Wassup I’m Mia (@vaporwavebeach), and this is my writing blog!! I kinda just write whatever, whenever, but one of these days I’ll be more organized with it lmao
There’s some 18+ stuff and some dead dove content, minors dni
Finnie I’m no narc, but I need Gotham Zsasz behind BARS 🙌🙌 This guy is a total FREAK who commits SEVERAL crimes, but greivous bodily harm??? He’s crossed the line this time 💀💀 I need this wackjob (affectionate) dead or alive 🗣️🗣️💯💯🔥🔥
Gotham!Zsasz x GN!Reader, headcanons
a/n: mia lmao i am so sorry you had to roll the dice for an alternative pick but i think it suits him perfectly and i hope it works for you!!
main event post • event masterlist • tag: finnie3k • main masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: degradation, humiliation, aftercare
his main method of flirting, or at least hinting to you that he's ~in the mood~ is being cruel
like a fuckin kid, i swear, bullying you so you'll try to play fight with him, if not take a knife to his throat (which he would also be absolutely 100% ok with)
but it comes into play a Iot during sex, that kind of cruel taunting, more than teasing, the kind that hits hard in your chest
dominating you in a very physical sense, standing over you, keeping you in your place
reminding you of how much better he is than you, before getting to the real focus, which is how much worse you are than him
it keeps you there, keeps you with him, that gentle reminder of how pathetic you seem, how worthless you really are to him in any capacity
making sure you know that you better make it up to him, or else you'll wind up like everyone else
those disappointments to humanity, wiped out entirely
and any single moment of wekaness displayed while he takes you down will be mocked relentlessly
the focal point of his degrading lectures
watching you, humiliated, licking his patent leather boots to try and get the shine on them he's demanding
grinding yourself against his leg without making eye contact, because you don't deserve that
making sure you're just as pitiful and desperate as he knows you are always
but the nice thing is that he's only letting that out now, so he can spend the rest of his time appreciating you, so you know his aftercare is insane
and by insane i don't mean like... amazing, i mean he's suggesting ice cream to you when you're laying on the floor, dehydrated, fucked out, cheeks stained with your own tears
Dropping in a last minute Valentine's request bc l can't get this idea out of my head:
Gotham Zsasz with the same s/o from my last ask. Instead of an adrenaline-filled high-stakes back and forth kinda deal they have going on, they're sitting alone on a secluded rooftop. They finally have the chance to talk and just enjoy each other’s company in a softer context, especially since neither of them are really soft or emotional people
"Rooftop Musings" Gotham Zsasz X Reader Valentine's Day Date (Valentine's Day Event 2025)
Aw, but no one is immune to soft emotional moments. Not even Zsasz. This is for the (Now over) Valentine's Day Event!
TW: none
The night had been shockingly quiet. Work for the two of you had thinned the last few days- Even as you thrived in the violence of Gotham, it was a welcome break. You'd asked him to meet you on the rooftop of your apartment complex. It was empty on a night like this. The only noise was the hum of the city below. A breeze licked at your cheeks as you leaned your body against the fence-like barrier surrounding the top. Your eyes closed to take in the sensation.
The smell of his cologne, mixed with gunpowder and god-knows-what-else, told you he was there before you opened your eyes again. He leaned next to you, looking down at the lights. He smiled as he looked you over.
Victor stretched, "Here I thought when you invited me over, it was for the sheets tango."
"As tempting as that is... I was looking for a change of pace." You gave him a look, then thought on it, "...Is that alright?"
"I get to just talk and spend time with my favorite person?" Victor seemed to think on it for a moment, "Yeah, I guess."
"I'm your favorite?" You asked incredulously.
He snorted, "What, you thought it was Oswald? You're... You know the guns I like. The foods I like to eat. We watch movies on my couch, even when you hate them. I've held your hair back when you puked that one time-"
"I got food poisoning-" You interrupted.
"Yeah. And I did it." He pointed out. Now he was the one giving you a look. As if it was just so obvious.
There was a compulsive grin that crept on your face despite trying to keep your poker face, "You did."
You'd been sick as a dog, cancelling your date late minute when you couldn't leave the bathroom. Victor had come by anyways. He practically pushed himself in despite your pleas of the house being dirty and you feeling disgusting. For hours, he sat by you, telling you about himself, his scars, his latest job as you shuddered under a blanket. None of it seemed to phase him.
It was the first time he'd seen you vulnerable.
"I think you've always been my favorite." He said softly. If you asked him to delve further, you were certain you'd just get a vague answer. Better to let it sit.
"Maybe after then- I think that was when I started to really like you." You were honest. Who wouldn't like a person who did that for them?
"...You're cute." Victor said in a teasing tone.
You couldn't help how your eyes rolled. There was something about the way he spoke to you. It was completely genuine, there was no doubt about it. Lines you may have heard from others trying to get on your good side dozens of times- He meant them. Just as the scars on his body spoke of who he was, he laid himself bare for you to see.
A car honking below broke your focus. The lights of nearby Wayne Tower glittered in the night sky like the stars themselves.
"It's nice up here." He murmurs, "You see everything."
"I always liked the view from rooftops for that reason." Your voice was monotone, relaxed and not masking, "It's like the whole world is at your feet. All their lives, not knowing what's coming next."
There was a pause between the two of you. You bundled your coat closer to your skin as your eyes flicked to him. He stared, taking in your features.
"What?" A heat climbed up your neck.
He scooted his body closer to yours, "...I love you, you know that?"
It caught you off guard. You made an utterance, but it wasn't a word that actually came out. Your mouth closed. There were feelings of love and affection between the two of you in the time you'd been dating. And yet, this was the first time either of you had verbalized it out loud.
It made you feel... something.
"You know what that means, right?" You asked. That familiar sense of wariness and paranoia dug into your stomach. It didn't show on your face.
He sighs, wrapping an arm around you, "That I want you to love me." He said it quietly, as if it was a secret just between the two of you.
Even as the words he wanted burned on your tongue, you spoke on, "People will try to use us against one another. If they trap one of us, will the other crumble? We become an even bigger target for the up and coming in this city." No one is immune from getting caught. Even as good as they are.
His expression is difficult to read, "Then we kill anyone who tries. Everyone down there... if it meant all of them had to be gone just for you and me..." He shrugs.
It was strange sometimes, how he could say something so intense in such a matter of fact tone. Victor wrapped an arm around you as he sensed your hesitation.
You felt your shoulders relax, "...I love you, too."
Softly, you curved into his touch and kissed his cheek. A smile played on your face, small but genuine. People on the outside could see everything else. The fashion, the blood, the sexual tension- These moments were yours. In some ways it made your coupling stronger. It kept everyone else guessing and on the edge.
Victor knew you were right. You typically were about these sort of things. But the two of you were going to take it head on. Mercy on anyone who tried to get between.
Conversations lingered and lasted until the sun began to peak over the horizon. You offered to make Victor breakfast before collapsing into your bed to sleep.
His response was swift, "I'd follow you anywhere."
Found ur blog a few months ago and I LOVE ur writing 🙌🙌 I would like to drop in a date night prompt with Gotham Zsasz. His s/o is a fellow hitman/enforcer (maybe they have a history of some rivalry 👀). She’s reserved and introspective, but still tough and has a dry sense of humor, if slightly awkward (she’s kinda giving Dexter LMAO). The date could take place at an underground bar/club. I’m not sure how it would end, but honestly with these two? Anything goes
"Hell and You" Gotham Zsasz x F!Reader Valentine's Date (Valentine's Day Event 2025)
Fuck yes! It's funny, I've been on a Zsasz kick lately so I'm glad I got an ask for that guy. Also I never watched Dexter so forgive me if I'm not catching the exact vibe;;; This ask is for the 2025 Valentine's Day Event. You can still submit prompts for this until I wake up tomorrow (2/21/25)!
also uh, I made a spotify playlist for Zsasz because I kept getting pulled away and having to start and stop was fucking with my concentration. So bonus.
TW: Very suggestive verging on nsfw, some oral fixation
The staircase was one of the sketchiest you had ever seen. That was really saying something considering the places you'd had to frequent for your "job" in the past. It went to an underground floor level, the only indication of there being a club was a handwritten sign that said "The Hellhole" along the wall. Was this the moment Victor would pull your plug, so to speak?
Really, that'd be almost impressive for him to act out a longer-term con like that just for a hit. You'd been dating for several months now. It was all so new- Paranoia sat in your stomach for just a moment. It was healthy in your fields of work. Despite that, you decided to trust your boyfriend and descend down. Still, you allowed your fingers to trace the glock pistol slung to your thigh under the long coat you wore.
Eye scanned the crowd as you entered the club. Music thrummed into the floor and wracked up your body. The dim lighting was accentuated with the occasional pop of color from the dance floor lights. Every face could be a potential target. Someone in the way. A threat. Even on a good night, it paid to pay attention.
Yet even in the sea of people, you could see Victor wave at you from the bar. There was a rose on the tabletop. Those dark eyes drew you closer, as they always had. For not having any hair, it was those eyes that you'd noticed on your first meeting. Competing hitmen, on the same job- he'd snatched it from you which only started something much bigger.
Almost a year of stealing each other's kills, almost killing each other... Winks and stray bullets in a cocktail of snarky commentary only added fuel. When the two of you had drank your fill of it he'd finally popped the question- After a strange date at a vegan burger place, you sort of... kept going out. He brought something out of you that no one else seemed to. The two of you were awkward with others but... awkward together.
Then there was the way he looked at you, the way he was looking at you right now- Like you were the only one in the room. After a life of hiding in crowds and the darkness to get where you needed to be, it was like being seen for the first time.
"Hey, you." He practically purred, getting up to hug and kiss your cheek before sitting back down, "I was worried you'd gotten lost."
You sank into the seat next to him, "That for me?"
"Thorn for my thorn?" Victor slid the still-thorned rose over before a hand went to your knee. It crept up, his fingers grasping the gun holster on your thigh, "That for me?"
"Only if you misbehave." You flagged down the bartender, loosely pointing to your partner, "Whatever he's having."
Victor leaned over then, kissing just before the tragus of your ear, "Don't tease me. I just might." The kiss went lower, to the place where your jawline met your neck. Then he was back in his seat with a grin neat-as-you-please.
The drink was placed in front of you. You noted the mix of colors in a purple to black gradient.
"How much money do you think it would take to pay a guy to poison a stranger at the bar?" Victor asked knowingly.
He liked playing games.
You sipped the drink. The sweet taste of cherries and blackberries blended with the harsh burn of whatever liquor there was.
"Not enough, apparently." You quipped.
His laugh was more of a bark in the click of noise in the current song. Something in you knew he wouldn't hurt you, despite what years of experience whispered to you from the shadows. The imaginary therapist you probably needed noted how that may have effected past relationships. That was then, though, and now? Now, you slid a foot onto his chair and finished the drink.
"Why here?"
He hummed, pulling you up to your feet, "I wanted to dance somewhere people wouldn't stare. Nice, dark and scuzzy." He almost shrugs at the question, as if you should have figured it out. He took his own jacket off before assisting in taking yours off and slid the bartender a bill to keep an eye on them and the rose.
