froggi yaps -> trying to give our underappreciated men a little more love so here is some guy and johnstantine <3 i know this one is a little silly but i hope you guys still enjoy :p
Wally:
“Honey, I’m home!” Wally calls, rounding the corner of his apartment with a bag of pastries in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other.
He freezes in his tracks when he sees you, mouth going slack and coffee teetering in his hands. When he’d left you this morning, sound asleep in his bed, looking like you belong there, you certainly hadn’t been dressed like that.
“W-what are you wearing?” He swallows, looking you up and down.
Heat rushes to your face, embarrassment fluttering in your chest. Wally sets down his bounties before he accidentally drops them and goes back to staring, looking at the pair of Flash boxers that are definitely his.
“Sorry! Um, you kinda wrecked my underwear last night and I didn’t want to just be around the house naked so I borrowed something but I can take them off if you—”
“No!” He says it a little too quickly, grinning ear to ear. “Keep em on, you look hot.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I-I do?”
You certainly hadn't considered the plain baggy tee and men’s boxers you swiped from him would make you look hot of all things, especially not with sleep still in your eyes.
Wally’s in front of you in an instant, hands roaming your hips. “Mhm.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, lips ghosting over your ear, “gonna have to rip your underwear off more often.”
Dick:
Dick’s home early from patrol, the moon still out. You should be asleep and yet, here you are: puttering the house for chores, a load of laundry in the wash and a rack of dishes in the dishwasher.
“Sweetheart?” He calls, kicking his shoes off at the door. “You’re still awake?”
You round the corner with a sleepy smile, happy to see him, only for his mouth to fall open when he sees you. You’re completely shirtless, dressed only in a pair of Superman boxers that look all too familiar to him.
“Hi, baby,” you smile. “How was patrol?”
He swallows, throat bobbing, before grinning like an idiot. “Good, what’s with all this?’
You look down at your figure, specifically the red coloured waistband of the boxers you’d swiped from Dick. “Oh, I just threw something on while I do laundry.”
He reaches for you, beckoning you into his arms so his hands can roam the expanse of your sides. He breathes you in, enjoying the feeling of your bare skin beneath the callouses of his hands.
“You look so sexy in my underwear,” he murmurs in your ear, lips teasing the side of your neck. “Need to give me a warning next time.”
“Mhm, or what?”
He smirks against your skin, whispering something so diabolical into your ear that it sends heat between your legs.
You blink. “Yes, sir.”
Hal:
“Is this okay?”
Hal leans back against the couch, still half-asleep. “Is what okay?”
You gesture to your outfit, or more accurate, lack thereof. Dressed in his boxers and a wifebeater you stole from his closet, your own clothes in the wash, you can’t help but feel a little shy in front of him.
“I’m confused.”
You blink. “The clothes. I borrowed your clothes.”
If Hal wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now. He blinks, brown eyes suddenly wide and taking in the sight of you. His underwear. You’re wearing his underwear, and fuck, they look like they were made for you.
You tilt your head slightly, pursing your lips to fight your smile. “Hal? Earth to Hal?”
“Fuck, sweetheart, don’t look at me like that.”
You prop a hand on your hip. “Or what?”
You have no time to react before he’s engulfing you in his arms and pulling you into his lap, snaring you against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck, early morning stubble rubbing against your skin.
“Or I’m gonna have to take those off of you.”
Barry:
Barry’s not sure what he’s expecting when he wakes up, hair a mess and sleep still in his eyes, but it’s certainly not you, standing at his bedside with a coffee in your hands, dressed in his underwear.
“Good morning,” you say sweetly.
He swallows, pushing himself up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “G’morning.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Good, good.” He looks you up and down before locking his vision on the sun streaming through his window, doing his best to ignore the way his plane-printed boxers sit on your figure. “I don’t mind but…are you wearing my underwear?”
Your mouth falls open, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine, really.”
“I went to make you coffee and I—I accidentally spilled a bunch on myself and I didn’t want to just be naked…I’m sorry, this must be so weird for you.”
“Seriously, don’t be.” He reaches a hand for you, waiting for you to take it before tugging you into the bed and wrapping you up in your arms. “You look hot,” he mumbles into your ear.
“Mhm?”
He nods into you, pressing himself closer until you can feel his morning wood. “Mhm.”
Roy:
You’re gone when Roy wakes up, the warmth of your figure nestled into his side long gone. He frowns, sitting up and tossing the sheets to the side. It’s a small apartment—two bedrooms, comfortable enough for him and Lian when he has her. You can’t have gone far.
He finds you in the small closet that houses his laundry machine, curled up on the floor with a deep frown on your face. You’re so twisted up that you don’t even notice him come in, or notice the way he’s staring at your choice of attire.
Boxers, his boxers, under the baggy t-shirt he’s gone to bed in.
Roy squats to the floor in front of you, reaching a gentle hand to rest on your shoulder. “You okay, sweetheart?”
You blink, looking up at him with tired eyes. “My cramps are so bad right now.”
The gears turn in the backs of his mind. Something clicks. “Is that why you’re in my underwear?’
“I bled through mine,” you nod solemnly. “But I found a tampon and—and mine should be clean any minute now.”
Roy leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Keep em as long as you need, baby, but let’s get you off the floor, hm?”
You hum in agreement, letting Roy’s arms fall around your body and lift you off of the floor. “I love you,” you murmur.
He kisses the side of your head. “I love you too.”
Kyle:
Kyle’s beat when he walks through the door, ready to collapse in his bed and sleep for the rest of his life if he can. The mission he’d just returned from was gruelling, his entire body aching and stiff.
He stops in his tracks when he opens the door and finds you asleep in his bed, wearing his boxers and hugging his pillow like it’s a person. A smile comes to his face. Oh, this is too cute.
