy on the app that you did with the towheaded supe, but your odds were better of finding someone with at least a soul. Though, after you created your profile, entering in all the little fun facts about yourself and picking out the few photos you deemed dating profile worthy and actually started matching with men, you were beginning to question even that possibility.
There were a few hits that went beyond the unsolicited dick pic and the request for you to send pictures of your own nude body, but suspiciously you would talk to a guy for a few days before he ghosted you. You shrugged it off too, assuming this was normal amongst the apps, and from what you could find online, it was a serial problem.
But just as you were about to give up and uninstall it, you matched with Jackson. He was tall, handsome, and had a winning smile with fawn brown hair and chocolate eyes. Everything on his profile matched yours; a short term relationship that had potential to become long term, held the same religious and political affiliations, and seemed to be an overall decent guy. He even messaged you first, which counted the second time in nearly a month and a good cycle of guys that it had happened. Seriously, whatever happened to guys pursuing the girl?
After a few days of back and forth, moving almost instantly off the app and to regular text messaging, a date with a time and a place was set. A mid-scale Italian restaurant not too far from your apartment with the promise of ice cream after. You couldn’t say yes fast enough.
But as you got ready, that watched feeling seemed even more present. It clung to you in the shower as you shaved and washed yourself with the scented body wash you saved for special occasions. You kept looking in the mirror, expecting someone to be behind you as you slid on a matching bra and panty set, tugging stockings up to your mid thigh. Even once you slid into a sin-red dress that hugged you in all the right places to make you confident as hell, donning a classic make-up look and styled your hair to the nines, it got more and more intense until you could have sworn you felt a hot breath on your shoulder as you clasped the necklace around your neck.
But when you whirled around, you were alone in your bedroom, nothing out of place. The curtains still shut, the window cracked—perfect.
You shivered, attributing it to first date jitters. It had been a while since you had been on one, and they had always been nerve wracking to begin with. So you bent down to pull your heels on, checked yourself one last time in the mirror, grabbed your jacket and your purse laden with your wallet and keys, and left your apartment.
It was chilly when you left, the biting wind making its way under your jacket. Thankfully, as mutually agreed upon, the restaurant wasn’t too far from your apartment so keeping a brisk pace, you had made it before the cold got to you too much. Greeting the hostess, you gave Jackson’s name since you had gotten their first, and she showed you to your table.
You had never been stood up before. After 10 minutes, you checked your watch, then your phone to see if he had texted. But the last message in the thread was you telling him you were at your table. It registered as Delivered 20:30. Nothing. After 15 minutes, you apologized to the waiter, slipping him a $10 for the inconvenience, shame burning in your cheeks as you slunk out the front door, pulling your jacket back over your dress.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes as you shouldered your way through the doors. How could you be this stupid?! You ripped your phone from your coat pocket, unlocking it and immediately navigating to the app and uninstalling it. Shoving it and your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you tried to force the tears away from the pity party you were diving head first into and into some kind of anger, some rage. You showed up, looking hot as hell. If Jackson wanted to blow you off, then screw him! But unlike in the movies where the leading lady bounces back faster than an uber-rich celebrity after a minor scandal, you lacked that quality. Hot tears spilled down your cheeks away, teeth gnawing away at the inside of your lip.
Then, you felt it. The hair at the back of your head standing on end.
The streets were mostly deserted at nearly quarter to nine on a Thursday night, save for a few individuals meddling about probably on their way home like you were. You stopped dead in the center of the sidewalk, taking the opportunity to look around. The streetlights did a decent job of lighting the area, but there was still an abundance of shadows of varying opacities. As your eyes scanned your surroundings, you caught on one figure across the street and up nearly a block, standing between you and your apartment. Even if he weren’t so far away, if he weren’t cloaked in shadow, you would recognize those red glowing eyes anywhere.
Two red dots stared back at you, and between their glow and the incandescence of the lights, you could see his mouth pull up into that wolfish grin.
You stood there for a second, brain trying to calibrate, trying to comprehend everything as the puzzle pieces snapped into place. The always feeling like you were being watched. That was him. But it still didn’t explain your missing date. Homelander wouldn’t do anything to them, would he?
The question was shortly thereafter answered when he stepped more into the light, and you could see the way he was dressed. It stunned you, seeing him out of his supe regalia. Gone was the garishly patriotic getup. It was replaced by a pair of dark wash jeans, a white t-shirt and a dark blue jacket with a ballcap pulled low over his brow.
Except, his t-shirt, it wasn’t white anymore.
No, it was stained red.
The pounding of your heart was near deafening, every part of you buzzing, primed and ready to run. He took another step. Then another. And another, until he was close enough that you could read his lips.
“Run.”