As a beat blared through the speakers above you, the two of you wove into the edge of the crowd of hot bodies. Lots of black, lots of piercings and the general attitude of leaving everything else out the door. You couldn't say Victor was the best dancer, but he moved in a way you followed, bodies melting together. Lips brushing exposed patches of skin until the two of you were making out as you moved.
The taste of your drinks passed over your tongues even as you separated- A trail of saliva lilting from his grin. You couldn't help but put a thumb between his teeth and cheek, extending the grin.
"You look awfully proud of yourself for foreplay." You leaned in with a grin of your own. Then, as you noted someone in the crowd being nosy, you tilted your head and stared until they looked away. It made him laugh.
He hummed, "Careful, I could bite-"
"Bite me then, dog." You pulled your thumb away, wiping it off on his cheek. You leaned closer before teasing the tip of your tongue at his mouth.
Victor's carefree nature seemed to break for a moment as he pulled you towards a nearby unoccupied corner. His hand roughly grabbed the shoulder of your outfit, pulling it and your bra strap out of his way. A moan left you as his teeth sunk in. Just so to not break skin, but enough to leave a nice bruise later. He smothered your neck in nips and kisses, panting.
His cheek rubbed against yours and you could feel how tight his pants were against your leg, "You make me crazy, you know? We could fuck right here and I don't think anyone would notice."
"Is that what you want?" Your leg pressed between his, your thigh giving friction to his obvious hard-on, "Right here?"
A small hump against your leg and he sighed. The palm of his hand slid under your chin, taking hold of your face, "I don't think I want to share just now. Besides, things I want to do to you? Might get us arrested."
"Like what?" You pulled him by the belt, forcing more pressure against his cock with your leg.
He seethed, "This dog is going to eat you alive."
"Then I guess we better move this to your place." You kissed him on the lips, inspiring him to wrap his arms around your body. It was... loving. His fingers smoothed into your hair and you could feel his smile.
The two of you made a swift and hasty exit, coats thrown back on. Victor cut himself on the rose as the thorns dug into his hand. The pain of it was thrilling- Just a start to a very good night.
Summary: After a drug deal, you two watch A Christmas Carol (and make out)
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: Enjoy this late as BALLS Christmas post 😭😭 Merry LATE Christmas @tr4sh-pl4nt I was ur secret Santa (nobody is surprised)
-
Despite the cloudy skies and flurries of snow, a soft reflection of the frost outside streams a bit of light into the office as you pull back the blinds. The sidewalks and alleys are empty- nary a car on the street. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought you were in Silent Hill rather than Gotham City. There’s nothing but grey, blistery, snowy solitude. This was good. With nobody around, this was sure to be an easy buy.
“Something on your mind?” He pipes up.
Snapping the shade back into place, you look back to see that he’s found the stash. In a small, plastic bag, the pills are on the desk. “No, I’m all good.”
He clicks his tongue with a wry grin. “If it’s the cops you’re worried about, don’t be. There’s gonna be a huge storm tonight- I doubt the pigs would leave the barn; freezing their butts off to go after a low-life like you.”
“Low-life? Look who’s talking,” You glare, making your way over to the desk. “Scarecrow.”
As your hand goes to reach for the pills, his thin fingers come into view, sliding the bag back.
“You fuck. I already payed.” Your eyes stare daggers into his clinical gaze. There’s a knowing smirk on his face and you brace yourself for whatever psychological games he decides to play with you now.
“Look,” he slides the bag off the desk and in between his slender fingers, as if dangling it just out of reach. “I’m not dumb enough to mess with a tweaker and their drugs, but humor me for a moment, won’t you?”
“You have five seconds to give me my-”
“Have you ever seen A Christmas Carol?” He’s completely unfazed by the threat, pulling out a DVD copy of the film.
“What?” Any aggression from within you begins to dissipate, turning into utter bewilderment.
“A Christmas Carol,” he repeats. “Y’know, a grizzled, selfish old miser who is haunted by three spirits who represent the ever-changing stages of his life? How each journey into his past, present, and future make him reevaluate the way he lives his life and treats others and learns the true meaning of Christmas?”
“Yeah, I know, I know.”
“Well forget it.” He slides the DVD into the video player, watching it click into place. “Sure, it’s a classic holiday tale, but it’s so much more than that.” He springs up, flicking off the lights. “It’s a horror story.”
The blue glow from the old television illuminated the office as it came to life with some static and a startling pop. You began to wonder how old that damn thing was until you found yourself standing alone with Crane on the empty couch. Although the room was dark, you could feel Dr. Crane’s piercing gaze beckoning you over. Hesitantly, you sit on the other end of the couch.
As the film begins, the Disney logo catches your eye. “Horror story my ass…” you mutter.
“What was that?” He quips, wondering how he heard you.
“Horror story my ASS.” You annunciate clearly. Shifting in your seat you turn to him. “A Disney movie? You refuse to give me my shit for this?” You laugh bitterly.
“Oh,” he chuckles darkly. “You really don’t have any idea of what we’re about to get into, do you?”
“What the fuck on God’s green earth are you talking about?”
“Scoff all you want,” he grins, turning down the volume. “This version of the film truly captures the true essence of fear better than its other iterations. Narratively speaking, the film remains pretty faithful to the original novella by Charles Dickens, which obviously is something to be expected from any adaptation, but it’s especially crucial here to really showcase the specific fears of the time.”
“Well yeah it might be accurate, but doesn’t everyone collectively agree that this one sucks?” You reply. “I mean, look at the creepy ass mocap, it’s literally the same shit as the Polar Express-”
“Oh right!” He shifts excitedly. “The visuals only contribute to terror! Sure, motion capture gets a bad rap because it’s a little off-putting, but it really works in a film like this- perfectly seasoned with that uncanny valley effect. It really adds to the flavor of dread.”
“Whatever man,” you scoff. “It’s just some story about an old man.” You turn your attention back to the movie, straining to listen to the low volume despite Jonathan’s chatter.
He clears his throat. “An old man- who you may find, has far similar fears to you than you may think.”
You cock your head to the side, turning to him. “You callin’ me an old man?”
The sound of his laughter fills your ears. “Oh no, not at all.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “It’s just so painfully human.”
“Human?”
“Scrooge isn’t taught redemption, he’s simply being driven by fear.” He leans back on the couch. “The ghosts don’t just visit him to bring awareness to his cold heart, but they dismantle him- tearing away layers and layers of his psyche until there’s nothing left but his raw fear. It’s fascinating, really. How the fear completely reshapes his attitude in the waking world.”
You find yourself leaning back as he moves his way closer to you, only to be caught by the end of the couch.
“And you wanna know what the real scary thing is? It’s the fact that we could all end up just like him- Alone. Forgotten. Unloved. It’s a common fear that drives us all, isn’t it? The fear of abandonment? Being left behind.” You can feel the heat radiating from his body with every word spoken.
You blink, at a loss for words. It’s starting to feel all too real. “I,” you stutter. “I’m not sure what this has to do with me.”
“Oh, but it has everything to do with you.” His voice is low, as you feel yourself be closed in. “That invisibility,” he lets the words linger on his tongue. “Something that most people prefer to ignore, but it’s still there isn’t it? Lurking.”
His eyes stare within the confines of your soul. You look away from his prying eyes, but you can still feel his gaze on you like a searchlight.
You can feel your chin between his fingers as he gently forces you to look at him. “I think this little arrangement we have- these little meetings, it’s more than just a drug deal isn’t it? I think you want more than just drugs.”
Suddenly the office didn’t feel so chilly anymore. The closeness of his breath on the shell of your ear made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He’s right. You do want more.
Your hands slide up his long arms, feeling the fabric of his shirt beneath your palms. Resting your fingers on his shoulders, you pull him closer. You speak up, words barely a whisper. “So, you gonna give me my drugs or not?”
“I’d thought you’d never ask.” A knowing grin graces his silhouetted frame.
Pulling the bag from his pocket, he opens the seal, taking out a small, ghost-shaped tablet and places it on his tongue. At first you were confused as to why he was breaking into your stash until you felt the harsh press of his lips against yours.
Pulling him closer into you, you allow your hands to slip under his shirt, feeling his flesh on your fingertips. In turn, he runs his hand through your hair while the other snakes its way down your spine, cradling the small of your back. His grip is firm, fingers digging into you, showing no sign of letting go.
Quickly, he nips at your lower lip. As you whine at sting, you fall victim to his plan when he slips his tongue into your mouth. You can feel him transfer the tablet to you, swallowing it down with his guidance. In retaliation, you sink your nails into the skin of his back, feeling him hiss into the kiss as he pulls away with a chuckle.
Breathless from the kiss, he wraps an arm around you. “Maybe this will help you understand Scrooge’s fear.” He grabs the remote, adjusting the film’s volume back to normal.
At this point you could give less of a shit about the movie. You allow yourself to fall into Jonathan’s side. You’re not sure if it’s from the pill or the kiss as you let yourself be overtaken by the waves of euphoria and adrenaline.
Reggie Franklin (A-Train) x Kevin Moskowitz (The Deep) (NSFW)
(1,206 words)
Summary: Blow A-Train.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, extremely dubious consent, imbalanced power dynamics, inner monologues, allusions to sexual assault, blowjobs, throat fucking, orgasm denial
Notes: GUESS WHOS BACK BITCHES
-
“Blow A-Train.”
At first, there was disbelief. Looking around the room, the Deep turned to A-Train, confused and surprised, who looked back at him in equal parts confusion.
“What?” He asked.
The darting eyes within the conference room soon locked their gaze on Homelander as his next words left his mouth.
“I’m not kidding,” Homelander said. His tone was cold- Unwavering. “Go over there, pull out A-Train’s cock, and blow him.”
The next actions were perfectly clear to the Deep. Slowly, he got up. The sound of the chair shifting as he rose broke the uncomfortably, deafening silence that had swept over the conference room. He soon stood face to face with A-Train, who was told to get up from his seat.
The two men exchanged looks. The Deep could feel A-Train’s gaze of disgust drilling into his skull. The Deep hoped A-Train could understand the sympathy of this situation, but as he lowered himself down to his knees, and as his big, blue eyes locked onto his, A-Train could see nothing but coward.
“Sex is just a spectrum, right, bro?”
A-Train rolled his eyes, glancing over to Homelander, hoping- praying, that his outlandish order would just be a joke. After seeing his gaze remain fixed in a cold, stoic stare, A-Train could feel could the sting of a mental slap to the face. When would he have ever known Homelander to make a joke like that? After Starlight- Annie, had left, and Maeve turned out to be a traitor, shit had completely hit the fan for the ones who stayed. Homelander was losing leverage left and right. He had to make an example of the ones who were scared enough to remain.
The sound of A-Train’s belt falling to the floor broke his train of thought as well as the uncomfortable silence that filled the room. A-Train bit the inside of his cheek, feeling Deep’s gloved hands shakily pull out his cock from within the blue spandex. The crushing weight of exposure almost felt painful upon realizing every eye in the room was on them, about to watch a humiliating and shameless display of their spinelessness.
“You put your mouth around my cock, and you’re a fucking dead man,” A-Train whispers almost inaudibly through gritted teeth. At first, he thought the threat was a little too quiet. The others in the room hadn’t caught it, and The Deep seemed to pause for a split second, until Homelander’s voice abruptly broke the uncomfortable silence, making everyone jump.
