It started off as nothing more than a private dance. Nothing special, nothing crazy. Your guy was respectful, he was quiet, sat back in the gaudy leopard printed loveseat and watched what he paid you for. His legs were far and spread, a glass of something dark sat on his knee, his large hand barred over the rim, lazily tracing over his knee with the glass, the liquor swirling around at the bottom from his languid movements.
He watched you attentively, his eyes tracing over your curves and the way you moved to the song he requested, watched your body flow and gyrate so beautifully it made the whole scene feel more classy than what it really was.
And when you had finally turned around, one heel put in front of the other until you stood between his parted legs, he didn’t stiffen, he didn’t get tense or nervous, he just grinned a half lax smile, craning his head up to look at you properly. “You enjoyin’ yourself?” you asked, glittery and glistening like a lace clad angel born from something corrupt and decadent.
He nodded, pursing his lips in a downturned smile, bringing the rim of his drink up to his mouth, taking a sip from it. “As much as anyone could watchin’ a sweet thing like you move.”
You were flattered, and not with the feigned bashful act you usually put on just to get an extra tip out of whatever creep you were entertaining for the night, but actually flattered.
You paused, eyes flickering between his until you suddenly bent down to straddle his lap like an agile cat, the pretty corners of your lips drawing up as you became face to face with him. Your knees sunk into the cushions on either side of his thighs, your arms wrapped around his neck while you sat right atop his bulge, pussy barely covered by the flimsy excuse of a thong you had on.
Deciding to treat him to something you never offer to any of your other clients — access to touch you, to feel you. You heard the quiet but sharp breath he took through his nose, saw how the muscle in his thigh jumped, and you grinned, a stir of excitement beginning to ripple in your lower belly.
You rolled back and forth slowly, letting him feel your warmth envelop his denim covered cock, your clit throbbing at the friction that came with every little buck of your hips. His jaw came down tight, his head falling back with his hands gripped at his sides, one of which holding onto that glass for dear life, not daring to scare you off with his heavy handed touch.
But that wouldn’t do, you wanted him to feel you up, to continue appreciating you the way you wanted to be. You plucked the glass from his hand, setting it on the counter beside him, purposefully pressing your breasts against his chest. When you pulled back, you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands over your hips, molding your smaller hand on top of his, making him indent his fingers into your flesh.
And then…
He had your cheek smushed into the armrest of the loveseat, two thick fingers hooked into your cheek, with his fat cock buried in your cunt, the obscene plap sound only barely concealed by the thumping music just outside the door.
The hot pink lighting in the room made the thong of yours he had wrapped around his fist sparkle, and he chuckled at the sight, tugging on it harder like it was a leash, slamming into you nice and hard.
“You treat all your customers like this? Let them have a joy ride in this lil’ pussy?” he asked through an airy grunt, sliding his fingers from out your mouth to curl all five digits around your jaw until your cheeks squished together, craning down to watch you struggle to speak.
“N-no,” you babbled tearfully, pretty done up eyes now smeared along with your lipstick, shaking your head through his tight grip. “Aw,” he cooed patronizingly, letting you bury your face back into the armrest as he buried himself in you, groaning with relief at the way your cunt fluttered around him. “Makes me feel real special.” he exhaled, slapping a calloused hand into the fat of your ass.
“How much extra to cum inside this little cunt then, sweetheart?”
Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun, KENNY ACKERMAN, TOJI FUSHIGURO, Joseph Joestar (oldseph), Hol Horse, game! Joel Miller, Arthur Morgan, WORST UNIVERSE LOGAN HOWLETT, Dabi, Hawks, Javier Peña, Carmy Berzatto, Keishin Ukai, Dr. Franken Stein, Quaritch, JIRAIYA, NEGAN SMITH, Reno Sinclair, and your favorite husband!
a/n : pls accept this while i work on my next aot post >.<
I love all the posts abt the JL not knowing Captain Marvel is a kid but sometimes I wonder if they know about Ronnie being a dumbass high schooler.
Bare with me here cuz I love Firestorm but I’ve like…never read one of his comics or consumed any media about him outside of Justice League Action (I love him in JL Action)
But like in my head Dr Stein somehow figured out Billy being a kid and told Ronnie so now they have a secret “secretly kids in the Justice League” alliance that no one else knows about.
Billy thinks Ronnie’s the coolest person ever on account of Ronnie being an older teenager/kid, and Ronnie loves the ego boost and the little gremlin he just made friends with.
Like imagine this:
In a JL meeting
Batman: There was only around 6 or 7 injuries during the last attack on Metropolis.
Billy and Ronnie give each other the look, Ronnie does the hand gesture as Stein sighs and then they both burst out laughing while everyone else looks at them like they’re crazy.
Superman: …Huh…must be some kind of inside joke…
Flash: THEY HAVE INSIDE JOKES WITHOUT US?!
Wonder Woman: They’re clearly very close, I wonder why?
Martian Manhunter: I think I’ve solved it…there could only be one reason…they’re so close because-
No, I don't know a single thing about a single celebrity. But this fictional man? this extremely sad, traumatized man? Why yes, I hold an encyclopedic amount of knowledge of him in my silly brain. Why do you ask?