Kyle pulls out his phone and snaps a few pictures before flopping into the bed next to you and tugging your back into his chest. You blink awake slowly, unfurling your limbs like a cat stretching out in the sun.
“Babe?” You ask, voice still heavy with sleep.
He kisses your shoulder, “hi, baby.”
You smile sleepily, resting a hand over his. “I missed you so much.”
“Mhm, is that why you’re wearing my underwear?”
You nod. “Wearing your shirt, too. Wanted to smell like you.”
Kyle flushes at that. Wanted to smell like you. Like his smell is comforting to you or something.
He presses another kiss to your shoulder. “You’re real cute, you know that?”
“Dork.”
John:
You’re awake. That’s the first thing John notices when he reenters his apartment, fresh off his cigarette break, and finds you leaned against the counter in front of his french press. The second thing he notices is the grey fabric clinging low on your hips, the Calvin Klein waistband sticking out like a sore thumb.
He pauses, admiring the way the sunlight pours through the window and makes you glow. “G’morning, love.”
Your head perks up, a smile on your face. “Hey, you’re back.”
He closes the distance between the two of you, spinning you around so that your back is leaning against the counter and your chest is facing him. He slides his hands down your sides, thumbs tracing your hips.
“Don’t think these are quite your size, love.”
You roll your eyes at his teasing. “Well, my underwear have mysteriously disappeared., and I don’t think you mind the view.”
“It’s a lovely view,” he smirks, tugging you closer. “Shame about your underwear, though. I’m sure they'll turn up.”
You shake your head, laughing at his antics. “You think so?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
You tilt your head up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “I guess I’ll just have to keep wearing yours, then.”
Guy:
“It’s not that bad.”
“You’re bleeding like a stuck pig,” Guy sighs, tugging your shirt over your head.
You freeze. “Did you just call me a pig?”
“It’s a metaphor or whatever.”
Your eyes roll at your boyfriend, currently fretting over the injuries you sustained on a mission together. Nothing but some cuts and bruises thankfully, but a lot of blood to go with it.
“Here,” he says, turning on the shower. “Get in.”
You hesitate for a minute, shimmying out of the rest of your dirt clothes.
“What? Do you need me in there with you or something?”
“You wish.”
Guy retreats out of the bathroom, not wanting to push you when you already seem to be in a mood, and you climb into the warm water of the shower. You take your sweet time getting clean, frowning at the sight of Guy’s 3-in-1 body wash, shampoo and conditioner.
It’s when you climb out of the shower that you realize your mistake: your clothes are tattered and bloody, and you don’t have any spares.
Guy’s sitting on the couch, flipping through the tv and eating cold strips of steak with his hands when you emerge from his bedroom. He narrows his eyes, examining the outfit you’re wearing.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” He flashes you a toothy grin, looking like he’s going to eat you. “Those are my underwear, yeah?”
You nod, somewhat embarrassed. “My clothes are dirty, so…”
Guy pats his lap, beckoning you to come sit with him. He traces a hand up your thigh, rubbing at the spot where the fabric of his boxers meets the skin of your leg.
“Can wear em as long as you want, doll, so long as you look so damn good in them.”
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thanks for reading & have a wonderful week /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡
If you look close enough, you might see a wagging tail and perked up dog ears on his head when you thank him, whether its for him shielding you from an attack or simply holding the door open for you, his eyes soften and he bites his lip in an attempt to stop the dopey grin threatening to overtake his face (he fails). A “you did good” from you is enough to raise his spirits, any fatigue he once felt now gone. Everyone notices his doglike behaviour, even himself. But he’s more than happy to act like a stray begging for scraps of affection when it comes to you. (Please stroke his head—)
Booster Gold, Johnny Storm (“Who’s my good boy?” “ME!”), Roy Harper, Kyle Rayner (Plans out things to do to impress you the night before and gets disheartened when you seem indifferent and refuses to tell you why he’s in such a mood), Kurt Wagner (his tail physically reacts to your praise causing his cheeks to darken, yet his grin remains bright; a devoted man)
He laughs it off, partly due to not being willing to completely accept the compliment and casually redirects your attention. Later, he replays your words and finds himself wanting to hear more from you, even if he thinks you’re being a bit too generous with him. It’s not that he’s unused to praise, but it feels more…precious coming from you. Subconsciously starts trying to appeal to you more through acts of service or bringing you food and trinkets, and then waves off your thanks despite the satisfied look on his face.
Ted Kord (your personal IT guy but tells you that you give him heart palpitations every time you thank him), Barry Allen, Dick Grayson, Peter Parker, Wade Wilson
His thoughts and even body come to a screeching halt at your words, not expecting to hear you commend him so earnestly, suddenly feeling a rising heat at the back of his neck. He doesn’t even know why he’s going through a hard reboot right now, it’s not that he’s never been complimented before (well, maybe he might be in need of a little more love these days…), but your words fill him with a bashful sort of pride. Awkwardly compliments you back but it comes off more clumsy than intended, but at least you’re laughing.
Jean Paul Valley, Scott Summers, Bucky Barnes
He accepts your praise rather easily, the tone of your conversation remaining casual, but your words settle somewhere deep in his chest, solid and clear. He feels warm, almost like you’ve left a mark on him. So, when people notice his smiles come out more effortlessly and his shoulders have lost some tension… well, that’s something he’ll keep between you and him.
Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett, Marc Spector
Just smiles and says ‘and?’, moving closer before he tries to coax out more honeyed words, nose brushing against yours, as he tilts his head coyly. Don’t get shy on him now, he likes it when you’re sweet, it makes him greedy for more but you knew that, didn’t you? So when his fingers begin tracing patterns over your waist, don’t be surprised if he ends up asking for a little more than praise.