“You’re not the one calling the shots here, A-Train,” Homelander piped up loudly. He turned his attention to the Deep. “Deep,” Homelander continues, his voice lowering back to that clinical tone, “Blow him, or I turn that pathetic creature you have hiding in your closet, into calamari. How about that?”
With a nervous chuckle Deep put a hand behind his head. “Heh, that would just be ridiculous, sir, I mean, I don’t even have a-” The Deep’s poor attempt at diffusing the situation with laughter proved fruitless as Homelander maintained that same cold stare. A-Train’s secondhand- embarrassment only worsened.
The Deep’s blue eyes looked up at A-Train with sympathy, who refused to make eye contact with him. Nervously, the Deep’s eyes fell on what was in front of him. A-Train’s cock was unsurprisingly flaccid. His cock seemed to be a bit above average in length, but was way girthier. It was intimidating, but if Homelander told him to blow it, especially at the threat of his dear, Ambrosius, he could manage it.
Running a gloved thumb over the head of A-Train’s cock, Deep desperately tried keeping his composure.
Ok, Kevin. You’ve got another man’s dick in your hand and the entire room is watching you. Don’t fuck this up. How do I not fuck it up? Oh god. What would a girl do? I don’t know what a girl would do, I’m not a girl. Shit, I can’t even use a frame of reference, I can’t even remember the last time I had a half-decent blowjob. From a human at least. Cassandra sucked, and I’m no octopus. I mean, a dick is kinda like a tentacle, right? What am I even supposed to do here? God, is this what Starlight felt like? Shit, this does not feel good.
While the Deep was reeling with his inner monologue, the rest of the room just saw him spaced out for several minutes, absentmindedly stroking the tip of A-Train’s cock, holding in his groans at the rhythmless stimulation, sending a shudder of desperately needed arousal in an otherwise, unarousing situation. This was agony.
I mean, he’s hard now, which is good? At least that’ll give me something to work with; some structure. At least, I assume it’ll be easier to work with. Aw shit, I thought about the logistics of sucking a cock. Does that make me gay-
“Goddamn it, man, this is taking too long.” A-Train grunted. The Deep could feel A-Train’s hands pull his head forward onto his stiffened cock, taking the entire length into his mouth. As the Deep choked out a cough at the sudden intrusion, A-Train began to thrust into his mouth at a steady pace.
If not for his gills, Deep was sure that he would’ve suffocated, feeling his throat constricting around A-Train’s cock. Deep’s hands began gripping onto A-Train’s leg’s for balance, feeling himself gagging as A-Train’s pace quickened. Deep let out a whimper that almost wasn’t heard through the gagging.
“Quit being such a baby, serves you right for being a pathetic punk ass.” A-Train chastised, continuing to fuck into Deep’s mouth.
The Deep soon felt his lips touch the base of A-Train’s cock. At that same moment, he could feel the tip of it reach the back of his throat, pumping violently. The ferocity of A-Train’s thrusts along with the loud gagging and blood roaring through his ears made Deep feel like he was sucking off a jackhammer.
Deep unexpectedly felt a hand on top of his, squeezing tight. “I don’t enjoy this as much as you, but- fuck, I j-just, wanna get this over with, as, as quick as possible.” A-Train gritted out, nearing his climax.
It was at that moment, Homelander cleared his throat. “Deep, get up.”
Like an obedient little dog, Deep pulled away from A-Train’s cock, coughing up a mixture of saliva and pre-cum as he wobbly got to his feet. A-Train shot Homelander a confused, irritated glare.
“I believe I said ‘Deep, blow A-Train,’” Homelander began. “Not, ‘A-Train, throat-fuck Deep, like a depraved animal.’”
The hot rush of equal parts shame and anger swept down A-Train’s spine. His face began to flush with embarrassment, trying and failing to conceal it. It was even worse when he glanced over to the Deep, with A-Train’s pre-cum dripping down his shit-eating grin.
“You didn’t do what I told you to, so as punishment, you don’t get to cum.”
A-Train stared at Homelander with disbelief. Homelander’s cold stare drilled a hole into the back of his head worse than his lasers ever could. The longer A-Train looked at him, mouth agape with words failing to come out, he could see Homelander’s lips curve ever so slightly into a sadistic grin.
Wrote this on a whim. I don't know what it is exactly, but it IS Feyd-Rautha so be aware there is violence and bodily harm.
The Fremen language rolls down the back of the throat like honeydew on silk. It is a vat of unspoken secrets, a hiss in the dark, a revelation. When they cry out for their false messiah, the lie turns holy.
Spoken on the Planet of Giedi Prime, the honey turns to amber, and she is a fly trapped at its centre, forced to experience her own disintegration.
Last night, Feyd gave her a music box.
She lay curled up in a puddle of her own piss, and thought how wasteful. A stillsuit would have made much better use of it. But when the liquid crept across the floor and touched the burns on her face, her flesh cooled. She might have imagined that part. After all, when she awoke this morning, the burns were as red and as mangled as they were when Feyd-Rautha first struck them into her flesh in front of his entire family.
He left the music box beside her head.
Inside, were her mother's teeth.
He did not kill her mother. Her mother died ten years ago. But he killed her father, who carried her mother's teeth in a pouch around his neck. They were his lucky charm, he used to say, his deliverance. She'd wonder if he ever kissed them, just to remind himself what it felt like to kiss his wife all those years ago, to run his tongue over her pearly teeth and feel her laughter bubble against his lips.
Teeth are an intimate gift.
"Wakey-wakey, Fremen mouse." His voice is guttural, a corpse dragged across gravel, each word slick behind blackened teeth.
She saw him bite a chunk out of one of the Baron's hairless boys and the wound was edged with the same ebony that drips from his saliva. There was no blood. Just black, greased like tar and infected. In her worst moments, when the hallucinations have her gripped by the throat, she sees a black hole grow in his mouth, beckoning.
When her answer to his whistle is not forthcoming, his boot presses into her soft, unblemished cheek. The pressure of it forces the burns on the other to scream in protest against the dungeon floor. It looks smooth and polished, but as with everything on Giedi Prime, the potential for pain is woven in like veins through marble. The texture of it is like a hundred thousand tiny shards of glass, and her ruined skin feels the scrape of each one.
"You did not like my gift?"
"I adored your gift."
"Why have you not opened it?"
"I did not think my hands were worthy."
He pushes his boot down harder and a prolonged keen of pain is finally yanked from her bruised ribs. Rabban is easier to fool. Feyd sniffs out insult like a shark to blood. Her injuries are proof.
"You still have fight in you."
"If I lost it, I would no longer have the pleasure of your visits, my lord."
He digs his heel into the underside of her cheekbone and the agony threatens to blind her. Drool slips from her open mouth and blends in with the piss just inches away. She pictures tearing off her flesh and flames swallowing her in one fell swoop, burning too hot and too quick to cause pain. She would chew off her own tongue to end it if she could, but who would care for her mother's teeth?
"Then I will visit you again, sayyadina." The honey of the Fremen language turns to mockery and acid on Feyd-Rautha's tongue, an acerbic jumble of syllables that burn just as horribly when they fall onto her ears. "You will crumble like sand between my fingers. And you will become as they are, just another pet."
They.
The Harpies, cannibalistic and violent, eyes blank, mouths leering.
One of them draws forward, prepared with a knife, as she has done every night Feyd has come to visit. It feels like the worst of the punishment. She tenses, shivering like a leaf, and cannot form the words to beg him for this one thing and prove him right -
That she is breakable.
Please don't cut my hair. My father loved my hair.
The harpy gathers it into her pale fist and lifts the blade high. Just before it falls, Feyd's hand rises, a single finger held out in command. His pet cocks her head, a mewl caught in the back of her throat. They are soft with him, curious as pups. She wonders who they were when their lives had meaning and their names tasted sweet on their parents' tongues.
He signals for the harpy to drop her hair and the woman accedes without question. He reaches down to lift the lid of the music box, the teeth inside gleaming like pearls in the pallid light, and then steps over his captive's body to leave.
A soft, whirling rush follows as the harpies scurry in his wake.
KTJL!Boomer x Black Canary, word count: 4k
commission: BIT DIFFERENT BUT this was a commission for a friend, one of my rare attempts at character x character work! it is heavily inspired by their headcanons of black canary, but it's boomer and someone who could easily destroy him 💙
commission me here!
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: fighting to fucking, vaginal sex, size kink hellooo
Metropolis was quiet, unusually so. And even stranger considering the danger that had taken over the once, albeit infrequent, safe and bustling city.
Fresh off yet another battle, throngs of their enemies slain (or defeated… it was hard to think of the right word) lay just metres away from where they had stopped to collect themselves. The shade of the building provided a pleasant respite from the unbearable sun of Metropolis and offered them just a moment of calm while the four unlikely colleagues caught their breaths and tried to reconcile their thoughts and their actions. The peace didn’t last very long, however, as Amanda Waller’s voice interrupted them.
“There’s another out there, close to your current location. You’ll have to eliminate them.”
“Jeez, Mandy! Whatever happened ta ‘hello’, hun?”
Harley rolled her eyes as she pointed to her ear, smiling immediately afterwards as she spoke once again to Amanda Waller. She’d been the quickest to adapt to the communication method. It wasn’t the first time she’d had full conversations with the voices in her head, and to boot, she was a bit of a sucker for a strong leader.
“Just teasin’ ya! Now, who do you want us to gut next?”
She cocked her weapon, narrowing her eyes as she looked around the plaza the four of them were standing in.
“I hope it’s that Constantine cunt…”
Digger chimed in, similarly making an attempt to look effortlessly cool, cocking his weapon but dropping it in the process. He continued as he scrambled to the ground to pick it up.
“... he’s always undercutting my share of the pu-”
“Enough. My finger hovers over the shock button, Harkness. Please bear that in mind.”
Digger mouthed her words silently, mocking her words, but looking around him to figure out if she could see him.
“I can see you. The surveillance camera opposite you is under our control.”
Eyes wide, mouth downturned, he quickly forced on a sheepish smile and mouthed ‘sorry’ to the seemingly omnipotent eye in the sky.
“Enough. Who’s the target?”
Deadshot was the only one of them capable of focusing on the task at hand, for which he had quickly received the moniker of ‘teacher’s pet’ from Digger, an offering which had won him a swift punch to the arm from Floyd.
“Dinah Lance, alias Black Canary.”
“Ooooooh, more eye candy.”
Harley’s joy beamed from her smile, met with a similar one, albeit more leering in nature, from Digger. Interrupting their shared appreciation for the category of ‘women who could, and would in Digger’s case, beat them to a pulp’, Waller’s voice cut in.
“Luckily, she doesn’t seem to be under the same influence as the rest. Brainiac might have overlooked her. So this should be an easy task. Try to do it quickly.”
In the silence, the four members of the squad looked to each other, and only when Harley shrugged her shoulders did Deadshot speak up.
“There’s no point in wasting time by having all four of us go after her. You heard Waller, she’s just… normal.”
“Exactly! She’s just normal! And she’s… my buddy…”
“And are you willing to risk your head for her?”
