⋆.˚༄ 🇵🇸 Zero, 18, she/her, Arab/Middle Eastern, This is just a little writing blog for myself to write x reader fics :) [usually fem or gn reader] ,This is an 18+ blog so minors DNI, English isn't my first language
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My writing tag: ⋆˚꩜｡ Zero writes!!
Requests are open (moots only atm)
Ao3 ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
I write for: DC, Marvel, JJK, Castlevania, ATLA and DMC :D
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a/n: a request that @gr0und-zer00 left in my inbox that i finally had the chance to write hehehehhee
cw: SMUT/18+ ONLY, office sex, Guy is a dog, reader is a MILF, f!reader
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
One-on-one conferences with your daughter's teacher, Mr. Gardner, go in a different route than you expected.
Not that you're complaining.
Teacher!Guy Gardner/MILF!Reader (18+)
You figure that it would just be your luck that the one time that you’re able to secure early leave from work for parent-teacher conference, it wouldn’t be some dowdy, aging teacher. An authoritarian commanding respect by the book, looking down at you from pince-nez glasses on a thin-bridged nose: that you could handle.
But that’s not who you’ve rocked up to in this cramped office for this one-on-one conference.
Instead, it’s this wall of muscle topped with a thatch of bright orange hair that would dominate your arc of attention. That is, if there wasn’t the bright flash of blue eyes taking rapid inventory of you. Or that rather unprincipled smile on his face as you take seat across the desk that separates you both.
You didn’t even know that PE teachers had offices, but you suppose that’s why people go to school: you learn something new every day. And Mr. Gardner, it seems, has a lot of stuff that you could learn about him. As you sit across from him, watching the way that his eyes make continued appraisal—you seem to be learning things with each passing minute.
He’s radiating this off-kilter tension, though he bears a smile on his face. There’s something about the impressive columns of his arms that take angle on the table across from you. His other hand knuckles at the clipboard with some hastily scribbled notes, though he doesn’t take a chance to look them over.
“So—”—He breaks the ice first by saying your daughter’s name—“—Is she yer younger sister?”
Classic line that you’ve heard ad nauseum time and time again. But for some reason, there’s something in the ken of his eyes that makes you think he actually means the compliment behind it. Or at least, the wicked slant of his grin does as he looks across from you.
“Not quite,” You smother the smile that’s rising to your face in tandem with the heat beneath the curve of your cheeks. “I’m her mom.”
“Yeah?” Guy asks, rolling a pencil over the ridge of his knuckles in such an expert, practiced way—a testament to reflexes. Or testament instead to the way the tendons in his arm flex and pull in such mesmerizing way.
“And where’s her dad?” He asks, in such bold, interrogative manner. You can’t help but find yourself battling for shock and amusement at the way he goes for the jugular.
“Couldn’t make it?” Mr. Gardner continues on the offense, though this time the question is a little more casual. The way his eyes pair with the question speaks to the true intention.
You decide on a ploy for diplomacy.
“Uh, well, Mr. Gardner—”—You begin, but find yourself interrupted by the way that he levies a broad hand. Broad and wide, and with callouses lining the intersection of fingers and palm: a working man’s hand. A rough man’s hand.
“Call me Guy,” Mr. Gardner breezes easily. “No reason why we can’t get familiar.”
He looks at you and you realize that you’re being prompted to provide your name—you find yourself doing yourself with less reluctance than you’d expect. After all, Guy doesn’t exactly seem the altruistic type—more the tit for tat, quid pro quo kind of man.
You have to disrupt yourself from a troublesome line of thought. The one that idly wonders just exactly how he would provide quid pro quo treatment.
“Um,” You begin primly. It’s a valiant effort to devote your eyes away from his jawline and instead to the way that his hand is flat, fanned out on the top of the desk.
“How is my daughter doing in your class?”
“Doing real well. Smart kid, good sense’a humor.” Guy replies to you without any preamble—this seems to be the part that rings true for him. Whatever he says here, you can read the innate sincerity inlaid within it. This is why you feel the fledgling smile that presses over your face; he leans back with an audible creak in his chair.