Hal Jordan, Wally West, Matt Murdock, Remy Lebeau
It goes to his head (…both of them) but you’re more than aware of that, and maybe you’ve taken advantage of that fact before but he’s also aware of that and is more than willing to play into your hand. But sometimes when every inch of his exposed skin is covered in scratches and bruises, his hair a tussled mess, you soften, words kinder and smile a little more genuine, and he leans into your touch, quiet for maybe the first time in his life.
Guy Gardner, Pietro Maximoff
“Um, anyway—“ Scoffs and throws in a teasing remark for good measure, but even after he redirects your attention, he feels guilty, that you think you’re beginning to really know him, see the best in him, the part of him that’s a hero, but he’s more than familiar with this scenario. He’ll disappoint you eventually. It’s what he does best, after all. He can only try to soften the blow.
Clint Barton
You smack his ass and claim it’s a compliment. He stares back at you with dead eyes.
John Stewart (could have at least gotten him some coffee first…), Bruce Wayne, Logan Howlett (gets you back as soon as your turn your back), Scott Summers (did you have to do it during a team debriefing), Marc Spector (will get you back, and the suspense may kill you)
You end up repeating something you’ve said during sex before (“good boy”, saying ‘thank you’ with a certain tone, etc) and he excuses himself with flushed face. You end up bookmarking this delightful tidbit and torment him with it.
Jason Todd, Jean Paul Valley (don’t be surprised if he gets his revenge if you push him too far)
You’ve inadvertently conditioned him. Continues to make your life easier by doing chores and trying to pamper you in attempt to get his fix. You tell him his hair looks nice, and he starts rubbing your shoulders. You might break him if you ever forget to praise him. Pavlov would be proud.
Booster Gold, Ted Kord, Guy Gardner, Johnny Storm, Peter Parker (the only one to realize what you’ve done, but quickly accepts his fate), Bucky Barnes
Pulls a reversal and ends up saying something so heartfelt and specific, you end up being the one that gets flustered.
Wally West, Dick Grayson, Matt Murdock (makes it his mission to always leave you weak in the knees with just his mouth—), Remy Lebeau, Kurt Wagner (his gaze is so tender, your heart almost explodes.)
The first time you met him, you expressed your admiration and he immediately fell in love.
Guy Gardner (after you get to know him more you find yourself regretting acting so starstruck because he won’t let you live it down), Wade Wilson
Finds himself in perpetual loop of you saying something nice to him and him becoming too tongue tied to saying anything back. This happens several more times before he’s able to gain a resistance to your casual praise and actually try to charm you.
Barry Allen, Kyle Rayner, Roy Harper
Mind blanks if you give him a sincere compliment and ends up saying something weird (and maybe inappropriate) back. Yes, he’s aware of his own idiocy.
Clint Barton, Pietro Maximoff (Wanda is disappointed but not surprised)
What I look like checking a specific X reader tag for the fourth time today, only to realize I’ve truly read everything…
This problem is more regular than you might think… and this being a problem in itself might also be an issue, but that’s not what we’re here to talk about 
DC men react to you sending an embarrassing photo of them
DC characters x f!reader
Genre : SMAU, fluff, suggestive
Warnings : Very suggestive - MINORS DNI.
A/n : I haven't posted in a while ik, my inspiration for working has really went out the window ngl. I have so many ideas but everytime I write them I feel like they just suck so - I'm just doing something easy but fun to write rn and that's SMAU. Plus my fav superhero of all time just had one of the greatest movies I've ever seen come out and now I really wanna write for him so here we are. Thank you James Gunn for Superman🙏🙏
synopsis: you accidentally text the dc characters, thinking you're texting someone else, that you can't stop thinking about them
including: lex, clark, jimmy, lois, michael (mr terrific), guy, kendra (hawkgirl), kara (supergirl), and bruce
a/n: first smau of a long run, lets go!!!
Scott Summers/Reader/Logan, Venom/Reader, Guy Gardner/Reader, Colossus/Reader, Reed Richards/Reader, 4.2K
a/n: i said I had never written a sex pollen fic before and @eatfeet69, @cinnamon-girl-writes, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @gr0und-zer00 and @inkievoid for helping me out :]
cw: SMUT/18+ ONLY, sex pollen, consent given on all sides, threesomes, cunnilingus, mention of breeding kink in Venom's part, choking in Reed's part, reader has a pussy and/or ambiguous genitalia and is referred to in gender-neutral terms
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PREVIEW:
Looks like everyone's got a different take on how to deal with it. Thankfully, you like their ideas.
Marvel/Reader, DC/Reader (18+)
Scott Summers/Reader/Logan
You feel as though you can’t quite remember how to circulate air through your body without deliberate, manual effort. As if there’s something trapped in the span of your throat as you stand before them. Watching as they sit on the cots that they’ve been assigned, breathing with heavy, roiling need.
You don’t know why you’re here: and yet you do. The way that Scott’s hands clutch into the sterile sheets, the way that you can see Logan openly eyeing you up and down. The way that they are both stiff in the tenting of their pants. The way they look like they want to eat you alive.
“You both asked for me?” You finally settle upon as statement, unsure of how else to cross this meridian they’ve set up. Watching as they have to physically focus on the question in different manner; so distracted they are by internal dialogue of plans they intend to do to you.
“Only way I could stand to stay in the room with Summers.” Logan sends back—his jaw twitches, works as he swallows. Licks his lips as his eyes drag down your legs.
Scott picks up the slack, trying to sound more composed—but there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tries to remain composed. But even that’s cracking.
“We need you—”—And there's no mistaking that tone of voice—“—To help us. If you’re willing.”
Hope against hope strains him on the edge of the bed, waiting on tenterhooks for your response. His knuckles clutching so tight they jut white through the housing of his skin.
“I mean—of course.” You say. Logan’s shoulders jump like he means to have you there on the floor, but he resists it.