Harley considered for a moment, before coming to the conclusion that loyalty, while important, was not worth risking Waller’s wrath for. Lowering her head, she appeared to have accepted that Deadshot was right. They needed to do as they were instructed.
“We can’t take any chances. There’s no telling what she would do for her more ‘heroic’ friends. So, who wants to volunteer to take her out.”
“Well, I refuse!”
Turning on her heel, Harley left the group, leaning against a wall as she quietly prayed that they wouldn’t be successful in eliminating the so-called threat her friend posed. To her, working together would make more sense. But it wasn’t worth fighting over right now.
“Well? Who’s taking her?”
Digger stepped forwards, arms outstretched.
“I suppose I can do it, the rest of you would only make a mess of things.”
“Ok, that’s settled then.”
Without further conversation, Deadshot launched himself onto the top of a nearby building, closely followed by King Shark and Harley as the three left Digger to deal with their newest target.
And trudging dangerously close to her own worst nightmare, Dinah stepped carefully, quietly, through the concerningly empty streets. The mess, she imagined, was likely down to those she knew well enough to recognise it can’t have willingly been their own actions. It was definitely the influence of Brainiac that had pushed the Justice League off the deep end.
As she turned the corner, taking a moment to settle her nervous breathing before facing potential threats, she found a fate worse than death waiting for her.
One man, standing alone, finger in his ear as he dug around disgustingly, pulling it out to take a glance, grimacing at whatever he had found, and then putting it back in there. She couldn’t really look away, though. And there was only one man she knew of who could be so compellingly revolting.
Hordes of Brainiac’s victims, the threat of enemies that looked so far beyond what she imagined the physical limitations of even alien worlds to be, a group of meta-humans hellbent on death and destruction. Stressful, to say the least. Concerning? Frightening? Now, it all paled in comparison to the sheer irritation of one single man.
And then, he noticed her.
“Well! Hello, gorgeous!”
George Harkness. Digger. Captain Boomerang. Whatever moniker chosen, they all amounted to the same thing. A grade A cunt.
“You’re looking good, Canary. Almost a shame what I’m about to do to ya.”
A flash of concern crossed over her face and she struggled to hide it. What exactly did he mean by that? And why was he there alone without the rest of the squad she had heard he was with? Instantly, she knew she should consider him a threat, or at least more dangerous than she might have considered him before. He was a bit loose, determined, and clearly felt he had nothing to lose in the middle of a battlefield. Whatever it was he thought he was about to do to her, Dinah was painfully aware that he wasn’t joking about it.
“Can’t have you wandering around here trying to help out your mates. Who have all gone mental by the way, case you missed that.”
He liked to talk. He enjoyed the sound of his own voice. If it hadn’t been for the words, and the mouth they came out of, Dinah might have been willing to admit that the accent did something for her.
“And Waller’s orders were to kill the Justice League. So I guess that includes you.”
Digger pointed to her with both hands, cocking his thumb with his finger guns, his smile oozing over his face with self-satisfaction. He really was going to try and kill her. And while it should have been terrifying, it only felt irritating to Dinah. Yet another obstacle to overcome.
“Hello! Over there! Oi! Little birdy, can you hear me?”
It was only by sheer willpower, or miraculous and divine intervention, that Digger had managed to survive this long in life, or at least that’s how Dinah viewed his existence. There can’t have been any shortage of people who wanted to snuff that life short, to be the one to finally shut him up for good, and every second in his presence only further served to bolster the idea that Dinah might have to be the one who did it.
“For the good of humanity. I’d be doing everyone a favour.”
She was swiftly pulled from her admittedly, and worryingly so, delightful daydream by his coarse and irritating voice echoing out in her direction.
“Oi, Canary!”
Ignoring him, Dinah took a deep breath, grounding herself, trying to cling to the modicum of control she had left.
“Hello? Canary!”
His sing-song tone was so patronising, so taunting. She snapped in his direction, knowing that she was giving him exactly what he wanted, a reaction, her attention.
“What!?”
“Do you uh… D’ya like any other kinds of birds?”
“What?”
“Do you. Like. Any other. Kinds of. Birds. Other than, y’know, canaries?”
Sucking in air through her gritted teeth, Dinah rolled her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. It was odd, how playful and childish this all seemed. Both of them were in a position where they knew they were eventually going to fight, and likely to the death of at least one or the other. She supposed that was just his nature, and it was sickening to know it was having an effect on her.
“Just asking, cos you look like you might enjoy a cock-a-two. Ha! Get i- OOF!”
Digger crumpled over into himself, clutching at his stomach where the lump of debris had hit him.
“Did you throw a fuckin rock at me?”
“I did! And you can consider that a warning, Captain.”
Dinah’s intention had been to spit the word with so much vitriol that there would be no mistaking the cruelty behind it, teasing him for having what she considered to be the worst alias she had heard so far. But, as things so often did with George, the acknowledgement of his name, the station it gave him, and the sexual implications he had imagined surrounding it, only served to stroke his ego. Truly, if he hadn’t believed that the back and forth bickering between them was laden with sexual tension beforehand, this was all he needed to confirm it.
“Listen, Sheila, you don’t wanna piss me off or else- AH!”
Another chunk of rubble hit the side of his leg, falling to his foot and crushing his toes. As he yelped and lifted his foot, hopping on the spot like a ludicrous depiction of some slapstick children’s cartoon, Dinah ran to him, fists clenched and ready to strike him. It was him or her.
Her first punch was a direct hit. Dinah’s fist coming into contact with Digger’s hard abdomen, sending him crashing to the ground where he lay in the foetal position for a moment before scrambling, once more in a comically pathetic fashion, to his feet. He bounced a little, his fists up in the air.
“That’s how you wanna play this then, huh Canary?”
Dinah nodded, offering him a smug grin as she raised her fist once more, aiming for one of his ridiculous mutton chops and the fragile jaw underneath. But he caught her, his palm cupping her hand, his fingers curling around it.
“Aw, not fast enough, sweetheart. You wanna try again? I’ll give you another go. Nobody who looks that pretty can be expected to get things right on the first go. Except me, of course.”
Her second strike caught him in his moment of self-congratulatory bullshit, cracking loudly against the side of his strong, aquiline nose.
“Aw, fuck!”
He cupped his hands over his face, catching only some of his blood, the rest of it trickling down his lips and chin. Pulling them away, he shook the blood from his fingertips, eyes screwed shut as he braced himself for retaliation. Dinah was distracted, entirely, by his profile against the bright sky. The curve of the bridge of his nose, the way his lips pouted out, his chin, the drips of blood that fell to his chest.
And then she felt her neck being pulled.
Digger’s fingers entwined in the longer strands of hair that sat on her shoulder, pulling her up and letting her fall back down onto her back.
“C’mon then, get up. I hate to have to hit a girl, but I draw the line at beating one without a fi- FUCK.”
From her position on the ground below him, Dinah kicked a leg out, meeting him directly at the top of his thighs, just left enough to catch his crotch in her aim. The heel of her boot made contact hard enough to leave a distinct mark on his testicles, as well as his ego. She was beating him, and that was getting to him. When he recovered, standing up straight and facing her, Dinah could see he was seething, teeth gritted, the froth of his saliva spitting out from between them and onto his lips.
They collided once more, Dinah’s arms around Digger’s waist as she attempted to knock him over, Digger’s arms pulling at her arms, fingers digging tight into her skin and producing stinging, bright red welts. Punches were swung, contact was made, and through it all Dinah found that for the first time in a while, she was enjoying herself. It served as a distraction, at least briefly, from the state of affairs she and her friends found themselves in. Beating the shit out of George Harkness was giving her a reason to keep going, to strive against what felt like the crushing weight of futility.
There was something else, however. Something more than that. Something that made her heart race, adrenaline pumping alongside another feeling. And as she breathed in the scent of his sweat, masked only slightly by his cheap cologne, Dinah realised what it was.
Arousal.
Her beating heart, flushed cheeks, the way she was chewing on her inner lips and gums, trying hard not to let out any sounds of exertion as she knew they would be perceived as the moans of pleasure they really were. She was getting off to fighting with him. It was difficult to tell whether it was the violence, or the pain, or the satisfaction of seeing the smug smile wiped from Captain Boomerang’s perpetually self-satisfied face. But there was a bit of her that knew mostly, it was because she was attracted to him. A fact that hit her harder than any of the blows that Digger had landed so far.
For as long as it could continue, she was happy to push herself to exhaustion. Having Digger at her feet, having him thrust himself, all strength and force behind him, at her body. It was embarrassing to admit to, but it was hot.
Just as she was beginning to enjoy herself, much to her surface level chagrin but deeply embedded satisfaction, Digger stood back. It was like he could sense her brief happiness and was determined to put a stop to it. Typical of him, really. But as he stood there, silent and panting, his eyes trained on her, he kept going until his back was against the wall of the closest building, his feelings echoed Dinah’s. Standing metres apart, he watched as she too took the opportunity to catch her breath. Staring. Gazing. Leering.
“Wise to keep your eyes trained on her, Captain. Don’t give her the upper hand. Unless she’s planning on putting it on your co-”
His filth-addled mind was distracted as she made a move, and he jumped back, bracing himself for the next attack. Instead, he watched as she brought her hand to her face, wiping her bloody and slightly swollen lip on the back of her hand. It was difficult not to admire her, the strength, the composure.
“How hot is she!?”
Not that he hadn’t noticed before, obviously, but now he had time to really take her in, when she wasn’t coming for him with a fury he’d rarely seen in anyone who hadn’t spent over an hour with him. Still, he felt that only made her more attractive. He’d always had a thing for a thicker woman, someone who could hold their own. Someone who would make it a bit of a challenge for him to get to them. And that was certainly Dinah.
The way her chest moved, exaggerating the way her ample breasts spilled over the top of her bodysuit.
“How often do you get bonza tits and an arse attached to the same person?”
Her strong arms, holding her as she leaned back on them to stare back at him with a puzzled look.
“Christ, she could tear your cock off with a handy... But it’d be worth the risk, eh?”
Her thighs, thick and muscular, covered in the ripped fishnets. She looked dishevelled, tired out, panting and desperate.
“Fuck’s sake, Digger, stick to the task at hand, mate.”
It was almost impossible for him not to give in to his more lustful desires, but he countered it with the deal that once he had saved the world and was a renowned hero, he’d treat himself a little.
“Me and you, Admiral. We’ll shag as many desperate groupies as we can handle once we’re world renowned heroes. But for now, focus. Focus!”
“Hey!”
He was snapped out of his perverted fantasy by Dinah’s voice, calling out breathily from across him. He looked towards her, narrowing his eyes. The stinging pain around his nose and eye sockets flashed, and for the briefest of moments, his arousal was superceded by his irritation that she’d got the best of him in their fight. But only so far.
“Yeah? What do you want? Lil bit more for ya, Dinah-mite? I’ll give you a minute to straighten your tits out before we get back to it, huh?”
“No need. You going soft, Captain? Giving me a head start, which I definitely don’t need. You want to fight me, come and fight me. You wanna act like you can beat me, come prove it. Do it.”
Stupefied, Digger stared with the gormless grin she was growing very familiar with, his mouth hanging open before crossing into a dismissive smile. An incredulous laugh accompanied his frantic head shaking as he pointed at her aggressively.
