Hiya, Short King

You were not a great dancer, but you had moxie. Your girls wanted to go to the club? You were coming. At a wedding? You’re on the dance floor with the first song. Something you liked started to play anywhere, anytime? On the Subway? At a bodega? You’re fucking out there trying.

Peter loved this about you, and couldn’t believe someone could like to do something so much, and do it so often, and still not be very good at it.

He tried to teach you. He signed you both up for belly-dancing classes. He was very popular with the 50-70 year old ladies who were in the class with you, and had a great time with the teacher, but you were still out there not understanding the effect your feet had on how your hips could bounce.

You moved in together a few weeks ago. Peter offered to let you stay when you broke up with your ex. You agreed it would be temporary.

He braced himself for your dancing. You did it while you brushed your teeth. You did it while cooking. Sometimes you just did it, listening to music and singing around the apartment. You definitely did it during chores. Was he maybe starting to see a little improvement?

You just- didn’t move enough, he thought. Your gestures were so meek. He wanted to see you pop more, gyrate, something.

He forgot himself when you danced and mopped the living room floor; he got behind you, hands on your hips, and he helped you move. Big, wide motions. “That’s it,” he encouraged, though you couldn’t hear him through your earbuds. “Yes, just like that.”

You stopped, turned around, and pulled out one of your headphones. “Hey!” you said with a confused smile. “The beat take you over?”

What the fuck got into him? He never grabbed you like that, like he had some kind of right. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I was, like, hypnotized. I couldn’t stop myself. No- wait- that’s an excuse. No excuses, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m very, very sorry.”

You laughed, your brows furrowed. “Okay, Peter,” you said. “It’s not that serious.”

“You- you dance a lot,” he told you.

“Uh huh,” you waited for more information.

“It makes me want to dance, too, I guess. With you.”

“That’s cute,” you said, going back to mopping, but not turning your music back on. “Do you want to go out dancing this week?”

“Y-yeah,” no, he didn’t, “that sounds great.”

“Oh, man, that’s so exciting! You never want to go clubbing with me!”

“I’ve never been clubbing with anyone,” he reminded you. “It’s not really the vibe for science nerds.”

You disregarded that comment completely. You were a nerd, too. This wasn’t 1980. You could be a nerd and go clubbing. “Fuck, I’m getting so hype. Let’s go tonight! Can we go tonight?”

Well, shit. How could he say no to you when you were bouncing so cheerfully, practically assaulting him with your excitement and your smile? He nodded.

“Okay, but you can’t dance with anyone but me,” he told you.

“That’s ridiculous. Oh my god, Peter, what are you going to wear?!”

Two hours later, you were in a dress so tight Peter incorrectly predicted you weren’t wearing underwear because he was sure he’d be able to see it through the thing.

Peter wore the thinnest jeans he owned, and a tight V-neck shirt that was actually yours but looked incredible on him. You insisted he had to show off all his muscles and he couldn’t figure out a way out of it.

Women were already noticing him. His Spidey senses were tingling and told him most of the people inside and outside of this club were horny as hell.

When you finally got inside, Peter was astonished. It was so crowded it was a wonder anyone could move, much less dance at all. There were several floors. You yelled to him through the music.

You ended up on the third floor. You dragged him to the bar and ordered both of you drinks and paid for them.

“Hey, you didn’t have to-”

“Come on, let’s have some fun! I want to see you dance with someone!”

“What? Me?”

“Yes, you, why else would we be here?”

He hesitated. He raised his eyes from being locked on you in that dress. Immediately, other eyes met his. There were beautiful women everywhere. He felt like he was being flooded with flashes of stunning dresses, gorgeous faces, and eager bodies.

“Just don’t leave this floor, okay?” he requested.

“I’ll sit right here. This will be our chair. We’ll take turns dancing,” you slid onto a barstool and sipped your drink.

He shook his head and walked out onto the dance floor, trying to keep a panic attack at bay.

He let himself feel the music. There was a brunette who noticed him and started dancing with him. Your body felt warm when you watched Peter smile and start getting into it. He was being so skillful, not just grinding against her ass like you expected, but actually dancing with her, holding her hand, turning her. He made her laugh. Fuck, it was a delight to see.

He came back over to you with something shifting in his expression. He took his drink from you and sipped it.

“Bro, you were amazing,” you told him. “I wish I could dance like you do.”

“I want to dance with you,” he told you, again.

“No, you sit down and hold this seat and my wristlet,” you told him, and got up from your chair, fixing your dress from hiking up your thighs and down your breasts.

You walked away from him a few steps and tried to look interested in dancing. It only took a moment of looking around to be greeted by a willing smile. A guy came over to you and you took his hand as he led you further into the crowd.

Peter downed the rest of his drink. He knew he didn’t want to see you with anyone else, but he didn’t anticipate exactly how angry it would make him.

The fellow had his hands on your hips. You faced him, smiling with lips parted. His dancing had a little bachata in it, at first. Then he slid one of his legs between yours and your dress hiked up significantly. This wasn’t dancing, this was dry humping some stranger’s leg. Peter wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Along with the seething rage from the sight of this, there was also a gentler reaction. You were often smiling and spreading your cheer through his life, and this was no different. You just exuded joy. He couldn’t bear to look away.

He sipped your drink through your straw, weirdly comforted that the straw had been in your mouth. He tongued the straw in his mouth a bit.

At the end of the song, you had to pry yourself away from the guy and Peter thought, holy shit, I might just hurt someone who is not committing a crime tonight.

When you came back, you encouraged him to go dance again. “Go on, it’s your turn. Maybe do two songs this time.”

“This is ridiculous, can we please just dance together?”

“Peter, I am not dancing with you,” you said through laughter. He gave you your seat back.

“Why not?”

“Well, honestly, because dancing is basically sex.”

“What?”

“Like, that dude just got me off with his thigh,” you laughed. “Is that what you want, Peter? You want me to have an orgasm on your thigh?”

He ordered himself a second drink. He wanted to say something to let you know how angry you were making him, but he didn’t know how to explain his reaction.

“If you don’t dance with me, I’m leaving,” he told you, downing his second drink.

“Okay, well. Let me finish this, I guess,” you didn’t want to fight with him anymore. You sipped the rest of your Long Island Iced Tea in three separate, very long gulps.

He took your wristlet and put it in his pocket. He took your hand and pulled you with him, his heart starting to race. The song changed.

He put a hand at your back and took one of your hands into his other. His body was against yours, not pressed, just close enough to be able to graze against you. He wanted you to feel comfortable and he wanted you to move.

He led. He guided you through a little box step you could easily keep up with.

You looked down at your feet, acting very differently than you did with the previous man. With that guy, it was sex. With Peter, it was just dancing. He tapped you under your chin. “Eyes up here,” he teased.

“I don’t want to dance with you, Peter, you’re bossy!”

“Bossy?”

“You heard me! You’re like obsessed with getting me to dance differently than I want to.”

Well, yes, he was. He held you closer so you didn’t have to shout, the side of his head against yours.

“I’m not like you. I’m not a perfectionist.”

“A perfectionist?” he could not believe what he was hearing. He’d never describe himself that way.

“Yes, Peter. You just take things too seriously. I just want to have fun!”

“Alright, I’m listening. Show me how you dance when you’re having fun. I’ll stop interfering. Show me how to have fun.”

You tried to step away and let go of his hands, but he insisted you dance pressed against each other, eyes locked, at least one of your hands in his. You danced in your amateur fashion. He let you lead and didn’t take notes.

You turned him and it made him laugh. You raised your hands above your head when he let you, making ritualistic motions like you were worshipping the moon. You played.

You spun into and out of his arms. You barely moved your feet when you were close to him, and after a while he stopped noticing. He focused on your smile and the spark in your eye.

You intended to dance with your back against him for only a moment, but he wrapped both arms around you and kissed the back of your head. He slid his hands to your hips, tight and intentional, pressing you harder against him. You could feel his cock against your ass and tried to move away, but when you did, he pulled you back with a graceful motion.

You faced him, both hands on his chest. He moved your hips harder. He spread your legs with one of his. He grinded against you. You were lost, mesmerized by the pleasure in his expression. You suddenly wanted to give Peter everything he could possibly want.

He slid a hand to your ass and you let out a sound you hoped the music hid.

He kissed you.

You didn’t know how much you wanted it until you mercilessly kissed him back.

Your hands were in his hair, your fingers in it, brushing and tugging. He moaned and breathed into your mouth. He never stopped dancing. Even his tongue whirled when you slipped your tongue past his delicious lips.

You tried to pull away, and this became a chase. The movement of your feet part of the dance. He spun you, confused you. He brought you back to him and kissed you again. His cock felt so hard, so intense against you. How could he be comfortable like this in public? There was something music did to Peter that changed him, took away the nervous young man and brought up this assertiveness. There was something about using his body that made sense to Peter, and now was making too much sense to you.

He kissed you again, his tongue insistent, his breaths encouraging. The song changed and it was like he didn’t hear the next one at all. He stood with his hands cupping your face, his brows high, his body desperate for you. You barely heard him say “let’s go home, please.”

He kissed you on the way out of the club, stopping on the stairs, on the street, and hidden away from other people waiting for the Subway. He rubbed his face against your neck on the ride over. His hand played with yours as if he were fondling a piano. He had his leg between the two of yours on the elevator up to your apartment, and again when he had you in his bed.

His thrusts were rhythmic. His moans melodic. He danced his way inside you, prodding until your body opened up and welcomed him. His panting was on beat. His groans kept in cadence. Sex with Peter was a dance itself, and he performed so, so, so, so well. Your hips moved in ways you didn’t know were possible. You kissed him like kissing finally made sense.

When he came inside you, the pulse of his release was on beat. He barely took any time at all getting a second condom, back on top of you in seconds. You could barely catch your breath, and he didn’t want you to. He was in the lead again. He led you to your body’s own conclusion. Your cunt squeezed him on tempo. You practically sang when you came.

“Does this mean you’ll go out dancing with me more often?” you asked him after he came a second time.

“I’ll dance with you whenever you want to,” he kissed your shoulder, “but especially like this, every day.”

Pepper Potts instructed you to do something unusual you weren’t sure fit your job description.

You were one of Pepper’s very many assistants. Having been a corporate assistant plenty of times prior, you didn’t shy away from grunt work. You could get coffee. You could embarrass yourself in front of important people so your boss could save face. You could flirt with clients. You could ruin someone’s life so your boss wouldn’t have to get their hands dirty. There wasn’t much that made you feel anything, anymore. Until you had to start dealing with Pepper’s husband, Tony Stark.

“I’m confused. What is my task?” you asked Pepper on a rare night when she was being vague about what she wanted from you. She stopped what she was doing to make eye contact.

“I said, take care of my husband,” she repeated. “Give him whatever he needs to make up for me missing our date tonight.”

You’d been instructed to do a lot of things you didn’t want to do, but this one was entirely new.

You arrived at their home in Malibu wearing a dress that cost more than your college tuition. You wore stilettos with the heels so sharp you worried they’d break off like toothpicks if you pressed your foot down too hard. You waited for him in their living room, sucking in your stomach since Pepper made critical comments about your body lately. You tried not to breathe until you had to.

“So you’re my consolation prize,” he said, walking into the living room, expensive shoes tapping on expensive floors. Your heart was trying to activate the rest of your system, telling you it wasn’t too late, you could still run, but there you were giving him your best impression of a baby deer.

He walked over to his bar and poured the two of you the same drink. You didn’t think about how you hadn’t had sex in years, hadn’t had the time or interest in it. You didn’t think about how nothing turned you on, how you were wondering if you ever even liked sex at all, the idea of it having faded from your existence so easily, without a fight.

He reached out for your hand. You walked over to him like a marionette. He kissed the back of your hand. It was the first of many invasions, so it registered. You remembered this moment the strongest when it intruded on your following days. His goatee was surprisingly soft, as were his lips. You danced with him before you even registered the music. When had it started playing?

He brought you to Pepper’s home study and bent you over her desk. He fingered you roughly and you were shocked to learn you were even wet enough for him to enter. That you could even open for him.

He fucked you for hours, constantly changing positions and not coming, like he was searching for some special combination he knew was possible between your bodies, he just needed to find it. When he finally did, he took you to their bed, forcefully sleeping wrapped around you like an abandoned child.

He was out of bed before you woke up. The breakfast was lavish, but you skipped it. You couldn’t get out of there faster. A change of clothes was provided by another assistant. She was kind and asked you pleasant questions, probably genuinely caring about you, but if you allowed yourself to feel a feeling you would fall apart. You weren’t about to do that in the Starks’ Malibu house.

A limousine drove you home. It took over an hour. You hugged your legs in the shower. You could still feel his fingers on you, inside you. Your insides felt bruised from the way he fucked you roughly, trying to punish Pepper through you. You were given the day off, abruptly, and the next day Pepper waited until it was just the two of you and commended you for your “excellent work”.

“Tony was satisfied,” she said. You nodded and left her office to throw up in the closest bathroom stall.

He was surprised to see you on the roof of the building. You’d never gone up there before, as far as he knew. Some of the neighbors were trying to develop a gardening area, and there seemed to be some chairs and picnic tables and a barbeque. All of this was new. You were leaning over one of the walls and looking out into the rest of the city.

It was 3 o’clock in the morning. What were you doing?

You turned around to look at him, or rather to look at Spider-Man. You rested your elbows against the wall of the roof. How could you seem this effortless and comfortable? Peter had seen you like this in public before, but it was a different you from the one you saved for him. When it was just you and Peter, you were silly and boisterous and playful. This version of you was sexy and confident and chill. He’d never gotten attention from this side of you before.

“Hey there, superhero,” you said to him, not even bothering to raise your voice, even though he stood so far from you.

He walked a bit closer. What was he doing? He’d gotten the shit beaten out of him that night. He was covered in bruises. He was tired and sore. He wanted to go to bed. He maybe had a concussion; he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He walked up beside you, trying to appear as cool as you did, resting an elbow on the rooftop wall. It felt awkward so he fixed his position. He leaned and crossed his arms. He hoped you didn’t know how nervous he was.

“Hey there, citizen,” he said to you, deepening his voice.

You smiled and it increased his heart rate. This was the kind of smile you didn’t share with Peter. He’d seen you share it with many, many others. This was the smile you flashed before you asked if you could kiss someone. You were not the type to wait to be asked.

“Taking a break from crime fighting for a moment?”

“I’m off for the night,” he explained. “I got my ass handed to me, but I got another bad guy off the street, so it’s been a success.”

“Thanks for doing that for us,” you said. “You don’t get nearly as much gratitude as you should from the city.” Lately, there was a lot of positive press around him. He was in the papers regularly. Kids dressed up like him, again. He definitely felt rewarded and appreciated, but it was sweet of you to think he deserved more.

“Th-thank you. Uh. What are you doing up so late?” he asked.

“Felt like being dramatic. Standing alone on the roof felt right. The girl I was seeing ended it with me so I’m moping.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry,” he told you. You’d been seeing someone for a few weeks. Peter hadn’t met her and had a feeling it wouldn’t last because he usually met your long term partners quickly. She didn’t text you enough and didn’t seem to have time for you, which he knew you wouldn’t fulfil you in the end. “Do you, uh, want a hug?” he asked.

“From my hero, Spider-Man? Um, yes, please,” you said.

He put his arms around your shoulders and gave you a little pat, stiff and nervous, trying to remember his manners. You slid your hands around his torso and put your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t want to let you go, so he didn’t. He relaxed his arms around you and lowered them comfortably around your waist. As he pressed against the rooftop wall, you pressed yourself into him.

“I’ll hug you as long as you’re comfortable, Spider-Man,” you said.

“I’m supposed to be the one comforting you. Why do I feel like you switched it on me?” he laughed.

“Maybe we both need to be embraced tonight,” you said.

“You- did you not tell anyone about your breakup? I’m sure your friends would come take care of you if you told them.”

“I only have one friend and he works nights. I try not to bother him. He’s such a sweetheart. I’m sure he’ll take really good care of me tomorrow. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Do you have someone like that in your life?”

“I do. They give hugs as good as yours, I’d say.”

“Impressive. I could win medals for my hugs, you know,” you flirted.

“I have no doubt.”

“Do you think your person could defeat me?”

“It’s very close. It’s hard to say.”

“Spider-Man, can I kiss you?” you looked up at him.

“Wh- Oh. Uh. Maybe. How about right here?” he pointed to his cheek.

You rose on your tiptoes, body sliding up against his, and pressed your lips against his cheek for a long moment. You put your heels back on the ground. “If I close my eyes, could I kiss you here?” you tapped a finger gently on where you thought his lips would be under the mask.

He let out a tiny, nervous laugh. “You know, I don’t normally kiss civilians on rooftops,” he informed you.

“It must be my lucky day,” you said.

He thought about it. You waited. “Close your eyes,” he almost whispered.

You did.

He lifted the bottom of his mask, slowly, his arms full of tension, he almost shook. He slid one hand back around your waist and took your chin in his other hand. He licked his lips in an effort to make sure they weren’t dry. He ran his thumb over your lower lip first, and then finally closed the gap between you.

You made a sweet little humming sound and it absolutely broke him. His next kiss was messier, full of urgency, like he couldn’t get close enough to you. He lifted one of your legs to wrap around his waist.

What the fuck was he doing?

He pulled his mask back down. “I want to fuck you,” he said.

“Okay,” you said back, opening your eyes.

“I’m going to put some web around here, like a blindfold,” he told you, motioning to your face.

“Okay,” you said.

He sprayed the webbing into his hand to made a blindfold out of it and tied it around your head.

“You keep a condom in that suit with you, Spider-Man?” you teased. You pulled your underwear off from under your dress, stepped out of them, and shoved them in your pocket.

“Shoot,” he pat where his pants pockets should be.

“It’s okay. I’m on birth control. I’ve never let anyone fuck me unwrapped, though. You’re lucky you’re a superhero or you wouldn’t get the chance.”

Fuck, he felt a pang of shame for not telling you who he was.

He undid the top of his suit and slid it off his arms and torso, sliding it down along with his briefs. He lifted you up again, wrapping your legs around him, hiking your dress up. He kissed you again, immediately falling back into the same feelings from just moments before, desperate to be close to you.

He pressed you against the wall and shoved himself inside you. You let out a fantastic moan when he did and it encouraged him to start thrusting immediately. He needed to be deeper. He thrusted harder, relishing in your sounds.

He reached over to cover your nose with the webbing, as well, realizing you could recognize him by his smell.

“What are you-”

“Please, trust me.”

You breathed through your mouth, panting in sync with his movements.

When he was close to coming, he slowed down, then stopped, clenching his muscles. He wouldn’t let himself come. He needed to feel this with you. He wanted you to have your dream moment, your fantasy of fucking a superhero on a rooftop. You’d told him about this fantasy a million times. He loved you so fucking much, he wasn’t going to screw this up for you.

“Are you- are you finished?” you asked, sweet enough to pretend not to be disappointed, regulating your breath.

“No, just took a pause. You feel so good. I don’t want to come yet.”

You nodded, acknowledging.

He tested himself, slowly moving again. He was good. He fucked you again. He fondled your ass. You raked your fingernails down his bare back. He asked for you to do it as hard as possible and reassured you that there was no way you would be able to draw blood. You clawed at him and it felt incredible. And the longer he fucked you, the wilder became the sounds you made.

“Oh no, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you told him. “Please don’t stop fucking me until you come, too.”

“Can you try to stop-” he almost slowed down his movements, but could feel your orgasm, your cunt gripping his cock, so he sped up and thrusted harder into you, trying to make sure you came good and strong on him.

“You sure you’re good for me to keep going?” he asked you.

You nodded encouragingly. “Please,” you let out in a tone he’d never heard from you before.

“Want to try another position?”

“Yes. Whatever you want.”

“Hey, this is about you, too. I need this to feel good for you.”

You paused. He worried for a moment that maybe he forgot to deepen his voice again. “That’s really sweet,” you finally said.

He kissed you again before turning you around. He spread your legs and helped you arch your back. “Thank you,” he told you, and slid back into you again. He slammed himself inside you and used your hips to fuck himself, creating fantastic friction when you were so wet for him. He loved hearing the noise of your bodies slapping together, mixed with your passionate moans. People could hear you. You were so loud against the silence of 3am in New York City.

He kept thanking you and thanking you. “I’m so grateful. This is amazing. I’ve never done this with anyone else,” he said.

“Fuck, Peter!” you let out.

He didn’t stop fucking you. “Wh-what did you say?”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. This feels so good I tranced out for a second. Did I say something?”

“You said Peter,” he told you, slamming harder and faster.

“Fuck, sorry, that’s my bestie’s name. Do you want me to say Spider-Man?”

“No, no, that’s okay. Keep saying what you need to say,” he challenged himself to say something he’d never said, and added a pet name for you. “Honey. Say Peter over and over if that’s what you need to come again.”

You did it. Among your pants and moans and yelps and oh shits and okays and oh my gods, you said Peter. You kept saying his name, like it was just another sexual curse word for you.

“Fuck, thank you,” was all he trusted himself to say. He whimpered and growled and finally let himself come inside you while you recited fuck, Peter, fuck, fuck, oh my god, Peter.

He slipped out of you and put his suit back on, double-checking to make sure the mask was on his face. You turned to press your back into the rooftop wall, both hands on your chest. You fixed your bra. You waited patiently for him to take the blindfold off from you.