“Thought it was somethin’ that she picked up on her own.” Guy replies, and he chuckles—it’s a crude sound, but something that oddly fits him so well. “But I guess that ain’t the case.”
“Oh?” You ask, confused just at exactly what direction he intends to take with this. You watch the cock of a thick brow tick up the acreage of his forehead.
“Guess that’s somethin’ she got from her good-lookin’ mom.”
And now you truly can’t resist the audible laugh that escapes you—suffused, muffled—but an assertion of disbelief.
“Mr. Gardner—”—You begin to contest his refuge in audacity, but he’s quick to correct you.
“Guy.” He says with such masculine affirmation that should repel you. But dammit, it really doesn’t. If anything, it necessitates the urge for you to push your thighs. Anything to distract yourself from the jolt of need between your legs.
“Guy—”—You correct, taken momentarily aback before you re-orient yourself—“—I’m not entirely sure that this is how a parent-teacher conference should go.”
“Oh?” Guy asks, and there’s something very cavalier about the way he says it. Not as if it’s a reprimand, but a challenge for him to overcome. “I coulda sworn that it was goin’ pretty good.”
He leans forward on the span of his elbow, rooting you to the spot with the roil of that stare. “Didn’t you?”
“Well—I—”—You’re stymied as you try to find something to say that properly communicates the unmooring that you feel. These circumstances just seem to elude any proper classification. Guy’s patient: he waits as you search for proper vocabulary.
“—That depends.” You finally conclude; there’s a quirk in the corner of his mouth. It’s not a no.
“Depends on what?” He asks with no room for hesitation, pressing you to the point that he wants you to confess.
“If we’re talking about conferences—or you asking me out on a date.” You reply staunchly.
“Who says we can’t do both?” He asks. “I thought I was doin’ a pretty good balancing act.”
The way he says it with such brash confidence—you almost believe him for a second. As if he swears by his own guff, this cocky, handsome jerk.
Maybe, you think, you should play the game and see where you end up on the primrose path. You inch towards the edge of your seat, watching as he takes regard of your proximity.
“If this is how you balance things,” You reply with a coyness you take care to inject, “I don’t know if I can trust you with a date—”
You keep your eyes riveted to him, looking at the way his shoulders broaden at the hurdle you’re asking him to clear—
“—Guy.” You conclude, and if you’ve reached the edge of the table, your hands resting primly on the angle—perhaps he’s in parallel on the other side.
All you can focus on is the way that pink of his tongue darts over the full of his bottom lip.
“How about we go for a test run then?” He asks, and there’s something incautious, low, corrugated in the delivery of this. As though control of the vehicle is being passed to you, to direct it back on track—or let it go careening into the night.
“How’s that work?” You ask, firmly taking the wheel. His smile increases by degrees, and you know you like the way it looks.
“You’re my last conference of the night,” Guy says, leaning back in the ample spread of his chair with another resounding creak. “How ‘bout we find out?”
You smile and stand up from your seat, watching as his eyes track the meter of your body as you do so.
If you thought the chair creaked before—it’s practically an unceasing symphony of rusted hinges as you bounce on his cock. Thank goodness for locked doors, thank goodness for tinted, glossed-over windows—
“Oh, fuck—”—You whine, letting your head loll back as Guy rolls one of your tits into his mouth, taking a slow, lascivious suck.
All you can focus on is the way his tongue feels rolling around the bead of your nipple, the way that your thighs burn as you sink onto his cock. All that you can think of is how it feels as he fills you up, your walls working to fit in the massive length.
“Oh, fuckin’ perfect—”—He groans as his hands clench around your back, urging more of you into his mouth. He laps at it like a man starved, bucking his hips into you to help you ride him easier.
The chair’s hinges protests with the effort, but you could hardly care. Not as you sink your nails into those muscular shoulders growing tacky with the exertion of the cramped room. The air seems to be growing electric with the noises, the sensation that is growing in sweet crescendo in the pit of your abdomen.