“You want me to hit you? Uh… no. No. It’s some kind of trick.”
“Weren’t you going to kill me?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Oh my god, but what?”
“WELL! I’m kinda… If you must know… I’ve got a bit of a stiffy now. Hitting you now kinda feels like that’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed.”
Without meaning to, and before she could stop herself, Dinah’s eyes flitted down to Digger’s crotch. The thick bulge, impressive even from this distance and under his pants, sent a twinge down her spine, and she braced herself as she felt her clit throb. It felt pathetic, to give in to the desires she considered taboo, the ones she hid from most of her friends. But it felt like end times. Surely, surely, she deserved to indulge a little. Get a bit dirty, amoral, bad.
“There’s simple solutions to that problem.”
He raised an eyebrow, trying to discern what was going on.
“Like what?”
Dinah stayed silent, raising an eyebrow back at Boomer, but keeping her expression neutral. He could think what he liked, and she knew his thoughts would immediately rush to the filthier options. And while she was happy to entertain those if they came up, there was always the backup plan of amputating the little, or large, fellow if things didn’t quite go her way. In the face of her silence, George laughed again, scoffing at her.
“Nah, you’re fuckin’ with me, birdy!”
Standing up, Dinah shrugged her shoulders, letting out a laugh herself.
“It’s pathetic. You’re a ‘villain’, albeit one with shit branding, but here you are following orders.”
“What makes you think I wasn’t jumping at the opportunity for an excuse to get rid of you?”
“The fact that you’re so clearly not capable of doing it?”
Seething, Digger took one step towards Dinah, hesitating before he took another and deciding against it. Instead, he raised his voice and continued to shout to her from his safe distance.
“Uh… yeah… well… Fuck you!”
Dinah rolled her eyes, completely enraged at how she still found him almost irresistibly attractive despite his severely lacking wit and charm. She knew there was something about him though/ It wasn’t all bruises and blood. Pain only got her so far, in fact, it was an indulgence she rarely confronted, especially not with Oliver, and definitely not with any of her friends within the League. It was him. He was taboo, he was dirty and disgusting. So it felt only natural that she would find him to be an adequate target for her matching desires.
“I’m a villain, yeah. But you’re supposed to be one of the good guys, aren’t ya?”
She waited, not responding. It felt like a trap, like a bit before he got to the punchline.
“Then how come you’re out here flaunting your arse around for me to gawk at?”
It felt good to know that he’d noticed. But his base level misogyny didn’t merit a response.
“Or better yet, how come you’re so keen to get dicked down by the Digger? Don’t you have a fancy little boyfriend? Or has Green Arrow gone evil like the rest of them?”
Dinah’s face felt hot. Red. Embarrassment? Or shame? With a healthy dose of rage?
“Does he not mind you getting shared around? Cos if you’re looking for a rooting, I’ll deliver. Just wouldn’t want to have to kill him too.”
Her fists curled up into balls, her own fingernails digging into her palms, stinging, bringing a tear to her eye as she fought back the urge to wince at the pain.
“As if Robin Hood would have any choice about being cucked by the real alpha male here.”
“Don’t talk about him.”
He put both hands into the air, pursing his lips and frowning.
“Touched a nerve there, birdy. Maybe we should stop beating around the bush and I should give you what you want. A last treat, before I give you the old shreeeeeeeeck.”
He dragged his thumb across his neck, frowning and looking to the ground in an act of false sadness.
“I mean… since you’re so desperate.”
“Say that to my face.”
“Gladly.”
Stomping over to her, Dinah prepared herself for the worst, still not quite steady on her feet by the time he had reached her. But instead of being knocked backwards by a swift punch, she felt Digger’s lips clamp onto hers, his tongue being pressed forcefully into her mouth, down her throat, his fingers holding her head in place as she choked against him.
She pulled back, and the sudden lack of his hands against her made her collapse to her knees.
“You think you’re choking now? You haven’t seen anything yet, babe.”
Unzipping his pants, Boomer got to the point quickly. He hadn’t been lying about being stiff. He was rock hard, bobbing as he freed himself. And Dinah’s assumptions were right. He was huge. Enough that she stared unblinking at his thick, long cock for a few seconds, bright blue eyes wide and sparkling. Digger caught sight of them and raised his eyebrows.
“Come on, love. We’ve both got work to do. You’re prolonging the inevitable here a bit.”
“I don’t… “
She hesitated, reticent to offer him the truth, to admit defeat to him. But she really had no option.
“... I don’t think that’ll fit… in my mouth.”
“Well then, clever girl. What do you think we should do? Where else might old Digger’s amazing, impressive, massively huge, big, fat cock fit? Hm? You hardly need to be Brainiac to figure that one out.”
Without any further instruction, Dinah settled on her heels, easing herself onto her back on the ground as she unclasped her body suit and let it spring up her stomach. In a swift motion, she pulled both her fishnets and underwear down and spread her legs as wide as they would with everything bunched around her ankles. It felt so submissive, so dirty, to give in to him so easily, but she was beyond fighting. Now, all she wanted was the pleasure that he was so willing to give her.
Not leaving any time for regret to settle in, Digger managed to pull his eyes away from the sight of Dinah, spread open, displayed so explicitly in front of him, so wet and willing. Leaning down, he shuffled between her legs awkwardly, biting his lip with his tongue pressed out in concentration as he got into the right position, then letting his mouth open wide in a toothy grin as he rubbed the slick head of his cock against her cunt, letting her arousal coat him as he pressed between her slowly and carefully. She was soaking wet, easy to slide into, but he took it slow, easing the head past her lips, almost feeling the satisfying pop as he entered her.
Her body reacted with a convulsion, back arching, hands gripping helplessly at the ground below her. She tensed, but realised that was the worst course of action, and focused on trying to relax her body, to make room for Digger as he pushed his cock further into her. Even once he was up to the hilt, enough that it felt like she was choking on him, he was aware that there were still a couple inches left. But he chose not to push his luck. Instead, he started pumping in and out of her aching, soaking wet cunt, watching her squirm as he picked up the pace. His hands travelling down her front, cupping her breasts, squeezing her nipples between his fingers through her clothes, the drool from his mouth spilling over his lips and onto her cheek as he mindlessly rutted.
Dinah could feel herself writhing below him, dangerously close to him noticing her hips as she bucked them up to him. It really wasn’t her intention to feed his ego, to let him know that she was enjoying this. The feeling of his body rutting into hers, his cock stretching her apart. In fact, she barely wanted to consider that fact herself. So, trying to hide any semblance of pleasure her body might express, she brought her hands to her mouth, clamping them down over the lower half of her face. At least that way he couldn’t see any smiles, any glimmer of a grin, and it would hold off any sounds of satisfaction that managed to escape her tightly closed throat.
Digger was quick though, which surprised her, since he was someone who had as yet been unable to conquer the Flash. With a swift manoeuvre, he wrapped his still gloved hands around Dinah’s wrists, lifting her arms up and pinning them above her head. He transferred the hold to one hand, clearly thinking he was strong enough to keep her pinned there, hopefully not realising that she was letting him think that. With his free hand, he taunted her, wagging his finger in front of her before pushing back a loose strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eye.
“Uh-uh, I don’t think so, babe. There’ll be no covering your mouth when you’re with the Captain.”
His wide smile creased into his cheeks, eyes narrowing with a boyish lust that made her heart flutter. And her entire body throbbed as he leaned in, strands of his hair falling into her face, his nose close enough that it was almost touching, his breath hot on her as he spoke.
“Besides, little birdy… I wanna hear you sing.”
With one final push of his cock inside of her, her cunt stretched and still not able to take his entire length, Digger hit the spot. A shrill screech fell over Dinah’s lips, her body shuddering in surprised ecstasy as she realised what was happening. Digger Harkness, a man who had so far failed at everything he’d set out to do in life, had succeeded in giving her the best orgasm she had ever had. One swift pummeling from his thick, long cock had her trembling under him, clinging to his back, fingernails digging into him as she tried to keep him inside of her, riding the waves of pleasure with her.
And quickly behind her, he le tout his own cry, triumphant, victorious, as though he had achieved something he thought impossible himself. His cum, warm, thick, coating Dinah’s insides. A win in his books. One he intended to tell everyone of if he survived what Task Force X were there to do.
He pulled himself out from between Dinah’s plump, swollen lips, watching his own cum drop out of her and onto the ground she lay on. He let himself rest beside her, just to get his bearings, and let the blood rush back to his head before continuing on with his day.
“Listen… you keep yourself quiet and hidden in one of these buildings, I won’t have to kill you.”
Dinah smiled, keeping her gaze aimed at the sky above them, trying to hide the genuine glee she wore on her face.
“And, little birdy… if you tell me which one you’re hiding in, I might come by for another visit.”
Pamela (Poison Ivy) Isley x Selina (Catwoman) Kyle
(1,055 words)
Summary: Ivy discovers she really likes to be called “Doctor”
Warnings/Tags: 18+ (not quite smut, but it gets reallll suggestive), botched heist, patching up wounds, friends with benefits (they are definitely gay LMAO), light medical play, discovering a new kink, make outs, getting real sensual with it
Notes: Surprise @acapelladitty!!! I was ur gifter for the exchange!!! I’ve never written for Poisoncat before, but after doing a bunch of research for them, I now love them (I mean, I already did before but you get it LMAO). I wanted to let you know that you are a huge inspo to me and I’ve really enjoyed all the times we’ve cooked up some wild shit 😭😭 Happy Valentine’s Day!!!
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It wasn’t often that a heist went awry for Selina, but this time was sure to take the cake. Triggered security systems and broken glass were the least of her problems, now having to face the consequences of working with Edward Nygma. Mentally, Selina beat herself up for knowing better than to work with a conniving snake like him, but that didn’t matter now. The loud blaring of sirens could be heard in the distance as she lept from rooftop to rooftop with ease. Continuing to escape deeper into the night, Selina knew exactly where to run to.
Far enough away from the scene of the crime, Selina found herself perched on top of the overgrown warehouse. Thick branches and moss covered the outside, making the building look abandoned. Nobody would even think that a place such as this would be an ideal hideout, but for Selina, it was a refuge. A sanctuary. The home of an old friend.
Climbing through the window, Selina’s entrance was almost anticipated as Ivy watched her come in expectantly.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Ivy grinned.
“Nice to see you too, Pam.” Selina leaned against the wall, out of breath. “How did you…?”
“Word gets around fast,” Ivy shrugged. “Plus, all the cop cars woke me up.”
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine, I was up anyway.” Ivy made her way over to Selina. Pulling up her mask, Ivy inspected the small cuts and bits of glass occupying Selina’s face and body. Her face was streaked with blood and sweat. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? You look like hell.”
“Yeah,” Selina snickered. “I just got back.”
———
Selina was seated on top of the table. Her tight, black suit was cast aside, leaving her in an undershirt, her underwear, and several small bandages. Around her was a bowl of discarded glass and a small trash can of bloodied gauze.
Ivy made her way in between Selina’s legs, standing in front of her. She applied the disinfectant carefully. Selina winced at the sudden sting, but Ivy took a gentle hand in the application. The gaze in Ivy’s eyes was soft. It was easy for Selina to get lost in them.