“Can I keep it?” you asked.

“Oh, s-sure,” he handed it to you.

You smiled at him. “Don’t leave just yet, okay?” You looked so beautiful, sweaty and glowing.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. How can I take care of you?” he put his arms back around you, pressing his body close. He put his masked face in the crook of your neck and inhaled.

“I don’t know,” you chuckled. “There’s probably no chance you’d give me your number? Or another way to contact you?”

He smiled inside his mask. Of course you would be bold enough to ask Spider-Man if you could contact him after he fucked you on a rooftop. He was so impressed with you. Who else would fucking have the guts to do that?

He wanted to give you everything. He didn’t want to end the night in disappointment, but he also didn’t know if he could ever do this with you again.

“Are you sure you’ll be available? It sounds like maybe you need to talk to your boy Peter,” he encouraged.

You laughed. “Maybe.”

“I’ll find a way to contact you.” He kissed your cheek through his mask. “I promise. But it won’t be for a while.”

“Okay,” you said.

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“Are you good for me to leave?”

You nodded.

“Okay. Stay safe, civilian,” he told you, stepping away and getting his shooters ready. He needed to remember you never even told Spider-Man your name.

EASY DIFFICULTY - things I’ve already written about so it won’t be my first time

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 1 condoms

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 2 embarrassment

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 4 subspace - sub!peter x dom!reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 5 body mods - bucky x reader or steve x reader or bucky x reader x steve?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 7 dirty talk

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 7 cock warming

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 10 gentle sex

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 11 age gap - headcanons for tony, peter, steve, bucky, loki, thor, yelena

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 12 phone sex - secret admirer tony x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 13 frottage

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 13 temperature play - probably will use bucky for this because of the arm

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 17 begging

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 22 sharing - do i want bucky x reader x steve, thor x loki, or both? 😈

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 23 caught in the act

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 23 lace

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 25 first time

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 26 swallowing

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 28 safe words

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 29 quickie

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 30 licking - best friend roommate peter x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 31 fingering

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 31 micro/macro

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 31 [writer’s choice] ⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ coming in pants - maybe clint?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ extra ⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ kink discovery

NORMAL DIFFICULTY - I’m very excited to try this and already have an idea for it I’ve been toying with

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 1 bratting - boyfriend brat peter x brat tamer reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 3 bondage - boyfriend dom peter x dom reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 4 master/slave - slave peter x alien princess reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 5 glory hole - secret admirer tony x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 5 cloning - lucifer x lucifer x lucifer x lucifer x lucifer for reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 9 orgasm delay / denial - first date new boyfriend bucky x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 14 vore & role play - best friend roommate peter x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 19 mommy kink - headcanon drabbles

MEDIUM DIFFICULTY - this will be a challenge but I’m not scared

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 4 body writing

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 6 held down

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 7 aphrodisiacs

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 8 face sitting

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 16 nipple play (m) -

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 26 collars - choosing between writing peter or lucifer, or both separately

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 28 strap-on (pegging)

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 29 pet play - choosing between writing peter or lucifer, or both separately

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ extra ⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ stripping

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ extra ⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ pornography

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ extra ⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ subdrop/domdrop

HARD DIFFICULTY - this will be a challenge and I’m a little intimidated

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 2 orgy

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 12 findom - tony or yelena?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 14 strength kink

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 18 transformation?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 19 public sex - thor?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 19 doddy kink - tony x reader or drabbles?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 20 one night stand - actor x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 21 predicament bondage

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 26 fuck or die - dean winchester x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 27 feminization - avenger headcanons

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 29 wet and messy

LEGENDARY DIFFICULTY - someone send help I am not supposed to be here

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 2 beastiality - rocket x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 3 hate sex - peter quill x reader? odysseus (epic) x siren?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 10 noncon - lucifer x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 11 religion kink

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 15 power imbalance - boss tony x reader? boss bruce wayne x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 16 conditioning - tony x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 16 predator / prey - predator bruce banner x prey reader? odysseus (epic) x siren?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 22 lactation - frank x reader

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 22 boot worship - tony or bucky

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 24 spreader bar - loki x reader?

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 24 drugging

⋆°⭒˚｡⋆ day 27 spanking - sub!peter x femdom!reader

Somewhere in the evening of your first date, Lucifer asked if you wanted to change into some pajamas. You described what you would like to wear and he made it for you, a short-sleeved black and gray button-down top with matching shorts. He made the same pajamas for himself, only his colors were light pink and white. He thought you looked adorable together and asked if he could take a photo, which you allowed.

He posted it on his Sinstagram and you taught him how to tag you. You told him to write something cute in the caption, so he wrote:

“first date. no u-haul, unfortunately, but we have matching pjs,” followed by a bunch of duck emojis.

He published it after asking you if it was okay.

Throughout the day, he was getting the hang of asking for consent. He did it every time he wanted to touch you or kiss you, and every time he wanted you to kiss him. Your evening was fairly mild compared to the intense morning and afternoon you shared.

He turned off the TV and lied down under the covers with you. You lied on your back and he was tucked in against you on his side, one arm around you and one leg on yours.

“Where can I touch you?” he asked.

“Anywhere that you can’t penetrate or stimulate something,” you responded.

He immediately slid his hand under your top, slowly caressing the skin of your stomach. He ran his palm against you, and then the back of his hand. He shifted, his cock already erect in his shorts and pressed against your thigh.

He moved his hand to your hip and rubbed on your skin there, fondling your fat and squeezing it. “I’ve been watching these big, beautiful hips for months,” he said to you softly. “Do you know how absolutely wild they’ve driven me?”

You shook your head. “I still can’t believe you’ve been into me that long.”

He breathed heavily. You were able to excite him just by allowing him to massage your hip. He squeezed the side of you, on top of your hip and below it. You arched a bit, which made him squeeze harder to get you to arch like that again.

He finally moved his hand a little higher, rubbing horizontally across until he hit the bottoms of your breasts. He trailed his fingers over the area. He could feel the indent from a day spent trapped inside a bra. He alternated the pressure of his touches, sometimes gentle and sometimes rough, nurturing the region.

He cupped underneath your breast, avoiding your nipple like you ordered. As he rubbed, fondled, and caressed your tit, his gentle breaths changed into moaning. “They’re so fucking soft,” he whispered, grinding his cock against you through his shorts.

He stopped himself. You said he could touch whatever he couldn’t penetrate or stimulate, but he didn’t know if that meant with just his hand, or with any part of his body, and he didn’t want to ask. Instead, he denied himself the pleasure.

He pulled his hand out from your shirt to grab a pillow and place it between his cock and your thigh.

“You don’t-” you started, and stopped.

“What? I don’t what? No pillow?”

You didn’t respond, but you were breathing as heavily as he was.

“Fuck, please, princess, tell me,” he rubbed his face against the fabric of your shirt, desperate for you. “Tell me to put the pillow away.”

“Okay, yes. Yes, put it away.”

He threw it out and went back to what he was doing, humping your beautiful, fat thigh through his shorts. He was on top of you. He buried his face in your shirt, between your breasts, hating the shirt for being in his way.

“Can you unbutton your shirt so I can feel your skin with my face?” he asked you.

With shaky movements, you undid just the top buttons, and he immediately opened up the shirt to shove his face against your breasts.

He inhaled deeply, your scent so fucking incredible right there between your tits, so erotic and enticing. He humped a little harder, starting to bruise the top of your thigh with his cock. He had his hands under your shirt, squeezing your breasts from the sides, suffocating himself in your breast fat and skin and smell.

“Oh my fucking hells,” you tried to squeeze your legs together, but one of his was between yours as he humped your thigh.

He emerged from between your breasts and looked up at you, panting just as he was. “Do you need something, darling? All you need to do is ask. I’m completely yours, you know that, yes?”

You shook your head, then nodded, and gripped the bedsheets with both hands, writhing underneath him.

He hovered over you, not grinding anymore; focused on observing you. “Am I making you feel good, my darling?” he just wanted to hear you say it.

You nodded, gazing at him full of lust, looking so sexy he could hardly stand it.

“What do you want, angel?” he whispered, trying to push you to be honest with him. You so clearly wanted him. You so clearly wanted to squeeze your thighs together. He was so glad his leg was there to prevent you. He imagined using a spreader bar on you one day. Fuck, he would go absolutely insane watching you writhing like this, begging for him to remove the bar so you could feel more friction between your legs.

You weren’t using the safe words and stopping him, but you weren’t replying either. If only he didn’t become so much dumber when his blood was filling up his cock. He tried to think of how else he could push you over the edge.

He crawled up higher and pressed his face against your neck, using a hand to move your head to the side a bit. He didn’t lick you or suck on you like he wanted. He didn’t even kiss you. He just breathed in rhythm with you, and grazed your sensitive skin with his bottom lip. He moaned and you arched your back, so he moved even closer and moaned again, gently in your ear.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he whispered to you, and there was that arch again. He loved watching you react to him like this. “I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he continued. “This is exactly how I pictured you looking when I stroked my cock in your bed.”

You tried to stifle a squeal and covered your mouth with the back of your hand.

“You make the prettiest sounds I’ve ever heard,” he told you. “I respect that you didn’t want to be too intimate too fast,” he didn’t but he tried to. “But don’t you want to come, baby? Isn’t this insufferable for you?”

You didn’t answer him. You were panting, your eyes darting around. He wanted to know what you were thinking. He wanted to know what you were denying yourself.

“What if you touched yourself, darling?” he whispered in your ear like the little devil he was. “That wouldn’t break any rules, would it? I could hide my face right here in your pretty hair. I wouldn’t see anything. You’re so good to me, don’t you deserve some release?”

“Fuck,” you said, and then “Lucifer.”

“What is it, angel?” he rubbed his face against your neck. He wanted to bite you and taste you, but he controlled himself. This wasn’t about him right then. He just wanted to help you feel good.

“Talk to me, baby, please,” he whimpered against you.

“Get out of here,” you told him,

“Whoa, what?”

“Go somewhere. The hallway. The bathroom. Anywhere.”

“Darling, you don’t mean-”

“That’s what I want. I want to make myself come in your bed when you’re not here to enjoy it.”

“Oh wow, that’s-”

“A consequence. Of your betrayal.”

Lucifer was devastated but more than that he was impressed. “Let me know when to come back,” he told you, and portaled himself quickly into his bathroom. He pressed his ear hard against the door and could barely hear you. He opened the door a little, which was better, and sat there, jerking off on his bathroom floor, listening to you fuck yourself to spite him.

“I fucking love you,” he mumbled as he came.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ tony

You’d think Tony wouldn’t be into someone bigger, but Tony got tired of fucking the same kind of body pretty early in his life. His money and status made sex easily available, and so he wanted it all the time, from any type of person. A skinny bitch, a fat bitch, a bitch in between; the body didn’t matter for Tony as much as the number and experience. He wanted to fuck everyone in the world. If the chemistry was there, and it almost always was, then he was going to fuck you, with your consent, of course.

When he meets you, he notices your weight the way one might notice your hairstyle. Quite a bit autosexual, Tony’s main attraction is to people who are attracted to Tony. As soon as he catches your eyes on his body—when you think he isn’t looking—he’s hooked. He wants your eyes all over him, and he will not rest until he gets to be inside you, performing for you, showing you Tony Stark continues to be a playboy not because of his wealth, but because of his sexual skills.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ yelena

It’s hard for Yelena to take weight and body type seriously as even something to talk about. She’ll fuck the shit out of any bitch. For her, the most important thing is the connection. She wants to feel close with whomever she’s with. She wants to enter that blissful state of mindlessness that comes with really good sex, and she cares more about making that happen than she cares about the body of the person she’s bringing it to.

There is one exception to this. In the very rare instance when she wants to be taken care of, she wants a big caregiver to hold her in their arms. As long as they are bigger than her, it counts, whether it’s 10lbs or 300lbs heavier. She wants the softness of their embrace before sex, and a long, warm cuddle after.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ peter

As precious as Peter was, you believed he was fatphobic. You decided people as wildly sexy as him could never like a fat person. You didn’t bother allowing your eyes to graze his body. You avoided looking at his abs when his shirt hitched up a bit. If someone asked you to describe what Peter looked like, you probably wouldn’t be able to outside of a basic outline, because you treated him the way you decided he probably treated you.

You were completely incorrect. Peter stared at you constantly, spoiled by the fact that you never noticed. As your eyes darted away from him, he took in the details of you. He loved the way your stomach looked in form-fitting clothes. He was obsessed with your hips and thighs. If you ever wore a shirt that showed a bit of chest, he was beside himself, having to think about roadkill or spider videos to get his cock not to engorge.

You tried so hard to never take up any of his space, but on the rare occasion your body was against his, he fucking quivered. He wanted so badly to touch you, he once even pretended to bump into you. That night, he could not stop jerking off for hours.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ thor

Thor loved himself a fat bitch. Thor had fucked so many being from so many different species that he got excited like a kid on holiday when he saw a body that he hadn’t seen before. Small breasts on a large frame? He’s here for it. No ass but thick legs? Fuck him up. For him, it was all about the drama, the specialness of every individual, the thing that made you unique in a crowd.

Having been fat at one point himself, he could not understand fatphobia. Jokes about other people’s bodies went completely over his head. He loved bodies! He loved people! Sex with him was a celebration. He wished he could do it in public. If you were to ask him to engage in some exhibition with you, he’d happily comply, loving your fat body where everyone could see.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ steve

Steve is still so fucking uncomfortable with having a body himself. He feels like he is wearing a muscle suit rather than having a different body than the one he grew up in.

He borders on asexual, having a really low sex drive and very little interest in anyone. He was also still not used to being an object of other people’s desires.

His relationship to your body is mostly of surprise turning into delight. Sitting next to you feels exciting, as seats are typically not designed for your size; he gets to feel your hip or your leg or your arm pleasantly intruding on his space. He adores forced proximity and always jumps at an opportunity for it. The two of you are known to sit together on missions, to the point people will avoid an empty seat beside either of you because they don’t want to interfere.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ bucky

Ever since he lost his arm, Bucky’s experience of touch became exquisite. He was always comparing what he felt with his right versus his cybernetic arm. For him, being intimate with a fat person was all about the feelings; the softness of the fat. He loved to fondle and squeeze you. If you could bruise, you would be covered in bruises because of how often he gripped and grabbed at you.

He was obsessed with how the bigger parts of you tended to be colder, and would just rub on your cold, soft skin until he was able to get it warm.

There was rarely a moment when the two of you were in private during which he wasn’t touching you. His favorite moment of the day was when he had you on his couch, your bare legs in his lap, and he could caress your legs for hours while you watched your favorite shows.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ loki

Loki is the one who most struggles to find the sweet spot between fetishizing and just enjoying your body. He finds it difficult not to worship your fatness because of how different it is, not from other people’s bodies, but from his own.

He loves the way different materials rest against your body. He dresses you constantly, from Asgardian to Midgardian fashions. For every holiday, his deepest desire is a new boudoir photoshoot of you.

He uses his sorcery illusions to give himself a bigger body and it excites him. This pisses you off, because he seems to experiment with fatness like a costume. He listens when you remind him about what and how and why what he did or said was fucked up. But Loki is fun to have make-up sex with after a heated debate. A part of you wonders if he only did it to get a rise out of you in the first place.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ clint

Clint related everything having to do with bigger bodies with Laura’s pregnancies. He feels confused when he sees a pregnant body that has barely changed. He loved the way Laura’s body transformed when she was pregnant. He constantly gave her massages and learned how to best care for her when any parts of her body swelled. He developed his fondness for bigger bodies because of this.

So when he sees you on the app for people who are ethnically non-monogamous, he’s immediately smitten. He’s immediately attracted to your body. He goes to Laura to show off all your photos. After the two of you get to know each other some more, he asks for your consent to share with her your flirty little texts.

₊ ⟡˙ ‎‎‎⋆ ˚ frank

Frank knew he wasn’t “supposed to” be attracted to anyone who didn’t appear “conventionally” pretty, but he often found himself lusting after people who didn’t meet the stereotypes that would be approved of by his family and friends.

After a common phase of watching pornography with big breasts, his fucking favorite, he deviated into porn with people who had fat bodies. No matter what other phases he went through with his porn, those two categories is what he referred to as his “old faithful”s in his head.

He didn’t want you to know he was attracted to you. Regardless of your weight, that was something Frank wouldn’t have wanted anyone to know. But you constantly caught his eyes on you. He seemed to lower his volume a bit whenever you entered a room. When the two of you were assigned to work together, he rarely, if ever rolled his eyes.

Monday

Bucky brought you flowers. He thought about it for a while. People in the building would laugh, but he couldn’t see you without anything. It didn’t feel respectful. The weekend of texting was intimate and deserved to be celebrated. You deserved to be celebrated and he wanted to celebrate the ever living heck out of you.

He waited outside the building for you and when you saw him with his flowers, you looked so adorably flustered.

He was wearing civilian clothing.

He walked toward you when he saw you. You barreled into him to hide your face in his chest. You clung to his open jacket with both hands. “Shut the fuck up, you did not bring me flowers.”

“I did. Are you okay?”

“I am mortified and refuse to move from this spot. Do not look at me!”

When you let go of it, he tucked you into his jacket. He had one arm around your waist, your flowers in that hand, and his other hand was at the back of your head. “It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“No one has ever gotten me flowers before in my entire life. You do understand that’s, like, stuff that only happens in movies?”

“Before it happened in movies, it happened in real life,” he laughed. “If they bother you so much, I can throw them out.”

“Don’t you dare!” you escaped his jacket and grabbed the flowers from him. You hugged them like they were a stuffed animal, which was just not the way to hold fresh flowers. “They’re mine and I love them!”

He leaned over, holding your chin with his hand, and when you didn’t react, he allowed himself to kiss your cheek. “You are being very cute right now.”

“Shut the fuck up, Winter Soldier! Oh my god!” You stepped away from him and walked into the building.

Bucky was not used to how casually people cursed in 2026, much less how casually pretty people like you did it, but he didn’t say anything. If this is how you spoke to him when you were happy, he did not ever want to make you mad.

“Wait,” he stopped you before you got on the elevator. “Dinner tonight?”

You blinked at him a few times. “You’re not going up?”

“Day off,” he lied, grinning. He made his own fucking schedule, so all of his days were days off. “Dinner? Tonight?” he asked again.

You nodded.

“May I pick you up? 6PM?”

“7PM, I’ll need time to get ready after work, and yes.”

“7PM. Text me the address?”

You nodded, again.

“Oh, and good morning.”

You covered your face with your flowers.

He gently moved the flowers from your face, and then laughed when you covered it with your hands.

“Come on,” he urged, laughing, and leaned forward to whisper in your ear. “It’s my favorite part of the day.”

“Good morning, Bucky,” you told him, and smiled.

You were so nervous about the date. None of your clothes made sense anymore, so they lied tossed around your bedroom as you tried out different combinations of the same things. You kept asking yourself: what excited a 109 year old super-soldier?

When he arrived, you opened the door wearing a thin robe. He looked surprised, then worried. “You’re not dressed,” he said.

You took his hand and encouraged him inside your apartment, closing the door behind him. “I’m too stressed about what to wear. You have to help me. I’ve never been on a real fucking date, like to a restaurant or whatever. It’s always bars or coffee shops or people’s houses.”

You led him to your bedroom.

He took in the sight of it, covered in your rejected clothes.

“First I thought you’re old timey so you probably want me to wear a dress, but that felt like I was trying too hard, right?” You picked up two dresses and held them up against yourself by their hangers and showed him, but all he had on his face was a surprised expression. “Then I thought, fuck it, pants suit, but that felt too work-y, you know? All my shit is so corporate.”

He leaned against the doorway to your bedroom, watching you. It looked like he was biting away a smile. “You’re the neurotic kind of cute, aren’t you?”

You stopped tornado-ing all over your bedroom to look at him from picking another shirt up off the floor. “Excuse me?”

“May I come in?” he asked, like he was a vampire waiting for an invitation, like this room was somehow more special than the rest of the apartment.

You picked up some more clothes and put them back where they belonged in your closet. “Yeah, come in. Help me.”

He took off his jacket and placed it on your dresser. He kicked off his shoes, leaving them in the hallway.

He stopped you from running around picking things up by placing his hands on your hips and sliding them around your waist. “Would you like to order in?” he asked.

You exhaled loudly. “Oh my god, that would be amazing, yes, could we please?”

He chuckled. He looked so different when he smiled. You put a hand on his face. He was freshly shaved, and you thought he probably did that for you, which made your face flush at the idea that this gorgeous, powerful, and usually dangerous man thought so highly of you that he engaged in some archaic social norm you didn’t even understand, just to, what? Please you?

Fuck, that was hot.

“Um. I know you’re not from around this time, or whatever, but- I’m an easy lay. You don’t have to try so hard with the flowers and the,” you motioned to his face.

He laughed and, wow, it made you really excited.

“Easy makes it sound like I’m not special,” he touched the side of your face and caressed your cheek with his thumb. “I like to know I’m important to the people I bed.”

His gaze felt so intense. His eyes trailed from your lips back up to your eyes. The contact was as excruciating as it was intoxicating.

“I would like it if you considered sleeping with me something special, and if you thought of me as an important person in your life.”

What even were words anymore?