“Oh—oh—”—You gasp as the slap of his thighs against your ass grows in quicker, more desperate speed. He growls against your skin before pulling off of your tit with a lewd pop—and offers his open mouth to you.
You don’t hesitate, drawing his tongue against yours, scraping up the flat of the muscle with your own. And when he sheathes into you to the hilt—he swallows the moan you make with a desperate hunger.
“Fuck, Guy—”—You break away to regain air—“—Take a girl out first—”
Whatever else you intend to say is consumed by the way that he pumps into you with that ruthless speed.
“Sure thing, baby,” He grunts as he continues to fuck you to your orgasm, “But let’s make sure we finish this first—”
And then he’s off to the races. You can’t say that you disagree with this train of thought as his cock noses at that spot that makes you feel heaven.
Looks like Guy Gardner’s teaching you something new after all.
cw: mild smut. minors dni. female anatomy. pillowtalk-y.
vergil's fingers slip under rumpled bedsheets to trail softly along the surface of your bare back, and you moan softly, knees bending gently towards your belly. there's still a lingering languidness to your body, that of thorough pleasure turning your very flesh into something more akin to a pleasant moldable jelly than person, and thus you don't turn - not yet.
but the bid for attention is still recognized.
"you okay?" you murmur, eyes closing with comfortable slumber.
"yeah," vergil replies. he presses kisses at the base of your neck, light touches still, then his finger pauses just over your scapula. there his touch is firmer, and his whole palm covers this area, caressing gently.
"there should be wings here," he whispers, almost too venerably.
"wings?" your eyebrows furrow as he kisses there too, then wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush to his chest.
"like an angel."
you chuckle softly.
"is this an attempt to flirt?"
with his knee, he gently parts your legs, pressing the surface of his thigh flush to your bare crotch.
"is that so ridiculous?"
his thigh starts to grind softly at the already wet space, satisfied from earlier but still receptive, still wanting.
"no," you sigh out, the grind of muscled thigh against your clit too precise, too trained, as if he's figured out your body and how to make it sing rather than tease. your head lolls back into him with the friction, and a free hand slips around your throat, applying gentle loving pressure.
"as i was saying-" he starts, before posing a kiss on your forehead,
⋆˚꩜｡ Matthew "Matt" Murdock/Daredevil x reader (18+)
Drabble Matt Murdock can't see, but he definitely loves different textures
CW: sex and possible OOC, AFAB reader, not proofread, short
I'll start doing more drabbles soon
I should do more characters liking bush...
His hips pump up brutally into your soaked cunt, and as you moan, you pause it abruptly to look down as you sit reverse cowgirl on him, back to his chest and his hand sliding through your hair coating over your most intimate spot.
“Are you looking for something?” you partly joke, somewhat amazed by his ability to continue multitasking, quick hip movements yet slowly tracing his hands.
Matt drags his fingers over the fuzzed surface, he feels the lines of your labia and the bud up of your clit.
Usually they say ‘men are visual creatures’ but a man who doesn’t have sight, has touch and sound; in this case, your pussy and the desperate whimpering that rang from your throat. A man like Matt who can fight hoards of creatures if he wished, relished most in feeling his lover—clearly the different textures of them too.
Before he even indulged in your joke, he used his middle and ring finger, swirling it over your clit. He knew he had done something right when he heard a combination of your heart racing and your pussy squelching on his dick, clutching so hard he wasn’t sure you would ever let go!
“This is a sensory heaven. You know I love this feeling” The blind man groans before tilting his head back, his eyes void of focus on a specific area of the ceiling or on you. But his other hand pulls you down to lay back atop him.
He’s Luxuriating in the extra weight, and buries his face against your neck, panting as his vigorous movements continue with mild faltering. Meanwhile, your moans never ceased, the pitch hitching with every drag of his hips up and down, and he gave only an acknowledging kiss to the back of your neck as it tilted back.
His free hand, the one not resting in the coarse forest of messy curls, slid up your body, squeezing your breast, grinning into your shoulder with the continued plap-plap-plap ringing around the room, “So good..” he mutters.
