welcome to my master list! below you will find a complied list of all of the stories i have wrote on tumbler. i hope you enjoy :)
all of these works contain smut. read with discretion.
miguel o’hara
never before
summary: you had a hot neighbor. you can’t be held responsible what came out of that.
warnings: oral (fem receving), protected sex, dirty talk
so dirty series
i ii iii
summary: you have conflicting feelings about miguel o’hara, your current fling and your dad’s best friend.
warnings: smut, angst, dbf!miguel, each part has their own warnings.
sebastian stan
it had been months
summary: it had been nine months since you and your first real long term boyfriend broke up. but as they say, time makes the heart grow fonder … and it also made the lust build up.
warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, cheating, kind of a breeding kink at the end, unprotected sex
the night before
summary: you were invited to your ex’s wedding and despite all logical reasoning, you decided to go. now it’s the night before the wedding and you’re in the same night club with your ex. time to make some more mistakes.
warnings: angst, crying, cheating, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex.
jj maybank
princess
summary: jj always found a way under your skin, you simply couldn’t stand him, but one night with the help of some substances, he found his way into your bed.
warnings: alcohol & marijuana use, driving under the influence, unprotected sex
tasm!peter parker
if you don’t like me, then i guess you’ll hate me
summary: your whole life people either liked you, loved you, or hated you. when you met peter parker and he was indifferent towards you, you didn’t know how to react, so you started a plan to get him to hate you.
warnings: alcohol, dirty talk, oral (male & fem receiving), unprotected sex
steve harrington
regret & the aftermath
summary: after a whirlwind of a relationship with steve, one night might be the end of it all.
warnings: under aged drinking, mentions of smut
moon knight
angels don’t cry
summary: you were his guardian angel. you would heal him every time, no matter how much it hurt.
warnings: description of injuries (very brief, nothing gory), angst, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex
the batman!bruce wayne
the dead of night
summary: there was only one person who ever got to see the real you and even he only got to see you like that in the dead of night.
warnings: spoiler free! angst, mentions of alcohol, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), unprotected sex
trust me
summary: you found yourself trusting bruce like you never had trusted someone before, he felt the same way.
warnings: spoiler free! fingering (fem receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do that), brief mentions of scars
austin butler
fight for you
summary: every time you smoked you called your ex. tonight might change things.
warnings: smoking weed, longing, fluff
feel free to request fics for any of the characters above or any that aren’t :)
hear me out… frank teaching dennis how to eat out reader. like ur back is on franks stomach and hes telling dennis what to do
OH MY GOD.... wet... how did I not do this one sooner
frank is actively holding your legs apart and Dennis settles between your legs. kissing your inner thighs you can feel franks hard cock on your back and youre just so sensitive from your heightened nervousness.
"alright Dennis, youre gonna flatten your tongue, nice long licks, make sure you get her clit." Dennis nodded licking his lips before licking long strips against your wet cunt. you shudder "make sure you suck on it too" frank told him. Dennis latched his lips to your little bundle of nerves swirling his tongue.
"use your fingers, c'mon, middle and ring," frank said peering over your shoulder. his hands moving to your stomach and breasts "yeah... curl em' your finding her sweet spot Dennis." you whine at his touch but youre still aching, he was too careful.
"dont be gentle, she needs more, c'mon now, make our girl feel good" frank reached a hand down between your legs shoving his head closer. and it worked, Dennis got more eager, no more soft licks against your sensitive bud, no more gentle presses against your gummy walls. he pumped his fingers curling them against the right spot. frank kept his hand on the back on Dennis' head. whinging as your nails dug into his thighs
"feeling good honey?" frank asked kissing behind your ear. you nodded back arching your face contorting with pleasure. "oh fuck!" youre gasping for air as frank pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers. his other hand holding your body against him.
"dont lift your head Dennis" frank said pulling your legs up so you couldn't close it on Dennis' head. you whined and cried out before finally coming your body tensed and frank told Dennis to slow down and work you through it, and he did just that. his fingers pumped slowly, and his tongue was softened it licks against your sopping wet cunt
"your boy did a good job eating this cunt huh?" frank asked you as your laid against him bit hazy. frank reaches back down pulling Dennis' hair back so he would lift his head. his chin was soaked and he licked his lips "tell Dennis he did a good job" frank commanded softly.
you looked down at Dennis "good boy" you let out breathlessly. Dennis crawled up to kiss you so you could taste yourself on his tongue as if he was boasting about how good he did,
winter soldier bucky barnes is sooooo the type to drag you by your ankles to the edge of the bed even when you’re sobbing no more (in a consenual way ofc he’s just fucked you into beyond sensitivity)
He’s grappling with your kicking ankles to tug you back towards him at the foot of the bed, meek whimpers rasped from your throat about not being able to take anymore while he’s settling over your languid body, pliable in his hands as he maneuvers your thighs back up around his hips, having to keep a hand hooked under the crook of your knee so your limbs don’t fall down exhausted against the mattress, “I know, I know. Just a little more, sweetness, okay? Just one more for me, please—feels too good to stop.” Your fingers are hooking into his taut muscles as he slides his cock up and down your twitchy cunt, already sensitive and messy from your mixed cum seeping from you onto the mused sheets, brows pinched tightly with a wrecked mewl as he pushes the tip back in, softly pressing it in and out of you with a heavy pants against your cheek, “S’this okay? Yeah?” inching deeper and deeper until you can feel him settle back to the hilt once again, eyes hazy and heavy as he holds your hips steady, pitchy cries leaving your throat as he speeds back up, unable to control it when he’s got you laid up so pretty underneath him, “Just a little longer—gonna take care of you—mhm—sweet girl gonna make it all better I promise.”
i don’t care what anybody says, sam winchester is a freak in bed
i’m talking about putting you in a chokehold, your face suffocating in his biceps and drooling on it mindlessly from the backshots he was giving you, his hips ruthlessly snapping to yours while your back gave him that beautiful arch he loved so much
his bicep would be covered by your saliva, red bite marks and hickeys bright and evident on his skin.
“uh huh” sam panted, eyes pinned down on yours and examining your expression— a fucked up, lewd expression squished by his bicep— a sight to behold. “keep that back arched for me, mmm”
i’m talking about gripping your hair whenever you were straddling him, the slight tug making you moan in the hungry, passionate kiss and giving him enough space for his tongue to slide in your mouth
and because of that, there was no way to hide that beautiful face of yours from him. even when your face was buried in his shoulder as you rode his cock, breathless gasps of “sam! mph- sam” leaving your lips. it made his hand—that was already buried in your hair— lift your head up by your hair to lock your lips into a messy, open-mouthed kiss
“don’t hide from me” sam murmured in your mouth, his other hand pulling your leg closer to bury his cock more into your cunt. “wanna see your face when you make a mess all over me”
the drag of his length in and out was stretching out your poor, fluttering walls. enough for your hips to slightly jerk back and a small sound leave your lips, only for it to be swallowed by sam and easily hold your hips in place with one hand, the other still buried and gripping onto the locks of your hair
and i’m talking about his large, large hand around your neck as he has you pinned under him in missionary, hovering on top of you and whispering filthy things in your ear to add onto the wet, slaps of his cock in your needy cunt
“thaaaats it. youre doing so so good f’me, baby”
“god, you look so good like this”
your throat would bob in his palm and his thumb would brush under your jaw, a subtle gesture so soft it felt almost out of place from how eager sam was for you, how starved he was
a moan left his lips when the veins on his length were brushed perfectly, biting your shoulder to swallow back his sounds as he kept murmuring on your skin without a thought. “fuck, you have no idea how you drive me crazy”
summary: some inappropriate touching after accidental intoxication is all it takes to send huckelberry over the edge
warnings: filth. mdni. female reader ( she/ her used ), sub!huckleberry, kinda dom!reader (but not much time given to that), use of pet names, light smut, implied pervy!dennis, keep in mind the touch/ affection is mutual even if they both think it’s not, we love a mutual crush, no non-con here, implied small age gap
notes: …not proof read i just needed my idea out of my head, but i hope you enjoy!
“holy fuck!” she screamed. the needle went in deep. between the struggle of trying to hold down an uncontrollable six foot seven patient, an intern stuck her senior resident with something over 13 mg of ketamine.
“i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to!” the poor girl squealed. doctor robby ran to the door to yell across the floor, “i need a gurney!” those remaining around the unruly patient continued to struggle to hold him down.
the resident shook her head, attempting to fight off the sedative. “no it’s alright, i’m about to go on the trip of a lifetime.” adrenaline seemed to be the only thing keeping her on her feet. she held her hand in her palm, a wave of wooziness suddenly washing over her. she mumbled, “down.”
“what?” student doctor dennis whitaker had poked his head in through the double doors, holding one side open, waiting for the nurses to run in with a gurney.
“falling down.” is all she could slur before the world went dark.
౨ৎ
she released a long, drunken hello, marbled by her dry throat. whitaker smiled, “hi.” he slightly adjusted the blood pressure cuff on her upper arm. “i’ll be quick, i promise,” he whispered. she nodded slowly. her head felt like it was a million pounds and weightless all at the same time.
his fingers grazed against her skin as he quickly tested the space beneath the cuff to make sure it was tight enough. had his hands always been so large? and his fingers so tough with callouses?