“Do you think you could do that? For me?”

You nodded, all the intellect completely drained from your body.

He slowly brought a hand to the belt of your robe. “May I?”

You shook your head, opening the robe yourself. You took it off and let it fall to the ground. You were wearing lingerie you bought maybe seven years ago and never wore because who the fuck ever actually wore lingerie. It was black and bright red and lacy and you couldn’t wait to take it back the fuck off.

His breathing was uneven. He swallowed so he wouldn’t drool. Was this man literally salivating over you? You bit your lip.

He sat down on your bed and led you closer to him with both hands at your thighs. You loved the way he looked at your body, each time ending back up at your eyes again.

You straddled his lap, with his gentle encouragement. He seemed very much into the fat of your thighs and the width of your hips, his hands and eyes constantly returning to these parts of your body.

“Kiss me?” he asked, his voice husky and low, his vibranium arm around your waist and his other hand in your hair, beckoning you closer.

You took his bottom lip into yours, gently sucking before pulling away. You did it again but ended with a little bite.

He followed your rhythm. When you parted his lips with your tongue, he made hungry and desperate sounds, and pressed his tongue to yours, begging you into his mouth.

“You’re overdressed,” you eventually said through your kisses, unbuttoning his shirt.

“And you’re dressed really sexy for me,” he started kissing down your face and neck.

“You don’t know that. I could be- mmm- this could be for my next date. Alexei’s coming over after you leave.”

He laughed into your skin and you loved it. You wanted to make him laugh all night. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, he pulled it and his undershirt off. “Please don’t cheat on me with any Avengers.”

“Compromise. Bob and Yelena only.” You allowed yourself to marvel at his naked chest.

“I see you have a type,” he struggled with your bra.

“Oh? What do you have in common?” You helped him with the clasp. Even decades of work as an assassin couldn’t make a man good at unfastening a bra.

“I thought it would be obvious. We’re the softies of the group.” He slid his hands to your breasts, fondling one and putting his mouth on the other with a groan and a delighted eye roll.

“You’re one of the softies?” You remembered the flowers and the text messages and all of the good mornings and how long it took him to not ask for your number. This huge, muscular man with his cybernetic arm and his years of work as a killer was too nervous to ask you for your number.

He stopped sucking on your tit to speak. “I’m very soft,” he flicked your nipple with his tongue before he lifted you off his lap to take the rest of his clothes off, and what was waiting for you under them was not soft at all.

“Clearly,” you said, relieved that it wasn’t sixteen fucking inches like you’d imagined. He was big, but it didn’t look like it would kill you. It looked like the threat of a great time.

He looked up at you with that gloating grin, his fingers at the sides of your lacy undies, slowly tugging them down.

You hopped off the bed to help, pulling them off entirely. Bye, bye, lingerie. You would probably never wear it again.

“Did you bring a condom? I don’t want any super-soldiers growing inside me.”

“I didn’t want to presume-“

“You’re joking! Bucky!”

“Yes, I’m joking,” your disappointment delighted him. He laughed as he reached over to his pants and pulled one out. “You have a funny way of making me feel desired,” he took your hand to urge you back onto his lap.

You straddled him again and ran your hand down his length. “What makes you think I desire you?”

“The nudity is a really mixed signal if you don’t.”

“I’m just very confident about my body,” you palmed the head of his cock.

He was breathing harder, his smile combined with parted, inviting lips. “And the touching? That’s not about desire?” His cheeks were starting to redden and it was the most magnificent sight.

You took the condom from his hand and unwrapped it. You put it on for him and then rubbed his cock against yourself.

“Oh, jeez.”

“Jeez? Oh my god, that’s so precious.”

“We didn’t curse a lot where I’m from.”

“That’s exciting! Bucky, tell me you want me to fuck you.”

Oh, what a delight to watch a powerful man struggle to speak. “I want you to-“

“Yes? What do you want me to do?” You positioned his cock at your entrance and prodded yourself with it while you waited.

“Fuck me.”

“What was that? Say it again?”

“I want you to fuck me.”

You bit your lip and put your hands on his shoulders as you slowly slid down on his cock.

“Oh, my god,” he groaned, his eyes locked on yours, his eyebrows raised, his breathing urgent. He put his hands on your ass and spurred you on to keep fucking him slowly, just like that, taking in all of him until he hit your cervix and then sliding almost but not entirely back out.

You could talk shit but the way he felt inside you short-circuited your brain.

“Kiss me, again, please. I want you in my mouth,” he begged, and how could you deny a starving man?

The sounds he made were so erotic. He groaned and maybe even growled. Despite yourself, you emitted similar noises, moaning your pleasure into his mouth.

“Your pussy feels so good,” he told you. You didn’t expect him to be so chatty during sex.

“I’m happy your cock isn’t 16 inches,” you told him.

“What?” he chuckled through his panting.

“I was worried the reason you weren’t having sex was because you were killing people with your dick,” you told him.

He laughed a little, and then more. He nodded, “okay, I can see you imagining that.” He fondled your ass as you fucked him, his breath hitching in his throat with a shiver in his abdomen. “Is my size to your liking?” he asked with an actual smirk.

“Shut the fuck up, you know you’re big.”

“Am I?” he pretended to doubt, still smiling. “We didn’t have porn where I’m from. You could never really compare.”

“I’m sure you’re very educated on cock sizes now,” you were starting to move faster on top of him, pulling out less of him with each bounce.

“Faster?” he asked you.

“Help me,” you told him.

He bounced you on his cock effortlessly with his super-strength, fucking himself with your body like you weighed nothing. You emphasized each thrust with a moan, getting louder and louder the better it felt.

“James!” you tried.

And it was like a fucking code word. He shoved you quickly and wildly onto himself and also bucked his hips up into you, one hand on the bed to help him. The combination was incredible. You were so fucking delighted, you screamed his name.

“James, James, oh my fucking god, James!” Your cunt squeezed and spasmed around him and when he came, you came again and again from the shocking halt of his movements.

He pulled out and took the condom off while you tried to remember who and where you were. Before you could, he lifted you gently and moved your bodies, placing you on the bed on your back and spreading your legs.

“Wh- what-“ you could barely even start your question.

“Tap me if you want me to slow down and let go if you want me to stop,” he put your hand on his shoulder and his face in your cunt.

“Oh fuck,” the pressure of his face against you as your body healed from your orgasm was fucking next level. He started cleaning you up with his tongue.

He pressed it to your clit and you squeezed his shoulder, hoping that would encourage him. You felt like your body was just made of nerve endings and every touch he graced you with was electrifying. You relaxed your grip on him and when you did, he returned to tasting you with that generous tongue.

You wanted his cock back inside you.

“You didn’t- happen to- bring two condoms?”

He lifted his head to look up at you. The sight of him grinning between your legs needed to be framed. “Yes, ma’am.” He shifted to where his pants were and took out another condom.

You beckoned with both hands.

He set himself up on his knees in front of you, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, taking his time rubbing his hands over your soft skin, and kissing your ankles and calves.

“I like when you call me James,” he had the audacity to remind you, and he said it so fucking sweetly you wanted to cry.

“But Bucky is so much cuter. You know that’s why I always smile when I say good morning? Because your nickname is so unsuitable, it makes me laugh. Here’s this fucking gorilla of a man and everyone’s like hey Bucky~. It drives me insane.”

“You’re kidding? I fell in love with you because you’ve been making fun of me?”

“I guess you’re a masochist deep down.”

“That’s how you reply to me saying I love you?” he laughed again.

“I figured it would be nicer than calling you crazy. You barely know me.”

“I know enough and I just made love to you.”

“We fucked.”

“Well then I’m about to make love to you.”

“Shut the fuck up, oh my god,” you pressed the backs of your hands to your cheeks, trying to cool down.

He laughed again. You wanted him to laugh while inside of you, again.

“Okay, James, make love to me,” you tried to tease him, but it came out sounding sultry instead.

“Are you sure you’re ready? I’m in no rush.” He kissed the side of your head until he found himself back at your neck. His vibranium hand felt interesting cupping one of your breasts, his thumb rubbing over your nipple.

“Can I ask you questions about the arm or is that rude?”

“Ask away, gorgeous,” his breath tickled your skin.

“How much can you feel with it?”

He focused on playing with your nipple. “I can feel what I touch, and temperature. It doesn’t handle texture, so these little bumps right here,” he ran a cybernetic finger on your areola, “I can’t feel as much, but this,” he gave your nipple a flick and a pinch and then rolled it in between his thumb and pointer finger, “I can feel perfectly”.

You reacted with a happy little sigh as he played with you.

“Okay, can you be inside of me again, now?” you asked, your cunt feeling empty without him in it.

He put on the second condom and slid into you, filling you up again phenomenally. He kissed your neck while slowly thrusting into you, his gestures feeling like a dance. You raked your fingernails down his back and relished in the sound he let out when you did.

“Your cock is amazing. I do think it’d be cool if it were cybernetic, by the way.”

Your dreams came true when he laughed while inside you again.

You ran your hands through his hair. “I love making you laugh,” you admitted.

“I love you,” he said again.

“You’re out of your mind, James,” you whispered through breathy moans, the length and girth of him feeling like what was missing from your body. You felt grief at the idea of him ever pulling out again.

“Two things can be true,” his vibranium hand was back on your nipple, twisting and playing with it again. His lips grazed your neck. His breath warmed and excited you. Every touch felt intentional and full of worship.

Your cunt tightened around him again, contracting wildly, burning with need. “You’re making me feel so fucking good,” you praised him.

He took your ear in his mouth, sucking on it and licking it, and giving it a little bite. “You can call me that thing you like,” he whispered.

“What thing?” What even were words anymore? All you could think about was his mouth and his fingers and his cock.

“Your good boy,” he whispered, and your cunt contracted faster, your body squeezing him, your back arching against your will.

“Oh, you really like that,” he was surprised. “Please, please, please tell me how good I am,” he pretended to beg.

Your body was not your own anymore, you were sharing it with him. You were struggling to breath and the sounds you made were pitching and louder without your intent. “You’re- you’re-” you struggled, afraid of what it might do to you to finish speaking.

“Do you like when I make love to you?” he whispered, his thrusts just a bit harder, but still phenomenally languid. “Am I pleasing you enough?”

“Fuck,” your hips were moving, your vocal emissions frantic. “You fuck so good, James. You feel fucking incredible.”

“Make love,” he corrected, and you could feel his smug smile against your neck.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Come on, baby, say it. Tell me I’m your good boy when I make love to you like this,” he teased you.

You pressed your hands to your hot face. Your body was on fire. You repositioned your legs from being over his shoulders and wrapped them around his waist so you could thrust your hips back against him and speed up his movements.

He resisted you, maintaining the slower speed. “If you praise me, I will do everything you want,” he whispered, his face feeling incredible against your skin. “I’ll make you come again.”

“Fuck! Okay, yes! You’re mine. You’re being such a good boy for me. The way you- the way you make love to me feels incredible.”

He quickened his movements. He slid a hand under your ass and helped you thrust against him, as well. He made everything so easy with his super-strength. Sex had never felt so fucking wet and fast and intense before. It felt like those first times did, when you were fucking wildly in your parent’s basement, needing roughness because of how wet you would get.

He moved faster and faster, panting against you. You were already coming. You didn’t understand how he was doing this. Your orgasm was loud and intense against the backdrop of skin slapping. He didn’t come until your orgasm was finished, and tears were streaming down the sides of your head and you couldn’t recognize your own voice anymore.

He pressed his body down against yours as he came. You loved the pulsing feeling of his cock spurting his come into the condom inside you.

You couldn’t move a single muscle. Your orgasm depleted all of your energy.

He sighed happily and when he did you could feel his body relaxing. He didn’t rest for too long. In a moment, he was back on his knees removing the condom.

“What do you need? How can I take care of you? Where do you keep your towels?”

Super-soldiers were annoying, but cute, you decided with a laugh. You pointed to the hallway and to the right.

“Would you rather shower or do you want me to clean you up with a towel? I’d use my mouth again but I don’t know if you can take it,” he teased.

You showed him your middle finger, and his laughter filled the room again.

He cleaned the both of you up with towels from the linen closet and even brought you a glass of cold water from your kitchen. Then he got back into bed at your side, wrapping an arm around you and resting his head on your chest.

After a few minutes he fell asleep. After a few more, so did you.

“Okay, now we are going to talk about boundaries!” you said, clapping your hands together.

He groaned, leaning back against his pillow and taking the remote from your lap.

“Lucifer~ I’m serious,” you whined and took the remote back, shutting off the TV.

He lied down on his side, facing you. “Can’t we just do whatever we want? I’m so old and tired and I don’t know if there’s any more space in my brain for rules,” he complained.

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him. “Boundaries or I’m leaving. You’ve already done so many not-okay things.”

The record scratched in his head. You were upset about the things he did that you knew about, but what about what you didn’t know? Was now the time? His facial expression was of someone horrified.

“Luci?”

“I have some things I have to tell you that you’re probably not going to be okay with,” he explained.

Your arms remained crossed and it somehow seemed like you crossed them even tighter. Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled. There would never be a good time to do this, he tried to reason with himself. This could only get worse, not better. “I have been interested in you for some time.”

“Longer than this week?” you asked.

He laughed. “Oh, way, way longer.”

“Awe, Luci~”

“No, no. Don’t reward me. That’s not the bad part yet.”

“Okay …”

He started over. “I am not a very chill person,” he said, and you nodded when he didn’t continue, encouraging him. “I haven’t been in more than one relationship, which is a strange thing.”

He was saying every sentence like it was a bullet point, stopping for a significant silence after each one.

“So, when I started to take an interest in you, the interest got away from me at times. I had some set rules. Don’t follow you outside of the hotel. I kept that one very well. Don’t try to learn things about you when I could ask you about them instead. Those were difficult, but I made it work.”

You continued to listen, again making an expression like you were trying to see through his skull and into his brain.

“But there are some rules I set that I may have broken~” he could barely breath releasing out that information, his voice an octave higher at the end.

“What rules did you break?” your voice had a bit of an edge to it.

“Well, first, can you try to understand that I really, truly tried my best? And that I know what I did was very wrong and I take full accountability and will never, ever, ever break another rule ever again?”

You thought about it. “Can you even do that? You seem pretty impulsive and unpredictable.”

He shook his head many times. “I am very predictable, I promise you. Once you get to know me, you’ll see a kind of method to my madness.”

“Hm. So you’re saying you’ve already done some fucked up things to me that I don’t know about, but you’re super sorry and you promise you won’t do them again?” your voice was still a bit colder than he wanted it to be.

He reached out for your hand. “Please. I really don’t keep secrets. You can ask Charlie. I’m terrible at it, even if I wanted to, but I don’t want to. I always intended to tell you everything I did wrong, and that’s why I’m telling you now. I wish I hadn’t done these things, but I did.”

“Okay, and if I consider them unforgivable?” you asked, now sounding a little sad, so of course he started crying because his body absorbed any ounce of sadness in the room and digested it through his tear ducts.

“I will respect that and I will only beg for forgiveness … twenty times, before giving up.”

“Ten times,” you bargained.

“Fifteen.”

“Fine.”

He exhaled, and was shaky.

You were rubbing your thumb on the back of his hand and it helped.

“I made the condoms disappear from your purse this week.”

“I was wondering what happened! I found them on the sofa so I just assumed they fell out. Why did you do that?”

“Oh, that was the easy one to confess and you still didn’t like it? That does not bode well for the next two.”

You continued to hold his hand.

“I didn’t want you using the condoms with anyone else,” he explained, even though it felt self-explanatory.

“I could always buy more condoms, and anyone I’m fucking could have had their own. It just seems like you didn’t think that one through very well.”

“Yes! Exactly! Very little thinking occurred during any of these betrayals.”

“Betrayals?”

“Yes. I acknowledge I betrayed you and I take full accountability. I will not pretend any of these behaviors were made by a person of sound mind, but I also won’t pretend I didn’t have other options.”

“Christ on a stick, I think I’m going to throw up. Can you hurry up and tell me the rest, please?”

“Okay,” he breathed. “I entered your room without permission two times.”

“One of those times, you were a snake,” you guessed.

His mouth opened and closed, and he nodded.

“Okay, I mean, I’m basic but I’m not stupid. Obviously an adorable little white snake who refused to open its eyes was not a normal occurrence.”

“So you’re not mad about that one?”

You kind of rotated your head from side to side and gave it a shake. “I mean, you’re pretty weird. Some level of weirdness, I think I was prepared for. Coming into my room and spying on me and rubbing on my cunt should probably make me mad, but I guess it doesn’t. You were so cute and I was so excited about our date. I think it excited me even to be spied on, once I realized it was happening. Maybe I need higher standards.”

He exhaled, holding your hand a little tighter. “Well, I apologize. When I’m in that form, nothing matters to me more than heat, and obviously I went for it.”

You blushed the darkest crimson he’d seen you blush yet, but also rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, I mean, you mauled me at the diner. I can see you’re a little desperate for touch.”

“You’re making excuses for me and I’ll take that, even though I won’t make excuses for myself.”

“I’m a little biased. I’ve been really excited about you so I’m probably not thinking right and should probably be more mad. But, again, you’re older than I can fathom and your eyes turn red when you’re angry. I expected there to be some things about you that would be scary and intense.”

He cried a little more at how casually you were not only able to describe his biggest flaws, but also accept them. You opened your arms to him and he immediately wrapped himself around you. He enjoyed being nestled so close to you. You caressed his back with your arm like he did to you at the diner.

“So that was one time I snuck into your room. The other time, I masturbated in your bed.”

“That’s all?”

“And looked for dirty underwear but couldn’t find any.”

You laughed.

“And came all over your pillow.”

“My pillow!”

“And then I cleaned it all up to made it pristine and left.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, that’s everything creepy that I did outside of the things I’ve done to you in my mind for which I take zero accountability because there’s no such thing as a thought crime.”

“Oh my fuck, Lucifer, I thought you were going to say something terrible like you’ve been drugging me for weeks or something?”

“What?! No! I’m creepy, but I’m not evil!”

You kept laughing and it felt like such a relief to hear it that he started to chuckle, as well.

“Okay, yeah. Don’t do any more creepy things, okay?”

“I will try really hard not to.”

“And if you do them, make sure you tell me, exactly like you did today, okay?”

“Yes, of course.” He asked to kiss you again and you let him, just a little peck on your lips for reassurance and to feel close to you.

“Oh my fucks, my entire body is so tense, I was so scared it was going to be way worse than all that.” You lied down and he immediately lied down with you, tucking himself into you just like he did when he was a snake.

“I am so lucky you don’t hate me,” he said, wiping at what he hoped were the last of his tears.

“I definitely don’t hate you. I still want to set boundaries, and set consequences for broken boundaries. I guess there’s also still a part of me that thinks there is no way we can make something work between us, so I’m just trying to enjoy it while it lasts, as unbelievably weird as it is.”

And he shot up and started crying again, complete with heaving and snot dripping from his nose. “Why would you say that?”

“Where are your tissues?” you stood and looked around his room.

He magicked a tissue box onto the bed and cried hysterically into his tissues.

You sighed, continuing to rub his back, and sat beside him again. “Sshhh, ssshhh, it’s okay, we’re together now, and I’m into it. I even like all the crying,” you smiled.

“Y-y-you do?” he couldn’t even see you through all his tears. His face was so wet and pink and swollen.

You grabbed a tissue and started cleaning him up again. “Yes, you unbelievable, terrifying, mess of a being. I’m really into you,” you laughed again.

And that was it for Lucifer for the early afternoon. He cried and cried and cried. He tried to see if you felt sorry enough for him to have sex. You didn’t. So he cried and cried until he fell asleep in your arms again.

“You don’t hafta be scared of me, sweetheart,” Frank told you as you walked on eggshells around your apartment.

Peter asked if you would let Frank stay with you for a few days and though the idea of it horrified you, Peter never asked you for anything, so you did not hesitate to say yes. Now Frank Castle was in your living room drinking a beer, his legs spread open and his arm around the back of the couch.

“I appreciate you puttin’ me up for a week, and I don’t bite, honey, unless you ax me to,” he actually winked.

You were closer to Frank’s age than you were to Peter’s, though that didn’t make Frank any easier to be around. Peter’s awkward innocence and moral hopefulness felt so much more comfortable than the cloud of disillusioned devastation that followed Frank around. You were only a little younger than Frank, you guessed, and you, sadly, knew what it was like to have your spirit broken. With Peter, the only thing the world broke so far was his heart.

“Come have a beer with me,” Frank encouraged.

You were surprised by his behavior, though you really shouldn’t have been. Growing up in Brooklyn, you’d been around men like Frank plenty. They acted grumpy in public, especially around other men, but once they were alone in a room with you, they were soft and let their humanity show. You somehow still did not expect this from Frank, but here he was on your couch, tuning into your feelings and trying to reassure you you were safe with him.

You grabbed a beer from the fridge—he brought them, you rarely drank at home—and sat on the couch he was taking up most of. He had an action movie on, surprise, surprise.

“Petey said you came up in New York. Whereabouts?”

“Here and there. We’re immigrants so we started in Greenpoint, then Flushing. Jackson Heights for a bit. Then Sunset Park right next to Bay Ridge, so I got to hang out with the rich kids for a while. And, don’t laugh, guess where my parents live now?”

