Call me Z or Anx, 9teen, any pronouns, super obssessed with comics and world building, i love bad movies, Jodio’s #1 glazer, one piece fan (derogatory), artist, freak of nature, creepypasta fan since 2016, wannabe multilingual （╹◡╹）
warning: do NOT turn on notifs on this blog. i spam and shitpost alot. all works are tagged with #anx writes and can be found on my masterlist.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
sources: l.e.s. by donald glover // this year by the mountain goats // maya hornbacher, madness // watchisjawdrop on tumblr // wuntrum on tumblr // kim kardashian // unknown // godblessryankent on tiktok // nayyirah waheed // unknown // lev st. valentine
You really think that they should’ve learned by now. Thankfully, they still have a good way for you to solve it.
DC/Reader, Marvel/Reader (18+)
Wally West/Reader
When you find Wally in the room, he’s already upon you with such speed—with such hunger—that you can scarcely comprehend it.
Clearly lost to the throes of whatever sensation that bids make him mouth his tongue at your pulse, his hands working in desperate fraction to undo the button at your jeans, at your collar.
“Wally—”—You begin in pitched moan as you try to place your hands on the man desperate to get you naked, to have you feel the girth of his cock that is grinding against the meat of your thigh.
You knew that the pollen would be bad: but experiencing it, feeling his hands working below your waistband, feeling how hot his tongue is as it scorches at your collarbone—
“I’m sorry,” He moans, a semblance of shame making itself known. But it’s quickly overridden by the way that his mouth makes greedy suck at the slope of your chest: your gasp of surprise concludes into wanton intake of breath.
“Wally—”—You echo in repetition, but this plaintive request of his name is more beholden to lust. Is more desperate to give in to what he wants. To what you want, as well.
“Let me have you,” He murmurs into your body, in between the bites that he takes down your chest to mark his territory. “Please—I’ve never needed you more.”
When he makes such dedicated search of you, his hands already looking for the heat between your legs: how can you refuse? All you do is pull him upwards by the scruff of his collar, taking in those pupils that are dilated beyond comprehension, blown-out with desire that can only be slaked by you. And you draw his tongue into your mouth.
He moves beyond your comprehension: he’s done it before when the two of you have tangled in the sheets, but this time is so much more sensation, so much more energy that needs to be staved off.
His hands seek out the slick rhythm that he can work in between your legs, the pads of his fingers rubbing out a tempo that has you clutching into him for support, your teeth sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. His mouth is relentless: making bruise after bruise that demarcates his lust into your nipple, your navel, the inside of your thighs.
When he licks at the junction of your legs: you can only twitch and gasp around him, your thighs clenched around his ears, making sure that the only sound he may hear is the thrum of your body, your pleasure made by the ministration of his own.
When he fucks you, it’s with such desperate crescendo, such necessary rhythm—his cock sinks into you with such ferocity that usually belies his tender, romantic approach. As he presses you face-down into the mattress so that you can clutch your fingers into it, mouth open and panting as you take his cock.
“Wally—”—You beg for more, his thighs slapping against the swell of your ass with such perfect, lewd obscenity—“—Wally—”
“Yeah?” He asks, so clearly unmoored, so clearly lost to the throes of pleasure that have him chasing his orgasm. “What—what is it—”
You angle your head at him, letting him see how fucked out you are, the glassy, delighted haze to your eyes—to see something in parallel on his own—and you make your plea. “More, Wally.”
He grins: and then, as any good partner would do, he obliges. And all you can do is moan around the way that he makes perfect fit inside of you, fucking you closer to that orgasm you’re quickly approaching.
Vic Stone/Reader
”How did this happen to you?” You ask you find him, clearly roiling over with a need that has yet to be satisfied. That he restrains solely for your presence as you approach the foot of the bed.
“Got blasted,” he groans—and what is visible of his flesh-and-blood on his face makes clear it shines with exertion—“—Taking a hit for Wally.”
“Serves you right,” you grin as you lope a knee onto the edge of the bed. His eyes are so hungry, so lustful—so worshipful as he watches your approach on the bed. “Wally okay?”