“was i sleeping?” she mused as the plastic cuff tightened around her arm. whitaker, taking note of her charts, shook his head. “you got stuck with an accidental dose of ketamine. fun, huh? yeah. you uh fell. pretty hard. we thought maybe you hit your head on the way down so we gave you a ct scan. you had just succumb to the sedation. how do you feel?”
she groaned, “i’m really sleepy. i miss you.” whitaker lowered the tablet, “i’m right here,” he chuckled. “no.” she patted the spot next to her in bed with a heavy hand, “you’re not.” she licked her dry lips, “you’re always so warm. i’m cold. c’mere. pretty please, denny?” she pleaded with half lidded eyes. her hands slowly stretched outwards towards her coworker. whitaker’s face flooded with a pink flush, all the way from his cheeks, down his neck, to the tips of his ears. the blood pressure cuff deflated with a loud beeping on the monitor.
“oh uhm…” his mouth hung slightly open in shock. it simply made him all the more handsome in her hazy, heavily intoxicated eyes. the way his wet, plush lips parted, she just wanted to slot her “fingers -
“what?” whitaker suddenly drew his hands up defensively. she shook her head as if to clear something out. she responded, “what did i say?” those big blue eyes wide as saucers, he quickly undid the cuff on her arm, pulling it off and setting it aside. he was suddenly nervous. “i’m - i’m gonna push a little bit of flumazenil now that we know you’re stable. it’ll - it - well you know, you’re a… doctor. uhm, and i have some ondansetron - zofran. zofran. so you can eat. i’m gonna, uh -“
in a gloved hand he plucked the pill from a white capsule cup off the counter. he held it up as if to show it off. “we could inject it, but since you haven’t eaten today, we’ll let it dissolve under your tongue so that it doesn’t have as many adverse effects on your tummy. sorry - stomach. i give this to a lot of children.”
whitaker lowered his hand, “say ‘ah.’” she shook her head and smiled up at him hazily, jaw shut tight. he huffed in building frustration, “doctor -“
“what’s the magic word denny?” she cooed. the intern sighed. he looked tired. he shrugged limply, figuring she was just arguing to argue. she encouraged, “say ‘please, doctor!’ c’mon, be a good boy.” her heavily euphoric mind had her flirting with her colleague.
whitaker swallowed harshly. he had always admired his superior. the dichotomy of her bedside manner, her overwhelming kindness and her crass sense of humor - reserved only for the colleagues who she knew could handle it - was violently charming.
once he had seen her at a bar. it was a weekend and she was wearing clean heels and a tight mini dress. she was flirting with a man too old for her. in fear of feeling like a pest, he sat across the bar. he watched for hours. she traced her polished fingertips over a ladder in her stockings as she spoke. she spun her hair in a tight coil around her finger nervously. she brushed his arm, she slipped her hand up his thigh. she delicately picked up her glass and slipped a twenty beneath it. after what felt like an eternity, she stood, pressed her purse into her side and pulled at her skirt. she left. he hid himself behind the rim of his glass when she passed by. then he left too. whitaker spent the rest of the night touching himself to the thought of her exposed thighs. he had never seen her in a tight dress. he had never seen the bare skin of her legs before. it was only ever baggy scrubs and messy buns. if only she’d let him kiss her there. at the crest of her pelvis. he’d spend hours between her legs and plead for more like a man starved.
so his look softened. a sudden lust pooled in his stomach. hot and needy. his brow scrunched up in a perfectly pathetic arch. surely she meant nothing of it. it was a cruel, crass joke. still, his pants were becoming uncomfortably tight.
“p - please…” he cleared his throat quickly, “please, doctor.” it almost sounded like a moan.
she gently parted her lips. whitaker’s brows furrowed. he cradled her chin with his free hand and pressed his fingers into her cheeks, forcing her jaw wider. oh what he’d do to see her like this on her knees. preferably sober. he’d brush his head around her silken lips -
she lightly giggled and lifted her tongue. whitaker pressed the pill into the underside of her mouth with two fingers. she closed her lips around his touch.
his body stiffened, “ah -“ he squeaked. she sucked gently, tongue circling around his fingertips until his gloved fingers left her mouth with a harsh pop.
the intern swung around. he gathered his things in his arms. he was being completely inappropriate. she pouted, “don’t go,” she whined. he blinked his big, nervous eyes, “i’m gonna get you a sandwich. i’ll be back.”
she puffed out her lips and threw her head back like a child. her lower lip quivered and suddenly she was letting out tired, dry sobs. she felt childish and silly, but she also felt like she was completely out of her mind. everything was distant and dreamlike. so she laid her head back and cried until she eventually fell asleep again.
“hey,” his soft voice beckoned her into the waking world. whitaker brushed his thumb against the apple of her cheek to swipe away a rolling tear. she palmed at her eyes until she could make out the redheaded country boy through her fingers.
she giggled like a school girl, “hi, huckleberry!” he winced, “you too now, huh?” his face was so close. he smiled lightly, “here’s lunch.” he laid a giant, wrapped sub in her covered lap. it was only when she looked down that she realized she was dressed in a gown. those expensive scrubs she wore for her slow day, probably torn up to pieces somewhere, knowing dr. robby. her hunger outweighed her surprise.
“oh i could fuck the shit out of you right now little farmer boy,” she groaned as she quickly unwrapped the sandwich. she took a likely dangerous bite. he cleared his throat. maybe it was the drugs, the euphoric hallucinogen boiling under her skin. but she swore, in that fleeting moment, between the beeps of the monitor and the bustling noise outside, she heard a small, quaint, “please,” fall from whitaker’s lips in a whiny sigh.
the pallid farmer turns on his heel toward her iv before she can think about it much. “we are going to up the anti-sedative, alright? sometimes it makes your heart beat a little bit faster, so tell me if you feel anything strange.” his bedside voice is so sweet. so gentle. what was his… under… bed voice like? yeah, she’s definitely still high.
“sorry i don’t know why i’m explaining, you know all this. i don’t mean any disrespect.” he bit his lip nervously. between a mouthful of the best sub she’s ever had - no tomatoes ( something she had offhandedly mentioned to whitaker ) - she yelled, “yeah respect your superiors! i don’t know where i am. i don’t care. i could put my dick in this sandwich.” he loudly laughed, out of shock more than anything. she covered her mouth, “oh fuck sorry.” but he didn’t seem to mind, he burst out suddenly in a slew of loud laughs. she laughed with him, groggily. highly. closing her eyes as she continued to down her food.
when the boy had finally calmed down, she added, “i think i’m still tripping.” whitaker nodded in agreement. he heavily sat in a rolling stool and leaned into the railings of her bed. he scrubbed the back of his neck, “i’ll… i’ll stay with you for a bit, til you fall back asleep. no aspiration before you’re released.”
she put up a lazy thumb. it took her a while to eat, and she mostly had quiet, odd thoughts. happy ones. still odd. as she reached the end of her footlong, she asked, “have you considered prostitution? or elder care. you’re such a sweetheart.” bringing her sandwich to her lips she added, “just wanna eat you.”
thankfully, she didn’t see the red flushing whitaker’s face. in an attempt to match her humor, he mumbled, “i have a pretty steep price.”
she hummed, “yeah? i’d spend all my er money on that fine piece… of…” she had the sudden conscious to sensor herself. whitaker waited, eyebrows raised. when she didn’t finish, he slapped his hands on his thighs and stood up suddenly, as if he had been fixated in a trance. the sound drew her eyes to his lap. his bulge was pressing against his trousers like a big red arrow screaming ‘look at me!’ one big, big arrow.
a smirk cracked across her face and she drew her gaze down to her now empty lap. she was high, and she knew she was probably seeing things. but if not, what exactly had she said to give whitaker so little room in his pants?
“i’m gonna, uh, grab you some water. need anything else? there are popsicles in the staff room. pink ones.” he grabbed the trash from between her legs. he brushed his hand across her bare thighs to clear the crumbs. she suddenly grabbed his wrist.
whitaker paused. she pressed his hand firmly into her plush thigh. his wide eyes met her own. he took his chance and groped it. his thin, calloused fingers instinctively dig into her flesh. one squeeze, two. his eyes fluttered lightly and he croons toward her. melting at her touch.
“one pink popsicle please,” she pats the poor boy’s hand politely. the anti-sedation was kicking in, but not enough to stop her from succumbing to lust.
dennis whitaker. polite, shy, lean under those messy scrubs. he pulled his hand away like he had been scorched. he nodded, and rushed out the double doors of the room.
he was gone for too long. maybe he got distracted or maybe he was with a patient. without the occupation of a purpose, a thick wave of lethargy wracked her body. her racing thoughts quieted, and before she knew it she was dreaming again.
౨ৎ
she took a handful of days off, using her pierced hand as an excuse to lay around and watch tv. the woman boiled in her embarrassment for the same amount of time. why did it have to be dennis who took care of her. why couldn’t she hold her tongue. it was all a hazy memory, but she remembered pressing his hand atop her thighs, and the wetness left between her legs afterwards. when she finally returned, she avoided dennis like the plague. until finally there was a lull in the er and she caught the farm boy filing paperwork on the computer.
hands clasped behind her back, she greeted him, “hey, whitaker -“ the student furrowed his brow, she never called him whitaker. she continued quietly, warm breath tickling his ear as she leaned down, “can i speak to you in private.”
he shot up. his chair loudly rolled back a few inches. “i’ll take my lunch!” he drew a few eyes. she chuckled, “uh yeah, perfect, sure.”
dennis quickly handed his patients off to an attending before following her into the staff room. he closed the door quietly behind them. she thought she heard the lock click. she leaned against the wall, waiting for him to berate her, call her a slut. and when silence lingered in the air, he finally asked, “what’s up?”
she ran a hand over her face, heart beating in her throat. “i just wanted to apologize for last week.” dennis’s eyes had that look. big and glossy, like he could cry on command. he cracked a small smile, “oh - pft -“ he waved the thought away, “that’s not necessary.”
she shook her head violently. “yes it is. i’m so embarrassed. i was acting completely inappropriate. high or not, i should have never spoken to a colleague that way. especially a subordinate. as a senior resident i should have much more self control. i am so sorry and i don’t want this to effect our friendship or relationship. i just want to pretend it never happened.”
dennis’s smile dropped ever so slightly. “i mean, you were on ketamine,” he offered. if she didn’t know better, she’d say he almost sounded disappointed. she laughed gratefully, “a lot of it.”