Touchy-feely doesn't even begin to cover how Matt is...
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currently watching : succession season 4 finale (again lol)
current obsession : sakura haruno (all day every day)
currently reading : a dialogue — nikki giovanni and james baldwin (1973)
currently working on : with love, birdy (tim drake) + the summer i met the graysons (mark grayson x reader x dick grayson) + unnamed barbara gordon phone sex fic
last internet search : catfishing : the wikipedia guessing game (i take this very seriously btw)
jason todd x fem!reader, smut? idk man, not edited
“Jason, please," you whine into your phone. It's connected to his comms. You can hear his heavy grunts and the bodies of goons slamming to the ground.
All that only made you wetter and more desperate.
Now you have needs. Needs that Jason can’t always take care of from miles away. That’s fine. You have your trusted pink vibrator. Expect this time it decided to give out in the middle of it all. You'd been thinking of Jason while you played around, thinking about how he'd whisper filthy things into your ear, all while somehow still being so sweet and careful. him trying not to crush you when all you needed was for him to do just that. it was all you could think about while you were on the phone with him, your body buzzing with need. You want your man to crush you.
"i need you," you beg, all sense of shame gone. Your fingers play around with your clit, but god, none of it—not even your beloved vibrator—had or will ever compare to your boyfriend.
He's panting on the other side. though, for completly diffrent reasons. "fuck, sweetheart, you know i cant—
"Then talk me through it," you argue.
"I'm fighting criminals, theres nothin' sexy about it." he grumbles. "Just a bit longer?" then, he lowers his voice. "please, baby?"
Nothing sexy his ass. As if any of that mattered when he has you talking to him so wonderfully.
"Fuck you, todd," you mutter, not really meaning it.
"Later," he says as he—you think—swings at someone becasue you hear a crack.
His fingers curl inside you all the while he starts vibrating them. Your hips jerk, and a tiny whine leaves you. "wally," you breathe out.
"Hmm? Can your toy do that, baby?" he say's all smug. You'd called him complaining about how your vibrator had died. Naturally he sped over to yoour place instantly.
"wals, faster," you beg, even with his super speed you wanted more—needed it, needed him.
"greedy girl," he mutters and kisses both your cheeks. Then, the bastard leans back, fingers leaving you, your pussy clenching around nothing.
Your head falls back. "First my vibrator beytrays me, and now my boyfriend," you groan patheticly.
Wally tilts his head, his hands lingering at the waistline of his boxers. "I mean I was gonna give you something better but…
You perk up. "I love you." you pause. "alot." you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.
"Love you too, babe," he mutters, leaning closer. He kisses you slowly before giving you what you've been waiting for.
masterlist
if your wondering why this is so badly written and short it’s cause i wrote this at a restaurant 💀and just posted it
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The other members went inside to prep for the picnic, you guys took advantage of this
CW: Outdoors sex, Piotr is nice during sex, unconcerned Piotr, AFAB reader, not proofread, POSSIBLY OOC (we'll know if Dreamer kills me)
requested by AND pics provided by @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, I'm sorry if this isn't as good as you had hoped, I ended up writing this more for fun :((
This was risky, yes, especially for a couple like you and Piotr. It was assumed you were both quite plain in the bedroom. But no one knew what was happening just in the garden.
Being bent over with your only support as a tree was mildly difficult, especially if the goal is to be secretive, thankfully your saint of a boyfriend was right behind you, supporting you as his pelvis plapped in quick succession against your ass and thick arms circled around your waist.
It was supposed to be a fun joint picnic with the other X-men members, they agreed to take up some quick last minute chores, like collecting some plates and drinks and last minute food prep. You and Piotr got the simple task of setting the picnic picnic table and ensuring it’s secure. That’s a quick job, so you decided on a quickie to expel any extra energy.
“Piotr, quick sweetie. They’re probably about to come back any second…” you whisper with a moan.