He scoffed into his beer. “Fuckin’ Staten Island.”

“Fucking Staten Island!” you laughed.

“So you’re a little bit of Queens and a little bit of Brooklyn, huh? Very fuckin’ cultured of you,” he teased.

“Don’t be too impressed now,” you drank your beer a little quickly, wishing you had limes to go with it. Maybe you would get some tomorrow, and some tequila.

“The immigrant thing explains the lack of accent. You don’t sound like a New Yorker. Immigrants always fuckin’ speak English better than us fuckin’ born here.”

He was complimenting you, telling you that he thought you were smart, while also letting you know he respected your background.

Your face felt a little warm. It couldn’t be the beer already, could it? You finished it in your second sip.

“Whoa, slow down there, sweetheart, I’m not tryin’ to getcha drunk.”

You leaned into the couch with a sigh. “Sorry, Frank. I don’t have a lot of strange men over.”

“Attagirl,” he told you.

“Oh, fuck you, Frank, that’s not what I meant,” you laughed. “I meant I don’t know you like that, so I’m a little tense.”

“So you do have strange men over,” he prompted.

“I have men over that I’ve determined I’m comfortable having over. Don’t slut shame me!”

He laughed.

“Also, don’t call me a girl, Frank, we’ve been over this.”

“Woman?”

“Try again.”

“Oh yeah, you’re one of them trans … people.”

“Awe, Frank! I didn’t expect you to consider us people! I can’t believe you’re such an ally.”

“Listen, I’m not good with the words, or whatever, but whatever or whoever you are doesn’t mean shit to me. You do you, kid.”

“Well, that almost sounded supportive.”

“I’m not some fuckin’ homophobe or whatnot.”

“Well, that actually does make me feel better.”

“Keep … correctin’ me, or whatever. No one has the right to disrespect you in your own home.” Even though he already wasn’t making eye contact with you, he now looked even farther away.

“Frank!” your grin was wide. “You’re actually kinda nice!”

“I don’t think Petey would be pals with me otherwise,” he lifted his beer in a cheers motion.

“Are you hungry? I can order us something.”

“Order? You fuckin’ kids. I betcha can’t cook to save ya life.”

“I’m like a day younger than you, Frank.”

“Bullshit.”

“Okay maybe like 5 years younger. Maybe 10?”

“Is that math important to ya?”

“A little!”

“Suit yourself. I’ll whip us up somethin’. Figured you didn’t eat right so I brought some stuff.” He got up and went into your kitchen.

A while later, he bellowed for you to come back. You were in your bedroom folding laundry, still not able to fuck around online or do anything fun while Frank Castle was in your apartment.

Frank made some penne with vodka sauce. “Some people fuckin’ hate it with peas so I left them out,” he told you. You loved it with the peas but you knew what he was talking about. You thought it was cute that he would make a change in his recipe out of consideration for you. Though he could have asked.

“You don’t have a fuckin’ table, of course,” he scoffed. “I guess we’re eating on the couch.”

You couldn’t help smiling at all of his little comments about you and your apartment.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you lied.

“You hate it?”

“I haven’t tasted it yet!”

“What the fuck, it’s gonna get cold. Fuckin’ eat!”

You laughed and put a large forkful in your mouth. It was exquisite. He’d clearly made this many times before. Fucking vodka sauce from scratch. You felt a little flutter in your stomach and it wasn’t from the food.

“Well?” he prompted you again.

“Frank, it’s wonderful. Delicious! Very good!” you said, covering your mouth because he couldn’t even wait for you to swallow before interrogating you.

“Aaahhh,” he did that gesture with his hand like he swat your words away.

“I’m serious, it’s so creamy and flavorful, and the pasta is cooked perfectly. I just wish I could eat it at my own pace,” you teased him.

“I haven’t seen you eat a single thing since I’ve been here, it’s a fuckin’ wonder you’re able to stay so thick.”

“You’ve been here for like three hours, Frank. I wasn’t hungry! Oh my God! You’re like a fucking grandma!” you laughed through your annoyance, and felt hot again from his comment about your body.

“Call me a grandma one more time,” he pointed his fork in your direction, playfully.

You realized he was turned significantly in your direction, one of his legs on the couch. Is that why he judged you for not having a table, because tables were a place for conversation? You didn’t know how close he was to his Italian roots, but dated enough Italian-Americans to know dinner could be a sacred time for conversation and bonding. You wondered if he was going to offer you coffee after this, like so many of your dates and exes would.

You adjusted your position to sit on the couch facing him completely, and made gentle yummy noises as you ate his food.

“How did a civilian like you get caught up with Spidey anyway?”

You laughed, recalling. “I got my ass saved by him a lot.”

“I bet.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that, Frank Castle! But anyway, you can’t get saved by the same superhero 20 times and not start to notice things.”

“What gave him away?” he spoke while he ate.

“His snarky little comments,” you started.

He scoffed. “Of course his mouth would do it.”

“But there was another really big giveaway.”

“What was it?”

You felt like you should not have gotten yourself this deep into this conversation.

“What is that face?”

“What face?”

“Your face is doing something.”

“Shut the fuck up, Frank.”

“You’re fuckin’ embarrassed! What is it? You don’t wanna know what I’m guessin’ in my head, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “You can’t make fun of me for this, Frank. It’s kind of intimate.”

He made a grossed out expression. “Do I even wanna know?”

“It was his smell, okay? I could tell Peter was Spider-Man because whenever Spider-Man saved me, I would be all up on him, right? Getting carried to safety, or whatever. One day, I had,” you made a gesture of scents coming up to your nose, “his fucking smell, like, memorized. And then later Peter and I were watching a movie together and he leaned over me and I smelled it on him. Everything just kind of clicked.”

Frank shook his head and scoff-laughed.

“What?”

“No, that’s a little-”

“What?”

“I don’t know, like-” he gestured with his hand but the gesture didn’t make any sense, like he was just moving it in big, obnoxious circles, “like, cool. Or whatever.”

“It’s cool that I could figure out a superhero’s secret identity from his smell?”

He laughed a little fuller this time. “Yeah, I guess! Look at you, our little detective,” he smirked.

You looked down at your food, flustered but smiling a lot.

When Frank finished his food, he held onto his plate. It wasn’t until you were done with yours that he got up to bring it to the kitchen and start cleaning up. “You don’t have a coffee maker, cupcake?” he called out from the kitchen.

You followed him and positioned yourself at the sink, reaching out for the dirty plates.

“Oh, no, get the fuck out with that shit.”

“What?”

“You’re doing me a favor. You’re not going to wash dishes for me, too. Get back to the couch.”

You laughed and stepped away from the sink, but stayed in the kitchen with him, jumping up onto the counter behind him. You wanted to make a comment about him being a pretty spectacular guest so far, but it felt too vulnerable, so instead you sat there watching him.

You never realized before how nice Frank’s arms were. And his shoulders. And his back-

“Coffeemaker?” he asked again, turning to look at you.

“I don’t drink coffee?”

He looked at you over his shoulder with a judgmental squint to his eyes and purse to his lips. “You don’t drink coffee?”

“I’m sorry. I can go get some from the bodega?”

He raised a hand to tell you no need.

“Tomorrow? Tell me where to go and I’ll get you whatever you want?”

He winced and made another “aahhh” sound. “I know a place. I’ll get us coffee in the morning.”

You laughed again. “I just told you I don’t drink coffee, Frank.”

“Jesus Christ. I bet you love all that sugary fake shit, though, dontcha?”

“Fuck you, Frank.”

He laughed, and you were starting to really fucking like the sound of it.

“See, that’s what happens when you mix a kid up between Brooklyn and Queens,” he teased. He wanted to get you riled up. That’s how men around here flirted. Anger was sexy to them.

Was Frank Castle flirting with you?

Oh, fuck, did you actually want Frank Castle to flirt with you?

You jumped off from the counter and headed back to the couch. You had blankets, extra pillows, and towels ready for him for sleeping on your couch, but were starting to worry that the couch wasn’t long enough for comfortable sleep. There was no way he would take an offer of sleeping in your bed, with you taking the couch. You stood there trying to conspire a plan to make him more comfortable.

“I thought I smelled somethin’ burnin’,” he came out of the kitchen with a grin. “What are you thinkin’ about?”

You rolled your eyes, smiling. “The couch is too small for you, Frank,” you told him, honestly.

He looked at it. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” he told you, handing you a beer and getting back comfortably on the couch, this time taking up even more of it than last time. Where were you supposed to sit, in his fucking lap?

Oh my god, you wanted to sit in his lap.

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“Honey, you can’t even begin to imagine the places I’ve comfortably slept.” He pat the seat next to him for you to sit down. “Don’t trouble yourself for little ol’ me.”

“There’s no way you’d take my bed and let me sleep on the couch, right?” you said it out loud. Good job conspiring.

He laughed at you, legitimately tickled. He turned the TV on, this time to the channel that mostly ran documentaries.

His arm was around the couch, not around you, but it made you want to tuck yourself into him. You took a big swig of your beer.

“Sweetheart, I’m worried about the way you drink. You need to take smaller sips,” he told you.

“We all worry about things, Frank. I’m worried about my guest sleeping comfortably in my home. We can’t always get what we want,” you teased.

He did his little smirky scoff-laugh and took another sip of his beer.

“You’re gonna pass out on this couch from drinking and then I will take your bed and leave you out here.”

“Excellent, then that’s what I’m doing,” you started chugging the rest of your beer.

“Whoa, whoa!” he tried to take it from you. “Alright, I don’t need you pukin’ all that food up. Settle down, princes- I mean, sweetheart.”

He corrected himself so he wouldn’t misgender you. Fuck, you wanted to cry.

“So you’ll take the bed?” you asked, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

He actually made eye contact with you. “I’ll compromise.” He raised his hands in the air. “If you can feel comfortable enough that I won’t try anythin’, and we sleep with a pillow between us or somethin’, I can sleep in your bed witchu.”

You did not consider the option of sharing your bed. “You think you can keep your hands to yourself, Frank?” you joked.

“Scout’s honor,” he took another sip, his eyes back on the TV.

“Well, what if I can’t?” you said.

The tension in the room was sudden and incredible. You watched as his next sip of beer went down his throat. He turned his head only, looking at you a little differently than he had been all day. You wanted to know what he was thinking, because it seemed like he was thinking a lot. The silence carried on, but you could sense the wheels turning in his head. You wanted to give him the time to turn them.

“You and Petey,” he started. “You a thing?”

You shook your head.

“You fucking him?”

You shook your head, again.

“He’s not secretly in love with you or anything?”

You laughed. “I mean, if he was, I wouldn’t know about it.”

He got his phone out from his pocket and called Peter, getting up from the couch and walking out of your apartment. He made a motion of “I’ll be right back” before he did.

He was so loud you could still hear his side of the conversation. You brought your legs up onto the couch to hug them while you listened, curiously.

“Hey, Petey. Real talk, bro. This, uh, person you sent me to. They’re giving me an opening. Do you need me to chill?”

…

“What do you mean what do I mean? You know what I mean!”

…

“Fuckin’ kids. Your pretty little friend here. Are you into them? Or can I hit that?”

…

“I’m not being disrespectful, Pete.”

…

“Fuck you. I would never-”

…

“You sure, though? Bros before hoes and all that.”

…

“I’m not being disresp- Yes, I know they’re not a- Okay, Pete-”

…

“Yeah, alright. Just don’t come cryin’ to me weeks from now talkin’ ‘bout-”

…

“Yeah, alright. Talk to you later, Pete. Thanks.”

He came back into your apartment and sat next to you again, this time the side of his body completely against yours and his arm around your shoulders instead of around the back of the couch.

You laughed, your smile actually hurting your cheeks. You adjusted yourself, moving his arm from your shoulders to being around your waist. You positioned his hand right above your hip and you snuggled into him, both legs up on the couch.

You could feel his heartbeat. You pressed your ear to his chest. His heart was going wild. You looked up at him. Was he nervous?

“Pete gives us his blessing,” he told you.

“Awe, shucks. I was hoping for the secretly in love with me thing,” you joked.

Frank was looking at the TV, or at least pretending to. “I don’t want to fuck with your hospitality, so, no sex. But I’ll get you off if you need it, honey,” he told you. He lifted his beer bottle to his mouth but realized there wasn’t anything left to drink in it.

“If I need it?” you laughed, still looking up at him.

“Just trying to be a good guest.”

“Jesus, Frank, you don’t have to make me come to be allowed to stay here.” You took his arm back off from you, kind of giving it back to him, and moved to tuck yourself as far into the armrest away from him as you could.

“That’s not-” he said, and stopped. He fiddled around his his beer bottle.

“I take it back,” you told him.

“You take what back?”

“I’ll keep my hands to myself. I thought we were vibing but I must have misunderstood. It’s cool, Frank.”

He didn’t say anything. He took the out. He got up from the couch, taking both of your empty beer bottles to toss them into your recycling under the kitchen sink.

“When’s garbage night?” he asked from the kitchen.

“It was yesterday.”

“Alright. When’s the next one?”

“They come Mondays and Thursdays.”

“I’ll take care of that while I’m here.”

“Thanks, Frank.”

“No problem.”

The filling pasta dinner and the beers were starting to hit you, along with the strange rejection you were experiencing, and you started to get sleepy. You got back to your room to fix the bed up, You started undressing to get into something to sleep in. You didn’t actually own pajamas, just old shirts and shorts from high school you’d never wear outside the house.

Frank stopped in the door when he saw you with your shirt off, and immediately turned around. “Whoa!” he said.

“Sorry, Frank, I thought I had more time,” you said with a yawn. You threw off your bra and put on a shirt to sleep in. You took off your shorts and put on significantly smaller cotton ones. “I’m dressed now.”

He turned slowly and took in the sight of you, specifically the sight of your thighs. He looked away and started undoing his pants.

You got into bed on your side and turned away from him. You put your phone on your nightstand.

He turned off the top light by the door and got into your bed in just his undershirt and briefs.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he told you. “Thanks again for this.”

“No problem, Frank. Thanks for dinner. Goodnight,” you said back as sweetly as you could.

You managed to fall asleep for a while, but woke up just a few hours later. You could feel his body on the bed and saw the light of his phone. You turned to look at him.

“I’m sorry, did I wake ya?”

“No,” you told him. “Why are you awake?”

“Can’t sleep. Watchin’ YouTube.”

“Go to sleep, Frank. I’ll keep the nightmares away,” you told him, turning your body entirely to face him. You didn’t mean anything by it, except that you knew Peter had nightmares and struggled to sleep too. All the men in your life were fucking traumatized.

He took his earbuds out and put them and his phone aside, lying down lower on the bed.

“You’re not mad at me anymore, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re all good, Frank,” you told him with a smile.

“You really like sayin’ my name,” he told you.

“It’s got that hard K in it, you know? Feels like I’m punching you every time I say it. Like, goddamnit, Frank! It feels like the name should only ever be yelled, never, like, whispered sweetly in someone’s ear.”

He laughed.

“You never say my name. And that’s fine. I know you like the pet names, and I like them too.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t like pet names. They just feel right to me. Respectful, I guess.”

“They’re not always respectful,” you pointed out.

“That’s true. But when I say them to you, they are.”

“Awe, Frank.”

“Alright, alright. Go back to sleep.”

“No, I’m up now. I feel like I’m at a slumber party. Let’s paint each other’s nails and watch a horror movie.”

“You don’t strike me as the horror movie type, beautiful.”

“What type as I strike you as? Romantic comedies?”

“Yup.”

“Because you’re being transphobic and misogynistic?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“And you’re going to change that perspective about women and queer people and me immediately?”

“… yes.”

“Good boy.”

“Hey, none of that.”

“See, this is why we couldn’t fuck, Frank. We’re both the dominant one.”

He scoffed.

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I just don’t know about all that shit. Dominant or bondage or whatever kinky shit you’re into. I just have sex. You put the penis in the vagina, it’s fucking simple,” he gestured with his hands like he was taking a block from one part of the air and putting it in another part of the air.

“Oh god,” you laughed. “We are from two completely different worlds, aren’t we?”

He did his little scoff-laugh. A moment of reflection seemed to happen before he spoke again. “So, dominant, huh?”

“You’re picturing it, aren’t you? Me bossing you around?” you teased.

“Assertiveness is sexy,” he told you. “When you gave me the go ahead out there,” he motioned to where the living room was, “it was fucking hot.”

Your breath hitched in your chest. You wanted him to keep saying things like that to you.

“What I said before-”

“You don’t have to, Frank.”

“No, I just wanna clarify somethin’. When I said I wanted to finger fuck you-”

“You literally never said that-”

“Okay, but you know what I meant?”

“How could I possibly know what you mean when you don’t say it,” you laughed.

“I didn’t think you’d take that as a-”

“Rejection?”

“That.”

“Wasn’t it one?”

“How? I just wanted to, uh, you freaky sex people probably have a term for it?”

“For what?”

“I usually do the fucking and the pleasing and the making the other person come part. I’m a- a- a giver!”

“A service top?!” You sat up in the bed. “Frank!”

“What?” he put his hands in the air for a moment. “Is that homophobic?”

“No!” you laughed. “I can’t believe you’re a service top.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well, I mean, you did make me dinner and refused to let me help you clean up. I guess the signs were there.”

He laughed to himself. “There’s a fuckin’ label for everything. In my day we just called that being a decent man or being good in bed.”

You covered your mouth because he was actually making you giggle. “Frank, that is wildly attractive.”

“Huh?”

“I am so attracted to you.”

“See, there you go again with the assertiveness. What am I supposed to do with that? Come on,” he whined, only coming from him and with his accent it sounded very masculine.

“What?” you asked, still laughing.

He took your hand and pressed it on top of his blanket, where his cock was rock hard. “Who gets a man like this with just a fuckin’ conversation? I can’t even fuckin’ see you, it’s so dark in here.”

You leaned over to turn on your lamp.

“Now there’s a sight,” he said, putting his hand under your chin and encouraging you over to him. He threw off his blanket with his other hand so you could get on his lap.

You put your hands slowly around his neck.

“Okay, none of that freaky shit now, baby,” he said, putting his hands on yours. “Go easy on an old, simple man, will ya? I’m just trying to keep up, here.”

“I’m just teasing,” you wrapped your arms around him, starting to feel nervous about the fact you were about to make out with Frank fucking Castle in your bed. “What did Peter tell you when you asked for his blessing?” you tried to distract him while your heart settled down.

“Yeah, you would ask about him right now, wouldn’t you? You have the hots for Petey?”

“Shut up. Tell me.”

“He gave me a hard time like he always does. He told me to be good to you and shit, like I need to be fuckin’ told.”

You settled a little more comfortably in his lap, moving your hips until his big, covered-up cock was exactly where you needed. You pressed down to stimulate your clit, your cunt already yearning to squeeze something.

“That’s what gets you, huh? Two men trying to decide if one of them is allowed to fuck you?”

You smiled a big, parted-mouth smile at him, grinding yourself against him. “Uh huh,” you nodded. “And I like when you talk about me,” you told him.

“Are these important to you or can I rip them off?” he asked, tugging on the elastic of your shorts.

“You are not ripping my clothes off, Frank.”

“So, important. Got it.” He picked you up by your butt and flipped the two of you around, dropping you on your back on the bed. He immediately pulled your shorts and your panties off, throwing them to the ground.

“Jesus, Frank,” you said, but you were smiling.

He planted kisses down your leg. Frank Castle was going to eat out your wet little pussy before you could even get up your nerve to kiss him.

He let out a deep groan when he pressed his face between your legs. Your thighs immediately tried to squeeze his head, but he was ready with a hand fondling the fat of your thigh and holding you open.

“I never thought you’d be okay with eating pussy Frank,” you told him. “I thought you’d be completely selfish and we’d start with me giving you really painful head.”

“And you still wanted to sleep with me?” he was able to stop licking outside and inside of you to raise his head to judge you.

You laughed. “Yeah, you know, I really did.”

“Do I want to know what other things you got wrong about me?” he asked, before lowering his head again, making you moan and writhe underneath him. His tongue felt so thick and strong, and he seemed to use it with intention. An ex of yours had taught you tantra so you moaned through every moment of pleasure, heightening it for yourself.

“I was so wrong about you, Frank,” you gasped and panted, your chest and stomach heaving with each breath. “You’re so kind and- and respectful, and you- you’re taking such good care of me,” you told him, and this seemed to be the right thing to say because he fucked you even harder, pressing his nose against your clit. “I wish you could stay here longer than just a week. You just g-got here, and I’m already dreading when you leave.”

He lifted your ass with both hands and you were fucking close, if only he kept up the momentum you would- you would- “Fuck, Frank, I’m coming, oh my god.”

He rested his head on your thigh as the two of you caught your breath. He rubbed your come off from his face against your thigh and then fucking licked and sucked on and bit into the sensitive area, causing you to jump a bit.

You wanted to run a hand through his hair, but hesitated. He noticed, his eyes shooting open. He took your hand and put it on his head. “Go ahead, sweetheart, do what ya wanna do.”

You pet his head gently, then dug your fingers deeper to fuck up his hair. You bit your lip and let it free. You loved the image of him resting between your legs the way he was.

“How are ya feelin?” he asked, still nuzzling his face against your soft, thick thighs, letting his lips get parted sometimes by your skin, kissing you in between nuzzles and deep inhales.