“Only—”—Your voice is halting, fleeting, embarrassed—“I don’t want to make things worse when you’re back to normal.”
Logan chuckles and it’s a ragged noise, something bitter in the intonation of the chord.
“Honey, you’re the only thing that’ll take us back to normal.” He grits through the champ of his teeth. “We been thinkin’ about you for a long time.”
If you had any coherent response, it’s washed away clean from the slate of your mind with this as he continues, staring at the button of your jeans. It’s obvious what he wants to do.
“Think you’re the only thing that’ll keep us in line.” Logan informs you. And you start at this.
“What?” A flush of heat runs under your skin at “keep us in line—”—are you even going to be able to walk after this? Do you even want to when these two men are making such desperate, mouthwatering displays of themselves?
“It’s true.” Scott chuffs out a pained breath to the ground, obviously desperate for relief. “He’s telling the truth.”
Under such duress, you know that he’s not lying. Not from the way Logan licks his pink tongue against the full of his lips. Your mind races.
“Oh. So—”—You let your voice peter out and dissolve into the air. What can you say? When they want so badly to fuck you? When you’re already tempted to absolve conversation and satisfy what they need?
“You wanna keep fucking after this, we can.” Logan asserts. It’s clear he's reaching some kind of agonizing threshold with no immediate relief in sight.
“But right now—”—His eyes practically roll over dark—“—Let us blow off some steam.”
“Are you okay with that?” Scott asks, looking directly to you. Hoping against hope.
You know your answer. “Yes.”
This is how you find yourself spread in between the two of them, Logan’s thick cock sinking into your entrance with such wonderful stretch you nearly come on the spot.
But Scott’s cock pressing into your hole makes any coherent thought, nothing but a deep, guttural, animal noise escape you. Scott’s arms tug around you, keeping you steady as he utters curses about how good you feel, how good you’re taking him, how much he needs you—
“Take this,” Logan says. Before you can comprehend through the whited-out plane of your mind, he stuffs two fingers into your mouth that you start to suck on without hesitation.
Greedy, wanting noises as you work your tongue around his knuckles. And then his hips start to roll into you, making delightfully obscene noise as he drags his length in and out of you.
Angry, rutting thrusts like he means to make you take his cock like you owe him something. And all you can do are make muffled noises of overstimulation into his hand; not that you would ever want to stop.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Logan groans as he slams his hips into you, hard enough to bruise later. Scott is busy fucking your hole, mouthing sloppy kisses at your pulse, his hands working at your nipples.
Each lick, each pinch drives you crazy, makes your eyes roll back in your head as your whimpers are muffled by the digits you lick like your life depends on it.
“Think—”—Scott moans, his statement catching as he sheathes himself inside you and you tilt your head off of Logan’s fingers with a wet pop—“—Think they look good like this—”
All you do is collapse back on Scott’s chest as his tacky palms knead at your chest, working to make your skin aflame with tactile sensation. Each time his fingers clutch at you is in tandem with the way he jumps his hips against you, bobbing you on his cock. And further pushing Logan deeper into you.
“God—”—You cry out in ecstasy, as Logan leans forward to catch one of your nipples in your mouth and bite. As Scott catches your earlobe in his teeth and sucks. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—”
As you do, full-bodied and with a keening wail, you know it’s far from your last. Especially as they continue to savage you with their mouths and the works of their ever-determined hands.
Venom/Reader
They find you, flustered and overstimulated, humping a pillow in your shared bed. The sight is enough to make something roar to life in the meter of them both: except for the tear tracks that have dried down your cheeks.
Except for the fact that your hole is stuffed with a vibrator he’s used on you before, but never at full speed. As you look at them with such abject relief: but don’t do anything to greet them.
So Eddie comes to you, as you paw desperately at his shirt. As you beg, “Come fuck me—please, Eddie, please.”
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Eddie asks, though Venom doesn’t care to ask questions when he can satisfy.
You’re trembling, shaking through another unfulfilling orgasm, your mouth caught in half-helpful ecstasy— “—I got blasted by this weird pollen—”—Your voice catches in Eddie’s arms as you try to unbutton his shirt—
“They say there’s only one cure.” You look at him with half-lidded eyes even though your head is already lolling back on lazy, fucked-out swivel. Even though it’s clearly not enough, even though it’s clear that you need what Eddie can give. What Venom is demanding within that he give you right now.
“I—”—Eddie searches, thinks of a past incident where Peter went through something like this, and realizes there is a first for everything. You're already making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.
“You can’t be serious.” He starts. But makes no move to halt you as you continue to work. All the while your hips keep grinding in maddening display.
“I am. Please—”—Your hands make quick work of his belt, starting to drag on the glide of his zipper, “I need you.”
There’s no denying the lust in your eyes, the way you scald to the touch. The way the pillowcase you keep riding is soaked with you. The way you’re trying to persuade him to touch you, to do anything.
He can’t resist. Not when you give yourself on platter like this.
“Okay, honey—”—He says—the sigh you make is guttural—“—I’ll do it.”
You make a breathless laugh that halts around another approaching orgasm. But your voice breaks through clearly enough in audible manner.
“Both of you.” You hold his gaze. “Please.”
“We thought you’d never ask, sweetness.” Venom says. And then it’s not Eddie who’s driving the car anymore. It’s your other man, who hulks over you in such dominating fashion in such blink-of-an-eye speed you can barely register it. All you can do is sigh in relief.
This doesn’t last long; you’ve barely comprehended how you’ve ended up with your ass in the air, on all fours. Venom hasn’t taken care to remove the vibrator—he pushes it in deeper, the way your toes curl and you groan in delight summoning a growl.
“Think you can take us all, sweetness?” He asks, and you feel the press of that cock against you. The one that you and Eddie have tried to work you to with little success.