And run you did.
The heels of your shoes sounded like gunshots on the concrete as you bolted. Instantly you regretted ever wearing them, one step away from pitching an ankle sideways and breaking something. But you didn’t dare take the time to stop and take them off. The dainty buckles which you thought looked so elegant would be too difficult to navigate with your shaking hands and in the dark.
You didn’t know what to do, where to run. Even though you had moved here years prior, you never really made it a point to walk around much beyond the train station and your jobs. Even if you had, the panic that swarmed around you would have muddled any sense of direction. Looking around wildly, you nearly trip as you harshly round a corner into an alleyway. The tears that had once stained your cheeks were gone now, eyes wide and frantic.
Vaguely you recognized water and other liquids you didn’t want to think about splashing around your feet. Dodging trashcans and trashbags, random boxes and discarded furniture, you scurried down the alley. Towards the end, your lungs burning in insistence to slow the fuck down, you reduced your speed to a walk.
Through the dull thud of your pulse in your ears, you strained to listen for any other signs of life. Maybe I lost him? You almost chuckled at the naivety of that thought. The man—the supe—had stalked you for weeks, and if the feeling of being watched while having no direct line of sight into your apartment told you anything was that if he wanted to find you, to see you, he would.
Sure enough as you peered around the hulking green garbage bin, he was already halfway to you barely winded. Again, your muscles tense as you dash forward, but you don’t know how much longer you can keep this up. Your lungs are aching, hanging on by strings causing a stitch in your side, your feet ache and your legs feel like jelly. But still, you run.
You burst out the other end of the alley onto another road, this one more deserted than the last. At the last second you wheel to the right but realize when it’s too late that he’s herding you away from your apartment, away from relative safety, and towards the industrial side of town. You lost your purse long ago, which meant you had no phone, no keys, no wallet, so even if you found a way back to your apartment, you had no way to get in, no way to call the superintendent to get you inside, and no money to go anywhere else.
With the lack of any other pedestrian presence, you blindly sprint across the street and into the alley there. You dive almost head first behind a pile of discarded pallets, sandwiching yourself between them and the rusted industrial sized washer. Slapping a hand over your mouth, you try to control your breathing, though you know nothing is going to stop him from finding you.
Maybe that's why you stopped, why you chose to hide instead of keep running.
You know that it’s futile. He can never tire, never at the will of his body's limitations. His body doesn’t even have any limitations.
But in spite of the situation, you still felt a blaze of heat in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it was the combination of the adrenaline and the intimate nature of your relationship, your employment, but as you shifted into a crouch, you recognized the unmistakable sensation of slickness between your thighs. Well, if he couldn’t hear or see me before, he can definitely smell me now. The fear, the arousal.
“Come out, come out.” He sing-songed from somewhere close. “I want to have a little fun.”
The alley was already darkened significantly due to the lack of immediate light sources, but still, you saw his shadow cross over the space between the garbage bin and the washer. A sneakered foot followed suit, then a denim wrapped leg until he was blocking your only way out, peering down at you with his head animalistically cocked to the side as he considered you.
He had lost the ballcap somewhere in the chase, his blond hair strewn and mussed about after being under the hat. It was even stranger up close to see him in civvies and not dressed to the nines, polished and preened like a prize bull at the county fair. Normal. He looked almost normal. But you knew better, especially with the blood spatter scattered across his chest like a bloody Jackson Pollock.
Homelander’s hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of your hair in a near painful grasp. It forced you to pitch forward onto your knees. The force of your knees meeting the concrete had pain zinging up your thighs, reverberating into your bones.
“Now,” He said in a scolding tone that reminded you of how one would talk to a naughty child. “What possessed you to think you could go find somebody else? I treat you pretty good, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do.” You said, blinking back the wince at how tightly he was craning your head back in order to look up at him.
“You don’t need anyone else.” He commanded.
“Yes, sir.” A shiver cascades down your spine as the warmth in your stomach grows.
With the hand not tangled in your hair, he tugs the stained shirt away from his body. Now that you are so close, you can see the blood hasn’t quite dried yet.
“This,” Homelander emphasizes. “This is what will happen to anyone you try and meet again.”
That cements it in your mind. Jackson hadn’t stood you up. But Homelander isn’t done.
“I thought I made that clear when I scared all those nutless, godless sons of bitches away from you.” He scoffed, letting go of his shirt. “But you just kept going back.”
Holy fuck. You hadn’t really registered just how obsessed, how possessive he was of you. In all honesty you expected to be dead within a month at most after being hired on, but it had gone on way longer than you predicted. For whatever reason, you served a purpose, filled a hole in his life.
You didn’t know how to respond, so you didn’t, just keeping your eyes on his face instead.