“do you remember what you said?” he dug his hands into his pockets, picking at his fingers beneath the fabric. she crossed her arms and cleared her throat, “…well, just a few things. i remember asking you about prostitution, and uh, how much i would pay for it. and… well…” letting you grope my inner thigh. “that’s it really.” a pathetic laugh passed her lips as she internally pleaded for sympathy.
he took a few steps closer in the tiny room and nearly closed the space between them. she pressed herself closer to the wall, anything to avoid touching him, hurting him. corrupting him. she could feel his breath as he spoke. “so you didn’t bring me here to fuck me?”
her heart dropped to her stomach. “what?!” she laughed incredulously. she put her hands up, “dennis - whitaker. no. i wouldn’t -“
“you wouldn’t?” his face was all pouty, like a keening puppy. his eyes were wide and lips slightly plump. he was playing with her, but he wasn’t joking. he was toying. teasing.
no, he wasn’t. it was whitaker, too young for her, too pretty for anybody… for anybody but her. “denny -“ she scrunched her eyes closed and palmed at them harshly, searching for the right thing to say. trying to press perverted thoughts from her swirling mind.
before she could breathe another word, dennis lunged forward. he grabbed her wrists and held them at her side. her eyes widened. he kissed her. it was sloppy and broken. teeth clashed wildly and tongues danced. eventually she broke free of his grasp and buried her hands in his short hair. she was being smothered by his lips. lightheaded and heaving the hot breath he passed into her mouth.
he pulled away panting. his lips were kiss chapped. he began to kiss a trail from her cheek to her collarbone. “when i left that day… i went to the bathroom…” he muttered, slightly nipping at a her neck. he soothed the burn with his tongue, licking a stripe across the now red mark before planting a gentle kiss. he continued in a whisper, “i fucked my hand and pretended it was yours.”
“oh fuck” she groaned. her head reared back and hit the drywall. every doubt she had melted from her body. so did her inhibitions. she harshly pushed dennis away.
“beg for it.” she didn’t have to ask, he dropped to his knees the second she spoke. he crawled. just a few paces, just to close the space between them again. he stopped at her feet, big blue eyes doing the pleading on their own.
“please? i need you so bad,” he whined. “the second i saw you. i saw you, at the bar on main. in your pretty dress -“ he sat up on his heels, and a hand slipped under her pant leg and pushed up her smooth calf. his hips jolted forward ever so slightly. “your legs are so pretty. your thighs - i just wanna bite into them, kiss them, lick you up. i could be so good to you. please let me be good for you?”
a weak moan escaped her lips. before she could respond -
“hello? you can’t lock the fucking break room door, c’mon, man. my lunch is in there?!” it was santos. of course it was fucking santos. banging on the door like a lunatic. dennis shot up, hoping she wasn’t tall enough to see his head pop up in the door’s window.
she laughed quietly and pointed to his crotch. he followed her finger downwards. there was a wet spot pooling through his blue scrubs. blue because he had been thrown up on not once, but twice in fifteen minutes.
whitaker yelped, “sorry! just a second!” he tried to wipe at the spot, but he only smeared it further down his crotch. she covered her huge smile with a polite hand. he shot a glare at her, but with how things were going, she was sure he’d get off on the embarrassment later. “fuck!” he squealed.
covering his crotch in a very obvious way, whitaker approached the door. she took a seat in one of the stiff chairs, and buried her head in her hands.
as dennis opened the door, he slipped out with his back turned to his roommate. santos watched him run across the er floor with a raised brow. the door swung shut behind her as she went to open the fridge. “what the fuck is wrong with him?”
summary - some late night drinking and loss of inhibitions leads to two coworkers fucking in a bar bathroom.
warnings - nsfw. afab reader. sub!dennis. power dynamics. unprotected p in v sex. slight spit play. exhibitionism?
notes - not proofread and totally self indulgent. enjoy!
⋆ ｡ ˚ ౨ৎ ‧ ₊ ˚ .
santos convinced her to go out. she typically didn’t like seeing her coworkers outside of the er. it brought about an eery feeling, like someone with a broken bone or gunshot wound was somewhere calling out her name, depending on her for help.
after her first few shots she relaxed. her body sunk back into the booth and she let her head rest against her coworker’s shoulder. whitaker was hot in the face. she wasn’t stupid. he wasn’t coy. dennis sputtered when he spoke to her. he couldn’t look her in the eye. everything flushed pink when she stood too close; his neck, his cheeks, his chest, his ears.
so she placed a perfectly manicured hand on his thigh. for a moment she simply continued to listen to santos’s ranting about some hookup she had last week. she nodded, she leaned forward and her hand inched down her colleague’s leg. she squeezed the plush of his thigh over his jeans.
his hips bucked up with a ragged gasp. he played off the noise by clearing his throat. she could feel his eyes burning into her cheek, but she kept her attention on santos in faux interest.
santos had changed the little farm boy they had met months ago. his hair was lightly tapered, and he was no longer clothed in baggy hand-me-downs. whitaker had been working out those lean farm boy muscles. though huckleberry was just as charming as doctor whitaker, something about him in a shirt that fit, in all black and a thick leather belt…
she was losing her inhibitions and she didn’t care. months of whitaker’s puppy dog eyes had worn her down. there was no denying the mutual attraction. he was somehow prettier than ever in the dim yellow light, ripe for the picking. she just wanted to sink her teeth in.
santos finished her story. she chuckled in response, “i haven’t gotten any in months.” she palmed whitaker’s growing bulge through his jeans. he squirmed.
“what about that guy in the er you had your eye on? you never pounced on that?” santos teased, raising her glass to her lips. dennis furrowed his brows. a pang of jealousy hit him right in the heart. his glassy eyes searched her face for some sort of answer but he was quickly distracted by her delicate hand lazily stroking his cock through his pants.
“never seemed like the right time. anyways, things with coworkers always get messy.” a light smirk ticked across whitaker’s face. his voice came out whiny and broken, “messy?” her hand halted suddenly. he bit his lip at the loss of contact. she nodded, “messy,” she repeated.
heady tension hung in the air. dennis stood suddenly, “i’m gonna get another drink.” he slid out of the booth. she agreed, “me too,” and followed him towards the bar.
she watched his back closely as they walked, pressing through the swaying crowd. she wanted to run her fingers through the wavy hair at the nape of his neck, dig her fingers into his lean biceps, nip at his reddened neck.
dennis stopped at the hilt of the bar and pressed his side against it. he ordered a mojito and she ordered the same before teasing him for his choice of drink. “you’re such a teenage girl,” she muttered.
“shut up,” he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. he licked his lips and focused his eyes on some spot on the floor. “so who is it?” his voice was light. she tilted her head. she wasn’t going to answer unless she looked him in the eye and really heard it. “what?” she feigned ignorance.
the bartender placed their drinks in front of them. whitaker looked up at him and smiled. he downed the drink in a couple sips to gather some liquid courage, still avoiding his colleague’s eye. she watched him with a bemused grin while he bit into the lime.
“you uh - santos said - you - there was someone in the er you… liked.”
she giggled, “god you make it sound so grade school.”
“but - but you said it would get too messy. so you didn’t -” he cut himself off with a shaky sigh. she nodded, finally taking a sip of her drink. she placed it back on the bar, finger tracing around the lip of the glass. he watched her hand closely.
“who do you think it is?” she squeezed her lime into her drink. his eyes followed her hand as she brought her finger to her lips to suck off the sour residue.
whitaker blinked hard, diverting his eyes as quick as possible. he shrugged, “i don’t know.” he lied. he was beginning to understand. she tsked, “oh come on, pretty boy. use that big brain of yours.” that same hand came up to his warm cheek, squishing his jaw and shaking his head emphatically. his slick lips parted perfectly beneath her touch and his large blue eyes looked to her with such want, such need that she decided to put him out of his misery.
she released her grip on his face. her fingers traced down his neck and dragged along his torso, stopping at the waist of his jeans. she slipped her finger through his belt loop. she tugged just a bit. her lips brushed the inside of his ear, “wanna come get messy?”
dennis simply whined in response. he followed close by as she lead him towards the bathroom bar.
he held the door open and she slinked underneath his arm. he quickly fumbled to turn the lock when they slipped inside. finally, he turned toward her with fluttering breath. her eyes were hazily roaming across his body. he kept his distance. it seemed alcohol only increased his fear.
she curled her finger in the air, “c’mere,” she whispered, “i don’t bite.” his steps were achingly slow but it didn’t take much to close the space between them in the small room. she was tentative. she cocked her head and leaned in to kiss him, but her lips simply lingered over his, hot liquor-laced breath fanning against his mouth. dennis whined.
“what’s wrong?” she frowned. dennis was beginning to pant, “please,” he groaned. a hand crawled up his neck and gently tugged at his wispy blonde tresses. she shook her head as if she didn’t understand, “please what?”