But all three of you can tell something’s different. Especially when you beg, “Yes, yes, yes—do it!”
“So wet for us,” Venom’s finger sinks into you and you greedily push back for more relief, “So good already.”
“Please,” you cry into the sheets you’re pushed into. “Please—”
Venom needs no further encouragement. When he slides into you, spearing you on that impossibly wide length, stretching you open—all you can do is open your moth, though no sound escapes. Though your eyes have wrenched closed and your fingers have fallen slack against the sheets.
“Good,” Venom makes throaty chuckle as he continues to work into you with so little effort. You’re so wet and aroused that if you were in proper state of mind you’d be embarrassed. But all you can focus on is the way that you finally feel full. You finally feel like the orgasm you get will be satisfying.
“So nice,” Venom hisses, “Maybe we’ll fuck you fat with kids, sweetness—like that, huh?”
His claws dig into you—you moan, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“Like thinking about having our kids, sweetness?” He works further into you, deeper, deeper still. Still not enough. “Getting bred?”
“Breed me,” you beg. “Breed me.”
“Don’t ask twice,” Venom coos—and he hits the back. You sag into the sheets, though this is no trouble for your man, who lifts you easily.
“Don’t worry,” Venom says as he holds you flush against his chest, cold, unblemished, smooth. “We’ll make sure this takes. We’ll make sure you like it a lot, sweetness.”
You can’t tell if he's serious or not. But when he lifts you bodily off the length of his cock and then sinks you back down with ease, filling you to the hilt—you don’t care. You want it more than anything you've ever had.
“Yeah,” Venom purrs as he fills you up, “Best you ever had.”
Guy Gardner/Reader
Guy seems marvelously in control of himself as he regards you, fully stark-naked. He’s lying on his side, letting his cock bob in such tantalizing motion that it’s so difficult to be able to keep your eyes riveted on his own.
“Nice’a you to stop by, sweetheart.” Guy grins as he watches you, shifts that shelf of muscles that makes up his toned stomach. Lets you see the way his biceps gleam with sweat he seems disinclined to give any attention to right now. His arm coils, framing the display of his body.
“You look real good right now.” He says, and at this, you swear you see his cock twitch flush against him. You have to think of something to say before you’re far too gone, past the point of no return.
“Guy?” You ask carefully, watching him with caution. He doesn’t seem anything like how they described he would be. He’s gleaming with a sheen of energy expended, for certain, and his cock is certainly at angle you’ve never seen it torqued to before—but he’s in good form. Almost a good mood, given the circumstances.
“How do you feel?” You ask, taking a careful step towards him. He chuckles, because this is a waste of a question. His thighs flex, tick out as he bends knee on the one he doesn't prop weight on. God—he’s perfect like this.
When he replies, he’s quite cheerful with his answer. “Feel like I wanna fuck ya til I gotcha creamin’ on my cock.”
You have to take a deep, circulatory breath to make sure that you heard him right—when he laughs at your lack of reaction, you can’t help but feel something flush to life. Something roll in wanting need between your legs, making your mind blissfully blank.
“You like that?” He asks, his voice drawing lower in pitch and timbre. Waiting to see what you’ve yet to say, what he’s dying for you to say.
But you can’t help but indulge the urge to needle him. To see how he’s going to hold up—even though he’s in, er, fantastic form.
“Sure you got it in you?” You ask with a smirk. The way his teeth show look likes he wants to take a bite out of you—and in several choice places.
“With this shit?” He asks, and at this, he rolls his fist up the length of his cock, letting you watch the mesmerizing show. “Baby, we’re going for days, not hours.”
You laugh, unexpected and bubbling out of you before you can stop it. “Promise?”
“Get over here.” He commands—and his smile grows ever-wider as you dutifully approach.
He wants to fuck you against the wall first, pushing you so your hands have to clutch against unerring surface as he pulls your ass back. When he fucks into you, the wet slap of his hips snap into you with such brutal need that every thrust punches the air out of you. Has your walls clenching tight around him, gasping for more as he takes care to sheath you to the hilt.
Then, Guy wants to make sure he gets to see you proper—so he has you ride him reverse cowgirl, watching as your ass bounces on the spread of his hips as his cock fucks up into you.
As his fingers grasp so tightly around the width of your waist, guiding you so dominantly as he helps you keep pace on him. When you have to stop so that you can shake and moan through your orgasm, he takes care to keep thrusting in to you to carry you to the finish line.
After, Guy wants to shake it up, so he has you sit on his face while you take your cock into his mouth—or you would try, should his tongue give you any rest. If he wasn't pumping his fingers with such aim to make you collapse on top of him, at the mercy of the way his tongue sucks at your clit.
It seems his favorite, though, is when he fucks you sideways, wrapping your legs around his waist as you bite into a pillowcase. As he slams his cock into you to the hilt with such delicious drag that all you can do is whimper into the pillowcase as he takes his fill. As he keeps fucking into you with such abandon that you know he’s nowhere near satisfied—and neither are you.
“How you doin’—”—He asks through his teeth as he leans over you in mating press, your ankles ticked over his shoulders. There’s a perfect ‘o’ on your lips as you sink your nails into his biceps, dragging them down with terrific rasp that makes him groan in pleasure.
“Perfect—”—You manage out, cock-drunk and glassy-eyed and so, so happy—”—Please don’t stop, Guy, please please please—”
“Anythin’ for my baby,” He grins as the head of his cock noses at that spot that makes you go stiff, curl your toes. Guy Gardner’s always happy to oblige for you.
Colossus/Reader
“Peter—”—You ask as you step into the room—”—why are you chained?”
Even in the throes of the pollen’s effects, he is still so clearly seized by some modicum of embarrassment. Even though his cock is so clearly visible in this metallic form, jutting against the tenting of his pants.