“Think he got blasted, too,” Vic admits; you can’t help but chuckle. There’s a knowing, good-natured grimace as you reach his feet, his legs which spread wider for your access.
“Poor him.” You say, running a hand over the nuance of his ankle, feeling the smooth articulation of technology made in interval with the flesh, marking your lover whole. “Good thing you got me, though.”
“Yeah,” he says, voice taut as he watches you sink to your hands and knees, “Good thing.”
There’s an aborted, stunted grunt he tries to smother as you start your ascent to him: marked in documentation by the kiss that you linger on his ankle. Then as you cross to other leg, pressing your mouth to the crook of his knee, running your tongue over slick metal and skin that scorches with desire.
“God—”—He shudders—“—You’re perfect—”
All he receives is a chuckle you murmur into his skin, and a kiss to the inside of his thigh that is concluded with definitive sink of your teeth. When he groans—you think you’ll enjoy more of this needy chorus as you lick up the panel that conceals the promised land.
He makes an oath as you stare up at him with playful grin, your tongue laving up the sleek underside—something winks as you realize he takes documentation of it for later safekeeping.
“Pervert,” you tease as you find footing on the heels of your palms, working your way up to find yourself seated on his lap. As the guide of his hands eagerly help to make you find home on him.
“Can’t help it,” he confesses as he searches out for the warmth of you, “Just wanna feel you.”
“Go ahead,” you say—rewarded with the hiss of air as the panel slides open, and you feel the nosing of his cock press against you.
“Ready?” He asks—you grin.
“Always, baby,” you confirm—and when his hands sink into the give of your hips, help to raise you up as the length of his cock slides against you—
And when he bodily lowers you down onto him, stretching you open so that all you can do is clutch to him for support—all you can do is make whisper of his name on your tongue and yours on his—
“I love you,” you say as your walls stretch against him—and you hear him murmur the same as he draws you to him for a kiss.
Eobard Thawne/Reader
“What a perfect sight for me,” Eobard chuckles as he takes sight of you naked, sweaty, panting with a desperation only he can sate, “Been waiting for me long, sweetheart?”
“No,” Is all that you can manage, “Eobard, please—”
“Please what?” He asks, his hand seizing around your jaw. Making you see the way his eyes are so eagerly taking consumptive view of you—as his other hand is knuckling your legs open. Working to seize the heat that you eagerly grind upon, held in the heel of his palm.
“Please fuck me,” you whimper. “I can’t—the pollen—it's too much—”
“Yeah,” he chuckles through gritted teeth, with shoulders that are spreading wide in possessive manner. “So say it.”
“I need you to take care of me,” you pant open-mouthed. “Please.”
“Since you begged so nicely,” he croons—before he seizes your bottom lip between his teeth hard enough to draw blood.
The pollen is to render you insatiable until it has run full course through your body. But the way that Eobard handles you; the way that he holds you, slamming his hips into you as you’re pulled backwards flush against him—
He teeters the line of agony and euphoria, as his cock glides in and out of you with such ease, hitting that spot that makes you wail. Fucking you stupid into the mattress as you try to muffle your whimpers into the pillow—only for him to tear it away, toss it to the floor.
“Dumb sluts that can’t dodge don’t deserve muzzles,” Eobard says, as he bucks his hips into you hard enough to feel like you’ve bruised. As he slaps his hand hard down the cleft of your ass to make you keen in protest, before he offers the balm of his cock sheathing you to the hilt.
“Oh, yeah,” he mocks as you slump into the sheets, “Too much for you, honey?”
“No, no—”—You try to reply, muddled through the haze of delightful torment—“—It’s perfect—”
He laughs, mean and mocking. “Have I fucked you that stupid already?”
When his cock slams into you again, all you can do is moan as you let him take his fill. As he satisfies you the way that only he can do for you. Even if you won’t say it: your body has already confessed enough.