“please kiss me. please, please, please. need to -“ his groveling was cut off by her lips messily bearing against his own. whitaker nipped at her lower lip. she pulled hard at his hair. his hands slid down her body and palmed at her hips which rolled in the air against nothing. he slotted his tongue into her mouth before pulling his head back a bit. she whimpered as a string of spit pulled between their mouths. she pressed her thumb into the tip of his tongue. he immediately enveloped the digit, bobbing his head up and down and sucking at it gently. his puppy dog eyes stayed focused on her own. kinky lust was knotting in the pit of her stomach.
she might as well have been drooling. she pulled her thumb away. whitaker’s lips were shiny with saliva. she popped the digit into her own mouth, swirling her tongue around the warmth of his spit.
“need to be inside you,” is all he grumbled before he pressed her body against the wall. he buried his head in her neck, sucking purple bruises into her skin. licking at the blotchy spots before his lips trailed further down. he hiked up the bottom of her skirt. thin fingers dipped between her legs. he gently gasped, “fuck,” his fingers grazed the slick of her naked sex.
“denny,” she mewled. she threw her head back against the wall. his thumb circled her clit, his eyes boring into her face to watch the little reactions he drew out. he was tightening that knot in her stomach. she was keening into his body.
she pushed his hand away, “take your pants off,” she demanded. dennis was blissed out. he nodded numbly. he undid his belt delicately. she grunted, “so fucking slow.” she hastily unbuttoned his jeans and tugged them down to his mid thighs with this boxers. his cock slapped against his stomach. precum trickled along the length of him. whitaker whimpered, “touch me.”
her head snapped up, “now that’s not very nice. i didn’t hear a please.” he sputters, “i’m - i’m sorry i -“ she strikes his cheek, just enough to spark a tinge of pain. whitaker blinks rapidly. “please touch me. wanna feel your hands on my cock, please, you’re so pretty.”
a guttural moan ripped from her throat. she cupped her hand under his lips. “spit,” she ordered. he obeyed. warm saliva pooled into her palm.
he was overly sensitive. his hips jutted into her touch the second her fingers wrapped around his twitching cock. she worked at sweet, slow pace, thumb grazing over his tip through every pump. her mouth watered at the sight of him. dennis was rosy cheeked and sweaty, his curls sticking against his forehead. the air in the room felt thick with body heat. his pathetic moans echoed off the walls.
“oh - feels so good… just wanna be good for you,” he cooed, tucking his head beneath her chin. her free hand massaged his scalp. “yeah? gonna be a good boy and fuck me til i can’t stand?” he nodded meekly, gently rolling his hips to begin to fuck her hand. he was dry sobbing out of pure yearning euphoria. “yes - ngh - jus’ wanna be your good boy. please, please.”
both hands wrapped around his torso to gently press him closer. something inside him broke. he lifted her leg, harshly spreading her open. he guided his cock to line up with her entrance. he looked to her for reassurance. she nodded insistently. he wasn’t gentle. he snapped his hips against her’s and his cock settled deep inside her. she hissed as she relaxed around him. one of whitaker’s hands groped her raised thigh and the other cupped her cheek soothingly.
“you’re so tight. so warm,” he whined against the apple of her cheek, leaving a kiss there. her nails scraped down his back. her hands rested on his ass. she took a deep breath, “denny if you don’t move i’m gonna fucking make you.” with that he began a desperate pace.
their thighs were sticky with sweat, a crass sound bouncing about the room with each crack of whitaker’s hips. every thrust pressed against that perfect spot just before he pulled half way out to plunge in again. it left her on the edge of ecstasy. she could feel every vein. every throb of his cock was swallowed up by her tight walls. as he moved a hand snaked under her shirt and palmed at her breasts.
“gonna cum - i’m sorry - you feel so good. don’t wanna -“ a thin tear rolled down his cheek, “don’t wanna but you’re so tight. feel so good, mommy,” he sputtered dumbly. she threw her head back at the pet name, “fuck, cum in me.”
whitaker moaned, loud and raspy. he licked a stripe up the column of her neck before pressing his lips against the skin there. his cock drove deeper inside of her, the hilt of his dick grazing her clit. she was teetering on the edge of her own climax, “fuck - just like that, baby. good boy.”
with a vice grip on her body he drew as close as he possibly could to her, burying himself deep inside and bringing his thumb down to her clit to draw tight, agonizing circles. “oh - m’gonna cum. tight… so tight - please -“ he sounded like a pornstar, erotic moans dripping from his pink lips. she slapped a hand over his mouth to dampen the sound and the other dug into his shoulder to stay balanced.
she rocked her hips against his. that knot inside her began to burst. it started in her belly and washed over her entire body like a tidal wave. dennis followed in suit, thick, hot ropes of his cum painting her insides.
her hand slipped off his mouth, threading through her hair as she panted, eyes fluttering shut, limbs all tingly. dennis moved to pull out but she whined, “no. feels good.” he grinned lightly, “how did i do?”
she nodded lazily, chest heaving, “so good -“ her thumb caressed his cheek, “such a good boy.” he hummed and pressed his forehead against hers. “you’re so pretty. please let me fuck you again.”
“get down on your knees and clean up your mess first.”
Description: When Clark gets poisoned with sex pollen, he tries everything in his power to stay away from you. Until he ends up crashing into your living room, and you have a god on his knees, with your name in his mouth and your body at his will.
Tags/warnings: smut, established relationship, clark is sorry, he gets freaky with his powers, consent kink, breaks you and worships you at the same time, begging, praising, hovering (yes hovering👀), so much dirty talk (he’s feral but sweet), overstimulation.
Note: Guess who watched superman today and got a new man to obsess about🙂↕️ honestly I don’t even know what took over me when I wrote this but all I can say is go ahead, live your best life and enjoy the sweet filth 🫶🏼
archive / masterlist
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You wake up with a loud crash coming from your living room. You jolt upright from your bed as you hear glass shatter, sprinting toward the noise. You curse as your body, only covered by Clark’s giant shirt, gets hit with the crisp midnight air as wind gushed through your apartment like a hurricane just passed by.
A figure stood where your glass door used to be, leaning weakly on what was left of the frame. You turned on the lamp next to you, illuminating your boyfriend’s stumbling body.
“Clark!?” you exclaim, confused by his abrupt arrival.
He doesn’t look up, just stands there against the frame, chest heaving, fists clenched. Like he is barely holding himself together.
Worry washes your features, something must be really wrong. You start making way over to him, but as soon as you take a step forward he puts a warning hand in front of him.
“Stop! Don’t move,” his deep voice comes out strangled, like he’s been screaming for hours. “Don’t come closer… please. Just–just stay there.”
He keeps his hand up to stop you, panting heavily as he swallowed to try to soothe his dry throat. He slowly looks up, and groans when he meets your eyes. His pupils are blown wide, dry lips parted, his breath ragged like he’s been flying across the globe. His usually perfect wavy hair is now flat, messy, sticking to his sweaty forehead.
“I didn’t want to come here,” he whines. “I–I didn’t want you to see me like this.”
“What happened to you?” You ask from your spot, fighting the urge to run to his aid.
“I’ve been infected,” he chokes out, and your brows furrow more. “Some kind of … alien pollen. It hit me out there. I flew straight into it and fuck ... It’s messing with my head, my body, I…”
He suddenly turns away, pacing in small frantic circles on your balcony like he’s trying to shake something off. His hands tremble as he fights to not make eye contact, like just looking at you hurts.
“What do you need? D-do you have the antidote?” You ask, scared as hell. He never acts like this.
He just shakes his head first with a bitter laugh, only to nod frantically afterwards.
God, if only you knew.
“I tried to wait it out,” he groans, fists now in his hair. “I swear I did, my love, I locked myself away for hours …tried to fly as far as I could but I kept turning back because I could smell you.”
“I can smell you, sweetheart. Even from across the city …I can hear you breathing…your heartbeat. I didn’t want to hurt you but right now I have you in front of me and I can see–dammit…I’m sorry–“
He stumbles backwards like he’s ashamed of himself, like he can’t even look at you.
“You know I can’t turn it off,” he whispers. “I never mean to look, I swear, but I can see you now. Everything.”
Of course you know what he means. You know he can see right past his giant shirt covering your body. And the guilt on his face is gutting. He looks like he’s trying to claw his own powers out of his skin.
“Clark… it’s okay. You don’t have to explain.” You step forward slowly. “It’s not like we haven’t–“
“No–you don’t get it!” He snaps, his voice booming through your walls so loud you were sure everyone on the building heard him. He instantly feels worse with the way you flinched to his volume. “S-sorry darling… you just don’t get it…you have no idea what it’s like to smell you and know how soft you are, how warm. My instincts are going crazy. I just need to be inside you…I need to touch you, mark you, fill you up until I can’t think straight,” he just rambles, eyes raking through your body.
You take a deep breath, his words making you clench your thighs together and he noticed. Of course you’ve had sex before. You know what he sounds like when he’s needy. But this? This is feral. You’ve never seen him like this.
But you’re willing to do anything to help him.
Always.
“Clark…you don’t even have to ask,” you speak softly, your own eyes darkening with desire.
He shakes his head. You don’t even understand the amount of restraint he’s having right now.
“I do…I always do. Especially now. Because I’m not going to touch you like I should. I’m not going to make it about you. I’m going to use you. Because you’re the only one who can fix me…you are the antidote and I hate it. I hate that I can’t even think straight unless I’m inside you…I need you so bad, darling, I’m shaking–” He cries, actual tears come out of his desperate eyes.