“You’re staring again.” Ivy spoke up faintly.
“Am I? Purred Selina. “You’re so close to me, must be your pheromones.” She giggled. “Or blood loss.”
Ivy chuckled playfully. “First of all, my little flower,” she pushed a bit of Selina’s short hair off her face. “You haven’t lost nearly enough blood for delirium.” Ivy set down the disinfect. Her arms soothed their way up to Selina’s shoulders. “As for the pheromones?” Ivy’s hands cradled the area between Selina’s jaw and neck. “They only amplify what’s already there.”
Selina glanced down and back up again, soft laughter escaping her lips. “Whatever you say, Dr. Isley.”
There was a pause from Ivy. It was as if a switch went off. Cocking her head in consideration, she asked Selina to repeat what she had said.
“Whatever you say… Dr. Isley.” Selina repeated.
Ivy’s green complexion flushed. Selina’s forwardness was always welcome in their interactions. Having Selina in her current position would more often than not signal that they were going to have sex on a night like this. It seemed to be going that way thus far. It was the use of Ivy’s professional title being used in such a flirtatious manner that stopped her dead in her tracks. It fired her up, far more than usual, and Selina could see it from a mile away.
“Y’know…” Selina swiftly wrapped a leg around Ivy’s body, pulling her in closer. “I still feel a little hurt from the glass, I think I might need a more thorough examination, what do you think… Doctor?”
Their faces are just inches apart. Ivy scans Selina’s face. Selina’s dark, pleading eyes sparkled with mischief. Ivy always enjoyed the little dynamic they had. Usually she would be the one to initiate anything. A few whispers of filthy nothings, controlling some stray vines to gently twist around her thighs, and a kiss to the neck and Selina would be a goner. However, tonight was not one of those nights. Selina was pushing Ivy’s buttons and they both fucking loved it.
“Well, I may not be a doctor in a medical sense,” Ivy cleared the table, getting up behind her. “But in my professional opinion,” she continued as her hands reached Selina’s sides, pulling the cat burglar closer to her. Ivy’s hands wandered up to trail over Selina’s breasts. Ivy could hear Selina’s breath hitch, and decided to push forward. “Maybe if you’re in that much pain…” Ivy whispers as Selina can feel her breath tickle her ear. “… I think some bed rest is in order.”
Selina turns her head around and presses her lips to Ivy’s. What first started as small pecks soon evolved into a tender kiss. Ivy could feel Selina snake a hand through her red curls; her nails gently scratching her scalp. Ivy let out a soft sigh as Selina pulled away for a moment. She fully moved herself around to face Ivy completely, before straddling her thigh and returning the the kiss. Selina let out a low moan as Ivy playfully bucked her up her thigh. With a coquettish chuckle, Ivy’s hands trailed down to Selina’s ass before gently nipping at her bottom lip.
“Fucking tease,” Selina grinned. “Who knew that the illustrious Dr. Isley could be so salacious?”
Ivy hummed before quickly hoisting Selina off her thigh and off the table. “Then I’d suggest we take this appointment to the bedroom,” Ivy wraps an arm around Selina’s shoulder. “I do have a reputation to uphold you know.”
“Oh please do,” Selina’s hungry gaze caught Ivy’s as they made their way into the bedroom. “I would so love to see that reputation in action.”
Ivy lowered Selina onto the bed, hands caressing her thighs as she sunk down, kneeling in between her legs. Selina shuddered at the sudden sensation of Ivy’s nails gently dragging across her thighs. It was one of her weak spots that Ivy loved to exploit.
Ivy batted her eyes puckishly up at the mewling Selina. “Don’t worry my dear,” Ivy placed a kiss on Selina’s inner thigh. “I know just the thing to make you feel all better.”
Summary - In the midst of a messy fight, Homelander comes to a somewhat stunning conclusion involving Hughie.
It was incredible, unthinkable even, that Homelander had found himself in this situation.
Hugh Campbell. Hughie. Starlight's little pet human. The gangly asshole who nipped at William's heels as William actively sought out as many different pain in the ass ways of inconveniencing his life as possible.
Hugh Campbell.
A pathetic human.
But a pathetic human who was currently trading hits with him due to the compound v which flowed through his veins to give him access to the sort of power that he probably used to jack off thinking about.
"Little Hughie." Homelander spat, dodging a messy right hook. Hughie had strength, yeah, but it was clear that neither man was a particularly trained fighter even if Homelander still held the advantage. "A fucking waste of skin compared to the people he surrounds himself with. One day that little girlfriend of yours is going to find herself a real man.”
Ducking under another swing, Homelander landed a strike of his own and his fist bounced off Hughie’s chest with a pained grunt.
“Supes and humans? A mess. Trust me. I've made enough of them." Homelander continued, refusing to allow his growing exertion to show on his features as he pushed Hughie off him – his heart thumping in his chest as his jaw throbbed in discomfort.
Hughie snarled his anger, his boyish features twisted into something almost inhumane as he threw fists with an obvious lack of thought. In the heat of the fight, Homelander could hear how laboured Hughie’s breathing had grown; how erratic and fucked up it was as his blood rushed through his veins and his pulse jumped with every strike. The stench of adrenaline, hot and heady, also hung in the air and the sheer potency of it was intoxicating.
Almost absent-mindedly, Homelander adjusted the crotch of his suit as he flew to the side to narrowly avoid a kick. Adrenaline and anger. Two familiar feelings which sat low in his belly and made his cock twitch despite his fury. He was the fucking Homelander and fighting like this-
His thoughts were knocked clean out of his head as a sharp fist caught him on the temple - sending his body stumbling backwards as the sheer indignation of being caught out burned within his chest like a serpent’s venom.
It only lasted a moment as Hughie's furious expression was quick to fill his sight. Panting and red-faced with the effort, Hughie looked down at him with such intense contempt that it actually made Homelander pause as long fingers wrapped around his throat and started to squeeze.
Even with the compound v, its potency already feeling like it was beginning to fade as Hughie’s movements grew more sluggish, it would be a hard task to choke him out and Homelander took a moment to look - really look - at the man attempting to kill him.
Hughie was handsome in a basic sort of way. He lacked the bulk and muscle of William but he certainly wasn't as scrawny and pathetic as he seemed to be on first glance. In his rage and erratic movements, a few curls of his brown hair had fallen over his forehead and remained plastered there by sweat.
Tall as fuck too.
It wasn’t often Homelander fund himself having to tilt his head to meet someone's gaze and what a gaze it was.
Hatred.
Pure hatred oozed from every millimetre of Hughie's eyes as the blue there appeared to grow steelier by the second and the utter intensity of his gaze, malicious as hell, made heat pool in Homelander's stomach as he drank in the undivided attention.
Atop him, Hughie’s body was an inferno of heat; a mixture of exertion and the compound which was burning through his unfamiliar cells like a supernova. Caged as he was against the wall, the pressure of Hughie's body pushing against his own was surprisingly erotic as the adrenaline and the attention and the flex of the hands around his sensitive neck caused his cock to grow harder between his legs.
With Hughie's hands still around his neck, Homelander easily jerked his head forward in one swift movement and caught Hughie's lips in his own, his actions not fully coming to terms with his thoughts until Hughie recoiled his head in disgust.
The first thing that registered in his head, aside from a burning shame, was a dull pain as Hughie's fist once again connected with his temple. The second was the warmth of lips against his own as Hughie followed the blow by pressing his face in close enough to allow Homelander to capture his mouth once again. Hughie’s lips were soft, nothing like his hard eyes, and Homelander snapped his teeth down on his lower lip, something victorious growling in his chest as he immediately tasted blood and Hughie pulled away with a throaty grunt of pain.
"You're a fucking monster." Hughie hissed.
The fury, that wickedly intoxicating fury, still radiated from his eyes but something predatory - something familiar - lurked in the shadows behind it and the hint of it send a coil of arousal through Homelander’s groin.
Little Hughie had a dark side it seemed, and in that instant Homelander decided that he was going to make it his new project to push the other man as far as he could to see how deep the darkness ran.
Shoving Hughie off him as though discarding a blanket, Homelander readied himself for another fight as he watched Hughie scramble to his feet – confusion and rage now at war on his handsome features as he attempted, vainly, to settle his breath. His eyes dropped for only a second to the undeniable bulge which tented at Homelander’s groin, evidence of his shameful desire, before snapping back up as a snarl overtook his mouth once again.
With the fresh seeds of obsession sewing their way into the landscape of his fragile mind, Homelander tensed himself up for barrle once more as a familiar smirk settled across his lips.
Giving kinktober a break bc I HAVE so much stuff going on rn. College is getting crazy and I’m currently in a play and I’ve been kinda overwhelmed and kinda burnt out with everything. I’ll be back to posting some regular stuff soon 🫡🫡
Warnings/Tags: 18+, female reader (I got self indulgent sorry LMAO), knifeplay, bloodplay, scarification, penetrative sex, love confessions (yeah, I got REALLY self indulgent), aftercare, fluff (SLAYYY)
Notes: God, I love him. I got SO self indulgent with this one bc I’ve been having a shitty week. All my mutuals should’ve seen this one coming LMAO anyway, enjoy the fic!!!
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Victor Zsasz loves to make his mark. Most infamously known, are the vast array of tally marks that are carved into his skin. Every mark, a symbol of every life he’s ever taken; every light that’s been snuffed out. In his mind, the marks serve as mementos; being made in the moment as a reminder for a lifetime. It’s an act of permanence. It’s an act of devotion.
So to him, it only makes sense to mark you just as he marks himself.
Apprehension and anticipation linger all around you. You sit there, completely still. Your upper half is completely exposed to him, save for your bra, leaving every inch of your blank, unmarked flesh in his view. Your shirt is discarded, laying in a crumpled pile on the floor. The soft sound of Victor’s footsteps fill you ears, pacing slowly behind you. Suspense and excitement fill your stomach. A deep inhale makes its way into your chest when you feel the cold metal of his switchblade touch your skin.
“I’m not gonna lie to you,” his voice is honest, firm, yet comforting. “This is gonna hurt…” you can feel the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, smoothing down your arm. “…A lot.”
“I appreciate you doing this Victor,” you turn to look at him. “But honestly, I’m a little scared.”
He stands over you. The blade, lightly trails along your chest, just below your collarbone, where you assume the mark will be made, your nerves spike, but you choose to swallow them down, knowing this is how Victor expresses love, in his own, sick way- not that you minded. He kneels, making his way down to your level. His hand guides you chin down to gaze into his dark eyes, filled with reassurance.
“I can promise you,” you feel his thumb gently rub over your cheek, “The pain won’t last long.”
His gaze is intense. Taking a deep breath in, you nod. “I trust you.”
He lets out a grin, tucking your hair behind you ear. He plants a soft kiss to your cheek where he was caressing over it. “Attagirl.”
Your heart flutters at his assurance. For someone so keen on sadism, getting off on the pain of others, Victor was being surprisingly comforting with you.
You can feel his body looming over you, feeling his head look over you to find the exact spot where he would mark you. He makes contact with your eyes, giving each other nodded approval to do it.