“I asked them to—”—He admits in that soft Russian lilt—“—I didn’t want to hurt you.”
You chuckle in disbelief; you and Peter have been through a lot of bedframes. You doubt that this will be any different than the other times.
“Let me free you,” you begin, reaching for one of the manacles that encircles his wrist. But before you can, his fingers splay out, his arm jerks against chains that would crack concrete and moves them with ease.
“Nyet—no!” There is fire, worry written in the manuscript of his syllables, as his eyes, already glassy with lust, find yours. He articulates deep breath that makes that plateau of his chest rise and fall, though it's clear it takes so much concentration to do so.
“You will do this for me—”—He continues, avoiding your eyes though it’s clear all his interest is directed towards you—“—Because I don’t wish to risk anything.”
He swallows thick, slow, his adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes find you once more, as he ruts his cock along the air to no relief.
“You are too beautiful—”—Even through the haze you can detect the sincerity—“—Too precious to me.”
Even in the throes of fuck-or-die sex pollen, he still has such a poetic way with words. As he tries to breathe but clearly struggles without salve to his troubles.
“Okay.” You say, clapping your hands against your thighs—his eyes watch the movement with such dedicated interest— “—So what do you want?”
His life depends on it. His vitals have already demonstrated sharp decline. But his face darkens in burgeoning rust, his eyes avoid yours in his shamefacedness.
“I do not mean to ask—”—He begins, something wanting but reticent in the cadence of his voice. You put a hand over his arm, feel the scorch of his metallic skin. Hear the hitched moan as you draw physical contact against him.
“Ask.” You assert with determination. “How do you want me to fuck you?”
Your thumb soothes against his skin and clears house of any other thought than pleasure.
“Please—”—He begs—“—Get on top of me. Ride me.”
And when you find yourself perched on his cock, sinking your hole down onto that curved metal shaft; his wrists jerk against the chains that do not give. His whole body shudders as he mutters whispered praise to your body, your hole, your gift to him.
“I am lost without you,” he praises in worship as you bounce on his cock. As he watches the way the flesh of your body twitches and trembles as you hold onto his calves backwards—and fuck yourself on him. Your thighs burn, your breath comes tight—but he fills you so perfectly. He was made for you.
“I am yours,” he whimpers quietly, “I am servant to your body. Bozhe moi—I am liberated by you.”
You work him all the way in he can make—pausing as you feel how impossibly full you are, how your body twitches in perfect agony—
“I am made anew with you,” Peter groans, “You are my savior.”
As he spills into you with near-roar of pleasurable relief, without softening within you, you can’t help but smile with relief. Even though you huff for lost air, your body covered in thick layer of sweat. Looks like you definitely have your work cut out for you.
Reed Richards/Reader
“Reed,” you begin, unmoored, bearing no small amount of horror as you stare at his reclined body, “You did this to yourself?”
“Just,” he grunts, a fine sheen of sweat coating his face, a long trail of exertion slinking down his slick chest, “Thought it would be a worthy pursuit for science.”
Science certainly explains the way his cock angles out in such incredible arc—to the point of painfulness. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen it so large, with such great vein that trails down the shaft, precum already dribbling down the head.
“To infect yourself with it?” You ask, licking your lips in spite of yourself. “And what’s the cure?”
“Well,” he groans as he looks at you, his cock making traitorous twitch, “We have to have sex.”
You take a step forwards. “You think once is enough?”
“The assumption,” he says, “Is that we go as long as we need to. That’s what previous studies have found.”
“Previous studies—”—You begin, breaking off abruptly. “Reed, have you done this to yourself before?”
“Yes,” he admits, “though all I had were uh, other methods to relieve pressure.”
“But now you have me,” you return, sucking through your teeth. Reaching out to touch the shaft that jolts at the curve of your palm. Precum freely dribbles down at the merest contact; you gasp.
“Yes,” Reed says, and there’s ghost of a plea in his voice that even pride, in this haze, restricts him, “And I need you.”
You make experimental pump up his cock, hear the raw, ragged noise of pleasure as you work your thumb at that sensitive bundle of nerves behind the head. And you decide to hop on.
You’ve ridden him like this before, canted your thighs up and down on the length of his cock. Groan around the way that his curve fits so perfectly into you, dragging with such deep intensity against your walls that you can only let your head fall back and moan.
But he’s not content to watch you; his hands, his arms reach out for you, his fingers going against the conceivable rules of anatomy to tug both of your hands behind your back. You let him, something wicked and wanting as he restrains you with the easy pinioning of one hand, digits wrapping around you.
“Reed—”—You begin as you relax your thighs, sink onto his cock again. As you swallow another moan that makes you dizzy.
“I can go bigger,” he murmurs, a rasping breath huffing out of him, “For you.”
“What?” You ask, confused and lost as you fuck yourself on him. And then: your sense of grounding shifts. Your hands, still tugged behind you, begin to tilt as you’re eased back—as Reed’s body moves in malleable manner—as his hand seizes around your throat.
“There we go,” Reed coos, “That’s better.”
“What do you—”—You ask, before his hand clenches with just enough pressure to help you toe the line of pain and pleasure. The groan of want you make is barely stifled by his fingers that seek to keep you trapped under his grasp—and then you feel yourself lifted.
“Reed?” You ask, confused, searching for what’s happened. Through the glassy-eyed desire, you look on in bemusement as you lean against his lower thighs, your angle adjusted to recline on him like you would a lawn chair, bathing luxuriously in the heat. As though you’re not in your husband’s lab, bound and restrained in such flustered state of nakedness.
And then—his hips roll up into you. And whatever follow-up question you were going to make is silenced. And all that escapes you is a tight, “Oh, fuck—”
You don’t know what he’s done—he's never this big. He's never this thick and wide as he fucks into you at this perfect angle that you're unable to do anything more than take it. He must be using his powers—it must be the pollen—you feel like can’t think of anything save the way your thighs tremble before him.