You’re watching a god fall apart in front of you.
Because of you.
You finally cross the space left, and he doesn’t stop you this time. You grab his face between your hands, and kiss him without hesitation. His arms immediately cling to your frame, cold hands slipping under your shirt to roam every inch of your warm skin.
You moan into his lips, when you taste the salty tears on his face. His hands land on your ass, and he squeezes hard, bruising, making you squeal. He immediately pulls back, apologizing. Like he still can’t let himself go.
“I’m sorry–” He blurts out immediately, hands soothing the skin he pinched as he fought the urge to do it again, harder. “God I love you…and I would never hurt you. Never. I swore I’d never touch you like this–unless you asked me to. Unless you wanted me to. So please … tell me you want this too. Say yes, or I’ll leave. I swear I will.”
He nods frantically, like he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
“I’ll leave if you tell me to.” He swears. “I’ll fly through a mountain. I’ll bury myself in the ocean. Just don’t say yes unless you want this. I’m barely holding on– if you say it, I won’t be able to stop.”
You want him. God you always want him.
The way he keeps asking makes you want him even more. Even if he’s not your Clark now. Even if he won’t take care of you like he always does. Even if you can’t breathe or move after. Because you love him too.
“I want it,” you whisper against his lips, nodding. “I want you. You need me? Use me. Take all you want…I can take it.”
It’s over.
The moment you say yes there’s no going back. He lunges forward, tightening his grip on you as he lifts you off the ground to fly you towards the wall, knocking the lamp when your back hit the wall, leaving you both in complete darkness. Only the moonlight left to shine over his hungry eyes.
His massive hand cradles the back of your head to protect it from the hit, while the other tears off your shirt like he needs to see your skin on his or he’ll die. Your panties don’t even last two seconds before they he rips them away too.
His lips crash yours. Tongues are desperate, hands everywhere, so large, so shaky, everywhere at once. He groans into your mouth like a man dying of thirst finally tasting water.
“Thank you,” he gasps between kisses. “Thank you sweetheart…I’m so sorry I can’t help you first…but I need you…I need to feel you inside, please just let me…”
He knows it hurts you when he doesn’t prepare you properly, when he doesn’t make you cum at least twice on his fingers before he fucks you…but he can’t right now. Not when he can smell how soaked you are already, not when he swears it’s dripping on the carpet.
“Do it,” you pant, hungry for him. “Clark just do it… please.”
He doubts only for a second, and then without thinking he rips the suit. Literally tears it at the waist, tugging it to get rid of it completely. He’ll give a damn about that later.
Right now he is just muscle in front of you.
His painful cock springs up, and he presses himself to you with a wet slap, your back hitting the wall again. Your pussy throbs at how impossibly huge he is over your stomach.
You’ve had him before. You’ve barely made it.
You still want him to rearrange your guts.
“Feel that?” he groans. “That’s what you do to me, that’s what’s been driving me insane all day, darling.”
He’s not even pretending anymore, his cock is throbbing, massive, already leaking. He aligns himself between your soaked folds, rutting the tip against your pussy a few times like he’s lost control of his body entirely. You moan at the friction. Every nerve ending screaming. You know he’s gonna wreck you. You weren’t ready. But at the same time you’ve never been more ready.
He grabs your thigh and lifts it against the wall, before whispering against your lips. “I’m sorry…”
He pushes his hips forward, and when he finally slides home with a snap…raw, hard, you let out a strangled moan.
One long, broken sound, high pitched and helpless, because he stretches you brutally, all at once, bottoming out with a growl. An actual growl. Like he finally felt some type of relief since he got hit with the pollen.
You fight back a cry, lunging forward to bite his shoulder. He starts fucking you into the wall as he whispers ‘I love you’ ‘Thank you’ ‘Sorry’ like some sort of chant. A prayer. Like it’s the only thing keeping him rooted to the version of him that is still careful with you when you make love.
Right now it’s just sex. Dirty, rough, unfiltered sex.
Your breath leaves you in gasps, your bare back against the cold plaster, one leg around his waist, the other held away by him, arms clinging to his biceps for dear life. All you can do is moan as you get adjusted to his unfairly thick cock slamming in and out of you.
“Just like that…you’re taking me so well,” he pants. “You can do it, sweetheart…you’re doing so good… fuck, you were made for this…made for me.”
His hands grip your thighs. He fucks you like he’s possessed, no rhythm, no thought into it, just deep, hard thrusts that hit something devastating every time, shaking the wall with every slam of his hips.
And the whole time, he keeps whimpering into your neck.
“I love you…I’m sorry…I love you…I’m gonna ruin you …I need it…”
You think you’re about to white out when the room starts moving, but you quickly realize what’s happening. He’s lifting your bodies off the ground.
Still fucking you.
Going up as much as your ceiling allowed him too. He pins you high on the wall when his head touches the roof, like gravity doesn’t apply anymore. It never does anyway, not to you, not to him.
So now you’re fucking hovering. Literally. Unable to do anything but take it.
And you feel him like never before. A complete moaning mess. Nails dragging down his back, mouth open in shock as you look down to the floor. Your whole body is a live wire, and he’s fucking you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.
It literally is.
His cock twitches inside you. He’s already close. Has been since he walked through that window. But he’s holding it, fighting it, because he needs to stay inside. Needs to keep taking. You can’t keep giving all night.
“Fuck Clark…I’m gonna–“
“Yes? Do it. Darling please, you’re doing so well. I’ve got you…cum all over my cock, I got you.”
Your body breaks before you can even breathe. Your first climax of the night hits hard, walls clenching around him, as you pant into his chest. Your whole body goes limp and he feels it.
He fucks you through it. Rough thrusts with his hand stroking your back and the other wrapped under your thighs. He keeps thanking you as his cock splits you open over and over.
“I wanna give you everything,” he groans, voice cracking. “Fill you up, stuff you full of me…Can I? Please? Let me finish inside you….let me have you–“
“Yes, yes, fill me up,” you blurt out, still seeing stars.
He slams in once more and chokes, hips locked, whole body shuddering as he comes with a moan so broken it feels like it came from his soul. He shakes as he fills you, mouth pressed to your neck.
He doesn’t pull out yet. He holds you there, trembling, pressed against the wall like he knows you’ll fall if he loosens his grip.
Even after the first wave passes, after the groans, the shaking, the desperate I love you’s, he holds you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this planet.
“…Are you okay?”
You just nod, breathless, a blissed out smile in your face. He smiles too. And then, slowly, he lowers you back down to the floor.
But he’s not soft for long. He doesn’t even give you a minute to recover. He can’t. The second round starts before the first one even finishes sinking in.
You’re still trembling in his arms, leaking down your thighs, whimpering his name into the crook of his neck. And he’s still inside you. Still painfully hard.
Still needing you.
“One more, please. Just–just one more,” he begs. “Let me have you again. Please, darling I need it.”
“Take it Clark, take all you need,” you nod, absolutely wrecked.
But what’s a few more rounds with your unearthly strong boyfriend?
He melts.
You usually go multiple rounds, but he’s softer, he gives you downtime, even brings you water in between orgasms. But right now he can’t believe the way he fucked you and you still let him have more. But he needs more. The pollen is fogging his brain.
He finally pulls out, just to set you down on the floor. The second your back hits the rug, he’s on top of you again. And god he’s heavy. Solid. He doesn’t even hold his weight like he usually does because all he’s thinking about is fucking you senseless.
He buries himself deep again, groaning, cursing under his breath. You close your eyes, nails digging the carpet, back arching when you feel him deeper from this angle. You pant small whines from the feeling.
“Shhh…don’t–“ he coos, he wants to be slow, but he can’t. His hips snap hard without even thinking. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart…so good for me… just need one more.”
You know it’s not just one more. And he fucking knows that too.
None of you cares.
“You’re so wet…so perfect” he groans, the filthy sound gushing loudly every time he thrusted. “I didn’t even give you time to come down…didn’t even let you breathe and you still take me so well”
He praises. Worships. He looks down to where your bodies meet, and he sees right through your skin. He can see his huge cock filling you with every thrust. He can see your walls clenching around him. And he loses it.
You’re suddenly running out of air when he presses his chest to yours, pining you tighter to the floor with his body as he pushes harder. And you feel all of him. The broadness of his chest against your ribs. The strain of his thighs bracketing yours. His cock still buried deep, rock hard.
You hit his bicep with your hand first, but he’s not paying attention, he’s too caught up on the way your pussy takes him to notice.
It’s not smooth. Not rhythmic. Just sharp, ragged thrusts that hit you so hard your body jerks on impact, tits bouncing, nails clawing at his back as he crushes you into the floor with every rut of his hips.
Your head starts spinning.
“Clark,” you choke out, hitting his bicep again. “I can’t–can’t breathe…”
His head finally snaps at you, eyes going wide. He lifts up a bit, but he doesn’t pull out, he just … can’t.
You finally gasp for air as he shushes you softly, tucking away the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead.
“I’m sorry…I can’t…can’t stop. I tried, I swear I tried,” his forehead presses to yours, without crushing you alive this time.
His hips don’t stop moving. You pant between moans. You’re close again, you can feel it.
“It’s okay, you’re just…you’re so big…so heavy.”
“I know,” he breathes. “I’m sorry, I know. I just…I don’t want to let you go–”
“Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t let me go.”
His expression breaks. Because he knows. And you know. He’s not really letting you go. Not all the way. He’s still pressing his weight into you, even as he tries not to. Because he needs to. Because letting go means losing you, even just for a second.