“So clearly.” His hand reaches for the front of his pants, and from your peripheral, you can see the bulge already evident there. “You need a reminder that I am the only person you need.”
His jeans are undone and pushed down his thighs in a matter of moments, his thick cock springing free. You anticipate him to haul you up by his handhold, to rip the dress from your body and fuck you senseless, but it seems that would come later. Instead he spits loudly into his hand, stroking the length of him.
This is new. Given the ‘casual’ nature that all your encounters had possessed prior to this, he had never been inside your mouth. That would require acknowledgement of the act, which was seemingly against the ever changing rules that you could never seem to get a grasp on.
Eyes half lidded, he pumped his cock in your face. Holding your head in place with the other hand, he brought your head closer and closer until the head of him brushed wetly against your lips.
“Open your fucking mouth, whore.” His hand abandoning the grip on his cock to slap across your face.
The stinging pain had instinctual tears beading at your waterline and you opened your mouth. Again, he guided himself to your lips, slipping past them to lay heavy on your tongue all the way to brush the back of your throat. Your lips closed around him as spit started to flood your mouth. You gag as he bullied himself in further, and you pressed your hands against his thighs in a futile attempt to push him away.
“Swallow it.” He grunted, pulling back a little before shooting back forward. “All of it.”
With most of himself inside your mouth, his other hand abandoned his shaft, coming to rest beside the other at the back of your head, keeping you steady as he fucked your mouth. You’ve gave up trying to keep your lips tight around his cock, letting it go slack and you could feel viscous drool coating him and sliding in thick strings down your chin and neck.
Each bump of his cock against the back of your throat had more and more tears gathering at your eyes, beading along your lashes until they grow too heavy and spill down your cheeks to join the amalgam of fluids coating your face.
“What a fucking pathetic mess.” He growled, pace picking up as he saw the way your mascara runs down your cheeks. “Cryin’ like I can’t smell how fucking wet you are. You’ve been wet since I started chasing you. Got you weeping all over for this cock.”
Your brain is so far past short circuited now. The pure filth that he was uttering made your pussy throb harshly with each syllable. Your knees started to grow sore from how long you had been kneeling there on the unforgiving concrete. The hands on his thighs became less defensive and more bracing as he began to slip, moving faster and erratic, sending him past that barrier and into your throat. On instinct you swallow around him and gag which causes him to do it again with a choked sound.
“Ohhh fuckkk,” Homelander pressed your head further on him with the grip on your hair. “Do that again—fuck. Just like that.”
With his thick cock down your throat, no air is passing to your lungs and the corners of your vision start to go dark, a lightheadedness pressing at your brain.
He was so far down your throat you didn’t taste his cum when he climaxed with a loud and gravelly moan. You could feel him twitch violently against your tongue and how his cum flooded your throat, warm and thick, until you were forced to swallow.
The dark spots were just threatening to take over your vision when he pulled from your mouth, sweet oxygen rushing in to take its place. You coughed roughly, all your senses returning like someone had flipped on a lightswitch. The hands at the back of your head disappear, instead hauling you to your feet by your arms.
Effortlessly, you were lifted off of your feet and plopped down roughly onto the stack of plastic pallets you had been hiding behind. Then Homelander did something he had never done before.
He kissed you.
Your lips were captured between his the second you were set down and he moved to stand between your open legs. Instinctively, you bite down. Not like it would do jack shit, you realize after the fact. A groaning chuckle fills your mouth, and you can truly taste him now. Blood, ire and pure unadulterated delight.
Again his hand, which is so odd to see without the coverings of his gloves, wrapped around the back of your neck, tangling once more in your once styled hair to pull you closer to his mouth. Then you feel his mouth shift, your only warning before his teeth bit down on your lip. Your cry is swallowed by his mouth as pain echoes from your lower lip. You could taste blood as it flowed into your mouth and across both his and your lips, especially as he takes advantage of your parted lips to invade with his tongue. Your pussy ached in time with the feel of his tongue sweeping through your mouth, clenching around nothing.
Boldly, you put your hands on his chest, running over the shift in the topography of him as your palms traverse the hills and valleys of his muscles. You felt him flinch, but he didn’t pull away, didn't scold you, or worse. He almost leaned into you, pressing himself closer between your thighs.
Clearly trusting enough that you aren’t gonna bolt or pull away, he moved his hands to your thighs, dipping underneath the hem of your dress. Hiking it up your legs, you shift to help him get the material of the dress between your thighs and the pallet below you until it’s bunched up around the curve of your ass.
His tongue swept across your lip, lapping at the blood still leaking out from the small wound. The way his mouth moved on yours is laced with intent, with control. The way you breathed into his mouth, the small sounds that pinged against his lips, all of it is his doing, his control.