The metal is cold and exceedingly sharp. You can hardly feel it when he cuts you. The sensation almost feels pleasant as the blade glides through your flesh. You feel yourself bite back a shriek when he digs the knife deeper into your skin, making sure the cut will leave a lasting scar. Your breath hitches in your chest as he continues dragging the knife into you. Fresh crimson spills out from the cuts being left in the blade’s wake.
“God,” Victor lets out a soft growl, “I wish you could see how beautiful you look right now.”
He’s in awe of the blood trickling down your chest. It coats your chest, running down, nearly dripping down to your bra. You let out an abrupt whimper, unable to hold in the increasing pain.
“Fuck!” you cry out. Your bra strap slips past your shoulder. You feel Victor’s body directly behind you, almost in an hug. His hand smoothes your shoulder firmly, comforting.
“It’s okay,” He hushes you. “I know, I know.”
Those next few seconds, the pain is excruciating. You get up, turning around and steadying yourself on him, wanting nothing more to be enveloped in his embrace. Your eyes meet his, gazing at each other for just a second before crashing your lips together.
You feel yourself being carried over to the bed, feeling Victor’s hungry grasp taking off your already disarrayed bra. You suck in a harsh breath, feeling his tongue lick up the blood that dripped down your tits.
“You did so well,” Victor praises as he devours your bloodied flesh, slowly trailing downward, “I’m proud of you, taking that like a champ.”
“Oh god, V-Victor,” you whimper. You feel your pants being slipped off from under you. Your cunt aches, dripping with arousal as Victor thumbs your clit through your underwear. “I fucking need you.”
Victor gazes at you, carnally. His eyelids are hooded, lust swirling within his eyes. He pulls out a condom from his pocket, tearing the wrapper quickly with his teeth. He urgently slides the rubber onto his cock and eases himself inside you.
You can feel Victor’s body on top of yours, being careful to avoid the cut-up area of your chest. He positions himself, leaning on his shoulders to look at you. He rocks into you slowly, feeling your soaked cunt clench around his cock. As he picks up the pace, he presses his lips to yours feeling yourself moan into his mouth. His tongue feels heavenly and you feel yourself melting into him, letting out a hushed breath when he bites your lip, pulling away.
“You like that?” He asks breathlessly
“Y-yes,” you grunt out tenderly. “You feel fucking amazing.”
Victor chuckled, rolling his hips. You feel your cunt flutter around him as he continues to fuck you. You grip onto him tightly, nails sure to leave some marks on his back. He lets out an amorous groan, enjoying the way you hurt him.
“I love what you do to me,” Victor moans. His pace is rapid, hitting the deepest parts of you, making it hard to keep yourself quiet. You can feel your orgasm swiftly approaching, and judging by his pace- utterly frantic, so could Victor. “Your my girl, and I fucking love you.”
You’re taken aback by his abrupt confession, but honestly? You feel the same. Your hand drops down to your clit, rubbing it quickly, desperate for release. You cry out after he hits a particularly sensitive spot, once again slamming your mouth to his as you ride out your orgasm. He thrusts himself deep into you, a guttural groan escaping his lips as his orgasm isn’t far behind yours.
When all is said and done, you’re completely fucked out, disheveled, and exhausted. The air grows thick, heavy around you as he crashes onto your uncut side.
“Thank you,” you breathe out. “You are so good to me.”
Victor smiles, pressing a loving kiss to your lips. He runs a hand through your hair, before holding out a hand, pulling you up. He turns around, grabbing some towels and antibiotics for the cut “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Hey Victor,” he looks over at you, head cocked curiously. “I love you too.”
You couldn’t wait for the cut to heal. The healed scar in the shape of a heart would soon be a testament to the love you have for one another.
Summary: you plan on getting revenge on Vladimir and Stefan, but end up with something way better
Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, aftermath of being turned, canon typical violence (bc duh vampires), vlad and stef being sleazy, blowjobs (giving), vlad and stef being gay (a little at the end), fingering, penetrative sex, threesomes (duh)
Notes: I saw these two and KNEW what I had to do LMAO I used to be down bad for the Romanian coven way back in the day (specifically for vlad sorry I’m biased LMAO) and I think myself from two years ago would be proud of me for this one, enjoy the fic!!!
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It all happened so fast. The way they sank their teeth into you, ripping into your flesh. How garbled your screams were as blood filled your throat, coughing it up. You could feel them sucking the blood out of you, growing woozy through the attack. Once it was all said and done, all you could do was lay there, wavering on the verge of death, processing what happened. One blond and one brunet. You’d never forget their faces- their bright red eyes.
But here you are, alive. Or, at least you think you are. You’re alive, but definitely not the same as you were. This time, you’re stronger. Angrier. Thirstier. There was a pit in your stomach, and you don’t know how to fill it. Your hands shake, feeling the indescribable urge to just attack; wanting nothing more than to rip your teeth into the nearest thing you see.
As you run through the forest- looking for anything to sate the adrenaline pumping through you, that is when you finally see them again. Their hair and eyes are unmistakably what you remember. Stopping dead in your tracks, you hide yourself in the tree line, ready to get some answers, or depending on if you could control yourself, ambush them.
They sit there on their logs, around a campfire, completely oblivious to your presence. Dropping from the tree line, you charge toward the blond, putting him in a headlock and pinning him chest first to a tree.
“What the fuck did you two do to me?” You snarl.
“Aw look, Stefan,” the blond laughs, crushed against the tree. “They survived!”
“Impressive strength, for a newborn.” You turn to hear the deep, amused laughter of the man, apparently named Stefan, from behind you. He shoots an entertained look at the blond, who looked at back at him with a smirk that gives you pause.
You quickly come to realize, that they are not afraid of you. Regardless, you stand your ground, keeping a firm grip on the blond.
“You two have five fucking seconds to tell me what happened to me or I’ll-”
“You’ll what? Kill us?” Stefan speaks up. “You hear that, Vladimir? The newborn thinks they can kill what is already dead!”
You freeze for a moment, confused. You’re completely taken off guard when Vladimir, the blond, breaks free from your grasp. There’s hardly enough time to fight back when you suddenly find yourself the one now pinned against the tree.
Their laughter rings in your ears; clear, low, and almost carnal. That pit in your stomach begins to churn, and not necessarily in a bad way. Vladimir’s body is impossibly close to you, with Stefan making his was beside you. You let out an audible exhale as you feel yourself be pushed further into the wood.
“So much fight…” Whispers Stefan.
“…For such a young thing,” finishes Vladimir. You can feel the back of his hand trail slowly down your cheek.
“You two are fucking sick,” you spit, turning your head away from him. His hand rapid makes its way beside you, dangerously close to your throat.
“We are not sick,” chuckles Vladimir, “it’s just difficult to talk when the one who wants answers is…”
“…Wound so tight?” You can hear Stefan’s voice coming from the other side of your ear. You wonder when and how he made it over to you so quick.
“Exactly,” replies Vladimir. “Which is why…” his hand drags over your throat. His grasp is cold, light, soothing the adrenaline that pumps from within you.
“…You need to relax.” Stefan is now directly at your side. You can feel his breath along the outside of your neck, down to your shoulder. He places a hand on your arm, soothing it down.
It kills you inside to know how much you’re enjoying this. You release some tension, signaling that killing them isn’t the only thing you want anymore. You take a deep breath in, swallowing your pride.
“Try anything, and I’ll rip you apart,” you whisper.
Your consent seems to be enough for them. You can feel Vladimir’s lips first, attacking your lips with fervor. Not far behind, Stefan’s lips make their way to your throat, hungrily, but not like when they drank the blood from you before. Their touch was something different completely. This was carnal.
You let out a soft moan as you feel a hand drop in between your legs, gathering your liquid arousal. Another pair of hands starts feeling you up, leaving no curve or crevice untouched.
“Wow,” Stefan groans softly. “Who new that a newborn would be so…”
“…Easy?” Finishes Vladimir.
The way they spoke in tandem was uncanny, similar to they way they worked together to touch you. Feeling a finger slip inside you, you grip the back of the tree so roughly, you could swear you hear a crack.
“Oh god,” you sigh, “h-holy fuck.” Your legs start to feel like jelly. Hearing the salacious chuckles from in front of you, you can only assume that Vladimir is the one finger fucking the daylights out of you, while Stefan gropes at you.
You can hear the sounds of a belt unbuckling and the sound of pants hitting the floor of the forest. You feel yourself being bent over, gripping to the tree for dear life. You hardly notice that your pants are down to your ankles, feeling the sensation of a stiffened cock teasing your inner thighs.
Looking in front of you, Stefan stands there expectantly. You take down his pants, freeing his length. You grip the shaft, firmly- as a warning. You look up at him dangerously, teasing him with a baring of teeth, before taking him into your mouth.
You let out a sudden whine when Vladimir eases himself inside of you. Stefan shudders as your moans vibrate around his cock.
“God look at you,” gasps Vladimir. “Getting ravaged like a whore.”
The degradation sends spasms of pleasure through you as he continues to fuck you. You try to talk back, but continue to muffle yourself on Stefan’s cock, where he generously allows you to control the pace. As you get the sense of where he seems to be enjoying himself too much, you slow down.
“Easy,” you direct. “T-tell your b-buddy up there to cool it with, fuck, with the remarks.” Stefan practically whines as you loosen up on him. Managing to keep your strength while getting fucked, you grip onto his leg, steadying yourself. You hear Vladimir bark out a sadistic laugh from above you.
“You’re funny,” he grunts, “thinking you have power here…”
“We know all the answers…” replies Stefan, halfway jerking himself off while you gingerly suck the head of his cock.
“…We know what you are,” croons Vladimir. His pace rocks into you mercilessly. You’re left almost breathless, feeling your orgasm rapidly approaching. You feel that if you come, you would be letting them win their strange game they seem to be playing with you. All that flies out the window when Vladimir’s cock hits the deepest part of you. You let out a restrained scream as your orgasm rips you in two.
You look up to find Vladimir and Stefan in an embrace, mouths attacking one another’s as you ride out the throes of your orgasm.
“You did so well, newborn.” Hums Vladimir.
“…But, we still have a long way to go…” chuckles Stefan.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, penetrative sex, rough sex, underwear as a gag
Notes: god I love soldier boy, enjoy the fic!!!
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He’s rough. Good god, he’s fucking rough. His cock stretches you open deliciously, slamming into the deepest parts of you. The slick sounds of your dripping arousal fill the room with every violent thrust. You were sure the sheets were soon to tear as you kept such a firm grip on them, feeling the fabric twisting in between your fingers. With Ben continuing to fuck you, It’s almost impossible to keep yourself quiet at a time like this.
“J-Jesus,” you gasp, “holy fuck, Ben, y-you, fuck, you feel so fucking hot.” Your voice wavers in pitch and volume. Ben maintains a brutal pace, which you could swear he does on purpose. He lets out a gruff chuckle.
“Look at you,” he chides playfully. “Fucking you so good, you can’t even speak.”
You let out a loud yelp when you feel Ben’s hand give your ass a hard slap. You jerk forward, shuddering on his cock. You can feel his towering frame lean over you, pulling you up by the shoulders, gathering you to his chest. He puts his fingers in your mouth, silencing your cries of lust. You suck on his fingers, moans bubbling in your throat as Ben pistons his hips, fucking up into you. It’s almost embarrassing how much you like the feeling of Ben using you like this.