He doesn’t know what takes over him, he grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Watching you sob, moan, eyes rolling back, skin already bruising in multiple places by his grip. He’s not like this. He should be apologizing. Begging. But you just feel so damn good.
And you like it, god you love it.
“I–I love it when you fuck me like this,” you confess, voice barely above a whisper, dumb smile on your face as he hits that spot repeatedly. “I just–I can’t…”
“I know darling, I know…just a little more,” he groans. “One more please. You can take it…you’re doing so good.” He coos, but he can’t slow down, not when you’re clenching him like that.
He picks up the pace.
“C-Clark…please, I’m gonna-“
“I’ve got you, darling…I’ve got you, let yourself go for me.”
You see white this time. You’re not even moaning anymore. Just gasping. Twitching. Letting him take what he needs because you want to. Because this is Clark, your Clark, and you’d give him your whole body a thousand times if he needed it.
And he does.
He fucks you like you’re his last breath.
Even after you’re wrecked, limp, twitching…he keeps going.
You don’t even remember the next time he finishes. Or the time after that. Or where it happened. Your body is a mess, trembling and raw and wet and full. Marked. Praised.
All while he keeps saying, “Just one more…just let me stay inside you a little longer…please sweetheart, I’m still hard I know you can take it…this is the last time I promise…”
Again and again. You’ve never heard him lie so much before.
Yet still, with your hair splayed, legs shaking, literal tears leaking from the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, the pain, the strain, the goddamn pollen he pumps into your body every time he comes…
You are having the time of your life being drunk on his cock.
“Fuck me harder.”
You beg, even when you can’t feel it that much anymore. Maybe that’s why you need it harder…deeper. And because you knew that once he came back to normal he wouldn’t fuck you like this again. And he makes sure to let you know.
“I’m sorry. I just need you so fucking much…I love you I love you I love you—”
You just nod, because it hurts embarrassingly good.
You lose count of how many times he comes in total. How many times you come. You only know time’s passed when the sky starts to lighten outside your broken window, and Clark is rocking into you so slowly it’s more like he’s just holding you in place, his mouth pressed to your shoulder, whispering thank you with every lazy thrust.
By the time he finally slows down, finally wears the substance out of his body after dumping it all inside you…you can’t move. You’re limp in his arms, boneless and dripping and his.
Your bed feels incredibly soft in contrast to all the spots he fucked you on last night.
You’re draped across his chest, tracing the muscles under his bare skin. His fingers are in your hair. Barely moving, just tracing small patterns. Soothing you like he didn’t cause all the pain in your body.
You’re still trembling a little. Just from…after. Your body’s still echoing with everything he gave you. Everything he took.
Worth it.
Clark kisses your temple. He hasn’t stopped kissing you every few minutes. It’s like he’s trying to apologize without saying it. Like he’s trying to prove that he’s still the man you love, the man who flinches when he bumps your head by accident, who picks you flowers and gets flustered when you kiss him in public. The one who always put you first in bed.
Not the one who just broke the sound barrier flying to your apartment because his cock told him to.
“…I broke your window,” he finally breaks the silence, a chuckle makes his chest vibrate against your ear.
“Clark…you broke a lot more than my window.”
You both start giggling…somehow glowing. Your throat hurts, you’re sore, probably can’t even walk today or the whole week, and somehow, it feels like the safest place on Earth.
“I love you,” he whispers. “So much.”
“I know,” you whisper back. “You said it like 87 times while destroying me.”
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I created a blog dedicated to Superman, where I’ll be posting my writing for him from now on 🫶🏼 so if you wanna check it out, go to -> @404superman
Feedback and sharing is always appreciated, thank you so much for reading <3
warnings // soulless!sam, manipulation, biting, p in v, fem!reader, degradation, power imbalance, spitting
Soulless Sam Winchester is calculated. The immoral parts of regular Sam Winchester are usually buried deep, piled under stacks of shame and guilt, but as soon as he lost his soul, his secure moral compass splintered into a million pieces. It shows through the way he thrusts into you. His harsh movements are evident that he doesn’t care if the tip bruises your cervix. His gaze is vacant, the loving sparkle that normally glistens in his eyes replaced with possessiveness.
Ownership.
Sam pushes into you, focusing on the way your tight, wet walls suck him up. With one arm placed over your head, he stares down at you. “Eyes on me.”
“Yes, Sam,” you respond obediently, eyes widening as his head dips down to the crook of your neck. At first he’s gentle, pressing delicate kisses to your fragile skin, but when his teeth sink into the soft flesh on your collarbone, a yelp mixed with a wanton moan slips out.
Sam pulls his head up to look at you, his cock still buried inside of you as he tests the waters. Almost like a predator sizing up its prey, Sam scans each crevice of your face, noting the slight twitch in your lips as the pain from the bite settles.
Your stomach flutters— this new version of Sam is exciting, enticing, and appetizing. With saliva pooling in your mouth as the terror of this moment sinks in, you instinctively open your mouth, and Sam knows exactly what you want.
He parts his lips. Tantalizingly, Sam lets a string of saliva fall into your mouth. “Swallow.”
You nod, your core warming up at the taste of his saliva on your tongue. It isn’t until Sam dips his head down once more, and begins to leave a trail of bite marks along your chest, focusing on the sensitivity of your collarbones that you realize this isn’t your Sammy.
“Sammy,” you drawl out, a whiny tone attached to his name as he leaves uncomfortable bite marks all over your body. He’s marking what’s his, after all.
“You like it,” Sam’s tone has shifted into something that makes your gut twist in fear.
Taking in your bottom lip, you chew on it hard enough that if you’re not careful, you might split the skin. Silence permeates the air, all the words you want to spew are jailed in your esophagus.
“But deny it all you want,” Sam leans down, pressing a chaste kiss against the most prominent bite mark on your collarbone. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
need a good pussy spanking from DILF!patrick 🥴 like, a few quick smacks because i’m being a brat that quickly leads to him fingerblasting me and just wailing on my clit, no mercy, leaving it red and throbbing. need to say i’m sorry and ask him to suck on it to make me feel better :(
dilf!patrick who spoils you rotten. never really says no to you. but one day he's in a bad mood. he loses what shouldve been an easy match against a shitty player. the weather sucks and you're being a fucking brat. talking back and rolling your eyes. he's just trying to suggest what to get to eat and you're disgusted at all the options.
"i dont want that." you cross your arms and turn away from him in the car.
"well that's what we're fucking getting."
you roll your eyes. mutter about a stick being up his ass. and after you get home and eat your dinner silently, he tells you to come over to him. you expect he'll apologize for being in a bad mood, for letting things get under his skin.
but he just bends you over his lap. yanks your little cotton pajama shorts down, panties too.
"you're being a fucking brat." he runs his finger down your slit and you're already gathering wetness. he laughs at you. "nobody likes a bratty girl. it's very unbecoming."
you look up at him and shrug, a smile is bitten back by your teeth, sunk into your bottom lip.
"you think this is funny?" he spits on your cheek. "how's that huh? you want me to treat you how bratty girls get treated?"
and you just shrug. you like this game. "if you wanna."
he smacks your pussy. his hand comes down on you hard and your skin burns from the contact. your clit swells with pleasure and pain but it's all the same. you squeak and grasp onto his thighs. and then three more, in quick succession. he has to hold your hips down because you're squirming. its laughable how easy it is for him to hold you down. completely at his mercy.
"you gonna say you're sorry?" he pushes his middle and ring finger into your cunt. you're sopping wet and he fucks his digits into you faster and faster--so fast that you can't get a word out. just nods and whimpers. your nails are almost drawing blood from patrick's upper thighs.
"i'm--" your head falls. drool comes with it. "i'm sorry--please--"
"sorry for what?" he stops. you miss the feeling of him fucking you with his strong fingers. so long and deft.
"sorry for being a br-brat." you stumble on your words like you're sobbing.
your cunt throbs and your clit does too and patrick can't say no to those big fucking eyes of yours. peering up at him. he puts you on the dining table and eats your pussy. kisses your clit.
hey bestie could I request patrick and art taking turns eating the reader out (or at the same time)????? feel like that would be my dream fr. love your writing!!!
OH.
patrick and arts' confidence had been struggling. they had just lost their fourth doubles match. in a row. this was uncommon--no, it had never happened before. one loss happens. two is bad luck. three is shaken confidence. but four, four becomes a habit.
and you heard their coach yelling at them after their loss. you, expecting your best friends to win, had promised to take them out for wings at their favorite bar after their win. of course, they didn't win, but their dejected little puppy dog eyes made you feel so bad. so you took them out anyway.
you would never tell them this, but they look so cute in their matching outfits. snug black shorts that hug their muscular thighs. a t-shirt adorning their beloved tennis club. art wore his ball cap backwards; patrick's was worn the normal way.
and they were so sad. barely talking to you, sighing as they sucked and bit on their wings, pushing their fingers into their mouth. you kind of just watched them eat.
and the thing about your relationship with art and patrick was that it had teetered and almost bled over the line for the one and a half years you all had been friends. nothing about your relationship was traditional. on the road, you would all share a bed. and sometimes you wore art's shirt to bed and patrick's boxers. you commented on how handsome they look multiple times a week, and laughed at how flustered they would get. the boys ogled at your ass when you played your own matches, the wind pushing your tiny skirt up as a gift to them. but you had never, ever fully committed to pushing those boundaries. none of you had ever kissed, nor had you indulged in your sexual fantasies.
but that doesn't mean you didn't have them. and you knew art and patrick talked about them when you weren't there.
so you had an idea. it was stupid, and maybe you were feeling cocky at how pathetic they looked sitting across from you in a silence that was bordering on uncomfortable. but you gave them a deal.