“Only when you’re finished, will I be satisfied.” He replies, leaning down to kiss the side of your face and trails his hand down your tummy, to wedge a middle finger at your clit, rubbing at a pace he knows makes you melt.
The hitch in your voice from the added pleasure to this quickie was unbelievably apparent “look at you, such a romantic.” You try to tease him, but are eventually forced to cover your mouth as you cut off a strangled moan with his thick length dragging brutally inside you.
It’s like he’s oblivious to the effect his big cock had on you as he knocks the air out of you, peering down and moving his head to meet your gaze, smiling dopily, “is this pace satisfactory?” Like he was serving dinner rather than fucking you, and he smiled sweetly as you nodded.
When that knot in your lower stomach bursts, your legs turn to jelly, and eyes roll back, and honestly, any further back, you will find your brain turned to jelly at the mind boggling orgasm that your boyfriend can somehow rip out of you. After his own orgasm settles, Colossus pulls out, pulling your underwear and trousers up to cover you once again, before covering himself, and finally sealing it all with a kiss on your cheek, “Thank you…”
At least now you guys had a little secret during the picnic that the others can't exactly point out, right?
⋆˚꩜｡ Newly-weds!Clark Kent x reader (silly, light hearted smut 18+)
You guys aren't virgins...but Clark might as well be
CW: sex, AFAB reader, reader teasing Clark, Clark is kinda helpless, he yaps, not proofread, nervous clark
he's such a cutie I wanna write for him more
The first time being intimate between each other is surely a treasured moment for all couples. Except this isn’t the first time you guys are having sex.
In fact, you’re now married. So let me rephrase it; the first time being intimate as a MARRIED couple is surely a treasured moment. So why is Clark fumbling like it’s the first time again?
Clark was laid on his stomach in front of you, staring at your pussy, and his fingers fumbled desperately, as he rubs your clit, observing the growing wetness of your cunt, inhaling the musk happily. “H-honey—you’re so pretty! So gorgeous a-and on our first dance! Wow you were gorgeous, I said that already—my bad!” He chuckles, adjusting his glasses back onto his nose.
“Shut up…” you moan out as your newly wed husband continues to prep your hole, you continue “just put it in already, babe. It’s already primed for consummation,” your playful dirty talk is followed by a coy wink as you watch the man scramble back on his knees. He fumbles with his boxers, trying to fish himself out.
Boredom is palpable on you after a minute of watching him fumble, but you smirk up at him, “Clark, really?”
“Don’t laugh at me!”
“Not laughing!”
“You’re rushing me!” He shoots back, but it's dampened by the crack in his voice that he tries to ignore and drops his arms like he’s giving up, “Gosh, why am I so nervous?!” He asks himself out loud.
You sit up, the hairdo done for the sake of the ceremony is officially ruined, disheveled by a quick makeout and manically moving your head around with basically any stimulation. A smile spreads on your face as you crawl over against the unfamiliar hotel bed, and you whisper “Clark, stop overthinking it.” You didn’t give him a chance to reply, immediately mushing your lips together, relishing in the way he melts into it.
A hand drags over the front of his cotton, tight boxers as he mutters against your lips, “I wore the underwear you like…”
“Big dork,” you giggle against his lips, finally freeing his cock, pulling back entirely to admire the length and girth that you’re so familiar with. “Well aren’t you excited,” you tease him, finally looking him in the eye again, bringing a light weighted hand to gently tease over the tip of his cock, watching it pump out more pre, “still melt over this move, hm?”
Relaxation finally takes over him as he bashfully grins, nodding slowly, “You..you know my weak spots, sweetheart,” he breathes, before gently laying his hands on your shoulders and laying you down on the plush surface.
“Let me…” he mutters with a gentle smile. Against your pussy, his cock rubs against the slit, and with the amount of tension you feel, you can hardly understand how you had been able to take the length when you had sex before now.
Clark thumbs your clit, rotating his thumb and stroking the nub with care as he finally pushes in, making him whimper slightly, his teeth dig into his bottom lip as he gazes at the way your folds contort with his finger movements over your bud. This admiration continued until he hilted his cock deep into you, “Am I doing it right, sweetheart?” he asks hesitantly, to which you blink.