Plastic Man/Reader
“It’s not funny, Plas,” you groan as you sit on his lap, grinding with desperate need to satisfy the friction between your legs. “I just—I—”
“Need someone to take care of you, huh?” He asks with such wicked, slick delivery that even though you want nothing more than to ride him into the sunset: you can only give him an exasperated moan.
“Don’t make fun of me,” you whimper—although his arms are already making spirited twine around your arms, your torso, firmly keeping you locked in place. “It’s bad enough I got blasted with this stupid pollen—”
“And now you have to come asking me for help, huh?” His voice is a very sleek taunt in your ear as you work to try and relieve some of the pressure.
“We’re dating,” you groan as you try to make spirited kiss as his jaw that makes him growl—“—You should be happy to help me.”
“And I am, honey,” he replies with such ebullient joy that if his hands weren’t already working to peel you out of your pants—you’d kill him where he stood. Or, rather, sits below you.
“I just can’t help,” he whispers in your ear, “But take a little bit of time to appreciate you.”
“Less appreciating,” you groan as you feel the cool exposure of air on your legs, “And more fucking.”
“Aye aye,” he grins—and then decides to get straight to work.
Adam Warlock/Reader
You wouldn’t know that he was affected by this, if it wasn’t for the fact that you had been told. He stands before the window, his back facing you in such implacable, muscular form that always steals your breath away.
“Adam?” You ask quietly, watching as those shoulders pitch, stiffen as he makes physical register of your presence.
“They said you got hit with—”—Is all that you’re able to articulate. That is, before you catch glimpse of the way his eyes are riveted upon you, the way his nostrils flare and his mouth sets with something deliberate—
And then he is before you in such ethereal glory, in such impressive anatomy and poise, his hands finding the curve of your jaw to guide your mouth to him.
And when his tongue presses at the seam of your lips, it’s all that you can do to allow him access—to feel him kiss you with a starved agony that he’s never expressed before.
His hands are desperate with such locomotion, rushing to find the nuance of your body as you moan and whimper on his soft palate; it’s all you can do to keep up.
He pulls away—something regretful on his face, something penitent. “I do not mean to—I should—”
He cannot even conclude this sentence before he is making way to taste the salt of your skin where it collects on the column of your neck, summoning another groan on your end.
“I should be stronger,” he curses into your vulnerable skin, “I should be above such base desires—”
“It’s okay,” you reassure as he continues to eke out such pleasure, “You don't have to be.”
His eyes seek yours, revealing such humanity. As you affirm once more. “It’s okay.”
He whiles in internal, chaotic deliberation. And then before you can comprehend it, you are pressed into the soft folds of the bed. As his arms yawn over you, his thigh nudging between your legs easily ticking open. His mouth taking care to swipe the scald of his tongue up your collarbone, summoning blissful shiver from you.
When he fucks you, it’s with a prescience you’ve never felt before—rather than the tender love making it usually is, this is a greedy fuck.
Each stroke that he pumps into you leaves you filled up with the curve of his cock, keening into the unyielding meter of his body. Every rock of his hips leaving you helpless to do anything but take him, with that brutal drag that stretches you so perfectly.
“Adam—”—You sob as you feel him rut into you, his lips desperate to leave a mark on the junction of your neck and shoulder—“—Don’t stop—”
“Never,” he swears, with such voracious claim into you, “Never.”
Bullseye/Reader
He seems remarkably put-together as you walk into the room, close the door behind yourself. Take careful visual assessment of him as his eyes seem to nearly gleam in unnatural ken as he watches you.
“Nice of you to drop by, sweetheart,” he says, and pushes himself up with a mild grunt of exertion to cross over to you.
There’s something off in the swagger of his walk, something that is so very cunning and lithe as per usual. But you can tell that he carries different bearings: there’s something that’s nearly delirious in the catch of his eyes as they take more endured evaluation of you.
He draws up sidelong to you, encroaching on your space enough that you have to take instinctive tick back.
“How do you feel, Les?” you ask as you feel the door push against your back, knocking gentle air from you in quiet expulsion. He chuckles, still staying askance of your touch: but that doesn’t matter. You can feel the heat that is sloughing off of him, see the uninhibited way that his pupils are drawn wide, to indicate how untethered he is from the moment.