He slid his hands up under the bunched fabric of your dress and with a swift outward tug, he ripped your underwear at the sides, tugging them from your bottom half and dropping them to the side to decorate the alley. Then tugging you forward by your waist, his hips lay flush against your soaked core. You could feel the hard length of him slide against the very top of his thigh. With a few awkward motions of his hips, he rutted himself through your slick, coating his cock, making you jolt at the contact you had been craving. You give an experimental roll of your hips, meeting his motion.
He reached up as he pulled away, gripping your jaw. “What are you?”
You blink for a moment, not fully in your mind, before responding. “Yours.”
“Don’t ever try anything like that again.” There was murder in those blue eyes as he glared at you.
“Yes Sir.” You breathed.
He let go of your chin roughly, going back to your hip as he positioned the head of his cock at your entrance. With a sharp thrust, he buried himself in you with ease. Your mouth fell open, hands gripping his shoulders at the feel of him inside you.
“Ahhh, fuck!” Homelander curses harshly, gripping your hips hard enough you were gonna have bruises tomorrow.
He retreats slowly, dragging his cock out of you until only the blunt head of him remains inside you. Then, another swift thrust forward. Your body jolts at that and you finally find your voice.
“Oh, God!” You cry out, wrapping your legs around his trim waist.
He finds a pace, as he pulls his eyes from where they had been watching his cock slid in and out of your pussy.
“No,” He corrects, sending his hips into you harshly. “No God. The only man in the sky, is me.”
You nod, and are thankful when he lets it drop in favor of slotting his lips over yours again. With each thrust he pounded into you, the head of him brushed against the gummy, sensitive spot deep inside your pussy. You clung to his shoulders, his back, legs wrapped tightly around his waist like that would help the coil in your lower belly tighten any faster. Trying your best to meet his motions, you rolled your hips against him, but his hands kept you solidly in place like you were nothing more than a toy for him to fuck.
“Such a good cockslut.” He groaned, breaking the kiss in favor of mouthing at your neck and shoulder. “Making such filthy noises. You ought to be careful otherwise I might think you like getting fucked in an alley like a deadbeat whore.”
You couldn’t help the moan that his filthy mouth caused, nor the way your pussy clenched hard around his cock. He nipped at your neck, your head rolling to the side to allow him better access. He kissed and licked and sucked along your neck, each ministration sending zings down to your pussy where you could feel your legs start to tremble around his waist.
“Don’t you dare cum before me. Whores don’t get to cum without permission.” He ordered.
You feel him pull away from your neck, replacing his mouth with his hand. The entirety of it spanned across, his thumb on one side and fingers on the others. Then he squeezed. Not hard, but enough to make you feel it.
“Yes Sir.” You gasped.
His thrusts grew faster and faster, not helping the growing feeling of your climax between your legs. Breathing through your nose you tried not to fall over that edge that you teetered on like a knife’s edge. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Again and again and again as he fucked into you harder and faster as the minutes creeped by. Over and over he bottomed out, hips pistoning more and more unevenly until they met yours one last time in an almost painful collision before he stilled.
It was all you needed, no amount of mindful breathing could have stopped the euphoric feeling of your climax wash over you as he spilled himself into you. His grip on your neck grew tighter, almost imperceptibly, in time with how he gripped your hip. A low moan met your ears as your legs shook violently around his waist, nails digging harshly into the material of his jacket.
You suppressed a whine as he rolled his hips once, twice, milking whatever was left inside him out before pulling out of you entirely. Hands slipping from his shoulders as he took a step back to tuck himself back into his boxer-briefs and jeans, you steadied yourself on the pallets. You had no fucking clue how you were gonna get home like this. Legs like jelly, probably looking like a $10 whore with the way your makeup was smudged to hell and hair a mess with a brain that was more fog than grey matter. Not to mention you didn’t even have your keys anymore.
But that decision, like many you anticipated in the future, wasn’t up to.
“I’ll have one of those sniveling pussies collect your things from your apartment later. You can’t be trusted to live on your own.” Homelander said matter-of-factly as he slid an arm around your waist.
A hoarse scream ripped from your lungs as he shot you both into the air. You barely had time to cling to him before he was landing on the balcony of his bedroom. He set you down with a little gentleness.
“I expect you to be out of that outfit by the time I get back.” Then he was gone with such a force that the wind blew your hair back from your face.
Not knowing how long, exactly, he’d be gone, you instantly ripped your dress off along with your bra. Knowing the apartment by heart by now, you ran to the laundry room, chucking both pieces of clothing into the basket, frantically unbuckling your heels and leaving them in the space between the washer and the wall.