“Clark, we’ve been together long enough, you know what I like.”
“Oh right—okay, yes. Brain fart…” he chuckles bashfully and you can't help but roll your eyes at how dorky he sounded. Either way, he leans forward over you, his nose squishes into your cheek as he peppers light peck, slowly pulling out before thrusting back into the warm channel, “So pretty, and good, and amazing…” he lists reverently, his movements picking up.
The experience of the first time having sex as a married couple might be a top 10 experience. Either that, or you and Clark just make consummating a marriage a top tier experience.
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⋆˚꩜｡ Logan (James) Howlett / wolverine x vampire!reader (short fluff)
Logans table etiquette makes you want to argue with him, he's still able to make your heart flutter though
CW: light bickering, flirting, suggestive at the end, reader is kinda mean to Logan, Logan is a pervert
This is a little self-indulgent because I wanna write a lot more than I'm able to right now (especially for Wolverine)
The tall ceilings of the estate you had, sharing the space with you husband for the meantime as you both agreed upon a shared supper. However you did forget one thing about your husband…
“Logan, mind your manners!” You chide him, meanwhile he has the ribs in his undignified grip and sauce coats his hands and the sides of his mouth as he looks up, meeting your frustrated gaze.
“My bad, doll.” He grins and slowly attempts to bring a hand to your thigh, to which you firmly smack the back of. “Your hands are dirty!” Obviously that was evident with the grease on it, as a result of his hearty carnivorous meal.
Your husband huffed and took the napkin from your side, Logan flopped it onto your lap and ignored your continued scolding, slamming his hand onto the soft surface. “Shush, batsy.” He grumbles, returning the other hand to pick up another rib, sinking his teeth into it with a satisfied grunt, followed by picking up a glass of whatever alcoholic beverage, gulping it down his throat.
A flush takes over your face as you cut into your own food, it feels like his hand is burning into you, regardless of your annoyance, maintaining propriety practiced over the years, “Your etiquette is appalling..” you scold your husband while glancing aside at him.
A scoff reaches your ears, and an undignified cacophony of chews and his voice, “But baby, in my years, I never used an ounce of table etiquette, if I wasn’t busy with these ribs I’d have my way with you on this table right now!”
“Disgusting..” you mutter—to be fair, partly genuine at being forced to listen to him munching, but you fight a grin as you keep chewing.
“Yeah, yeah, and we’re going on our century and a half wedding anniversary, and we still haven’t filed for a divorce—though we all know you’re not gonna divorce all this.” He gestures to his own body, which to be fair, he has a point about.
Your eyes hit the back of your skull briefly as you roll them and fake the intensity for a glare, “So I’m not attractive enough then? I wouldn’t do it but you can do it to me?”
“Do I look stupid? Honey, am I a real lobotomite?” He bluntly interrogated you, squeezing your thigh further, bearing his eyes deep into yours.
Not one to be outdone, you lean forward as well, “and why are you inquiring such unnecessary matters?”
“Because if you think I’d ever throw down some papers at you, you gotta think I’m an idiot, little bat.” His voice grew gentle, in a way that makes your face warm enough to light fire places, and your heart thump loud enough that you could probably hear it in complete silence.
A chuckle slides out of you and you look down at your lap once again to Logan’s hand cupping your thigh, “fine, I believe you, dumb wolverine.”
“Not good enough, I gotta fill you up tonight and make sure your legs wobble in the morning. Anything to show my woman that she’s the only one for me.”
“Logan!” You chide, smacking his prickly forearm, only to be met with a boisterous laugh as he pulls his arm away.
You keep eating, and so does Logan, except your oblivious to the way his full cheeks move along with the light smile he allows himself to release, not teasing this time, but appreciative
This marriage between the two of you gets testy, after all, almost a hundred years does allow for a lot of familiarity. But these moments of playfulness make you both wanna stay married and together for an extra thousand years.