“Feel great, honey,” He says, and his hands take careful stance on either side of you. His mouth wanders close, so that you can feel every particular of the sentences that he speaks against you. “Feel like I could just eat you up.”
“You sure?” You ask, watching how he lists a little to the side—and there seems to be a touch of conscientiousness in his voice, something sentient return back to his eyes. Enough to know that you should regret it.
But you have no time to backtrack it before he closes whatever distance remains, and latches his mouth onto your neck with cruel, merciless bite.
Your mouth catches around a desperate gasp of delight, your hands already seeking out the muscle that composes your man. The implacable, unyielding wall of his body that swallows up whatever distance remains.
There’s a rip of noise, the nosing of a blade that works up the sinew of your skin—your eyes immediately dart down as you take in the sinister blade that he’s produced. And your clothes fall in open tatters, crumpled heaps of fabric to the ground. He chuckles in amusement at how his tool obeys him.
“Les—”—You say in combination of exasperation and surprise—“—How’m I gonna get out of here if I’m naked?”
His mouth is already traveling down your stomach, his tongue lapping into the divot of your navel. “Don’t worry about that right now, honey. For now—”
Where his tongue licks up in slow, torturous drag, you can’t help but scrabble your fingers against the wall for purchase, let something shuck through your teeth as he makes ragged exploration.
“Lemme take you for a ride,” He smirks up at you.
You just don’t realize how you will until you’re made to ride him, to bounce on the length of his cock that fills you up so wholly, a rocketing wave of pleasure darting up your body with each roll of his hips he makes.
The blade that he freed you of your clothes from presses into the vulnerable exposure of your neck, darting closer to sanctity with each treacherous sink that you make down onto him—but you could care less. Not when he looks at you with such abject desire, his tongue lolling from open mouth as he takes in the sight of you.
“Good work, honey,” He taunts you as you sheath yourself on him to the hilt, a whine of exhausted pleasure escaping you. “Just like that—”
The blade whispers further against your skin, making the adrenaline run taut with the wave of sensation that pushes you closer to the edge. As his fingers grow more ravenous against your waist, guiding you along in careful meter to fuck you to orgasm.
Matt Murdock/Reader
“Will it make it more intense?” You ask—he finds you across the meridian of the bed, his hands working to interlace with yours. He burns under your touch, finding some mild relief in the homeostatic temperature that you leach into him, that he greedily accepts.
“Make what more intense?” He asks, as you watch a bead of sweat dart in pearled manner down the arc of his temple. Your eyes fixate on it, wondering what it would taste like if you licked him from chin to crown of head, baptizing him with your tongue.
“Your senses,” You murmur, extending hand to search out the nuance of stubble that frames his jaw. That makes him shudder, lean instinctively into you: he has no sight.
All that he can rely upon now, with this overwhelming fractal of senses, are his smell, his touch—and what must he sense from you? What can he glean from his faculties, from the way that your hand makes imparted touch onto him?
“They’re already turned to 10 all the time,” Matt says, his voice breaking as your fingers work behind his ear, sinking into the scrape of his scalp, “I guess this is just eleven.”
Every inch of him is so hot, scorching—how he seeks to abate it with you. How he’s already crawling on hands and knees to find you, to make establishment of territory into you with hands that are pressing you back. With his lips that are search up the crook of your arm, up the slope of your shoulder. With a tongue that inches its soft palate up your cheek, teeth scraping against you.
He tortures you now: you had expected something fast, something fueled with adrenaline, something made to leave you bruised and satisfied.
But he wants to take it slow: making cruelly navigated pump of his cock into your legs that are pinioned around his waist, making you feel the full spread of him in advancing inch by inch.
His breath huffs into your ear, his hands planted firmly into the spread of your shoulders, desperate to commemorate all of your body kept under whatever acreage of him he can manage.