"your guys' confidence is wavering." you tell them, pushing your finger into their basket of wings. you suck some of the sauce off. patrick and art are listening; it's the first thing anyone has said at this celebratory-dinner-turned -depressing-pity-party. "and hey, you're both incredibly good at tennis. so it makes sense that you're this upset."
they nod, and reach for the same fry. art pushes the basket towards patrick, and he happily shoves a handful in his mouth.
"but if you sit here and let it get you down, you're both gonna get in your head and keep losing."
"how do we avoid that? it may be too late." patrick takes a sip of his drink. art has his arms crossed over his chest.
"have something that drives you to want to win so bad, that you don't have a choice but to win." you lean forward. their eyes are big and confused.
"we always want to win." art shrugs.
"and if you do," you begin. "i will give you both a present of sorts."
"which is?" patrick's interest is piqued. but you can tell he's pissed at you insinuating they don't want to win enough.
"if you win your doubles on thursday, i'll let you do whatever you want to me." you whisper it, and hear them gulp.
your promise alluded to a conversation you had overheard six months prior. you weren't even supposed to be at their apartment, but you had had a bad day and wanted to watch a movie with them. they were talking loud in the living room, and you quickly realized it was about you.
"i wouldn't purposely ruin our friendship, is what i'm saying." art said. "but if she let us fuck her--i would do it immediately."
patrick interjected. "i would do disgusting things to her. and i would let her do them right back to me. seriously, anything."
the word anything was the kicker here. because ever since that conversation, you wondered what anything would be for them. how they would fuck you. what their fantasies were.
patrick wipes his mouth with a napkin and leans forward. "both of us together? or we separately can do anything we want?"
you shrug. "whatever you both want. that's the promise. i don't have any stipulations on how it's done."
"holy fuck." art is flustered, maybe because he realizes you know he is just as perverted as his best friend.
you all shook on it, like it was a stupid bet. it kind of was.
and by thursday, you were nervous. they were playing some of the top-ranked players in the nation. of course, art and patrick had good rankings, respectively, but they had been steadily dropping down the ranks since their losing streak began.
everyone at the match was rooting for art and patrick, but they didn't expect them to win. and you didn't know what it meant for your friendship with the boys that you were on the edge of your seat with your fingers crossed, praying they would win. for you.
they came out strong, waving to the crowd, but especially to you. and when the match began, you had never seen their reflexes so fast, their hits so precise. the other boys were gaining on them, but the deep grunts coming from art and patrick, the sweat running down their necks, it all showed they wanted this so fucking bad.
they won like it was easy. of course, they had actually tried incredibly hard--but they made it look nonchalant. and they looked at you as they hugged each other, celebrating a win that signified much more than fans saw on the surface.
they decided to cash in their prize that same night. that's what they said when they came up to you, beaming. their chests heaved, but their smiles were big. and nobody around knew exactly what they meant.
so you lay on patrick's bed, in your little skirt and a tank top, resting up on your elbows so you can watch them. you notice how they are both there; they didn't decide to go separately.
neither of them really say a word at first. patrick slips one of your shoes off and art the other. they look at each other as their hands run up your bare leg, until they reach the waistband of your skirt.
"do you wanna do the honors, artie?" patrick asks.
art quickly pulls your skirt down your legs. they admire the pink lacy panties you're wearing.
"take off your shirt." art tells you.
you do, quickly. you aren't wearing a bra. their breath hitches.
"fuck me." patrick lunges forward and sucks your nipple into his mouth, his teeth grazing against the sensitive bud. art goes for your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down to your collarbones. his strong hands feel your breast. you're trying not to moan, not to give them the satisfaction that this is for anyone but them. but you do.
art returns the favor by turning your face to his. he kisses you desperately, moaning into your mouth, his spit wet on your chin. patrick feels left out. he moves up your body by kissing your jaw on the other side, before he forcefully kisses your mouth. he is hungry. at a quick glance, you see how hard they are. but they don't pull out their cocks. they don't pull your hand to feel their erections. and they don't tell you to suck them off.
ininstead,stead their mouths travel downward, each of them pulling one of your legs apart. they press sloppy kisses down your chest, licking down your stomach, until they are laying on their own stomachs, looking up at you. patrick kisses your inner thigh. he pulls your panties down your legs.
"her pussy is so pretty." art admires. they're talking like you're not even there.
"look how fucking wet she is."
your legs shake as you bite your lip.
"should we take turns, or should we share?" art asks.
patrick is greedy, and he hooks both of his arms around your legs, his hands on your ass. he presses wet, hot kisses to your cunt and licks at your clit. your hips buck, and art pushes them down, cooing in your ear. you can tell he's jealous, that he wants to help too.
"good girl." art praises. his breath feels good against your ear, and you move to kiss him, your hands tangled in his pretty blond hair.
patrick's fingers move inside you. they're fat and soaked and his tongue feels good as it moves in circles over your swollen clit.
art pulls away from your mouth and patrick pulls the hem of art's shirt.
"come taste her."
your mouth hangs open as patrick pulls his fingers from you and offers them to art. and the moan you let out as art sucks them into his mouth is fucking pornographic.
and then art's mouth is on your cunt. his fingers press into your thighs and it hurts in the best way. art is louder than you expected, and louder than patrick. he spits on your cunt and spreads it open to admire your hole, soaked and pretty for them. he hums and moans and groans into your pussy, and patrick can't take it.
so they share you. their tongues touch and their spit mixes as they eat your pussy, their hips bucking into the bed.
"tastes so fucking good." patrick moans, his thumb pushing into you.
art looks up at you, at how fucked out you look. you cum on their tongues--both of them. and you watch as they continue to lap at your sensitive clit, begging you to cum just one more time for them.
they don't want this to be over. and you think about how this was what they wanted, this is what they decided on when you gave them that choice. this was their anything.
oh and what if patrick and tashi were together! you are tashi's roommate. she kicks you out a lot, when patrick comes to visit. which has been more and more frequent. but you're always a good sport.
tashi likes you a lot. she says you're fun and a great friend, not to mention you're gorgeous. it's like she's taunting patrick. he feels uncomforable when she brings it up. of course, he thinks you're beautiful. anybody with two working eyes can see that. but he's tashi's. it feels like walking into a glue trap to tell her that he agrees with her. that yeah, you're super hot.
she brings it up more and more to patrick.
"do you want her to join us or something?" you're in class; patrick and tashi are laying in tashi's bed together. she's straddling him in nothing but her bra.
"she's shy. with sexual stuff."
patrick teases her. "how do you know? you try to fuck her when i'm gone?"
"no--i try to set her up on dates. plenty of boys on the tennis team like her. she refuses."
"maybe she wants you." he pinches tashi's side, and she slaps his arm.
"i dunno."
"so then, why bring it up to me? i'm your boyfriend, remember." he says it like a true reminder.
tashi shrugs. always so blunt. "i think the best thing to get her out of her shell would be to make her feel sexy."
"so we have a threesome?"
"no." tashi, tilts his chin up, looks at patrick's pretty pink pout.
"you eat her pussy. make her feel like a goddess."
"you're asking your boyfriend to eat another girl's pussy?" patrick sits up on his elbows. "why?"
she doesn't truly answer. "i've seen you ogle her before. do you want to or not?"
"tash, i think we gotta get her in on it first."
but once tashi gets her mind on something, she can't stop thinking about it. maybe it's a perverted little fantasy for her to have, watching her strong boyfriend eat out her innocent little roommate.
she really does think it would help her blossom, get rid of her sexual repression. when patrick's face is in her pussy it makes her feel like a god.
so she brings it up, while patrick is visiting art and some more friends of theirs. tashi stayed behind for this specific reason.
tashi sits next to you on the bed. "so, what do you think about patrick?" she asks.
you blush, almost imperceptibly so. but tashi notices. of course you find him attractive--who wouldn't? but he is tashi's boyfriend. you can't compete with tashi--you don't want to.
"i think he's great for you. you guys match each other really well. just seems--natural."
tashi leans in, tilting your chin up. "i asked what you think about him. how does he make you feel?"
you shrug. "um, i like him. he's fun to be around."
"do you want him to touch you?"
you don't understand what's happening. why you're weirdly turned on, thinking about patrick but also listening to tashi's voice. how she's rubbing your back. tashi doesn't seem upset at all. in fact, it seems like she wants this. like she's egging it on.
"i mean, i definitely think he's attractive." you don't know what to say.
tashi's hand finds your knee. "what if i told you patrick and i talked about you. about helping you out."
"helping me out with what?"
"your confidence. you know, he thinks you're a very pretty girl. i do too."
it makes your cunt feel fluttery, hearing her say that.
"i would like that, i think."
"i think you would too."
that night, patrick and tashi get home from dinner. they invited you, but you politely declined, lying about some other plans you had.
you're in pajama shorts and a tank top, doing some homework. you try not to react to them coming in; your heart beats faster and you're nervous--but excited.
you feel patrick sit next to you, on tashi's desk chair. tashi is sitting on her bed, watching. arms crossed, she's not cold, but it almost looks like she's coaching patrick. he wants this too, of course, but he wouldn't be doing this if not for his girlfriend's pushing.
he pushes your hair out of the way, exposing your neck.
"what are you working on?" he's leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. he looks big and strong; maybe you didn't realize just how manly he had become since you met him last year.