“I’m- I’m good. How are you feeling?”

“Fucking horny,” he told you. “Barely keeping it together down here,” he admitted.

“Well, okay, it’s your turn then.”

“Oh, no, fuck that,” he said, sliding his face against your inner thigh until it was back at your cunt.

“Frank, oh my god, wait-”

“I’m waiting,” he said, pulling away just enough to be able to look at you. There was something so precious about the way your lovers looked at your cunt, their eyes full of lust and wonder.

“Okay, I’m done waiting,” he starting to rub his fingers against your folds and carefully pressing against your clit, looking up to see your reactions.

“Wait- wait, it’s your turn,” you tried to shut your legs, but he was quicker and stronger than you.

“I said no,” he told you, pressing his face against you again and taking a deep fucking breath. He emerged to exhale and his eyes rolled. He kept playing with the outside of you with his fingers.

“Jesus, you weren’t kidding,” you mumbled. “Then fuck me, Frank. I want your cock.”

“You kids with your rushing. We have all the time in the world.”

“I’m almost your age, Frank!”

“Bullshit,” he slid two fingers inside you and they felt wonderful to squeeze around. You gasped and let your hips gyrate. He rubbed the tip of his thumb over your clit once, then twice, gentle and firm like the rest of him.

“Fuck, that feels really good,” you gave up and let him please you again. “I’m- I’m starting to lose the plot, Frank.”

“What does that mean?” You thought, when he mentioned finger-fucking, that he would barrel his fingers into you deep and hard and fast, but here he was surprising you again. There was an intentional rhythm to his movements and he responded perfectly to the way you moved your hips against him.

“It means I’m- I’m starting to get stupid, Frank,” you used words he’d understand.

He didn’t say out loud that was how he wanted you, but he thought it.

“I want your cock so bad, Frank. I want more of you inside me.”

He slid in another finger and slid further up your body, pulling up your shirt with his teeth and resting his face between your naked tits. With his thumb resting against your clit, he started thrusting his fingers a little harder and faster into you, rubbing on your sweet spot in between. Thrust, thrust, thrust, rub, thrust, thrust, thrust, rub, until you were fucking yelling his name.

“Oh my fucking god.” “Frank.” “Oh, fuck.” “Oh, my God, fuck.” “Fuck, Frank.” “Fuck!”

And you came again, gripping his fingers and lifting your hips high off the bed.

“Jesus, honey, wow,” he thrust just one more time for good measure, really hard and deep into you.

You put a hand on your head and another on your chest, chin tilted up to catch your breath. “Holy fucking shit, Frank,” you told him. “That felt so fucking good, oh my god.” You covered your face a bit with your hands, fingers parted. You weren’t trying to hide, but you were trying to comfort your trembling body after that orgasm.

“What do you need?” he asked, pulling out and wiping his fingers down your thigh, watching himself leave that trail of your juices on you as he did it, and squeezing your leg.

“Oxygen,” you laughed. “And for my heart to stop racing.”

He rubbed his face between your breasts. He slid his hands up to cup them and push them against his head. It was like he was giving himself a treat for how good he made you feel. He pinched your nipple with one hand and shoved your other tit in his mouth, licking and sucking on you wildly, like he wished he could put the whole thing fully in his mouth.

You definitely had him pegged as a boob man. At least you got one thing right about him.

You breathed intentionally deep and slow, watching and feeling him play with you like this.

He flicked his tongue against your nipple and sucked on it again. He breathed out and closed his mouth around you again, licking circles and pressing his tongue roughly against the nipple, his hands squeezing and massaging and kneading up into the fat of your breasts. He had to keep stopping to catch his breath. He acted like he was in a trance, switching over from breast to breast.

You accidentally let out a little moan when he nibbled on you, which brought him back to reality. His eyes were on yours again. He lifted his head. “I’m gonna put my dick right here,” he tapped the middle of your chest. “Okay?”

You nodded.

He got his briefs off and straddled your torso. He slid two fingers into you again, making you jump and yelp, and spread the wetness he took from you onto his dick. He did it again, and again, and again, until finally lowering himself to put his cock between your tits and squeezing them tightly over it with one hand. He rubbed the thumb of his other hand against your lips and stuck it inside your mouth, rubbing it against your tongue. You could taste yourself on him.

You stuck your tongue out for him. When he moved his hand, you lifted your head forward so he could rub the tip of his cock against your tongue as he fucked himself with your tits.

“Can I come in your mouth and on your face?” he asked you.

You nodded, opening your mouth wider and sticking out more of your tongue for him.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbled to himself, but you were delighted to hear it. “Get ready, baby, I’m gonna come,” he warned you, and with just a few more thrusts his cock spewed his hot, surprisingly not bitter ejaculate into your mouth, onto your tongue, and on your forehead and cheeks.

You reached out for his phone over on the side of the bed and opened up his camera, taking a photo of the mess he made before closing your mouth and swallowing.

“You took a photo?” he asked you, panting.

“Something to remember me by,” you told him, making the zoom in on your tongue and mouth your contact photo as a sexy little prank. The next time you called him, this image of you would show up on his phone for all to see. You’d have to wait for him to be out in public for it to really be worth it.

“Jesus, you’re an angel. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he told you, getting off the bed. Angel, indeed.

“I’ll hop in the shower,” you told him, shitting up and taking off your shirt, and wiping your face with it.

He came back over to you to help you, using the shirt to wipe your forehead, careful not to get his jizz in your eyes. You let him take over, cleaning off your cheeks and chin and where some of it ran down your neck.

“Thank you,” you told him, putting a hand on his.

“No problem,” he was unphased, totally in his zone. “See, I can be serviced, too.”

“That did not count at all as me servicing you! You did everything yourself.”

“I like doing things myself. I know what’s best to do for me.”

And then he fucking held your hand as you walked to the bathroom together.

Frank fucking Castle held your motherfucking hand.

“I want to take care of you, too, Frank,” you told him.

“Take your time, doll face. We have all week,” he turned the water on in your shower and wrapped his arms around you as he waited for the water to get warm.

You looked up at him. “Is there anything you need, for aftercare?” you had your arms loosely around his waist.

“You’re doing it right now,” he said, looking down at you.

You washed your face and neck in the shower, Frank standing behind you with his arms around you, cupping and playing with your tits again. His face was pressed to the back of your neck. His cock, at attention again, rested pressed between your ass cheeks. This man was not at all finished with you, was he?

And you still hadn’t even kissed.

“Frank, I’m still horny,” you told him, honestly. You reached a hand between you and moved his cock to slide between your legs. You had to stand on tiptoes a bit to make that happen.

“Birth control?” he asked you.

You shook your head. “Condoms in the medicine cabinet,” you told him.

He got out of the shower and headed over to the sink. He came back with his cock wrapped and got himself back to the position he’d left from.

“This is how you want me, sweetheart?” he checked on you again.

You nodded, leaning over, pressing your hands against the shower tile, and arching your back.

“You sure you want this? This is what I was trying to avoid, earlier?”

“You already fucked me three times, Frank. This would just be number four.”

He slid a finger inside you, as if checking to make sure you were wet. Then he positioned his cock at your entrance.

“You let me know if you get tired, or if you need anything to be different, you hear me?”

“Yes, Frank,” you laughed.

“How do you want it, baby?”

“Fast, and hard,” you told him.

“Always in a fuckin’ hurry,” he teased.

“Shut up before I make you say gross, sweet things to me, Frank.”

“Like what?” He started pumping himself inside you, letting out grunts that only made sense coming from a man like Frank. He helped you arch your back some more and rested his hands firmly at your hips.

“That’s- the- worst- part-, you’d- have to- come up- with them,” you said, pushing back against him with each thrust.

Frank laughed, and did his best to think of something to say.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he started.

His words, mixed with the sounds of your skin slapping against each other, did fucking wild things to your insides.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the fuckin’ moment I met you,” he admitted.

“Jesus Christ,” you melted, your cunt spasming around him.

“My cock is all yours, baby, use me whenever you want from now on, you hear me?”

“Fuck yes,” you yelped.

“I’m completely fucking yours.”

“Yes!”

“You feel fuckin’ better than I imagined,”

“Harder, Frank!”

“I want to feel you come on my cock,” he thrust faster and harder.

“Oh my god, yes, Frank,”

“I would fuckin’ kill anyone who tried to take you from me,” he added at the end.

“Oh my god, I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming~”

“Me too, baby, I’m right there with ya,” he said.

You could feel him spurting his load into the condom inside you as you squeezed his cock tight with each spasm.

“Oh, fuck, Frank, I feel like I’m going to fall over,” you told him, losing your grip against the wall, feeling your knees get weak.

He wrapped an arm under your stomach and pulled you up. He held you close as your bodies settled, his cock slipping out of you. He kissed the skin on your back and neck.

He used his other hand to take off your showerhead so the water would stop falling on both of you. Instead he put the showerhead in your hand.

Once you felt like you could stand on your own again, you rinsed yourself off between your legs and climbed out of the shower to dry off and wrap a towel around yourself.

Frank was done soon after you, throwing his used condom in your bathroom trash.

“Okay, so two ways you totally didn’t surprise me in bed are: 1) I guessed you were more of a tits than ass man, and 2) you actually mentioned murdering people during sex. I mean, if I had a Sex with Frank Castle bingo card, that would definitely be on there.”

“You need five to win at bingo, sweetheart.” You crawled back into bed together naked and he immediately tucked you against himself. Frank Castle was a fucking post-sex cuddler. The surprises continued.

“How about you? Have I surprised you in any way?” you asked him.

“I’m surprised you let me touch you at all.”

“Frank, be serious.”

“I’m serious!”

“What the fuck, why?”

“I don’t know, you’re fucking gorgeous and I thought you had a thing for Spidey. You’re also smart and funny, you know, all that shit.”

“You mean all that shit most people are? Smart and funny and nice to look at?”

“Most people are not fuckin’ smart, and they’re definitely not funny or gorgeous.

He kissed the top of your head. He kissed the side of your face. He finally settled down behind you, and within just a few breaths, you heard him having fallen asleep.

And you still hadn’t fucking kissed Frank Castle.

Friday

8:03PM

Bucky: Good evening.

You: Good evening, Bucky! Is this what we’re doing now, good mornings and good evenings?

Bucky: If that’s what you’d like. ;)

You: What if I wanted good afternoons and goodnights? Where does it end? I can be very demanding.

Bucky: Yes, I got that impression from you. You seem very impatient, as well.

You: I’m glad I wear my character on my sleeve.

You: What are you doing tonight?

You: I mean

You: How are you spending your night?

You: Or like

You: What do you do around this time of night?

You: omg

You: You get what I’m asking, right?

You: I’m not asking you to come over or anything.

You: I wasn’t trying to, like, ask you out.

You: I meant, like

You: What are you CURRENTLY doing?? Like, to make conversation.

Bucky: I’m having dinner at Lang’s place. My therapist says I have to socialize and build community. She’s very demanding. Even more than you. ;)

You: omg that’s really nice!

Bucky: How about you?

You: I’m watching TV on my couch. Your therapist would not approve, I imagine.

Bucky: My therapist is a severe retired soldier. All that matters is if you approve. Do you approve?

You: Yes. I like to have some evenings to myself.

Bucky: Then I won’t tell on you to my therapist.

You: Have you ever talked to your therapist about me?

Bucky: That’s a very personal question. I don’t think I’m at liberty to tell you what I do and don’t tell my therapist. ;)

You: You sure like that winky face, huh?

Bucky: Do you? ;)

You: If you ever winked at me in person, I would literally die. My heart would just explode in my chest and then the rest of me would burn to a crisp.

Bucky: I didn’t know my facial expressions had such power. They didn’t tell me that during my traumatic super-soldier training.

You: It’s very serious. I thought you knew. Wow, what a dangerous thing to just walk around with a face like yours, making expressions left and right with no knowledge of the harm you could be doing! How many lives have we lost because of a cocked eyebrow? How many people gone because of your smile?

Bucky: Wow.

You: I’m joking, obviously. Hahaha.

Bucky: That was funny, but also really romantic. I swooned a little.

You: Shut up.

Bucky: I’m serious. But it gets worse.

You: What?

Bucky: Your smile has a very similar effect on me.

You: Shut the fuck up omg

Bucky: Do you know why I asked you that one time to tell me good morning?

You: ??

Bucky: Every time you say it, you smile at me. I don’t care about the good mornings. I’m in it for the smile.

You: Congressman Sergeant James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, you cannot just text me something like that!!!!!!

Bucky: You practically wrote me a poem. I think I can tell you I like your smile.

You: I did not write you a poem!

Bucky: I cannot wait to wink at you tomorrow.

You: I won’t be there. I’m calling out. I’m sick.

Bucky: Then the next day.

You: I’m resigning.

Bucky: Then I’ll have to check on you where you live. To make sure you’re okay. Bring your things from your desk. Etc.

You: I will poke out my eyes tonight so I will never see anything ever again, as protection.

Bucky: I applaud your dedication. If there is anything I can do to change your mind, please tell me. I have been so enamored with your smile, I have taken your eyes completely for granted.

You: Jesus Christ.

Bucky: May I please request a photo of what they looked like? As it will be my last chance to see them before you perform your procedure?

You: Motherfucker, that’s how you ask for a selfie? I’m dying. I’m deceased.

Bucky: I am told “motherfucker” is now a term of endearment? And dying and being deceased are also good? Lang has a teenager here to translate for me.

You: Are you … getting help from Scott and Cassie Lang in writing messages to me?

Bucky: No, I just panicked when you used the m-word.

You: Oh. My bad.

You: Panicked?

Bucky: In a very sexy, masculine way. You wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you were here.

You: I bet!

Bucky: I must put my phone away now. Lang wants to play charades. Wilson will disown me if we lose again.

You: Okay. Ttyl.

Bucky: May I text you when I get home?

You: You can text me whenever you like. :)

Bucky: Thank you. Ttyl.

Saturday 12:35AM

Bucky: Good night, beautiful. ;)

What the ever loving fuck, you thought when you woke up in the morning to his text message. You could have fucking screamed into your pillow.

A-fucking-100-year-old WWII veteran super-soldier who was a sleeper agent or some shit—you didn’t know all the lore—was flirting with you?

This could not be your life. It was insane. You were a civilian. You worked at a pretty ideal location, sure. But you didn’t do much there. Pushed papers around. Organized shit for important people. Nonsense. Your job meant nothing. Mostly you got paid to look pretty in a pants suit.

And yet it made you lucky enough to share an elevator with Bucky fucking Barnes.

You had to make your shower water cold as fuck that morning because the flirting last night through texts was next level.

Oh my god, you were going to suck that man’s dick. He was going to pound your pussy with his probably gigantic super-soldier cock.

It would probably kill you. This was how you were going to die.

That’s probably why superheroes rarely dated, you decided. Their cocks were probably beastly, so they had to save it, because their lovers would literally die. And if they didn’t die, they married them. The evidence was everywhere.

You actually considered calling out of work on Monday.

And this was all your fault. You’re the one who asked for his number. That man was minding his business, saving lives by not ruining random people with his dick, and you just had to open your giant mouth—which probably wasn’t giant enough for the beastliness of his erection—and ruin your own life.

And now you were going to text him and see him with the guilty knowledge that you’d had several thoughts about his penis. Great. Just great.

Saturday

7:01AM

Bucky: Good morning.

You: Good morning, Bucky!

Bucky: I just finished running with Steve, Sam, and Joaquin. Now we’re having smoothies at the park. What are you doing?

You: FINISHED running? Jesus, when do y’all wake up?

Bucky: Vets aren’t big fans of sleeping. I’ve been up since 5. I usually like the Saturday morning ritual we have but my friends are having a little too much fun messing with me today.

You: What are they doing?

Bucky: They are ruthlessly teasing me about you. I feel like I’m in school again. I didn’t known grown men could still be so immature.

You: fnegiwifowfpwfwfj

Bucky: I Googled that. It is a “key smash”? It means you are feeling submissive?

You: Oh my god, Bucky Barnes you did not just ask me if I’m feeling submissive. Also, NO. NO, I AM NOT. I feel dominant always, 24/7.

You: I did it because the idea of three grown military-trained superheroes teasing my crush about me, and him sitting there blushing about it, made me need an ice cold shower.

Bucky: You’re my crush. ;)

You: Shut the ever living fuck up, oh my GOD.

Bucky: Why? How are you feeling? I can’t tell through texts if you are angry or happy.

You: I’m ecstatic and that makes me feel very angry.

Bucky: Noted. Your emotions are complex.

Bucky: My feelings are simple. You make me feel happy. I deserve the teasing. My face hurts from how much you make me grin.

You: Fuck off! Say things like that to me while you’re inside me and I will lose my mind.

Bucky: It’s a new concept to me to be so sexually forward. Please forgive me if I go too far. I’m just learning what the new norms are. That being said, your last text is giving a Congressman a hard-on in Central Park. It is “not a good look.”

You: Oh my GOD.

Bucky: It’s very exciting to flirt so aggressively. There was a lot more nuance in my day. You could never just say exactly what you meant.

You: So this is your first time sexting?

Bucky: Yes. Am I doing okay so far?

You: You’re doing great. Let’s maybe pause while you’re in public with your boys and pick back up later when you’re home alone.

Bucky: Will do, gorgeous. ;) I’ll text you then.

2PM

Bucky: I’m home now, but I’m not alone. You never did tell me what you were doing when you woke up.

You: My usual routine of eating garbage and rotting away in bed. Saturday is my day to recover from the pain of being alive.

Bucky: I asked Joaquin what the slang is for “that resonates strongly with me” and he said to text you just the word Felt.

You: LMAO.

Bucky: I hadn’t realized until today that I’ve been doing well with my therapist’s assignment. Talking with you gives me space to reflect. 😁

You: Well, you’ve inspired me, too! I made plans with a friend to go see a movie.

Bucky: I’m jealous.

You: You’re very emotionally intelligent for a man from the beginning of the previous century.

You: Also, um, good job telling me.

You: Is there something I can do to make that easier for you?

Bucky: I have something in mind, but I’d like to save it for when we’re face to face on Monday. :)

Bucky: For now I will just have to feel my feelings and hope I’m not too late.

You: Jesus Christ, Bucky. You’re not too late. There’s a reason I rejected Patrice and Mark, and it wasn’t the rumors or Yelena’s encouragement. Btw your people totally have your back. They have all been wingmanning you HARD.

Bucky: Have they?

You: Yes. Even Walker.

Bucky: That’s shocking.

You: Yes. You’ve built quite a loving community.

Bucky: You’re making me feel more things.

You: I’m excited for when I get to feel more of you.

Bucky: Oh dear. 🥵 Please have mercy on me, I’m with people.

You: I love when a man begs.

Bucky: Noted. ;)

You: Don’t text me while you’re with people, it’s rude!

Bucky: I couldn’t wait.

Bucky: They have each other. I promise it’s okay.

You: Go enjoy your time together. I’ll text you when I get back from my movie.

Bucky: I will try not to feel jealous or miss you.

You: Or you can suffer greatly while I’m gone. 😇

Bucky: You are not nearly as angelic as you look, but I like it. You’re a little spicy.

You: How dare you. I’m extremely spicy! Okay, I’m off! Ttyl!

9:43PM

You: Hey, I’m back home! We ended up getting dinner after.

Bucky: I hope you had a good time. I promise I suffered horribly while you were gone.

You: Good boy.

You: Is it okay to say that?

You: If not then good man.

Bucky: That’s a sexual thing, the good boy?

You: Yes.

Bucky: I’ll have to think about it. That’s new for me.

You: Thank you for your consideration. ;) Look, I can wink too!

Bucky: I can’t imagine what a wink from you in person would do to me.

You: You would survive, thanks to all the adjustments and things you’ve been through. I don’t know how but I’m sure the arm will help.

Bucky: Lucky for me to be a super-soldier when there are sirens on Earth.

You: I’m literally dead. I’m texting you from the grave. YOU DID NOT JUST CALL ME A SIREN. I want to throw up rainbows over how corny and romantic you are.

Bucky: I’ll have you know, this was the peak of charm in the 30’s.

You: For real?

Bucky: You’re surprised?

You: You just act like you’re a big, grumpy, silent type. But I should have known. You’ve been charming me for months.

Bucky: I’m a little rusty. Things were easier when I was, well, your age.

You: Hm.

Bucky: What are you thinking?

You: Is my age going to be a problem? And our varied life experiences? And your literal superhero abilities. Am I kidding myself by flirting with an Avenger? I don’t even know if I should be flirting with a Congressman!

Bucky: There doesn’t seem to be a problem so far. :)

Bucky: With you, I just want to be myself. You remind me of a time when things were pleasant. I know we can’t pretend all those other things aren’t real, but maybe we can focus on this part of who I am more than on those?

You: Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that.

Bucky: It’s okay. I like knowing what you think and feel. 😁

Bucky: The texting is nice. I see why people like it so much. It speeds up the getting to know you process.

You: Thank you. I feel really sorry.

Bucky: How can I reassure you?

You: I have to make it up to you somehow or I won’t be able to sleep.

Bucky: If you were here with me, I’d ask for a hug. I’m not sure how that translates virtually. 🤔

You: I would do more than hug you!

You: I want to send you a photo but I don’t know what you’re into.

Bucky: Probably the same things most men are into.