When he finally admits himself fully into you, finally bottoms out, the head of his cock nosing at that terrible spot—you arch your back against him, your hands seized against the flat plane of his stomach. “Matt, please—”
“God—”—There’s something so truly reverent in his voice as he savors the feeling of you swallowing him, the way that his body is fully pressed against you in such intimate manner. Made for perfect complement against each other. “—I need you like this, forever—”
He slinks out of you with such unyielding poise, every muscle of him taut, before he takes advance into you again. The wave of pleasure that is slow and torturous to make nascent peak over you is heightened by the prayer he makes into your skin. By the oath he swears by his teeth that rasp down your earlobe, his tongue that makes worship in nonverbal form.
“Love you,” He groans, overwhelmed by the touch of you that is all he has ever needed to sate himself with, “God—”
He is broken and in necessity of what you can only give to fix him. When you find your tongue against him, careful to make sure that he memorizes the taste of you: he sinks into you again, and you find the sanctity in the touch of your lover once more.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Scott Summers/Reader/Logan, Venom/Reader, Guy Gardner/Reader, Colossus/Reader, Reed Richards/Reader, 4.2K
a/n: i said I had never written a sex pollen fic before and @eatfeet69, @cinnamon-girl-writes, @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger, @gr0und-zer00 and @inkievoid for helping me out :]
cw: SMUT/18+ ONLY, sex pollen, consent given on all sides, threesomes, cunnilingus, mention of breeding kink in Venom's part, choking in Reed's part, reader has a pussy and/or ambiguous genitalia and is referred to in gender-neutral terms
masterlist ao3 requests
PREVIEW:
Looks like everyone's a different take on how to deal with it. Thankfully, you like their ideas.
Marvel/Reader, DC/Reader (18+)
Scott Summers/Reader/Logan
You feel as though you can’t quite remember how to circulate air through your body without deliberate, manual effort. As if there’s something trapped in the span of your throat as you stand before them. Watching as they sit on the cots that they’ve been assigned, breathing with heavy, roiling need.
You don’t know why you’re here: and yet you do. The way that Scott’s hands clutch into the sterile sheets, the way that you can see Logan openly eyeing you up and down. The way that they are both stiff in the tenting of their pants. The way they look like they want to eat you alive.
“You both asked for me?” You finally settle upon as statement, unsure of how else to cross this meridian they’ve set up. Watching as they have to physically focus on the question in different manner; so distracted they are by internal dialogue of plans they intend to do to you.
“Only way I could stand to stay in the room with Summers.” Logan sends back—his jaw twitches, works as he swallows. Licks his lips as his eyes drag down your legs.
Scott picks up the slack, trying to sound more composed—but there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he tries to remain composed. But even that’s cracking.
“We need you—”—And there's no mistaking that tone of voice—“—To help us. If you’re willing.”
Hope against hope strains him on the edge of the bed, waiting on tenterhooks for your response. His knuckles clutching so tight they jut white through the housing of his skin.
“I mean—of course.” You say. Logan’s shoulders jump like he means to have you there on the floor, but he resists it.
“Only—”—Your voice is halting, fleeting, embarrassed—“I don’t want to make things worse when you’re back to normal.”
Logan chuckles and it’s a ragged noise, something bitter in the intonation of the chord.
“Honey, you’re the only thing that’ll take us back to normal.” He grits through the champ of his teeth. “We been thinkin’ about you for a long time.”
If you had any coherent response, it’s washed away clean from the slate of your mind with this as he continues, staring at the button of your jeans. It’s obvious what he wants to do.
“Think you’re the only thing that’ll keep us in line.” Logan informs you. And you start at this.
“What?” A flush of heat runs under your skin at “keep us in line—”—are you even going to be able to walk after this? Do you even want to when these two men are making such desperate, mouthwatering displays of themselves?
“It’s true.” Scott chuffs out a pained breath to the ground, obviously desperate for relief. “He’s telling the truth.”
Under such duress, you know that he’s not lying. Not from the way Logan licks his pink tongue against the full of his lips. Your mind races.