“B-Ben please,” you whine. You feel your knees begin to shake as you feel yourself beginning to unravel. “Ben, I, fuck, you’re so-“
“Babe,” Ben slows down. “As much as I love hearing what I do to you…” he gently maneuvers you, flipping you to look into your eyes. His hand tucks a piece of hair the fell onto your face behind your ear. Even with the dim lighting in the room, you can still the mischievous flecks of green in his eyes. His hand cups your cheek, the sweetness of his actions causes your mind to run wild with what kind of degenerate, devious plans he has in store for you. He reaches over beside the bed and grabs your discarded underwear. “…You talk way too much.”
“Open your mouth babe,” he grins lasciviously. You comply, opening your jaw as Ben shoves the underwear in your mouth. “Careful not to choke, there are better things to choke on,” he chuckles.
Lowering you on your back, Ben soon eases himself back inside you. His cock slides into you deliciously. Your hand drops to your dripping sex, stroking it in arousal while Ben slams himself into you.
As Ben fucks you, several moans erupt from your throat, but are all muffled by the makeshift underwear gag. You feel yourself exceedingly reaching your peak. Struggling to express your arousal, Ben lets out a wolfish chuckle.
“Aw sweet-cheeks,” he croons “you gonna come? Don’t be shy, you can be as loud as you want now.”
He doesn’t have to tell you twice. The gag does a great job at silencing your wanton moans. You ride out your orgasm, feeling yourself clench around Ben’s cock.
As you come down from your high, you spit the gag out of your mouth, glaring at Ben in equal mixtures annoyed and playful.
“Don’t look at me like that, you were being loud, and hey, sometimes, you just gotta improvise,” he winks with a deep chuckle.
Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, temperature play (duh), light bondage, blindfolds, hot oil, fingering
Notes: I had the most HELLISH day ever, but writing this was fun fr, enjoy the fic!!!!
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You wait there in trepidation, shrouded in darkness. The blindfold sits fixedly on your face. You lean forward, hands tied above your head. Excitement and dread lingers around you as you hear the gravelly chuckle of Garfield Lynns
“Feelin’ restless?” He asks, teasingly, from across the room.
“Let’s cut the shit,” you reply, keeping your voice low to hide any signs of anticipation. “What’ve you got planned?”
Your ears perk up as you hear something being placed on the table. The familiar click of a lighter being lit fills your mind with any possibilities of what you may be in for. However, with Garfield Lynns, anything having to do with fire was always a guarantee, sexually or otherwise.
“Now, sweetheart,” he drawls. “If I told you the plan, that would ruin all the fun.”
His voice sounds closer to you now, much more so than it sounded before. You can’t pinpoint how close until you feel his scarred hands trailing up and down your sides. His touch is slow, which is surprisingly different for him, catching you off guard. Garfield was always very rough with you, to feel him touching you slowly, sensually was a little unsettling, but certainly not unwelcome.
“Fine,” you sigh openly, “don’t tell me, just know that I’ll be able to take whatever you have to throw at me,” You huff. You want to say more, going on about whatever hell (or heaven) that Garfield wants to put you through will be something that you will be able to take, but the words are lost on you when you find ally discover what he was hearing that bowl for.
The hot oil, borderline scalding, causes you to tense up, shuddering as it hits your skin. You let out a restrained moan as his hands glide over your nipples, extremely hot and wildly sensitive. His hands linger around that area, groping you, feeling up every region that Garfield knew would make you squirm.
“You were saying?” He playfully comes back. You can’t see his face, but judging by his voice, you can already tell that Garfield is going to have a good time tormenting you.
“F-fuck,” you stammer. “Don’t tease.” Before you can thinking of any witty comebacks, a strangled whine escapes your lips as more hot massage oil pools in between the crevices of your shoulder blades. With even the smallest of movements, the small amount of oil welling in each curve began to drip down your back, cascading in a fiery waterfall of delicious agony.
The added simulation of the heat and Garfield’s ministrations to your sensitive flesh sent a spike of arousal down to your sex. Garfield’s hands began to trail down your body, lower and lower. Being in such a vulnerable position allowed him to much more easily have access to the parts of your body you wouldn’t so easily let anyone feel up, but god, if it didn’t feel so fucking good.
As his hands sneak their way into the waistband of your underwear, you feel yourself become almost boneless at your aching core, knees shaking, becoming more drenched not only with the oil, but with your fluids.
“You ready for it?” Garfield asks, voice low and husky.
“Please, touch me,” you nod your head frantically, almost pleadingly.
“I should almost not, you know, just because you talked such a big talk,” you can feel the breath of his voice, dancing across the back of your neck and into your ear. “But I can hardly resist…” his hand is now directly on your arousal, making you shudder from the drastic temperature change, stroking you slowly, gathering any fluids that were dripping down. “… I love it when you squirm for me.”
You clench your legs together, desperate for any friction from the excruciatingly slow simulation Garfield may have been giving you.
“Easy now,” he hushes. “I want this to be a slow burn.” His hands now teases over a particularly sensitive area, causing you to buck into his hand. He tsks at you, who does not seem to be catching his drift. “From just a small little candle, will soon evolve into a towering inferno…” you can feel him tease around your entrance. “…Engulfing you with heat, feeling nothing but the scorching…” his fingers slip inside you. “…Scalding…” fucking you steadily. “…Smoldering…” you cry out a shameless whine, his fingers hitting you exactly where you ache. “…Fire, transforming you until you have nothing left but to…” the friction is driving you wild. Garfield’s touches are leaving you breathless so close to the edge. His fingers curl within you, leaving you to writhe through your orgasm. “…explode.”
Pulling off the blindfold, you’re greeted with the sadistic grin of Garfield Lynns. He stares at you, expectantly, bowl of hot oil in hand. By the look of it, your heated escapades surely aren’t finished. You can only wonder what else is possibly in store for you.
Summary: you refuse to give Jackson his phone call, so he refuses to let you come
Warnings/Tags: 18+, gender neutral reader, hostage situation, threats, airplane bathroom sex (woooo mile high club), little bit of hair pulling, Jackson being forceful, orgasm denial (duh)
Notes: ok, so I meant to write a fic for this movie WAAAAAAAY back in April but hey, better late than never LMAO enjoy the fic!!!
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Never in a million years did you think you’d find yourself in a hostage situation, but here you are.
One moment, you’re sharing a drink with the charming man you met at the bar in the airport, then next thing you know, you’re forty thousand feet in the air, staring out the window, by that same charming man, keeping you trapped to your seat.
His plan to you was easy: call the hotel, and switch the room. That’s it. The way he had described it to you was exceedingly simple. He specifically told you, it’s simple. But if it was so simple, why would he threaten to kill your family? Why was he so hellbent on getting you to switch the room? Why would he shoot down your every single, rightful attempt to escape? If it was so simple, why couldn’t he do it? What was he really hiding from you?
“Jackson, this is fucking insane,” you hiss. “Sooner or later I was eventually going to have to go to the bathroom, it’s an eight hour flight for Christ sake.”
He holds up an empty water bottle. “Best I can do.”
“Oh, you think you’re funny?” You let out a soft chuckle, laced with annoyance. “You think you’re fucking funny? You’re not funny, Jackson.”
“Look, if you just made-”
“No, no, what would be funny, was if you let me piss myself, making a scene on this fucking plane, which I’m sure you wouldn’t want, right?”
Jackson sits there silently as you continue to go on your whispered tirade.
“And if I get taken away, you’ll never get that call.”
“Your family will die.”
“How bad do you want it, Jackson? Fucking try me. You want me to make that call? Then please, let me go.”
Jackson stares at you for a moment, completely dumbfounded. His icy eyes soon narrow into an amused gaze. He lets out an entertained sigh, and gets up from his seat.
You cock your head, confused. At first you think it’s some sort of trick until he motions for you to go. As you make your way down the aisle, you feel a tight grip on your wrist, holding you back.
“Don’t get cute.”
He lets you go, and you find yourself in the cramped space. After locking the door, you make the attempt to collect yourself, taking in a deep breath and exhaling a groan of pure rage. You curse yourself at the situation you found yourself in. You curse yourself for the possible danger you’ve landed your family and possibly innocent people in. You stare at yourself in the mirror, angry that you even let yourself fall for him back at the bar before all this even happened. At this point, you would like for nothing more than to punch the mirror, cracking and shattering it into shards.
Wait. The mirror?
Glancing at the soap dispenser, you frantically pump out some of the soap, forming suds on your hands. By the time you’re finished writing your message, you let out a laugh of relief. Cleaning off the evidence, satisfied with your plan to escape, the pride suddenly drops into the pits of your stomach as you find Jackson, waiting outside the door.
Before either of you can get a word out, you feel his hand covering your mouth. The back of your head hits the wall as he slams the bathroom door shut. You feel woozy, from the quick motion quickly halting to a stop. You can hardly pick up what he’s saying until you find your consciousness has faded back into place.
“If that little, by-the-book stewardess saw that, the plane would be safely landed, I wouldn’t be able to relay my command to the man outside your house, and your family will be dead.” His hand grips the sides of your cheeks, forcing your gaze to meet his. His eyes, glacial, look at you fixedly. “It would be wise of you to stop gambling with their lives.”
Due to the cramped space you two currently find yourselves in, you feel his body on top of yours, impossibly close. The room starts to grow heated. Breathing heavily, adrenaline flows through you, ready to escape by any means necessary. Without thinking, you press your lips to his.
He opens his mouth slightly, allowing you to feel one another’s tongues in your mouth. He nips at your lip as he pulls away, eliciting a soft mewl to escape your lips. You gaze into each other’s eyes, deeply, before diving back into one another.
The kisses grow more heated. You can feel him gripping at every curve and crevice of your body. Your hands make their way up to his head, fingers raking through his hair, giving it a soft tug. You note that this seems to spur him on, as he grinds himself against you. Feeling the sudden friction to your groan, you let out a hushed moan.
You soon find yourself being propped up on the sink. The sound of heavy breathing and Jackson unzipping his pants fills the cramped cubicle of a room. You can feel a growing dampness from within you sex. Arousal spikes within you, once Jackson’s throbbing cock is whipped out from his pants.
A hand drops in between your sex. You bite back a moan as Jackson gathers your pooling arousal, swiping over the spots that make you squirm. He lets out a smooth chuckle, pleased with himself. Positioning himself with your entrance, you feel his cock slide into you roughly. His other hand warps into your scalp, yanking you closer to him as he fucks into you.
His pace is slow, but exponentially rough. You can feel him splitting you open deliciously, fighting the urge to let out whimpers of pleasure escape, which would compromise both your position. It’s when he speeds up his pace, which has you getting more vocal as you beg for your release.
“Jackson, please,” you pant. Your back hits the wall with each thrust, feeling yourself come more and more undone.
“N-not until, fuck, you make, the call,” he grunts, pounding into you.
“Mmm, you know, I-I can’t do that.”
“Then I guess, you won’t be coming anytime soon,” he teases, cruelty staining his voice. He slows down his pace, significantly, forcing your approaching peak to cease. “It’s your choice, how bad do you want it?”