You moaned as your bare feet met tile. You hated heels to begin with, but now with them screaming at you after running in them for so long, you didn’t think you could ever wear them again. At least not that pair.
Washing your face of the mascara and makeup you had been wearing, you spared a glance at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, but not as bad as you thought it would be, and your lips kiss-swollen.
But what surprised you the most, was that you didn’t hate the woman you saw staring back. This was your life now, and you were damn sure you were gonna make the most of it.
Please like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed! Feedback is appreciated and encouraged!
// Leon S. Kennedy × Fem!Reader // Around 1k words
// Summary: You toy with danger by teasing your father’s bodyguard, Leon, convinced your privilege will always protect you from the consequences.
// CW: NSFW, smut, non-con, loss of virginity, fingering, dacryphilia, size kink, rough sex, degradation/praise mix, dirty talk, pet names, possessiveness, power imbalance, cum play.
// A/N: Requested by @prttycry! I hope you like it! Long live Leon from the original RE4! Sending love and hugs!💞🙏
You thought you could take risks. You thought it would never backfire, simply because your father was rich and Leon was just his bodyguard.
At first, teasing him was fun—sharing those innocent side glances, opening your legs too wide just to show him you weren’t wearing underwear.
It was so fucking fun.
Until it wasn’t.
Your parents had divorced after your mother was shot, and you hadn’t seen her since. Although your father claimed it had been her choice to leave, deep down you were sure he was hiding her. You hated that he kept lying.
One night, you woke to a strange draft seeping under your door—a faint breeze that usually meant the front door was open. Rubbing your eyes, you got up, wearing nothing but a short, blue nightgown made of thin, transparent fabric.
It was your favorite.
You didn’t bother with a robe before stepping into the dim hallway. You figured your father must have come home early—he was the only one with access, after all.
But when you reached the living room, you saw a tall silhouette near the floor-to-ceiling windows, beside the dresser where the vase of your favorite red peonies sat.
“Dad?” you asked, voice unsteady, hovering in the doorway.
The figure didn’t move at first. Then a flash of blond hair shimmered in the moonlight.
“Hello, sweet cheeks.”
That fucking voice.
You froze, breath catching.
Leon stepped out of the shadows, wearing the wool jacket you hated. His lips curled into a dark smirk that sent a chill crawling up your spine.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” you blurted out. “Where’s dad? Why aren’t you with him?”
Dark thoughts flooded your mind, but you tried to stay still—to think.
“He gave me the day off,” Leon replied casually, folding his arms.
You frowned. “And you decided breaking into my house was a good idea?”
He tilted his head, that devilish grin never leaving. “Actually, your dad gave me the keys. He wanted me to keep an eye on you since he’ll be late.”
You felt reality tilt for a second.
Still smiling like sin itself, Leon started toward you—not rushing, but slow, deliberate, like a predator who already knew you had nowhere to run.
“Your father’s a great man,” he murmured, closing the distance. “Can’t say the same about you.”
“Fuck you,” you snapped, turning away and preparing to bolt.
If only you’d known that was the worst thing you could do.
Leon reached you before you took a step. His arms locked around you like ropes, pulling you flush against his chest. Heat radiated through your skin the moment you touched.
“Let me go!”
“You little spoiled brat—”
You tried to jab him with your elbow, but his grip didn’t falter. His mouth brushed your neck, one hand groping your breast, thumb dragging over the hardened peak.
“My dad will kill you!” you gasped, thrashing in his hold. “You’re so fucked, you—”
He cut you off with a large palm over your mouth and hauled you up, dragging you toward the nearest surface—a broad dining table. He set you down hard, breath ragged, no pretense of tenderness.
As if you were nothing but a prize.
The one he thought he deserved all along.
Leon ignored all your attempts to free yourself, just as he ignored your threats about your dad and everything else. His hands caught your wrists above your head, and he used the moment to slip his free palm into your wet warmth.
The fact that you were soaking was fucking scandalous.
“Oh, so you’re getting off on this?” he rasped with a devilish curl of his lips, his fingers delving deeper into your core as the nightgown failed to hide a thing. “Fantasized about getting taken like this?”
“You—are sick!”
He chuckled, parting your soaped lower lips with a squelchy sound that made both of you gasp. “And you’re dripping like a waterfall,” His fingers moved like clockwork between your folds until he tried to push them inside—only to stall when he met resistance. “No way.”
You wanted to kick him, but he was already settling between your legs as if he owned them.
“I can’t believe the girl who acted like a whore turned out to be a virgin…” he murmured, though his fingers didn’t stop exploring. “Well, I guess it makes sense in the end.”
“Shut—” You hiccupped as he pushed his long digits inside—it hurt, a lot. “Stop—stop—Leon!”