“Oh. So—”—You let your voice peter out and dissolve into the air. What can you say? When they want so badly to fuck you? When you’re already tempted to absolve conversation and satisfy what they need?
“You wanna keep fucking after this, we can.” Logan asserts. It’s clear he's reaching some kind of agonizing threshold with no immediate relief in sight.
“But right now—”—His eyes practically roll over dark—“—Let us blow off some steam.”
“Are you okay with that?” Scott asks, looking directly to you. Hoping against hope.
You know your answer. “Yes.”
This is how you find yourself spread in between the two of them, Logan’s thick cock sinking into your entrance with such wonderful stretch you nearly come on the spot.
But Scott’s cock pressing into your hole makes any coherent thought, nothing but a deep, guttural, animal noise escape you. Scott’s arms tug around you, keeping you steady as he utters curses about how good you feel, how good you’re taking him, how much he needs you—
“Take this,” Logan says. Before you can comprehend through the whited-out plane of your mind, he stuffs two fingers into your mouth that you start to suck on without hesitation.
Greedy, wanting noises as you work your tongue around his knuckles. And then his hips start to roll into you, making delightfully obscene noise as he drags his length in and out of you.
Angry, rutting thrusts like he means to make you take his cock like you owe him something. And all you can do are make muffled noises of overstimulation into his hand; not that you would ever want to stop.
“Fuck, that’s hot,” Logan groans as he slams his hips into you, hard enough to bruise later. Scott is busy fucking your hole, mouthing sloppy kisses at your pulse, his hands working at your nipples.
Each lick, each pinch drives you crazy, makes your eyes roll back in your head as your whimpers are muffled by the digits you lick like your life depends on it.
“Think—”—Scott moans, his statement catching as he sheathes himself inside you and you tilt your head off of Logan’s fingers with a wet pop—“—Think they look good like this—”
All you do is collapse back on Scott’s chest as his tacky palms knead at your chest, working to make your skin aflame with tactile sensation. Each time his fingers clutch at you is in tandem with the way he jumps his hips against you, bobbing you on his cock. And further pushing Logan deeper into you.
“God—”—You cry out in ecstasy, as Logan leans forward to catch one of your nipples in your mouth and bite. As Scott catches your earlobe in his teeth and sucks. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—”
As you do, full-bodied and with a keening wail, you know it’s far from your last. Especially as they continue to savage you with their mouths and the works of their ever-determined hands.
Venom/Reader
They find you, flustered and overstimulated, humping a pillow in your shared bed. The sight is enough to make something roar to life in the meter of them both: except for the tear tracks that have dried down your cheeks.
Except for the fact that your hole is stuffed with a vibrator he’s used on you before, but never at full speed. As you look at them with such abject relief: but don’t do anything to greet them.
So Eddie comes to you, as you paw desperately at his shirt. As you beg, “Come fuck me—please, Eddie, please.”
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Eddie asks, though Venom doesn’t care to ask questions when he can satisfy.
You’re trembling, shaking through another unfulfilling orgasm, your mouth caught in half-helpful ecstasy— “—I got blasted by this weird pollen—”—Your voice catches in Eddie’s arms as you try to unbutton his shirt—
“They say there’s only one cure.” You look at him with half-lidded eyes even though your head is already lolling back on lazy, fucked-out swivel. Even though it’s clearly not enough, even though it’s clear that you need what Eddie can give. What Venom is demanding within that he give you right now.
“I—”—Eddie searches, thinks of a past incident where Peter went through something like this, and realizes there is a first for everything. You're already making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.
“You can’t be serious.” He starts. But makes no move to halt you as you continue to work. All the while your hips keep grinding in maddening display.
“I am. Please—”—Your hands make quick work of his belt, starting to drag on the glide of his zipper, “I need you.”
There’s no denying the lust in your eyes, the way you scald to the touch. The way the pillowcase you keep riding is soaked with you. The way you’re trying to persuade him to touch you, to do anything.
He can’t resist. Not when you give yourself on platter like this.
“Okay, honey—”—He says—the sigh you make is guttural—“—I’ll do it.”