And how he’s still sinking into you with the rut of those desperate hips, making your walls stretch more than they ever have before. You want it more than anything else.
“Reed—”—You whine—“—Please—”
He knows what you want. So he obliges—and starts to set a pace. A quick, desperate, needy fuck to satisfy this want that’s been boiling over in the both of you. As he glides his cock that is so impossibly tight inside of you, taking every bit of space that he can as he keeps fucking that spot that has you a shaky mess.
“Oh my god—”—You’re vaguely aware of saying—”—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don't stop—”
If there’s one thing that Reed can do, it’s listen to orders. And he fucks you without resistance, without difficulty, keeping his hips tethered in singular direction, pumping it into you with such speed that your moans are broken up by each wet slap.
Each sink of his cock bookended by satisfied groan from him as he keeps you bound and helpless. As you try to work your hips, arch your back against him—sing his praises.
“Reed, I'm gonna come—”—You beg—and if you thought the speed was mind-numbing before—when his hips begin to rock into you with such starved cadence, making your flesh bounce with each snap of his hips—
“Oh, fuck—”—Is your only preamble before you come, collapsing fully into the cradle of his arms, his body. Still, lazily he keeps deliberate pump to keep you familiar to the shape of him. But when you resurface enough to send him shaky smile; you know that starved, needful look in his eye.
After all, Reed’s a scientist. He must exercise experimentation to the best of his abilities to confirm his theorems. And you, to your delight—happen to be his guinea pig for this avenue of study.
When he starts to pick up the tempo of rocking his hips back into yours, you can’t help but think about how lucky you are.
pairings | guy gardner, roy harper/wally west, johnny storm/peter parker x fem! reader
a/n | i can't really think of a summary for this one, so, happy pride month i guess guys <3
ROY HARPER & WALLY WEST
You’ve no idea what they’re arguing about, having drowned the two redheads out for the better part of half an hour now, it’s only the elevated tones that let you know they’re even still going at it. Hell, you doubt even they know what they’re arguing about anymore either.
All you know is that you’ve been nursing a pounding headache for a while now and even your beloved boyfriend’s voice, which normally has you melting into a puddle, is starting to grate harshly on your senses.
“Oh my god, will you two just kiss already!” You groan, throwing your hands in the air as you swivel in your chair to glare at them.
Throwing a bomb would have been less disruptive, but a lot less funny you think, staring at Roy and Wally’s twin expressions of shocked horror.
“Babe?” Roy’s voice is incredulous, a little strangled as he clutches a hand to his chest in aghast betrayal, brows furrowed in confusion.
Wally’s no better, tips of his ears nearly as red as his hair as he alternates between sputtering a failed attempt at a clever retort and vibrating through the floor.
“I mean, why else would the two of you need to be in each other's personal space?”
Wally leaps back like he’s been burned, skin getting even pinker still as your teasing grin brightens, headache momentarily forgotten.
Roy, ever adaptable and in tune with you, sees the mischievous sparkle in your eye and quickly shifts gears.
“You’re asking me to cheat on you?” Throwing you a wink, he turns to Wally, deliberately giving his friend a slow once over with a lascivious grin that has Wally stiffening in place.
“Just this once.” You joke, only for your laugh to turn into a gasp when Wally’s face becomes awash with determination, and faster than you can blink, his lips are on your boyfriends.
Roy recovers with a speed that’s frankly suspicious after being unexpectedly jumped by a speedster, sliding a hand down to rest on Wally’s waist, tugging him even closer as his other tangles in ginger locks.
It’s a decidedly filthy kiss, when Wally, deciding he’s not one to be outdone, slots a thigh between Roy’s legs and licks into his mouth.
To your surprise, there’s none of that ugly envy that sometimes rears its head when Dick starts sniffing around your man.
As if reading your mind, Roy’s eyes flicker open, a silent question in his gaze that has your heart squeezing in affection.
You simply grin, cheeks burning a little as you sit, contented and a little flustered at the unexpected display.
When they finally pull apart, Wally’s chest is heaving and both boys have pinkened cheeks and kiss-swollen lips.
You reward them with a wolf whistle that turns into a laugh when Wally flushes bright red before speeding out the door, your eyes following his retreat. Unbeknownst to you, Roy watches you thoughtfully.
Your birthdays coming up, and suddenly he’s got a lot more ideas
PETER PARKER & JOHNNY STORM
Johnny Storm is, unfortunately, very cute. Even worse, he knows he’s cute, and boy does he act like it.
Physically, he’s very much your type. If only he weren’t such an insufferable rake, then maybe you’d even have jumped into bed with him when he’d started flirting with you all those weeks ago. You wouldn’t have even minded just being another notch on his bedframe, except for the fact that you were both friends with Peter Parker, and thus were forever cursed to exist in the same small social circle.
It was fine. It wasn’t like you minded the flirting; it was a hell of a confidence booster, but you were still far from giving him a chance. Or rather, it would have been fine, but Peter had suddenly taken it upon himself to advocate on Johnny’s behalf. You couldn’t go ten minutes without Peter giving you puppy dog eyes, or waxing lyrical about “how great Johnny is, just give him a chance!”
It all culminates when Johnny crashes (though Peter, the traitor, definitely invited him to) movie night, a long-standing tradition between you and Peter, and you end up sitting between the two of them. Peter, the annoying little shit, is doing his best to take up as much couch space as humanly possible, forcing you to rest against Johnny’s side, the blond’s arm thrown conspicuously over the back of the furniture.
The movie’s paused, Johnny ducking off to the bathroom and giving you room to finally breathe.
“You know, he’s really—”
“Fuck me dead, Pete.” You exclaim, beyond sick of his ‘wingmanning’ “if Johnny’s so great, why don’t you kiss him!”