Your voice cut through him. “Too late for that, honey.”
Your hands clung to his shoulders in a weak attempt to resist, but he was too strong. Leon’s fierce, warm mouth found your nipples through the nearly transparent gown—you whimpered at the sting of his teeth as he locked them around your tip.
“You sound so good like that,” he murmured against your chest before trailing a wet stripe between your breasts. “Better than I ever imagined.”
His pants were already half undone; the zipper slipped open with a slow, mocking sound that sent a jolt through you. Panting, you didn’t want to look down—in fact, you didn’t even want to see his face—but his hand hooked under your chin, forcing you to meet his bright, ice-cold eyes.
Leon kissed you roughly, his tongue prying your lips open until you screamed into his mouth as his fingers plunged deeper. “Mmmm—” you cried. “You—I—hate—you—”
He pulled back, breathless, watching your body give in.
The sight made his cock twitch in his grip. He didn’t bother undressing you completely—just pulled the straps of your nightgown down so your tits spilled free, full and heavy, tempting him beyond control.
“Gonna hurt a bit, but you’ll take it, right?” Leon husked, giving himself a few strokes before pressing against your soaked, virgin heat. “You used to be so brave—now’s the time to prove it.”
His fat tip pushed in mockingly slow, stretching you until your legs trembled—but he kept going. Leon’s blond bangs shadowed half his face, yet you could tell he was smirking. Each broken wail that left your throat only fed his ego.
You knew it—but you couldn’t stop it.
“Shhhhit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough enough to make your stomach twist.
Eyes squeezed shut, he gripped your legs to keep them open, nearly hiking them over your shoulders as he pressed into you fully. You didn’t speak—no protests, no pleas, nothing. You just wanted to survive, certain that someday, the consequences would catch up with him.
The only sound that filled the room was the slap of flesh against flesh. Leon’s hips drove into you with brutal rhythm, his thick length tearing you apart until your nails nearly split against the table surface. It was too much—you were ready to faint.
And maybe you should have.
It would’ve spared you from seeing him jerk himself off when he pulled out, spilling all over your belly, your tits, and even your face.
Imagine being an intern at Vought and Working for the Seven
You weren’t supposed to last more than a week.
That’s what everyone said about Vought Tower interns. Bright-eyed college grads came in thinking it’d be glamorous brushing elbows with gods only to quit after Homelander barked at them or The Deep tried something “weirdly spiritual.”
But you didn’t quit.
But somehow, you were different.
You didn’t flatter, you didn’t fawn. You just worked. When The Deep forgot his media talking points before a live interview, you calmly repeated them while adjusting his mic. When Starlight’s PR team was late sending her cue cards, you made new ones yourself. You even got Black Noir’s smoothie order right on the first try no nuts, no dairy, two shots of espresso.
No one ever got it right the first time.
They noticed.
Homelander was the first to test you. He’d appear behind you while you worked, smiling with that shark grin.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he’d say. “You’re still here? Most interns burn out fast.”
You’d look up from your clipboard, deadpan.
“Maybe they weren’t getting paid enough.”
That earned a sharp laugh. He liked your nerve liked it enough to stop trying to break it. Over time, he’d watch you from a distance, puzzled when you didn’t swoon or stumble around him. You were polite, respectful, but not impressed. That, somehow, made him… protective. Possessive, in a weirdly domestic way. He’d start intercepting any other supe who talked down to you.
You never asked why.
Queen Maeve grew to like you the most. You didn’t look at her like a fallen goddess, you treated her like a actual person. Once, when she came into PR half-drunk, you handed her black coffee and said quietly, “I’ll stall Ashley for ten minutes.”
Maeve blinked at you. No judgment. No pity. Just… understanding.
After that, she’d sometimes find you in the break room and sit in silence beside you, scrolling through her phone. No words needed.
A-Train liked that you didn’t kiss his ass. When he tried to flirt, you just raised an eyebrow.
“Save it for TMZ, superstar.”
He laughed, a little embarrassed, and started treating you like a friend. He’d even toss you a water bottle when he passed by.“Stay hydrated, girl, you look like you actually work around here.”
The Deep was easy. You helped him rehearse interviews without mocking him something no one else bothered to do. He started calling you his “career coach,” even though you mostly just sighed and said, “Don’t talk about dolphins.”
Starlight adored you. You reminded her that not everyone at Vought was corrupt. You shared snacks, rolled your eyes at Ashley together, and sometimes she’d ask, half-joking, “You sure you’re not secretly a supe? No one survives this place with a soul intact.”
Even Noir liked you. You once left a sticky note on his locker: Thanks for scaring away that reporter who tried to follow me to my car. The next morning, there was a small wrapped candy bar on your desk. No note.