You make a breathless laugh that halts around another approaching orgasm. But your voice breaks through clearly enough in audible manner.
“Both of you.” You hold his gaze. “Please.”
“We thought you’d never ask, sweetness.” Venom says. And then it’s not Eddie who’s driving the car anymore. It’s your other man, who hulks over you in such dominating fashion in such blink-of-an-eye speed you can barely register it. All you can do is sigh in relief.
This doesn’t last long; you’ve barely comprehended how you’ve ended up with your ass in the air, on all fours. Venom hasn’t taken care to remove the vibrator—he pushes it in deeper, the way your toes curl and you groan in delight summoning a growl.
“Think you can take us all, sweetness?” He asks, and you feel the press of that cock against you. The one that you and Eddie have tried to work you to with little success.
But all three of you can tell something’s different. Especially when you beg, “Yes, yes, yes—do it!”
“So wet for us,” Venom’s finger sinks into you and you greedily push back for more relief, “So good already.”
“Please,” you cry into the sheets you’re pushed into. “Please—”
Venom needs no further encouragement. When he slides into you, spearing you on that impossibly wide length, stretching you open—all you can do is open your moth, though no sound escapes. Though your eyes have wrenched closed and your fingers have fallen slack against the sheets.
“Good,” Venom makes throaty chuckle as he continues to work into you with so little effort. You’re so wet and aroused that if you were in proper state of mind you’d be embarrassed. But all you can focus on is the way that you finally feel full. You finally feel like the orgasm you get will be satisfying.
“So nice,” Venom hisses, “Maybe we’ll fuck you fat with kids, sweetness—like that, huh?”
His claws dig into you—you moan, nodding mindlessly. “Yes, yes, yes—”
“Like thinking about having our kids, sweetness?” He works further into you, deeper, deeper still. Still not enough. “Getting bred?”
“Breed me,” you beg. “Breed me.”
“Don’t ask twice,” Venom coos—and he hits the back. You sag into the sheets, though this is no trouble for your man, who lifts you easily.
“Don’t worry,” Venom says as he holds you flush against his chest, cold, unblemished, smooth. “We’ll make sure this takes. We’ll make sure you like it a lot, sweetness.”
You can’t tell if he's serious or not. But when he lifts you bodily off the length of his cock and then sinks you back down with ease, filling you to the hilt—you don’t care. You want it more than anything you've ever had.
“Yeah,” Venom purrs as he fills you up, “Best you ever had.”
Guy Gardner/Reader
Guy seems marvelously in control of himself as he regards you, fully stark-naked. He’s lying on his side, letting his cock bob in such tantalizing motion that it’s so difficult to be able to keep your eyes riveted on his own.
“Nice’a you to stop by, sweetheart.” Guy grins as he watches you, shifts that shelf of muscles that makes up his toned stomach. Lets you see the way his biceps gleam with sweat he seems disinclined to give any attention to right now. His arm coils, framing the display of his body.
“You look real good right now.” He says, and at this, you swear you see his cock twitch flush against him. You have to think of something to say before you’re far too gone, past the point of no return.
“Guy?” You ask carefully, watching him with caution. He doesn’t seem anything like how they described he would be. He’s gleaming with a sheen of energy expended, for certain, and his cock is certainly at angle you’ve never seen it torqued to before—but he’s in good form. Almost a good mood, given the circumstances.
“How do you feel?” You ask, taking a careful step towards him. He chuckles, because this is a waste of a question. His thighs flex, tick out as he bends knee on the one he doesn't prop weight on. God—he’s perfect like this.
When he replies, he’s quite cheerful with his answer. “Feel like I wanna fuck ya til I gotcha creamin’ on my cock.”
You have to take a deep, circulatory breath to make sure that you heard him right—when he laughs at your lack of reaction, you can’t help but feel something flush to life. Something roll in wanting need between your legs, making your mind blissfully blank.
“You like that?” He asks, his voice drawing lower in pitch and timbre. Waiting to see what you’ve yet to say, what he’s dying for you to say.