You: So that’s a yes! You’ll forgive me if I send you a photo?

Bucky: There’s nothing to forgive, but I’m getting excited to see you.

You: What part of me do you want to see?

Bucky: Is all of you an option?

You: [photo of you lying on your back on the couch, taken from above, making a silly face; you’re wearing a plain shirt and shorts]

You: This is what I look like when I’m not dolled up for work.

Bucky: 😍🤤🥵 Okay, I forgive you for the next fifty things you do wrong.

You: That was easy. That’s like, years worth of forgiveness for close to nothing! There’s not even any nudity! You’re too easy.

Bucky: It’s perfect. It’s the best photo I’ve ever received in my life.

You: Okay, noted. You are very easy to please.

Bucky: Or you’re extremely pleasing. ;)

You: Okay, now you send me one so I can have a contact photo.

Bucky: Of me right now?

You: Yeah.

Bucky: I don’t think that’s appropriate.

You: … how come? And please, be as descriptive as possible.

Bucky: Haha, I just got out of the shower when you text me.

You: 🥵 Photo, please.

Bucky: You’re not serious? Just so you can look at me in a towel?

You: No. So I can look at you without the towel.

Bucky: Alright, your wish is my command. You were right, you are demanding!

Bucky: [photo of him standing in his bathroom in front of the sink; there’s no towel but the photo is cropped right above his cock]

You: eriufyweuhgioujfwoiejfpqeifjweoifhwoe /still not submissive

You: Just in case I haven’t been clear this whole time,

You: I very, very, very much would like to fuck you.

Bucky: You make me laugh a lot. 😄

Bucky: Thank you!

Bucky: I will take you up on that offer.

You: I’m sorry. My brain doesn’t work anymore.

You: I think my eyes have been ruined for all future men.

You: I resent this, and yet, this photo is all I need now.

You: I might not even need you, anymore. This might be enough for me.

You: I might marry this photo.

Bucky: Please still prefer the real me!

You: I don’t know. I think I can make it work with this. I just need to get it printed life-size on a pillow so I can hug it every night. Thank you for this gift. I am about to live very happily ever after.

Bucky: Is there a way to unsend something? Or revoke consent? I revoke your access to this photo!

You: Nooooo say it ain’t so, Bucky, please.

Bucky: I see what you meant about begging.

You: Hush up. It’s only hot when people who look like you beg.

Bucky: I’m pretty sure it’s hot when you do it, too.

You: Yes, but I don’t find that hot.

Bucky: Hm. So only what you want matters?

You: Yes, exactly. You’re getting it.

You: Look up “pillow princess” online. That’s me.

Bucky: It says a person who receives pleasure without reciprocating during sex.

You: Yes.

Bucky: I’ve only ever had sex with pillow princesses. Are they not the norm?

You: What?

Bucky: Hm?

You: The people you’ve slept with never reciprocated? Like, they never got on top of you or sucked your dick?

Bucky: Rarely, if ever.

You: Oh my god. When was the last time you had sex?

Bucky: I think 3 years ago? Maybe 5?

You: MAYBE FIVE?????

Bucky: How are you feeling? I don’t understand your reaction. Are you okay? Did I say something inappropriate?

You: No, I’m just surprised. Why aren’t you having more sex?

You: I mean, you don’t have to answer me if that’s, like personal, or if there’s, like, injury involved or whatever.

You: I mean

You: Never mind, ignore me!! Don’t answer that! I’m being way too nosy and it’s not my place!

Bucky: When was the last time you had sex?

You: A few weeks ago.

Bucky: I feel jealous.

Bucky: By the way, there’s no injury. I promise I have a real cock, not a cybernetic one.

You: Okay. Not that that would be a problem! I could make it work, I’m sure! Whatever you had or didn’t have! I’m pansexual! I just didn’t know if I was about to trigger something.

Bucky: I’ve heard of pansexual! I support you. 🏳️‍🌈

You: lmao thank you.

Bucky: I’m still jealous. How many weeks ago? Was it while we’ve been … good morning-ing?

You: Um, yes? I’m sorry, I didn’t know my good mornings were supposed to be exclusive? You and I never had that talk. 😅

Bucky: Can we have that talk now?

You: Sure.

Bucky: I would really love it if you didn’t have sex with anyone but me.

You: Okay.

Bucky: Okay?

You: Yeah. Okay. For now. Unless I hate having sex with you, then the exclusivity will be voided. But until we have sex VERY SOON, I’ll save myself for you.

Bucky: That’s very fair. I agree to these terms.

You: lmao. Okay. I’m going to sleep.

Bucky: Goodnight, beautiful.

You: Goodnight, Bucky.

For someone you presumed to be the mysterious brooding type, he sure had the cutest little nickname. Bucky~. Every time you said it, you couldn’t help but grin.

Maybe this is what gave him the impression that you had a thing for him. Every “good morning, Bucky,” brought along with it your stunning smile, which made him look forward to the days you bumped into each other in the old Stark Tower.

He was one block away and saw the back of your head and your silhouette, and hoped the elevator was taking its time. Seeing you did things to his body he couldn’t fathom. Outside of combat, his tiny little interactions with you were the only thing that made him feel truly alive.

He rushed into the building. You turned around to clock who it was. “You’re in a hurry,” you noted, your smile charming him again.

“Important meeting,” he lied, standing next to you in his military at ease position, facing the closed doors.

“Thank you for taking your work so seriously,” you said.

He glanced at you, checking for your level of sincerity, and felt his heart skip a beat when he realized you really meant that.

You were such a cute sight together. You, in a pencil skirt and nice blouse, your feet in flats. Him, in his Avengers attire, highlighting the broadness of his back and strangeness of his cybernetic arm. He thought you didn’t belong in the same genre. You deserved a normal life. His therapist wouldn’t want him to think about whether or not he deserved anything.

“It feels weird you didn’t say good morning,” he prompted.

“Oh, my bad! Good morning, Bucky!” and there was your signature grin again.

How inappropriate would it have been, he wondered, if he just pulled you by your waist and whispered may I kiss you?

The elevator arrived. You signaled for him to step on first, which made him so uncomfortable. Old habits died hard and that just wasn’t how things were done when he was growing up. He stepped on the elevator first to appease you, holding his hand against the door to make sure it didn’t shut on you as you were walking in.

Chivalry was dead. Genders were made up. He was getting used to it.

The elevator climbed a few floors.

“Wait, you’re not going to say it back?” you asked him.

He leaned over a bit, to make up for the height difference and, really, because he wanted to be closer to you. “Good morning,” he said, his vision on the closed doors.

The elevator doors opened on the floor where you worked and he noticed you hesitated before you stepped off. You told him to have a nice day.

He took a chance and pressed the DOOR OPEN button and he was glad he did because you turned around in a few feet to see if he was still there and he got to see your face again.

You looked caught and sped away.

The next time he went to the tower, he was not too late to see you. He made it to the elevator before you. His heart beat roughly in his thick, muscular chest as he waited.

Unfortunately, a lot of other people arrived at the same time you did, creating a barrier that would have made it strange if one of you moved through the crowd to get to the other.

He considered it, but actually chickened out and missed out on your smile that morning.

The time after that, there was a crowd waiting for the elevator, again. He waited closer to the door into the building, his brows furrowed and his jaw muscles tensed.

When you walked inside, you said his favorite words. “Good morning, Bucky!” and his knees felt weak.

“Good morning.”

“Why are we standing all the way over here?” you asked, positioning yourself beside him.

“Too many people over there,” he nodded in the direction of the elevator.

The following time, you got into the building before him and instead of waiting with the crowd by the elevator, you waited by the front door to the building. “Good morning, Bucky!” you said, and he smiled so hard he had to pretend to have an itch on his face to cover it.

Last week, it was finally just the two of you.

He stepped near you, a little bit closer than usual, and looked at those familiar closed doors.

“Good morning, Bucky,” you said and smiled.

“Good morning.”

What was he supposed to do next? What happened to the James Buchanan Barnes charm from before he joined the army? Eighty or so years of watching your body murder people without your consent really fucked with a man’s flirting.

The elevator door opened. You got on first. He followed. The doors closed.

He was certain there was a different tension about you. He couldn’t tell what it was, but when you got to your floor and told him to have a good day, you almost seemed disappointed.

The next few visits to the Tower, the dance continued. You said the thing. He felt his insides melt or burn. He felt his outsides shiver or relax or tense. Each of those mornings, you put his body through the sweetest hell.

Which brought you to yesterday.

“What are you doing here?” Yelena walked into the building, nodding a hello in your direction when you turned to look at her, but pointing her Russian-accented question at him.

“I work here,” he said, smirking like a child repeating a joke their parent made.

“I hear you have been coming in often,” she said. She was blowing his cover. He didn’t want you to know he didn’t have to be in the Tower so much.

“Keeping tabs on me?” he tried to joke.

“I think it is interesting, Congressman. And you,” Yelena turned her attention. “I hear Mark from Accounting is going to ask you out. He is creepy. Say no. You will thank me.”

He did his best not to let his jaw tense at the idea of some other man taking your smiles from him.

He wondered if Yelena was testing him.

The three of you stepped on the elevator. “I thought Mark was married,” you said.

“He is not. Very divorced and very creepy. You strike me as the type to give people chances. I assure you, you do not want to do that with Mark.”

“Okay, thank you,” you laughed a little. “I didn’t know I was getting so popular around here.”

“What do you mean?” Yelena asked.

“I’m not trying to gossip, I’m telling you both because I trust you. Patrice from Admin asked me out last week.”

“You are joking. After all her drama with Joanne? I imagine you rejected her.”

“I let her down gently. She was really sweet.”

“Very good. Hopefully you will soon attract someone much more worth your time. You are nice, decent person.”

“Thank you, Yelena.”

Yelena gave Bucky a look. “No problem.”

After you left and told them to have good days, Bucky finally said: “Bob told you.”

“He did not have to. Everyone in the building knows,” Yelena laughed.

“Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“It will stay embarrassing if you don’t do something. Ask them for their number. You are the only Avenger who does not have it. Fucking Alexei has their number. Walker has their number, you foolish man. They, Bob, Ava, and I are in a group chat together.”

“I don’t need your help- wait- a group chat?”

“You are delusional and it is not 1912 anymore.”

“I was born in 1917.”

“Whatever! Ask for their number so you can stop literally stalking them where everyone in the building can see and talk about it. I thought you were an assassin. How can you suck so bad at this?”

“I’m not sucking- I don’t suck! … Shut up.”

He was nervous. He couldn’t eat the night before, and he skipped breakfast. He ran so many different scenarios in his head. He was still deciding what to say when you stood beside him. “Good morning, Bucky,” you said, and eviscerated him with your goddamn smile.

Internally, he quivered. “Good morning.”

The elevator came. You both stepped on. It started to rise.

The two of you spoke at the same time.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” you said.

“Please, go ahead,” he said.

“I- I don’t have your number,” you repeated.

His heart was making machinegun noises in his chest and he hoped you couldn’t hear it. “What?”

“You- your phone number? I don’t have it.”

“Oh. Oh! Here,” he dug into his jacket pocket and handed his phone to you. “Give me yours and I’ll text you.”

“You know how to text?” you teased.

“Ha, ha. Yes. Steve and Sam taught me.”

“I’m going to text myself. I don’t trust that you’ll text me and I don’t want to feel like a buffoon.” He heard your phone make a sound, confirming the message was received.

“Why wouldn’t I text you?”

“Why haven’t you asked me for my number already?”

“Oof,” he winced. “Harsh, but fair.”

You got to your floor and told him to have a good morning.

He had to lean against the elevator wall to steady his heartrate and catch his breath.

“I think if we’re going to spend the day together, I’m going to need to rub one out,” Lucifer told you as you settled back on his bed, looking around his nightstand for his remote control. You looked at him to gauge whether or not he was serious, and were quickly discovering that this being actually meant some of the wild things he said.

“Um, where?” you asked, as he sat down on the bed beside you and fixed his pillow to get more comfortable.

“I was thinking right here,” he said honestly, and put his hands on his pants to start undoing them.

You put a hand on his to stop him. “Right here in front of me?” you said it with hope that he would hear how ridiculous it sounded, but he just nodded his head. “I’d really rather you didn’t.”

“I know you said you weren’t ready to have sex, but watching me stroke my big, thick, beautiful-”

“Lucifer, say one more word and I swear I am leaving this room!” you covered your ears playfully.

He laughed. “I’m just teasing!” He totally was not, but you didn’t know him well enough yet to tell. He jumped off from the bed and walked in the direction of his bathroom. “I’ll be right back. Do you need anything before I go? Something to drink, perhaps?” He made a glass of water appear on the nightstand beside you.

You shook your head. “Are you really going to jerk off right now?”

“It’s that or I’m going to be fighting an erection the entire time you’re here,” he was honest with you.

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Flattered, darling~” he told you, and walked into the bathroom.

He turned on his shower. He poofed his clothes off and stepped into the warm water, his cock already thick and throbbing in his hand.

He may have moaned a little bit louder than he typically did and he may have played with himself a little longer than he would have if he wasn’t so aware of you waiting on the other side of the door.

The sounds he made were more submissive, remembering the smut you were reading that week. He whimpered for you. He whined. He interspersed some fucks in between his loud panting. He could hear you raising the volume of his TV and he laughed as he came, his body shaking from the mix of orgasm and comedy.

But once wasn’t enough for Lucifer. He rested a hand on the tiles of his shower wall and started to stroke himself again with the other, using his golden ejaculate as lube this time, creating less friction and feeling incredible.

His first time was more of a performance, but this time he forgot himself. He growled. He grunted. He recalled all of the events of the morning, from undressing you as little as he got to, to making out with you at the diner. When he came, it was to the image of you licking and sucking the whipped cream from his finger.

He left his hair a little damp but otherwise dried off quickly, whistling a little tune, and got into more of a lounge-around outfit which was pink and cozy. In comparison to your mostly black attire, the two of you looked like the goth girlfriend and the bubblegum girlfriend when he was in this attire.

He was delighted by the flush on your cheeks and the way you sat with your legs crossed. He imagined you must have been squirming listening to him fuck himself.

He asked if he could kiss your cheek and you nodded. “Sorry for the wait, my darling.”

You swallowed. “No problem.”

“Hear something you liked?” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, but seemed to struggle to level your breathing.

“You are so attracted to me,” he told you, shaking his head, feigning disappointment even though he was actually fucking ecstatic.

“You’re a bully,” you said back. “Are you just going to torture me until I sleep with you?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he brushed your hair out of your face. “Does it feel like torture not to have me inside you?” his question was mocking but sweet, very Daddy-esque of him.

Still breathing heavily, you moved closer to him, your lips gently brushing his ear. You whispered: “if you can be chill, I’ll tell you what that felt like for me.”

“I can so, totally, be chill,” he sat completely still, like an obedient puppy. He almost wanted to bark. He heard you swallow again. You breathed, and it felt delightful against his ear and neck. He closed his eyes.

“Listening to you jerking off made me very, very wet,” you whispered to him slowly and softly, emphasizing the last words.

He made fists with his hands and remembered to keep them to himself.

“You sounded so sexy and it was so arousing to know you were making all that noise for me to hear,” you told him.

His tail literally wagged. He definitely could not stay chill anymore. “Call me a good boy, please, call me a good boy, tell me I’m such a good boy for you,” he barked; he panted.

You chuckled and you sounded so much more confident than he was used to, and he loved it. You cupped the other side of his face with your hand and he felt completely under your control as you kept rewarding him with your words and attention, his tail wagging and whipping violently around the bed.

“You are such a good boy for me, Lucifer,” you whispered softly, and it felt fucking electric.

“Jesus Christ on a stick! If I hadn’t just fucked myself twice, I would absolutely be creaming my pants right now.”

You laughed and the sound was like a timelapse of flowers blooming. If a laugh could have a scent and texture, yours smelled of roses and felt like silk.

Lucifer ripped through his bedsheets with his hands and then repaired them immediately and then ripped them again.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough. Can we hang out, PG-13 style now?” you actually asked him.

“Am I allowed to say no?”

“No.”

“Then I guess we can!”

The two of you finally settled together to watch something on his television, both of you a little delirious from all the arousal and blushing and coming, at least him for that last one. He tried to forget that you told him you were wet. He was going to be Good Boy Lucifer for as long as he possibly could before his dick couldn’t handle the cuddling anymore.

Six Months Ago

Peter had EV searching for any loopholes in Strange’s spell for years. He had forgotten about it entirely until this morning when EV got a hit.

“Someone in Newark Airport remembers you,” she told him. At first he thought he was still dreaming, but after a beat he jumped out of bed and stumbled to the computer, his overpowered reflexes the only things protecting him from getting tangled in his blankets and falling to the floor.

It was an old classmate. He barely remembered you. EV uploaded all sorts of inappropriate files about you on his screen but he didn’t even skim them. He just needed your name. Nothing else mattered.

He needed to speak to someone who remembered him. He needed to share space and time with someone who remembered his aunt and his history and his relationships with MJ, Ned, and Tony.

It was so lucky that you bumped into your old high school friend Peter Parker just when he was looking for a roommate and you were looking for an apartment. You just happened to bump into each other as you were visiting family and he was heading to the cemetery.

You remembered his aunt really well, and he actually cried when you recalled how she helped your class with volunteer work at the soup kitchens. You couldn’t hold him for too long—you were disabled and standing was harder on your body than sitting or even walking—but you were happy to embrace even if only for a moment.

And before you knew it, the two of you were living together.

Five Months Ago

Peter was different from what you recalled. Still a little dorky, but wow did he get jacked. You didn’t totally understand what he did for a living and why it was at night, but clearly it involved a lot of physical labor because the guy’s body was insane. You had started to have a little crush on him, but seeing all those muscles intimidated the fuck out of you.

You had dated a lot in high school and college and your various medical issues mostly made people kinder to you rather than interfering at all with your social or love lives. But you somehow got it in your head that Peter Parker would only be slowed down by someone like you.

He looked like he cared about fitness, and you condemned him for that. Someone like him probably would hate not being able to go for a long walk with you, or not being able to dance through the entirety of a song before having to sit down, you decided.

You also decided, very judgmentally, that you just weren’t good enough for Peter Parker, and so you pushed your feelings down as far away as they could go and went on enjoying your friendship instead.

Four Months Ago

Peter became a staple in your life. He wasn’t just a roommate. Your friendship developed very quickly. The chemistry was spectacular. You stayed up all night talking. You were the first person the other came to when anything interesting happened. You loved almost all the same movies. You played with Legos together. You tried to go out and make more friends, but tended to ostracize people with your inside jokes. You went on dates but your favorite part was leaving and getting to come home to hang out with Peter before he went to work again.

And he was so great with you in general. When you couldn’t get out of bed, he would bring you your toothbrush and a cup of water and helped you brush your hair. He would help you out of the shower with his eyes closed, into your bathrobe, and would walk you back to your bed. He did absolutely all of the cleaning in the apartment and never complained about it, and he was even learning how to cook your favorite meals.

You told him he didn’t have to do all these things for you, and that he didn’t sign on to have a burden for a friend, and that you were so sorry it had to be like that. He would just look at you like you were crazy, and ask if you wanted or needed anything else.

Three Months Ago

Along with Peter being a staple in your life, the stars mysteriously aligned and you had several absolutely wild encounters with the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, as well. You must have been blessed to live in his particular neighborhood because you had been protected by him from oncoming danger at least three times since you moved back to the city.

You were starting to flinch whenever you heard squeaky tires, because there were always cars crashing or being thrown around the city, but it was lovely when it ended well by you having your disabled ass saved by a fucking superhero!

Tonight, he was saving you in a much sweeter way. You had gone to a party with Peter, but he had to run off to work. You left to catch an Uber but by the time you came outside, you realized your phone was dead. You sighed and started walking to the Subway, only for Spider-Man to jump down in front of you.

“Hi- uh- hello, civilian,” he said, using a voice changer.

“Hello, Spider-Man,” you told him, leaning hard onto your cane as you stood.

He came over to you like he was about to pick you up into his arms, which he had done before, but hesitated and asked permission first. “I see you’re not well. I’m done with crime-fighting for the night and would like to escort you home.”

“Couldn’t find any elderly people awake at these hours?” you joked. “Had to find a cripple to help, instead?”

“Is- I don’t- that doesn’t sound like a very nice word. I don’t know if we’re supposed to say the c-word anymore,” he finally picked you up in his arms and started to swing you home.

You had your eyes closed very tightly, but he reassured you that he was as low to the ground as he could possibly swing, and that there was no way he would drop you. He’d never dropped anybody, yadda, yadda.

He had you tell him which one was your exact fire escape and even asked if you could guide you inside of your apartment, which you allowed. He waited as you washed your hands in the bathroom, and helped you get to your bedroom and bed.

There were maybe two other times this happened, where you were out late somewhere and getting home was a shitshow, and suddenly Spider-Man showed up to save the day.

“There is no way these are coincidences,” you told him the third time. “I know your secret.”

“What do you think you know?” he chuckled, but you could hear he was nervous.

“I know you’re friends with my roommate. I remembered something from high school, when he said you were going to drop by a party and he was going to introduce you. That’s why you keep taking care of me, right? Because Peter asked you too?”

“You got me,” he confessed. “Peter and I go way back. We used to work with Tony Stark together.”