You didn’t think you’d last this long. But somehow, amidst all the chaos, backstabbing, and explosions of ego, you became part of the Seven’s rhythm a quiet, grounding constant.
Not a hero. Not a fan.
Just the last intern standing.
And weirdly, that made you the most respected human in the Tower.
Note: For more content, follow me on https://www.tumblr.com/sammyquarius
OMGGG WAIT TWDG REQUESTS R OPEN IM, I don't write 4 them but I sure would if i found people who like this masterpiece, I'm sending in a request feel free to not do it if u dont have the in sports, just let me know 👀
okay so may i request maybe fluff headcanons w Luke (my man😫)
btw im so sorry again for almost blocking u but we have lots of fandoms in common and i think we could get along pretty well- i swear im not mean💀
It's really no problem, I'll be careful not to spam like before. I'm sure we'll get along great too! 🦇💖
Luke TWDG Fluff Hc
You met in Winter, you were scavenging around before it got dark making sure no one was around and if there were any hidden supplies around.
That's when you spotted a man crawling his way out of the frozen lake, seemed like he fell in and was desperately trying to get out. You pondered for a moment, you didn't know this man... He could be dangerous. He could have been part of a dangerous group, but then again you didn't know if you could spare anytime it was getting dark quickly.
But when he spotted you and you stared at each other, you looked at his brown eyes, his wet hair, and finally his blue-tinted lips.
He was gonna freeze to death if you didn't help... And you would feel guilty if he did and you didn't try to help even a little.
Now here you and Luke were, you both wandered around and found a small home that even had some small bags of food that were still good.
He definitely told you about his old group, about how they were trying to make it to a house but he ended up falling through and thought he was done for.
He honestly thought he was too
He likes to talk about the two young girls he considered to be his 'little sisters' Sarah and Clementine were their names, and he laughs about how sweet yet scary Clem could be sometimes when he was in that group.
Sometimes he has nightmares about what happened in his group with Carver/Bill, about Kenny and his Eye, Sarah and her dad, Beca turning... He fears what happened to Alvin, and how worried he is about the group with the new baby.
He likes to be cuddled on those nights, he curls in on himself and lets you wrap your arms around him.
Luke can be very playful, he likes to play races with you when you both do anything that involves traveling, mostly when you are scavenging.
Luke doesn't like the idea of moving camp, even though the little house you found has some unrepairable damage and food is getting low he hates the idea of traveling after what happened to his group when they had to leave their home
Luke loves when you kiss his forehead as comfort and he always kisses your nose in response back to it.
Ok, I would write more but the HCs are all random I will do a better Hc for him that has a bit more structure, I hope this is fun to read anyway. 😭
not proofread ✍️ but edited cause I forgot to cut out a part I left in til now 😵💫
Title from a RE4 Merchant quote 😝
have some brain rot that wouldn’t leave (but don’t expect more! 😜)
part i >>> part iii
❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀
“I have something I think you’ll like,” his voice calls out to you as you slip around the corner, walking into the halo of his purple torches.
“Oh?” you return, grinning at him like you’re not covered in dirt and blood and the viscera of someone else’s insides.
He chuckles and opens his ridiculously large jacket up, showcasing some shiny new baubles and trinkets; however, it’s the dull metal of a scope that catches your eye and pulls you to his table.
“Thought it might interest ya,” his voice comes out light and teasing making your eyes flash to him, head tilting in curiosity.
“How much?”
“How much d’ya have to offer, stranger?”
You don’t miss the hungry gleam in his eyes as you look through your pockets. Placing two gold ingots and some sapphires on the table, he clicks his tongue.
“Doesn’t look like that’s enough cash.”
Heat pulses through your pussy at his rough voice, clit already throbbing in your panties—still dirty from the last encounter.
“Oh that’s too bad,” you pout at him, body language open, “is there another offer you might accept?”
“There is,” he nods, reaching over the table for your hand.
Once you take his rough hand into yours, he guides you around the wooden furniture to his side. He presses you against the wall, his bulky mass dwarfing you making you moan softly.
“Haven’t even started yet,” he laughs, low and deep, “can you be a good girl for me?”
“Yes,” you gasp out at him, hips rocking to meet his but growing frustrated with his coat blocking his lower body, “please.”
He shucks his pack off onto the table and slips his jacket off, along with his hood, making your eyes widen in surprise. Turning back to you, he’s still bulky but now it’s just him. Meaty pecs covered in a smattering of chest hair that leads down to his stomach and thick happy trail. Mouth watering, your eyes eagerly rake down his body, taking in how fit he actually is underneath all the wares.