Of course, that’s when the topic of conversation ambles back into the room, blue eyes sliding between you and Peter, huddled up on the couch with a widening grin as he pieces together the missing pieces of conversation.
“I would, but Johnny’s not really my type.” Peter jokes as Johnny gives an offended squawk.
You doubt you’ve ever rolled your eyes harder, “Peter, you’ve been riding Johnny’s dick so hard these past few weeks it’s a wonder you’re not pregnant.”
It’s Peter’s turn to squawk indignantly at that, but before you can even pat yourself on the back for undoubtedly putting an end to his annoying Johnny yammering, said blond has marched across the space, grabbed his friend by the cheeks and pulled him into a fiery kiss.
Objectively, you know Peter’s an attractive guy. It’s just you’ve never really allowed yourself to think of him that way, but now, slack-jawed at a steamy kiss he’s started to reciprocate, as if vying for dominance, an unwanted heat starts unfurling in your gut.
“Do you guys want me to leave?” Your voice cracks, high-pitched and squeaky, as you struggle to pull your gaze away from the increasingly tempting sight in front of you.
As if you’ve spoken the magic words, the two suddenly jolt apart, sharing a conspiratorial look you miss as your tongue sits heavy and useless in your mouth.
“Don’t even think about it, babe.”
An instinctive retort forms in the back of your throat, but Johnny promptly swallows it when his heated lips are suddenly on yours. Your brain shuts down, traitorous body succumbing to the kiss as a warm palm gently cups your neck, holding you in place without exerting any pressure.
Fingers trail down your spine before sliding to rest on your waist, making you jolt before relaxing at the realisation that it’s just Peter. The next few minutes pass in a haze of wandering hands and kisses exchanged between varying combinations of the three of you until somehow, you’re deposited on Peter’s lap, chest to chest as Johnny’s practically glued to your back.
“Just think, all that time turning me down could have been spent doing this instead.” You can feel, the smug grin on Johnny’s face as the plants a trail of kisses behind your ear and down your jawline.
Rolling your eyes, you reach back to tangle your fingers in dishevelled blonde hair, tugging him forward as your free hand guide’s Peter’s face, “shut up and kiss each other again already.”
“Bossy.” He huffs, but much to your delight, complies with your demand enthusiastically. Peter and Johnny have always had a bad habit of showboating, and now, with you stuck between them, they’re more than willing to put on a show it seems.
Finally, something you can’t complain about.
GUY GARDNER & HAL JORDAN
It had been a joke, something hyperbolic, a “ha-ha, gotcha” moment to get Guy to back off a little because there was no way Guy would follow through, and there was certainly no way Hal would let him.
“The day I kiss you is the day you kiss Hal.”
It wasn’t that you didn’t like Guy. Quite the opposite, really. There was just a large part of you that doubted Guy truly liked you. You’d spent years watching him flirt with anything with a pulse, never phased at the many, many rejections. He’d just brush himself off and turn to the next pretty woman.
What you, and certainly Hal, hadn’t expected was for Guy to barely give it a single second of consideration before he was gripping Hal’s face with large, calloused hands and planting a surprisingly passionate kiss on his unsuspecting friend.
Hal freezes, statuesque in either shock or horror, long enough for Guy to slip him some tongue before he’s pulling away with a wet smacking noise that would normally have you flinching in disgust, but for some reason has you heating up a little under the collar.
Just when you think you’ve imagined it all in some fucked up fantasy about two of your friends/coworkers, Kyle spits out the mouthful of your cocktail he’d helped himself to directly onto your new pants.
“Rayner!” You shriek, managing to tear your eyes off Hal’s dazed expression at the uncomfortable new sensation of unintentionally being wet and sticky. Having sensed his impending doom, Kyle’s already thrown himself off the barstool and is halfway to the exit when a warm arm settles around your shoulders and prevents your chase.
Whipping your head around, your heart stutters a little in your chest at finding Guy so close that your nose brushes against his. Blinking, you rapidly try to create space, only to fail when his arm keeps you steady in place, palm sliding down to rest between your shoulder blades.
“So, about that kiss?”
“I can’t believe you actually did that.” Your voice is a little numb with shock, brain replaying the past ten seconds in slow motion like a football highlights reel.
“That?” He scoffs, like he hasn’t just left Hal auditioning for the newest statue at the Louvre, “a small task to earn a kiss from you.”
“Are you sure you didn’t want to just kiss Hal, because I don’t recall saying you had to use tongue. To the outside eye, it almost seemed like you were super enthusiastic about the opportunity.”
“What can I say, I’m a giver.” Guy’s smirk is downright sleazy, and there must be something seriously wrong with your brain because suddenly he’s the most attractive man in the whole bar.
You’re pretty sure that kiss is seared into your retinas for the rest of your existence; it’ll play behind your eyelids when you go to sleep tonight, that’s for sure.
“Left you speechless, huh? Don’t worry, you’re not the—”
Grabbing him by the shirt, you pull him down into a kiss before you can think better of it. Guy, who apparently has been very eager for this moment, gets with the program immediately, and by the time you’re dazedly pulling away to breathe, you realise exactly why Hal’s still staring glassy-eyed into the cosmos.
Against all universal laws, Guy Gardner’s a fantastic kisser. It would piss you off if you weren’t already pulling him in for another, suddenly wanting to make up for lost time.
Somewhere to your left, Jess makes a disgusted noise and follows after Kyle’s example. Not that you pay her any mind, it’s Hal’s sudden attention that has your interest, eyes flickering open long enough to confirm that he’s watching you and Guy a little more intently before you’re overwhelmed by another breathtaking kiss.
You quickly file that little tidbit of information away for later revision, for now, Guy’s got your full attention.