And so not only were you besties with Peter Parker, you were actually kind of friends with fucking Spider-Man.

Two Months Ago

Peter was starting to act a little strangely. He was more awkward than usual, reminding you of when you were younger. He bumped into you a lot in the apartment, like suddenly the huge ugly loft was too small for two people. He started blushing a lot around you and it was excruciating. He was somehow even more attractive now than when you first met him. His behavior was making all of those feelings you kept buried deeply in the pit of your stomach start crawling to the surface.

So you started dating harder, and more often. Sometimes four dates on a weekend. You went out when your coworkers would invite you. You even made a friend with someone else in the building. You had to do everything you could to keep yourself from falling in love with that adorable motherfucker who you decided was too good for you and would never feel the same way about you as you did about him.

One Month Ago

Your pal Spider-Man was escorting you home again after one of the most terrible dates of your life. The guy was such a dick, you actually started crying while you were still at the bar with him. He made you feel like garbage, and you could barely text Peter through your crying. Then, weirdly early in the night, around 7 or 8PM, Spider-Man showed up as you were crying on a bench around the corner from that bar.

He attracted too much attention, so he swung the two of you onto a rooftop that had picnic tables and a garden. He sat beside you with an arm around you.

“I can’t believe Peter made you come get me,” you said through tearful hiccups. “He’s such a fucking angel, and so are you, Spider-Man.”

“It’s been a slow night, I promise,” he reassured you that he wasn’t letting someone else in the city get hurt by coming to take care of you. “Peter told me you’ve been dating a lot lately,” Spider-Man said through his horrible voice changer. “Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me if something’s wrong.”

You laughed at how ridiculous it was to be comforted by Spider-Man after a bad date. Friendly indeed! You cried into some napkins you took from the bar.

“You’re breaking my heart here. I hate seeing you like this,” he said.

You looked horrible. Swollen, blotchy, and pink, covered in tears.

“Can I ask you something pretty invasive?” he finally said.

“I mean, you’ve saved my life a few times. I probably owe you,” you laughed through your tears. “Just don’t ask me what that guy said to me, because it’s not even worth it and I’m going to try to delete it from my head.”

“I just think- I feel like I know Peter pretty well and- it’s just- do you ever- I mean- um. I think Peter’s into you. I think he was going to tell you before you went on this hyper dating spree. What- he was pretty sure you were into him too. It’s none of my business but- I guess- I don’t know what I’m trying to ask, actually. Never mind, it’s not appropriate.”

You were moved by how much Spider-Man cared about your silly little life, much less your silly little love life. “I like Peter a lot. I’m probably in love with him,” you confessed.

“Then what are you doing?!” he jumped up from the table, grabbing his head.

You laughed at his reaction, your crying fit starting to ebb. “Peter and I are incompatible, unfortunately.”

“Why do you say that?”

You picked up your cane from where it rested against the picnic table and shook it a little before setting it back.

“I don’t understand. Can you explain?”

“Well, Peter’s really hot, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Um-”

“Not just hot, though. Like, fit. People like Peter just don’t date people like me.”

“People who … use canes?”

“Yeah.”

“You think Peter’s some sort of ableist jerk or something?”

“No! Oh my gods, Spider-Man, no. I just think, like, he clearly cares about fitness and ability. He’s always running around doing stuff. I would just slow him down.”

“Slow him down?”

“Yeah.”

“… slow him down from doing what?”

“What?”

“Peter never does anything but work and spend time with you, and sleep. What exactly do you think you’d be slowing him down from?”

“Your voice changer thingy is so annoying by the way, you sound like a slasher.”

“I’ll get a new one. Can you answer my question?”

“Well, when you ask it like that, it makes it seem like I’m being irrational or something, but I promise you, I’m not good enough for Peter Parker! Ugh, you know how you sometimes help me wash my hands when you take me home and then help me to my room and to my bed? He helps me with all that shit, too. We’re in our 20’s and he’s taking care of me like I’m 90 years old. It’s just not the vibe.”

“It sounds like he’s not the one who has a problem with it.”

“Spider-Man!” you said to him, but only because you didn’t know what else to say. Was he right? Had you been pushing Peter away for no good fucking reason?

“You’re right, I’m sorry for prying.”

You smiled at him, and you wondered what expression he had under his mask.

“Peter’s going to tell you that he’s into you. Maybe you should think about what you’re going to say.” He offered you his hand to help you stand and took your cane and handed you that, as well. He snatched you up in his arms with ease.

“Are you single, Spider-Man?” you teased him as he took you home.

“I’m married,” he laughed. “With children. Twins.”

“That’s a shame, but what a lucky little family to have you.”

He led you in your apartment and helped you get settled on your bed, but stopped for a moment before leaving.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that Peter would be very lucky to be with you, and he knows that. And if you’re not into him, that’s one thing, but if you’re dating every loser in the city because you think Peter has any issues with you being disabled, then I think you’re not giving yourself or him enough credit.”

“You’re a really good dude, Spider-Man. Let me know if things ever go awry with the missus.”

He laughed and left, closing your window behind him.

Three Weeks Ago

Peter was pacing around the apartment. He was going to sit you down and finally confess his feelings for you.

He tried to do it the day after your talk with Spider-Man, but you were still upset about your date and were still crying on and off. Apparently, the guy at the bar had an issue with you using a cane, which Peter now understood must have been really triggering. So he waited another day, and then another day. But now you’d stopped talking about it and stopped crying and were back to your as-sunny-as-you-could-possibly-be-while-in-almost-constant-physical-pain self.

“Peter, I have an announcement to make!” you told him, as you came into the living room and settled yourself on the couch.

He wanted to hug you and kiss you but instead walked over to the couch and sat beside you. “What is it?”

“I’m getting a wheelchair.”

He blinked, and waited. No thoughts were coming to him. He needed more information? He didn’t know what to say. “Con- congratulations?”

You laughed, and he felt relieved. “Yes! I’ve been in denial that I need one and I thought it just wouldn’t look cute and you know how important looking cute is to me,” you joked. “I’ve decided that I’m not going to torture myself any longer. I’ve thought about getting a manual one, but I just don’t have the upper body strength,” you laughed again. “So I saved up some money and I’m getting a fancy electric one!”

“Wow. You should have told me if money was standing in the way of that. I would have helped.”

“Oh my gods, Peter, stop it. That’s so embarrassing. I can’t be disabled and poor, that’s just too many injustices from the universe on one person.”

He chuckled, but none of this conversation was as funny as your laughter was implying. “Okay, so, um. Is it being delivered or can we pick it up or?”

“It’ll be here tomorrow so you’ll have to help me open the box outside and recycle it and stuff.”

“No problem.”

“And figure out all the scary shit about how to charge it and how long the batteries last.”

“I can make any improvements on it that you might need,” he was already thinking about all of the different things he could try to make it better for you.

“Thanks, Peter. I’m really excited. I am sad Spider-Man won’t need to spider me home anymore, now that I’ll have my Big Wheels.”

“I’m sure Spider-Man can handle an electric wheelchair. He’s very strong. I’ve seen him lift a car.”

“Oh my gods, Peter, I am not going to let Spider-Man carry me and my wheelchair, how fucking embarrassing. Can you imagine? Stop, I don’t even want that image in my brain.”

“Were you always like this about your medical stuff?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You never really talk about how hard it is for you, and I can understand that. But you just called it embarrassing. I didn’t know it could be embarrassing to be disabled. Isn’t embarrassment, like, for committing social faux pas? You’re not doing anything socially or morally or in any other way wrong by existing as a disabled person.”

“Okay, someone’s been on social media this week.”

“Can we please talk about this? I mean, I know you’re uncomfortable, but, like, if you’re not talking with me about it, can you promise me you’ll talk to anyone else? Maybe a therapist or something?”

“A therapist? What the hell?”

“I’m just worried that you’re, like, suffering in silence or something.”

“Spider-Man told you about our conversation, didn’t he?”

“He told me some things.”

“Alright, Peter, I’ll talk to someone.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, Spider-Man made me think about it and I think I have some issues I might need to get over. The wheelchair is a step in that direction, actually, kind of like a deeper acceptance that I am the way I am, or whatever.”

“That makes me so happy. I’m so proud of you,” he leaned over to hug you and you hugged him back.

Two Weeks Ago

You were really having a hard time with it. The wheelchair felt enormous, like you were rolling down the street in a tank. You felt every single bump and crack in the sidewalk. There were places you literally couldn’t go unless you parked the thing outside, and there were places you could go but sometimes just avoided them because getting inside of them caused too much of a commotion. You felt like everyone was looking at you all the time.

You and Peter had plans to go to see a movie in the morning on a Saturday and you decided you wouldn’t even bring the wheelchair. You met Peter in the kitchen with your cane.

“You ready?” he asked with a puzzled expression.

“Don’t give me a hard time, please, Peter,” you started walking toward the door. You handed him your purse, since sometimes it was too heavy for you to carry, and he seemed to love carrying your shit for you.

“I have questions,” was what he told you, which he hoped wouldn’t count as giving you a hard time. “Maybe we skip the movie and stay in today? Do a movie marathon instead?”

You paused in the doorway and sighed, turning around and heading over to the couch. “Yeah, that sounds like a better idea.”

You were either moping or genuinely depressed, and he was worried either way. He made some popcorn and poured some sodas and was back on the couch with you as soon as he could be.

“Spider-Man’s been asking about you,” he told you, trying to cheer you up.

“He’s married. I asked,” you joked, and he loved seeing you smile again.

“What’s Spider-Man got that I don’t?” he joked back, and then realized what he’d said. He turned to look at you, but you didn’t seem phased.

“Well, first of all, the super strength thing.”

“I’m strong!”

“Yeah, but you’re too strong for a human.”

“Wait, so it’s cool that he’s strong because he’s a superhero, but if I’m strong it’s bad?”

“Yes, exactly,” you were teasing, and even though he hated what you were saying, he wanted you to keep having fun. If that meant being mildly cruel to him, he would take it.

“Okay, what else?” he encouraged.

“Well, the voice changer. That shit gets me so hot-” you fanned yourself.

“I can get a voice changer. That one doesn’t count. Next!”

“Okay, um, he flies me around the city?”

“Okay, fair. I guess I can’t do that. But how important is that in a romantic relationship?”

“Oh, it’s becoming very important to me,” you joked. “I would say it’s almost a dealbreaker. I think he’s ruined me for all men. I can only date superheroes now.”

Peter rolled his eyes while smiling.

“I guess you’re equally kind, and you’re both very easy to talk to. You have the whole not wearing a mask thing going for you. Unfortunately, masks are not a kink of mine.”

“Okay, so we’re 2:1 in his favor. Is there anything else about me that’s better than Spider-Man?”

You looked at him, and he would have done absolutely anything to know what you were thinking when you looked at him like that, like you were allowing yourself to really see him. You spent so much time looking away, walking away, or rolling your eyes. He wanted to bask in this moment, in whatever obviously positive thoughts about him were going through your head.

And then the moment was gone. “No, there’s nothing else. I’m going to become his second wife one day. I don’t care if I have to wait until I’m 90.” You were joking, but your heart wasn’t in it.

He sighed. He felt like he did finally confess to you and you rejected him. And why did he think you wouldn’t? He really thought that after that one conversation with Spider-Man, that you would see how good the two of you were together. But you clearly didn’t want to be with him.

“Peter?”

“Hm?”

“What’s up? You’re all lost in thought or whatever.”

“You know I love you, right?”

Cautiously, you said it back. “I love you, too, Peter.”

He looked at you for another moment, and then turned toward the television. He picked up the remote and handed it to you. “Alright, you pick the first one,” he finally said.

One Week Ago

“I have a surprise for you!” Peter said as soon as he heard you close the front door behind you, coming back into the apartment from work. You sat in the chair by the door to take off your shoes. Peter stood in the living room, bouncing a little as he waited. The coffee table was pushed back and there was something enormous in the middle of the living room, hidden under a tarp.

“Okay, what is it?” you remained seated in the chair, needing to rest a bit after the walk home from work.

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“As ready as I can be,” you smiled if only to mirror his excitement.

He lifted the tarp and said “tada~”

It was your wheelchair, only it was decorated. It had originally been an ugly yellow color, but now it was painted all black, with glittery spiderwebs drawn everywhere. Somehow the change of color and addition of design made it look more fun.

“I know you said you wanted it to be cute, but you don’t actually like cute things at all, so I thought what if it was cool instead? Now doesn’t this look like something Spider-Man would proudly carry around the city for you?”

You used your cane to help you stand, and could tell through Peter’s body language that he wanted to go over to you and help you, but he stopped himself. “It’s okay, come help me get closer,” you told him, and he immediately got close to you, put your arm around him, and helped you over to the couch, where he set you down so gently.

“Okay, I mean, it looks like something a kid with cancer would ask for, but I kinda love it,” you told him, surprised that you felt a little choked up and weepy about it.

He squatted down in front of you and held your hand. “You okay?”

You waved your other hand. “I don’t know why your stupid gift is making me emotional,” you lied.

He smiled. “Doesn’t it look cool as fuck now? Can we take it out? Maybe go for a walk in the park together?”

You started crying and nodded your head. “The yellow was so ugly!”

“It was so ugly,” he laughed and reached over to where there was a box of tissues on a table and handed you a few.

“It’s still pretty terrible, you know. A bunch of paint and glitter doesn’t make this actually any cooler,” you told him.

“It is so, way, cooler!” he insisted.

“Come here,” you pulled him closer to hug him.

And he kissed you instead.

Today

“So I heard you and Peter are together, congratulations; I’m happy you were able to figure things out for yourself.” Spider-Man was webbing through the city with you in his arms, only he had your wheelchair attached to his back with straps that Peter built special for this. The fucking superhero carried your wheelchair like a backpack!

“You’ll have to bring the missus and the twins to the wedding. Do you want to be my maid of honor or Peter’s best man?”

“Matron of honor, is what they’d call me, since I’m married.”

“You’ve known Peter longer but you’d still rather be on my side of the wedding?”

“No contest,” Spider-Man told you. “You’ve been together for a week and he’s already proposed?”

“Obviously not, but a cripple needs a new thing to daydream about, now that the cripple has their man.”

“I still don’t think we’re supposed to be using that word.”

“You’re such a good person. You know, Peter doesn’t like when I use words like that either.”

“I imagine he wouldn’t, since they’re slurs!”

“He and I were talking, actually, about all of the different things you and him have in common.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, and it made me realize something. Like, I’ve never seen the two of you in the same room together, you know, that kind of stuff.”

“Oh? That’s funny, I didn’t realize-”

“Yeah, and how Peter has every Avengers phone number in his phone, but doesn’t actually have yours, and yet the two of you talk all the time-”

“Well-”

“And I’ve asked a couple of people who have spoken to you, and they were surprised to hear me say that you have a voice changer. They said Spider-Man doesn’t use a voice changer, and that he has a thick Queens accent.”

“What a silly-”

“I know it’s you, Peter.”

“See, that’s tricky, because I can’t exactly prove to you that I’m not Peter, because I’d have to lift my mask. And then you’d know my real secret identity.”

“Uh huh. EV, turn off Peter’s voice changer.”

“What, EV is not just going to follow your commands.”

“Then you ask her.”

“It’s not a her, it’s an … it.”

“Why are you fighting me, I already told you I know the truth.”

“Fine! EV, turn off voice changer. There you go, are you happy?”

“Are you serious? I’m dating Spider-Man? I’m fucking ecstatic. Maybe next time someone is in their head about their feelings about you, you tell them you’re a fucking superhero. That would have really tipped the scale in your favor.”

“Well, we superheroes always have to know you love us for who we are first, and all that.”

“Lame!”

“You can’t say that word, either! What is it with you and ableist slurs? Can you settle down, please?”

“Whatever, Peter. Now that I know you’re not just strong, but fucking superhuman strong, you can just carry me in your arms everywhere.”

“Are you serious, because I’ve actually thought about that-”

“No, I’m not serious.”

And you lived mostly happily, and disabled, ever after.

You walked into Peter’s room and kissed the top of his head while he type-type-type’d away on his keyboard. He made a kissing sound in your direction, but his eyes were glued to whatever he was doing.

You grabbed a pillow from his bed and tossed it under his desk, which made him glance away from his multiple screens for a moment, before returning to what he was doing.

He looked at you again when you got on the floor, your knees on that pillow, and started undoing his pants.

“Lift your ass up for me, honey,” you told him, and he did it without thinking. You pulled down his pants and briefs and immediately put his cock in your mouth.

“H-hey, what are you- ohhh fuck-”

Peter had been taking care of you for weeks, ever since you started dating. He was such a fucking giver. He fucked you, licked you, sucked you, or fingered you on a daily basis, and you were always too spent from coming and coming and coming to reciprocate. You decided you had to get to him before he got to you today.

You swirled your tongue around his cock, loving the feeling of it expanding in your mouth as he got hard for you.

“What- why- hey-” he was trying to get your attention, his muscles already spasming from the overstimulation. Peter was sensitive, was he? You looked up at him as you sucked the head of his cock and saw him biting down on his fist. “Fuck, that’s r-really intense,” he said.

You pulled him out of your mouth, jerking him slowly with your hand. “Peter, is this the first-”

He nodded quickly, tears filling his eyes and and falling down the sides of his face. His smile was wide and he was panting through his bite. His cheeks were always fucking red whenever you so much as grazed him.

You leisurely licked him up from base to tip.

“Fuck, oh my- fuck-”

He was so reactive. Your sweet, submissive little service top had a secret and you’d found it out. Peter was inexperienced at receiving. He overcompensated by giving and giving, and now that you knew this, you were going to show him what he’d been missing.

“Push me down with your hand, Peter,” you told him before sliding his cock back into your mouth and sucking on the tip. You licked so, very gently at the head. You felt the hesitant pressure of his hand against the back of your head and you slid his long, thick cock slowly down your throat.

“Holy fucking shit I’m going to come-”

You put a hand on his and encouraged him to push your head down. He fucked himself so good with your throat for several pumps before he came.

He was shaking, his muscles clenching and releasing quickly, his toes curling. He bit through the skin on his fist and was bleeding down his arm.

You swallowed all his come and slid him out of your mouth. You loved the lack of clean-up. Messes were for sweet, whimpering little angels like him.

“You okay, baby?” you asked him.

He released his fist with another shaky breath, getting himself together, sliding his briefs and pants back on with his other hand. “Th-thank you. That was- I just- wow.”

“That was really exciting. I love how fast you came for me, Peter,” you stood up and kissed the top of his head again. He rested his face against you standing between his legs and wrapped his arms around you.

“I’ll- I’ll work on it. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect it.”

“My precious, good, sweet man,” you pet him and ran your fingers through his hair, “you don’t have to apologize for anything. You’re fucking perfect. Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

He rubbed his face against you, wiping his tears with your shirt. “Are you s-sure it’s okay?”

“I will suck your dick all day if you keeping coming like that for me,” you told him, fucking enamored with the feel of his hair. You ran your fingers through it one more time and tugged on it gently until you heard him moan into your abdomen.

“I really like the way that feels,” he told you, finally able to speak full sentences again.

You dragged your nails against his scalp and pulled on his hair again. He tilted his head back and looked up at you, his expression so desperate and delicious. You would have given him anything he asked for, but your darling baby never asked for anything.

“Good boy,” you told him, and he gently bit his lip. “If you keep telling me what you like and what you want, I’ll keep giving it to you.”

He nodded lightly.

“Say thank you.”

“Thank you so much. That was literally too good.”

“Do you need anything else before I let you get back to work?”

“Kiss me, please,” he asked you.

You moved your hand from his hair, over his precious little face, down to his chin, where you held him gently. You leaned down to place a loving kiss on his sweet, wet mouth. He parted his lips for you and you stuck your tongue in slowly, running it over his as he lifted it patiently for you.

“You’re such a fucking good boy, Peter,” you told him again, delighted by how well he knew exactly how you wanted to kiss him.

When you broke apart, he started to undo your pants. “I want to please you now,” he told you. “Is that okay?”

“Sure, baby, let’s go to bed.”

Lucifer sat across from you at a trashy little diner near the hotel. His arms were crossed, his body slumped, his brows furrowed, and his lip pouting.

“We can go somewhere else if you don’t like this place,” you checked in with him.

“It’s fine,” he looked out the window. Why didn’t you want to have sex with him? Why did you bring him to this dump and tell him you wanted to pay for everything? Why didn’t you wake him up last night so he could live out his fantasies? Why were you ruining everything?

But you were there together. You were making those half-confident, half-shy little expressions in his direction. You seemed curious about what he was thinking and feeling. You kept checking in on him. Maybe he could get over himself a little and not act like such a spoiled brat?

He sat up straight and opened the menu, which was several pages long. He rolled his eyes.

But how cute would it have been if the two of you shared a milkshake? Wasn’t that a thing?

He closed the menu after reading the first five options.

The waitress was surprised to see him and took a moment before asking for your orders.

“Coffee. Black,” he told her.

“I’ll have the cinnamon apple waffle,” you told the waitress and pretended to whisper: “I’m really in the mood for apples all of the sudden.” The waitress smiled and walked away.

“Really, that’s all you’re getting, Your- Lucifer?”

He waved a hand. “I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

“You’re not just doing this because I’m poor and would be homeless without Charlie’s hotel?”