But you’re more excited to see him without the hood. Dark tousled hair, offset by deep blue eyes watch you in amusement while his mask covers the lower half of his face still.
“See something you like, stranger?”
“Oh,” you murmur, feeling caught out, “I just didn’t expect…”
You trail off, feeling hot under his gaze as he takes his turn to look you over.
“Well now, this won’t do,” he murmurs dragging his palms down your sides, grabbing the hem of your shirt and lifting until he’s pulling it completely off of you.
Shivering, you let him run his rough hands over your bare skin, the heat seeping into your muscles making you relax into his touches until you’re as docile as a kitten. He ghosts over the nipples showing through your bra to cup a hand around your neck and tilt your head back so he can meet your eyes.
“Pretty little thing,” he murmurs, voice hushed and reverent as your eyelashes flutter, brain pleasantly quiet as he smooths his other hand across your jaw and cups it.
His thumb presses in on your bottom lip and you part your lips to swipe your tongue over it, inviting him to press it into your mouth.
He obliges you, eyes heated and dark as he presses his thumb into your mouth and down onto your tongue, letting saliva pool around around the warm digit.
“What I wouldn’t give to taste that mouth,” he rumbles, his voice making your skin tingle.
“You can,” it comes out softer than you intended since you were aiming for sultry, “I can close my eyes again, if I have to.”
“Oh you can, hmm?” he teases you making you squirm under his gaze which seems much more intense without the shade of the hood to block your view.
You kiss the pad of his thumb, “Uh huh.”
He sighs a little, hands moving completely away leaving you with a chill.
“We’ll save it for next time,” he compromises, “now let’s get down to business.”
You pop open the button on your jeans and slide down the zipper, pushing it along with your panties down to your thighs before he’s grabbing your wrists to pin you in place.
“Allow me,” he holds your wrists in one hand as his fingers glide across your slippery clit.
“Still wet from last time, ey?”
You moan when he shoves two thick fingers into your pulsing cunt.
“Pretty pussy still dripping my cum,” his voice rumbles low in his chest, eyes dilated and heavy as they stare at you.
His fingers scissor your hole open before slowly plunging back inside your fluttering walls making you mewl.
“Please, I need you inside,” you gasp as he rubs across the spongy spot at the front of your pussy, “oh, oh god.”
“Mmm, I’d pay a pretty penny to keep you like this,” his masked mouth presses a covered kiss to your neck.
He pulls his fingers out of your pussy with a slick noise and shoves his pants midway down his thighs.
“Fuck you’re so big,” you whine, eyes hazy with need.
He chuckles and strokes his cock once, the fat head dripping precum.
“It fit once already, love,” he murmurs to you, pressing his fat tip into your clenching heat and sinking into your body.
Shuddering as he sinks inch by thick inch deep into your wet pussy, your hips cant towards him until his pelvis presses flush against you.
“Best cunt I’ve ever had,” he growls, pulling his slick shiny dick halfway out before sinking it back into your fluttering walls.
You whine, fingers curling into fists as he keeps a tight hold on your wrists. His free hand slips down to pinch and rub your swollen clit until you’re continually squeezing down on his cock.
“Want me to cum inside this juicy cunt?” his deep voice makes your nipples ache.
“Please, s’only a fair trade, right?” you tease him, laugh morphing into a keening moan as he bullies his cock hard against your g-spot.
He spanks his fingertips across your pudgy clit, gloves rough against your pussy lips.
“That’s right, love,” he chuckles as he humps his cock deeper and harder into your squelching hole, “fair is fair.”
He spanks your clit again as he frees up your wrists.
“Spread that sweet little cunt for me,” your eyes have a hard time pulling away from his mask covered face, the sight making your thighs clamp together.
Your hands reach down and grab your pussy lips, spreading open your cunt so your pudgy little clit is on obvious display.
“Beautiful,” he mutters, eyes staring down at your exposed pussy.
You cry out as he spanks your swollen clit hard.
Again.
And again.
And again.
You’re drooling all down your chin as each slap sends white hot electricity all through your pussy making slick gush all over his thrusting cock.
Your orgasm hits you like a freight train making you wail as he repeatedly spanks your pulsing clit as you clamp down, milking his fat throbbing dick.
“Good girl,” he praises, moving his hands to grip your waist, hammering up into your spasming pussy.
With a rumbling groan, he buries his cock balls deep and cums, hot spurts of sticky jizz filling your cunt until it drips past your stuffed hole.
Once you both come down from the aftershocks, he slips out making you whine at the empty feeling once again. He only chuckles and helps you pull up your panties, eyes dark and hungry as he covers up your cum dripping pussy.
You gasp when he smacks your cloth covered mound.
“Gotta say, stranger, you’re my favorite customer.”