"english essay." you say. your fingers hover over your keyboard.
patrick leans forward, easily pulling you into his lap. you don't know where to put your hands, but patrick's are resting on your ass, the middle of your back.
"is this okay? do you like this?"
you nod, fervently. he kisses your neck; it feels like he's worshipping you, and you feel tashi's eyes on you. but she's not jealous, she's excited.
tilting your head back, you tangle your fingers in patrick's hair, it's tacky with product, and you grip it hard. his kisses become deeper and you feel him swipe his tongue under your jaw to soothe the mark he just made. now he moves to your lips. god, he tastes good. you've only kissed two boys in your whole life. you instinctively grind against patrick's clothed cock and you feel him smile against you.
"this is about you. you can use me. however you want."
you nod, not knowing exactly what he means or what you want. it's lazy, your grinding. but it feels so good. patrick moves you to the bed easily and lays down. realizes he's going to have to guide you. god, you're so fucking cute.
now tashi is closer. she is sitting at the desk chair. you both watch as patrick peels his shirt off. tashi is used to it, but you whimper. you touch his chest, run a finger over his abs.
"he's really pretty." you tell tashi. it's almost innocent how you say it. almost.
"he is, isn't he."
patrick is so hard it fucking hurts. he wants to push your head down on his cock, wants to stretch you open, fill you up. but that's not what he's here for. it almost makes it feel better. knowing he's being used like this.
patrick unties your little shorts. kisses your shoulder as he moves the strap of your tank top down. your instinct is to cover up. but they won't let you.
"so pretty. let us see you."
you trust them. and you want them. so you let them.
he peels your underwear off, pulls your shirt over your head. and he admires you.
"i've got the two most perfect girls right here."
you moan and whimper and sigh as his thumb rolls your nipple, his other hand playing with your pussy. you're so wet, soaking the sheets.
you don't know what he's doing. he lays down flat on the bed. his erection is barely hidden underneath his little red shorts. tells you to sit on his face.
you do what you think he means.
"like this?" you look down at him. his mouth is visibly watering; your cunt is so close to his lips.
"just like this." his arms snake around your legs, hands feel up your body. and it feels like heaven when his lips wrap around your clit. his tongue moves slowly at first. the moans coming from his mouth feel good against your pussy and he tells you how good you taste.
"fuck, your little cunt is soaking my face."
tashi is still watching. she has barely blinked. "it really is."
"sorry." you say.
"that's a good thing. you're a good girl." and he slaps your ass. you didn't think you'd like that, but you buck your hips and grind on patrick's tongue like a reflex.
"that's right. fucking use me." he kisses your inner thigh.
so you use his mouth, grind on it. you're pulling his hair and running your hands down his torso because god, it's so hot how hard he is, how you see him twitch when your hand moves closer.
patrick knows you're about to cum. your legs are shaking just like tashi's do. but you're tense, like you don't want to let go.
"cum for me. i want you to."
your breathing is shallow as he sucks on your clit again. harder and harder. his mouth is so warm. but you're moaning so loud tashi gets nervous about someone coming to check on them. so she kisses you as you cum. your fingers tangle into her hair and your mouth hangs open.
patrick looks like he just died and went to heaven. and now, his shorts are wet.
ugh how about dilf!patrick finally gave the babysitter a lesson like he can't hold it in anymore
after he catches you hooking up with your little boyfriend on his living room couch he is just itching to tease you about it. he wants so badly to see your cheeks burn and to hear you stumble over your words and talk in circles, begging for his forgiveness. and the next couple of times you come over, he acts like he forgot all about it. he’s very nice and complimentary of you. tells you to get home safe as he slips you an extra $50. you feel sort of stupid for overthinking so much—Mr. Zweig is cool. he understands. and he has a kid. He has more to worry about than what his babysitter is doing in her free time.
but three weeks later, Patrick decides to bring it up. asks if you’re still with that boy. you know, the one whose tongue was in your mouth on his sofa. you gulp and coyly shrug.
“I dunno. sort of a casual thing.” you’re so mortified and he can tell; that was his goal.
“Casual? I didn’t peg you as the type.”
gnawing on your bottom lip, you knit your brows together. “As what type?”
“A little slut.” he says it so casually, pouring his coffee into a red ceramic mug and raising his brows at you over the lip.
you just stare at him, unable to understand your feelings toward him. your boss, a man who is way older than you. With a kid and an ex wife and real responsibilities. but he’s so attractive and easy to talk to—you thrive on his compliments. on the easy, syrupy cadence of his approval. he’s easily the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and now it feels like he doesn’t respect you anymore.
“I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t have done that.”
Patrick sets his mug down. “Sorry?” An easy crook of his finger beckons you closer to him. “Sorry for being a slut?” his fingers dig into your hair and force you to look up at him. It doesn’t hurt but it’s firm. Dominant. “that’s not necessarily a bad thing. That’s my vice. Little sluts like you.”
and it’s weird because this should be upsetting to you; this man you admire being so gross and perverted. but you feel strangely allured by it. Unshaven jaw and freckled cheekbones. So close to your face.
“What makes me a slut?” you ask him, quite innocently.
“Those dresses you wear.” He’s quick to answer. “The way you stare me up and down. your pink lace thongs. How you bite your lip when I come back from my runs. How you’re looking at me right now.”
“I can stop—“
“I never said I wanted that.” His hand is firm on your jaw, fingers prying your lips apart to feel their way inside. you instinctively suck and swirl your tongue around his thick fingers. “Fuck. I shouldn’t be doing this.”
And, just to appease him, to make him keep going, you pop his fingers out of your mouth and tell him: “you didn’t do this. I was the one being a slut. You’re just putting me back in my place.”
He flips you around and bends you over the kitchen counter, flipping your dress up. Your ass is so pert for him, barely covered by pretty polka dot panties. He squeezes the flesh before smacking it, hard. Hard enough for the fat to ripple and for your knuckles to turn white from your grip on the counter. His huge hand comes down to cup your pussy, feeling your wetness.
“God.” It’s like he wakes up from a trance, and he pulls your dress back over your ass. “I can’t do this. Fuck.”
Literally, can’t stop imagining speedsters using their speed in bed. Am a virgin just pulling this from imagination. Picture not edited btw, this show was low key wild MDNI // 18+
Your thighs were pried apart, one of his hands snug against the back of your knee. Keeping your legs open, the other was moving at lightspeed plunging his fingers deep into your cunt. Eyes glistening, a blush settled across his cheekbones, just watching your pretty pussy spasm around his fingers. They were long and slender, you could feel them wiggling deep inside you, gently massaging your walls. You squirmed, or at the very least tried to, as his fingers pumped so fast all you saw was a blur. And when he started vibrating them, you arched off the bed. Your juices kept squirting, dribbling down his wrist and pooling beneath you, and he leaned forward to swirl his tongue around your clit. You felt a buzzing pulse within you and your thighs started shaking.
"Nnngh—" You started. Creamy cum started to coat his fingers from how hard he you climaxed, your delicious moans made his cock twitch. He flicked his tongue against your clit again, and when you screamed, his fingers brushed your sweetspot. Vibrating against you.
"Could bake a pie with all this cream sweetheart." He taunted. "Look at how much there is, oh baby.." He was shocked, no longer did translucent slick trickle down your leaking hole. But thick white cum, from how hard his fingers were fucking you.
pairing: Diana Prince x f! reader (has a pussy + fem pronouns) x Clark Kent x Bruce Wayne x Barry Allen x Hal Jordan (at the same damn time!!!)
summary: when you get infected with a mysterious substance on a mission, there are only two options: die, or fuck your coworkers
cw: 4k words, dubcon, mentions of blood, mentions of death, sex pollen/aphrodisiacs, gangbang/orgy, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, pussy eating, fingering, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, voyeurism, creampies, lots of cum, doggystyle, stand & carry, double penetration, praise/degradation, reader gets passed around like crazy
froggi yaps -> HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! i have been SO SO SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE!!! from the start i knew i wanted to do a crazy gangbang & it was either gonna be the JLA or if I was feeling lazy, Dick/Roy/Reader/Wally. anyway please enjoy my JLA insanity <3
not ready for halloween to be over yet? come trick or treating!
Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.
You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.
No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.
No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.
It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”
Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late.
Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.
The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.
It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.
The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.
You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.
Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.
Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.
You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.
You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.
Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”
“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”
You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.
And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.
Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”
The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.
Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.
The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down.
“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown.
His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.
You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.
Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.
You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.
At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.
Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”
Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back.
“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.
“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”
You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news.
It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.”
No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.
“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.
No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.
It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”
“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”
Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.
You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.
The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”
Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”
Again, he shakes his head.
The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.
Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.
“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.
“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”
Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.
“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”
Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.
You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”
Spoken like a true scientist.
“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”
Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”
He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.
“So…” Clark begins.
“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”
The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”
Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.
“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”
Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”
The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.
You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”
Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics.
Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?”
“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”
Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.
Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute.
Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.
And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind.
Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.
Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat.
For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.
She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.
Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.
She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.
"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."
And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.
Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.
“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.
Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”
Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.
Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.
You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.
And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.
Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.
“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.
“It’s starting to hurt again…”
He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.
Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?
“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”
And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.
You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.
When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.
With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.
He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”
Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.
“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”
It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you.
He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”
You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.
The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.
Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier.
Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.
Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you.
It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.
Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"
You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.
Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.
Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.
You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.
Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”
Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”
And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.
Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.
Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks.
Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.
Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.
When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”
And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.
Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.
Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.
There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up.
He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”
You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.
Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.
"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.
Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.
Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.
Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.
"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."
You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.
It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.
Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.
You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.
Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”
“G-good, I think.”
It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.
“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”
“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”
You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.
Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.