He shook his head. “That hadn’t occurred to me, actually,” he admitted. “I just need my coffee first before I can do anything.”

You sipped at your water. “You didn’t seem to need your coffee when you tried to fuck me earlier.”

He shot you an offended look. “Darling, you wound me. Must you remind me of your betrayal?”

“Betrayal?!”

“I meant rejection,” he leaned over the table to hold your hand.

You were a sucker, so you let him, but only for a moment before you took your hand back so you could hold yours both together in your lap. You looked everywhere but at him.

“Can you try to put yourself in my position? I’m nervous. You’re a bajillion years old, no shade, but that means you have a lot more experience than I do at probably a lot of things. Is it so crazy that I might want to, oh, I don’t know, go on a few dates with you before we do anything intimate?”

Lucifer tilted his head. “I’m not trying to be difficult, but what does my age have to do with it?”

The waitress brought his coffee. He took a sip and didn’t like the taste of it, but tried to hide that fact. He snapped his fingers and replaced the awful diner coffee with his own, and sipped that contentedly.

You were tense. You were blushing. You looked at the window, but not through it. “I don’t think I’m going to necessarily blow your mind, so to speak,” and the adorable pink puffs of blush burned even redder on your skin.

Lucifer moved from his side of the booth to join you over on yours and put his hand on your thigh, leaning closer to you. “Sweetheart, are you saying you’re intimidated by me sexually?”

You leaned over to hide your face in his hair, the embarrassment of hearing him say the concept out loud absolutely mortifying you.

He chuckled and put his arms around you, helping you hide.

“Don’t laugh!” you asked.

“It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not what I’m saying!”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I just don’t see how I’m going to keep your interest. In general, not sexually! You’re not really known for enjoying the company of sinners. I don’t have eons of interesting stories to tell you. I just thought I could enjoy some time with you before you realize you’re bored to death by me. Maybe a few dates. And then you’d either ghost me or dump me. That was my plan.”

Lucifer continued to rub your back. You slid your face from his hair to resting at his neck. He enjoyed the closeness very much. You lowered the volume of your voice a little.

“Sharing it out loud, I hear how ridiculous it is and I regret wasting your time with any of this at all. I was a little drunk when I asked you out, and Husk was, like, making it seem like a good idea. And I just got caught up. And then my friends kept talking about your dick and now I regret everything and I’m sorry and if you get up I will run out of here and hide in my room for the next year.”

Lucifer let your confession sink in. “You’re being ridiculous and that’s okay,” he told you. “You said the thing and now we can move on from that nonsense. I’m not going to get tired of you. I spent most of my life with my wife and I never got tired of her. I’m not wired that way. I’m flattered that you see me so highly, but it’s not necessary. You’re just going to have to get over your insecurities.”

“Oh, sure, let me just get over those real quick,” you laughed. You wrapped your arms around his waist as he comforted you.

He pet your head, enjoying the softness of your hair. “You could also just feel embarrassed and hug me forever, because this feels really nice,” he added.

You exhaled. You didn’t seem to want to separate any more than he did.

“How many dates until we can have sex, though, because I do have needs.”

“Lucifer!”

He laughed. “Maybe we should go back to Your Majesty,” he joked.

“Holy hells, you’re incorrigible! You would order me to have sex with you?” You still couldn’t look at him, but sounded happy to still be talking.

He rolled his eyes. “I would order you to grow up a little,” he mumbled through the side of his mouth, and enjoyed the feeling of your laughter against his body.

“I can’t put a number on it,” you teased. “I’ll know I’m ready when I’m ready.”

He pat your head. “Yes, yes, of course. Your body, your choice, and all that.”

“Lucifer, it is my body and my choice!”

“Yes, but I’m the King. Don’t I deserve some special treatment?” he wasn’t kidding, but he hoped you thought he was.

An intrusive thought went through his head. He would have to tell you about masturbating in your room and licking your clit in his snake form, and he would have to tell you that before you fucked each other, or else you would never forgive him. He gulped.

The waitress brought your apple cinnamon waffle. Lucifer picked up a spoon and started to eat the whipped cream from your plate.

“Hey, that’s mine,” you finally sat up and reached out to get the spoon from him, but he wouldn’t let you, and he enjoyed how close your face was to his as you reached.

“Not anymore it isn’t. I’m the King of Hell and I’m not getting laid tonight so this waffle, and this whipped cream, and these apples are all mine.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “Does that make you feel big, Your Majesty? Stealing a poor sinner’s waffle?”

“And whipped cream and apples,” he reminded you, cutting into the waffle and waving the bite in front of you before putting it in his mouth. “Mmmm,” he moaned exaggeratedly, hitting the table with a fist and leaning over it, “shitty diner waffle, so exquisite, I can barely contain my glee.”

You tried to reach for some whipped cream with your finger, but he moved the entire plate out of your way before you could. You gave him an idea. He put the plate back down and picked up some whipped cream on his own finger and presented it to you. “If you eat that, you can have your waffle back,” he told you.

You kept your eyes on his as you parted your lips and took his finger into your mouth. You licked the whipped cream from him slowly, swirling your tongue around his finger to make sure you got every bit. His cock was hard and he didn’t care to hide it from you anymore, not even in this fucking plebian diner. But your eyes were still on his as you pulled his finger out, sucking on it a bit as you did.

He leaned over and kissed you, pressing his body against yours, one hand immediately under your shirt and bra, cupping your breast and thumbing your nipple. Your hands were on his chest, but you weren’t pushing him away. He could sense you in conflict with yourself, but you parted your lips and let him in your mouth.

And maybe if he hadn’t forgotten himself and didn’t put his other hand up your skirt, you wouldn’t have stopped kissing him and you wouldn’t have said “Lucifer, stop,” and he wouldn’t be kissing down the side of your face to your neck and biting you and sucking on your skin and you wouldn’t be quivering in his arms, panting, asking him “Lucifer, please, stop,” and your hands wouldn’t both be pulling his out from under your skirt and he wouldn’t be growling like a fucking predator, leaving bite marks and hickeys on your neck and you wouldn’t be saying “this isn’t fair, we don’t have a safe word, you have to stop.”

He did stop and he put his head in his hands and his elbows on the table and he breathed and at first he wasn’t sorry at all about what he did and then he felt nothing but sorry.

He made the mistake of looking at you, flushed and hot and messy, fixing your bra through your shirt. He watched you fix your hair and get yourself settled, and touching the spots on your neck that probably already hurt, but would definitely hurt more tomorrow.

“I apologize,” he forced himself to say.

“You do know about consent, right?” you asked him, taking a bite of your waffle.

He nodded.

“Okay, because so far you’re 0 for 2 in that department.”

You had no fucking idea.

“3 if we count reading over my shoulder,” you teased.

He was relieved to hear you didn’t hate him.

“And I should probably also count stealing my waffle as 4. It’s not a good look, Your Majesty.”

He reached over to grab his coffee cup from the other side of the table and refilled it with fresh, delicious coffee. He sipped on it and tried to relax, though drinking coffee was probably not the way to make that happen.

He started to feel sad that once you were finished with your terrible waffle, you’d probably want to separate and then he would have to wait hours before he could see you or touch you again.

“Lucifer?”

“Hm?”

“You’re not saying anything.”

“I’m already starting to miss you.”

“Stop it, you’re not serious,” you nudged him with your hip. He put his arm around your waist.

“I’m very clingy,” he admitted.

“I’m clingy, too,” you said quietly.

“You are?”

“Yes. Can we spend the rest of the day together?” you asked him.

His eyes welled with tears, which surprised you even though you’d definitely seen this man cry several times already, this week alone. He nodded.

When the waitress passed by again, he asked for the check. You tried to fight him about it but he completely ignored you, paying the tab and over-tipping.

Lucifer was fucking exhausted, but he couldn’t let himself fall asleep. There was so much riding on this night, all of the little Lucifers inside of him were saying.

You had called him the being of your dreams.

He got himself dressed up in a crisp button-down shirt and the pants that went with his favorite coat. He wanted to do something epic and romantic. There had to be flowers involved. The restaurant had to be empty of all other diners except for you and him. He started making arrangements.

He decided your date would be at 8PM. He was getting delirious and forgetting details. There would have to be chocolates. The restaurant would need to have a live band. A string quartet, or something else fancy. He didn’t know what kind of food you liked, so they had to be ready for anything.

It would have to be far into the part of hell where the imps were. He could hurt imps, but not so much sinners, and he needed to feel like absolutely everything was in his control. It was already the afternoon.

There was a knock on his door.

“I’ll be right there, Charlie,” he said, walking over, still holding his phone to his ear, making last-minute arrangements. A limousine stocked with liquor. A gift of jewelry, perhaps? Did you wear jewelry?

“Hi, it’s me,” you said nervously.

“I’ll call you back,” he told the person on the line and put his phone in his pocket. “Hello, darling! We never set a time for tonight; I’ve been making arrangements for 8PM; I hope that’s okay?”

“Oh.”

“Oh? You’re not cancelling, are you?” he panicked, and sounded like it.

“No! I just- I thought I was planning it,” you reminded. “Remember, I told you you didn’t ask first-”

“Oh, that’s okay,” he waved his hand dismissively. “It’s all handled.”

“Oh,” you looked disappointed.

Nononononono, not that face. Not sad! Why did you look sad?

“What is it, darling?” He took both your hands and led you into the room.

You looked amazed by it, and momentarily distracted from whatever concerned you.

“Go ahead, look around if you like,” he encouraged. He was so fucking tired, he was starting to see two of you.

His hands would not leave you. Anywhere you walked or turned, he was there, almost as if the two of your were dancing. A hand at the small of your back. A hand on your arm. A hand helping you up from crouching, looking at something low to the ground. He could easily lose himself in your rhythm. He could almost sing to the tune of the steps you made.

“Your stuff is fascinating,” you told him. “What’s with all the ducks? And look at the books! I thought you said you barely read!”

He waved a hand again. He would have enjoyed this more if he could just have a little cat nap; just a few minutes. He sat down on the bed and closed his eyes.

“Lucifer? Lucifer?” you asked him, but it was too late. He was fast asleep.

He woke with a start, jumping up in his bed. The date! Oh good heavenly fucks, he missed the date! He dug into his pockets for his phone. It was already well into tomorrow! Tears welled in his eyes and immediately plummeted down his face.

“Hey, sshhh, it’s okay,” you told him, your voice was like the sound of powdered sugar being poured over freshly made pastries. You sat up and embraced him.

You were in his bed together, disappointingly clothed. “I hope it’s okay I stayed with you. I totally watched you sleep for a long time, like a creep,” you chuckled.

“Our date!” he reminded through his tears and hugged you back.

“Lucifer, you were so tired. I couldn’t wake you.”

He tried to steady his breathing and organize his thoughts. He missed the date, yes. But that could be redone. He had planned it all at the last minute, and he could do it again, and maybe even better. He wiped the tears from his eyes.

You were in his bed.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you would be this disappointed,” you told him, sitting up and wiping his tears with your slender, beautiful hands.

He made a strange expression, pursing his lips and narrowing his yes. “Yes,” he said. “Disappointed. Oh, I am so, very disappointed. Heartbroken, really. Truly! Why, I don’t know if I’ll ever recover,” he watched your face.

You were confused and suspicious, a bit of a smile hinting from your lips. “I’m listening,” you tilted your head, as if to see into him.

“I just- I’m beside myself-” he placed his hand on his chest and shook his head. “It was going to be amazing, I hope you know,” he undid the top three buttons of his shirt.

You noticed, but still didn’t know where he was going with this.

“If only there was something,” he unbuttoned another button, “anyone could do,“ and another, ”to help me feel better after such a,” he took a deep breath, his shirt completely open, and when he exhaled, he shimmied it off his shoulder, “devastating change of plans.”

You giggled into your hand. “Wow,” you laughed and laughed. “Okay, I think I hear what you’re getting at.”

“Do you?” Lucifer was on his knees now, leaning over you, which made you back up into his headboard. While maintaining eye contact, he placed his hand on your leg and started to slide it up your skirt, over to where your fishnet pantyhose ended.

“Your Majesty, I’m not-”

“I am just, so, very distraught about this,” he nodded, and you nodded with him, more amused than confused. He used both hands now to pull your pantyhose off from under your skirt, slowly down your legs, maintaining eye contact with you. He threw them to the floor. “It’s going to take a lot, and I mean, just, a whole seven hells of a lot to heal my disappointed, nay, broken heart.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “You poor thing, I hear you, but I-”

“No, please, do not pity me.” His hands were at the bottom of your shirt now. He tilted his chin and when he did, you put your arms up, and off your shirt went over your head. “Pity won’t help here.”

“Don’t pity you. Got it,” you played along, now sitting shirtless with your underwear and skirt on. “Your Majesty, I-”

“Lucifer,” he corrected, unzipping his pants.

“Lucifer, stop! This is cute but I’m not ready.”

His body collapsed theatrically onto the bed, as if he’d fainted. “The rejection!” he bellowed.

You laughed. “Lucifer, please, be reasonable.”

He turned to you, eyes full of fears, pants undone, hair messy. He blinked at you a few times, the utter image of devastation. So pathetic in his sorrow, the back of his hand against his forehead.

“Lucifer, please,” you begged.

Yes, baby, beg me, he thought, his cock growing harder.

You made a squeaky noise and got out of the bed. You reached for the clothes he threw onto the floor and walked quickly over to his door.

He was on his knees again on the bed, this time actually devastated, no longer playing pretend. He sat on his feet.

You pulled your shirt back on, inside out and backwards, and froze holding onto his doorknob. “Can we slow down?” you asked him.

He nodded.

You exhaled, but remained by the door.

“I really like you,” you told him.

He waited for a however.

“Do you want to go out for breakfast?” you rolled your pantyhose back on, one leg at a time, giving him a chance to think.

He stood up from the bed and with a puff of smoke was fully dressed again. He fixed your shirt with the same magic.

He nodded.

You reached out a hand in his direction and opened the door with the other.

Lucifer hadn’t slept in four days. The excitement of your upcoming date was too much for him to handle. He played with himself so often and so roughly that his cock and hands were aching. He had to start using a fleshlight, which he actually had to clean dust off from first.

He was going on a date with you! He would have prolonged, close access to your body, and your uninterrupted attention. And maybe you would go down on each other. And maybe you liked it slow and tender and lasting for hours. And maybe you would order him around. And maybe you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you. Those were half the thoughts that kept him awake.

The other half were so much worse. He never exchanged numbers with you. You never set a time for the two of you to meet. He heard the term ghosting, and imagined you betraying him this way.

He waited for you in the lobby in the morning, as he always did, to jump at the chance to set your date in stone. You didn’t show. He couldn’t just wait all day in the lobby for you to choose to spend time with him; that would be pathetic. And though he was pathetic and deplorable lately, he couldn’t let you know that.

He decided he had to break his own boundaries again.

He turned himself into a miniature version of his snake form, white and cute and scaly, and portaled himself under your bed.

He could hear you were awake, texting loudly on your phone, the speed of your click-click-click impressing him. He slithered up your bed post and wrapped himself around it.

You were naked on the bed, your hair wet and your legs bent at the knees. His first instinct, surprisingly, was not to ogle you but to make sure you weren’t sending nude photos to anyone. Once he felt reassured that you were just texting some bullshit with your friends, he was able to consider whether or not it would be appropriate to take in the scene.

Did he really want the first time he saw you naked to be without your consent? He closed his eyes and for extra safety covered them with his tail.

Your phone rang. He was so relieved that someone called you, so he could hear your voice and have more glimpses into your world. That was the point of his boundary-breaking, after all, to find some information and figure out a smooth way to meet up with you for your carelessly disorganized date.

“Ugh, I have no idea. I thought he was serious but I realized last night that we didn’t set a time or anything!”

Oh, good, you were upset about it, too.

“Yeah, I just got out of the shower. I don’t really know what to do. Do I just hope we bump into each other and one of us is like, hey, weren’t we going to go out today?”

No, that’s not what was going to happen.

“I’m such a loser, I must have told him fifteen times how excited I am about this date.” It was twice, but he was relieved you had a similar penchant for exaggeration as he did.

“Ew, don’t even joke. I am not involving Charlie in this.”

The worst part about being in his snake form was that he was impacted tremendously by temperature, and you liked to keep your room cold. He had to think fast before he got sleepy. He thought a little differently in snake form. His body was compelled to move toward heat. He slithered down the bed post, and over into your hair.

You instinctively moved your arm to check why your hair was moving and when you did, he slithered quickly down your body as you let out a shriek.

“What the fuck is happening?” Angel Dust’s voice came through when you dropped your phone on the bed.

“There’s a snake!”

“A snake? What kind of fucking snake?”

“Does that matter, Angel?!”

“Um, yeah! There’s the poison-y ones and the strangle-y ones.”

You tilted your head observing him. He was nestled in the warm spot you left in the middle of your bed as you backed yourself into your headboard. He couldn’t portal away now, and your body was emitting so much heat. If he could just nestle close to you, he would feel better, and then he’d have enough strength to run and portal away.

“Um, it doesn’t have a rattle. Does that mean it’s not a poison-y one?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’ll go get Husker.”

“Don’t! I’m fucking naked on my bed.”

“Grow up, Husk won’t give a shit. That’s my man.”

“Can you just shut up? I don’t think it’s going to hurt me. It looks like it’s falling asleep.”

“You have bigger snakes to worry about tonight,” Angel laughed.

“I hate you so much. You’re so lucky no one else likes me and I’m too lonely not to have a friend.” You seemed to have plenty of friends but, again, the exaggeration.

Lucifer had soaked up most of the heat from your bed and he needed more. He slithered to your body. You were scared, but a winning part of you was curious. There was something about this little creature that seemed harmless.

Lucifer wrapped himself around your calf, and you remained still as he did so. He could feel your heart rate increasing. He wanted to comfort you, but he didn’t know how.

“Oh yeah, it’s definitely a strangle-y one,” you said, somewhat calmly. “It’s on my leg now. It’s probably trying to cut off my circulation or something. This is how I’m going to die. Naked, on the day I have a date with the being of my dreams.”

The being of what now?

“You dumb ho, you’re just trying to get out of it. Listen, if you don’t want the short king, I’ll take him off your hands.”

“Fuck, Angel, can’t you just leave one man in this hotel for me?”

“No.”

You reached out to the little snake bravely. It didn’t flinch. It slid further up your leg, but the way it wrapped around you didn’t hurt you. It rubbed his face against your hand the way a kitten or puppy might.

He could feel so much heat coming from between your legs. He needed to be there like his life depended on it.

“Awe, I think it likes me,” you told Angel. “Is it weird that its eyes are closed?”

“You are so boring. Lucifer’s cock is the snake that’s going to like you.”

“Shut the fuck up, I am not fucking Lucifer tonight,” you told him.

And why in the seven hells not? Lucifer wondered. If he were a rattlesnake, he would have been rattling obnoxiously over that comment.

“I don’t want this to be a one and done kind of thing. I actually kinda like him. I asked him on a date, not for a fucking booty call.”

“But you both have such stunning booties,” Angel complimented.

You liked him! He felt happy. His little snake body slithered from your thigh and pressed himself against your vulva. It was so very warm there. He rubbed himself against it, spreading it apart with his body.

“Oh my fuck, nonono, uh, little snake, that’s not for you, little snake!”

He stuck his forked tongue out to find and play with your clit. You were so warm and delicious. He wanted to stay right there forever.

“Oh, no! Please stop it!” you picked him up very gently using just your index finger and thumb and moved him to the other side of your thigh. It was still warm, but it was not where he wanted to be. He sulked a little.

“Oh, Charlie’s here. Hey, Charlie! Our favorite little sinner has a snake in their bed.”

“What sinner? What snake?” Charlie obviously took Angel Dust’s phone because you heard her better.

Lucifer froze against your thigh, his tongue nervously darting in and out of his cute little snake mouth as he listened.

“Charlie, I think I have a pet snake now,” you told her.

“Turn on your camera,” Charlie insisted. “What color is this snake?”

Charlie would know it was him.

“I’m naked right now, Charlie.”

“Naked? Turn on your camera or I’m coming over there. I have a feeling I know exactly what snake is in your room.”

Lucifer panicked. Not Charlie. Not his sweet, precious Charlie. She couldn’t know he was in here. He was warm enough now to think clearer.

You reached out for your phone and when you did, Lucifer jumped from the bed. As soon as he hit the floor, he portaled out of there.

He got back to his regular body and fixed his clothes and hair. If he knew his daughter at all, she wouldn’t wait for that video to turn on and she wouldn’t wait to walk to your room.

There was a knock on his door, just as he’d expected, and Charlie was on the other side of it.

“Who is it~” he sang. Charlie always brought Lucifer back to reality. What in the hells had he been doing? Stalking a sinner? Invading their privacy? Obsessing about them like he wasn’t the motherfucking King of Hell? Touching them without their consent?

He opened the door.

“Oh. You’re here,” she was surprised. “I didn’t think you would be here.”

“My darling!” he squeezed her tightly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just thought- my friend- hm. Apparently we have a new kind of pest problem. Never mind. Sorry to bother you, Dad.”

“No problem, my princess. It’s always good to see you~”

He closed the door behind her and slid down to the floor. The mission was a failure, but at least he learned two things. He would not be having sex that night, and you were still excited for your date.