But you can’t help but indulge the urge to needle him. To see how he’s going to hold up—even though he’s in, er, fantastic form.
“Sure you got it in you?” You ask with a smirk. The way his teeth show look likes he wants to take a bite out of you—and in several choice places.
“With this shit?” He asks, and at this, he rolls his fist up the length of his cock, letting you watch the mesmerizing show. “Baby, we’re going for days, not hours.”
You laugh, unexpected and bubbling out of you before you can stop it. “Promise?”
“Get over here.” He commands—and his smile grows ever-wider as you dutifully approach.
He wants to fuck you against the wall first, pushing you so your hands have to clutch against unerring surface as he pulls your ass back. When he fucks into you, the wet slap of his hips snap into you with such brutal need that every thrust punches the air out of you. Has your walls clenching tight around him, gasping for more as he takes care to sheath you to the hilt.
Then, Guy wants to make sure he gets to see you proper—so he has you ride him reverse cowgirl, watching as your ass bounces on the spread of his hips as his cock fucks up into you.
As his fingers grasp so tightly around the width of your waist, guiding you so dominantly as he helps you keep pace on him. When you have to stop so that you can shake and moan through your orgasm, he takes care to keep thrusting in to you to carry you to the finish line.
After, Guy wants to shake it up, so he has you sit on his face while you take your cock into his mouth—or you would try, should his tongue give you any rest. If he wasn't pumping his fingers with such aim to make you collapse on top of him, at the mercy of the way his tongue sucks at your clit.
It seems his favorite, though, is when he fucks you sideways, wrapping your legs around his waist as you bite into a pillowcase. As he slams his cock into you to the hilt with such delicious drag that all you can do is whimper into the pillowcase as he takes his fill. As he keeps fucking into you with such abandon that you know he’s nowhere near satisfied—and neither are you.
“How you doin’—”—He asks through his teeth as he leans over you in mating press, your ankles ticked over his shoulders. There’s a perfect ‘o’ on your lips as you sink your nails into his biceps, dragging them down with terrific rasp that makes him groan in pleasure.
“Perfect—”—You manage out, cock-drunk and glassy-eyed and so, so happy—”—Please don’t stop, Guy, please please please—”
“Anythin’ for my baby,” He grins as the head of his cock noses at that spot that makes you go stiff, curl your toes. Guy Gardner’s always happy to oblige for you.
Colossus/Reader
“Peter—”—You ask as you step into the room—”—why are you chained?”
Even in the throes of the pollen’s effects, he is still so clearly seized by some modicum of embarrassment. Even though his cock is so clearly visible in this metallic form, jutting against the tenting of his pants.
“I asked them to—”—He admits in that soft Russian lilt—“—I didn’t want to hurt you.”
You chuckle in disbelief; you and Peter have been through a lot of bedframes. You doubt that this will be any different than the other times.
“Let me free you,” you begin, reaching for one of the manacles that encircles his wrist. But before you can, his fingers splay out, his arm jerks against chains that would crack concrete and moves them with ease.
“Nyet—no!” There is fire, worry written in the manuscript of his syllables, as his eyes, already glassy with lust, find yours. He articulates deep breath that makes that plateau of his chest rise and fall, though it's clear it takes so much concentration to do so.
“You will do this for me—”—He continues, avoiding your eyes though it’s clear all his interest is directed towards you—“—Because I don’t wish to risk anything.”
He swallows thick, slow, his adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes find you once more, as he ruts his cock along the air to no relief.
“You are too beautiful—”—Even through the haze you can detect the sincerity—“—Too precious to me.”
Even in the throes of fuck-or-die sex pollen, he still has such a poetic way with words. As he tries to breathe but clearly struggles without salve to his troubles.
“Okay.” You say, clapping your hands against your thighs—his eyes watch the movement with such dedicated interest— “—So what do you want?”
His life depends on it. His vitals have already demonstrated sharp decline. But his face darkens in burgeoning rust, his eyes avoid yours in his shamefacedness.
“I do not mean to ask—”—He begins, something wanting but reticent in the cadence of his voice. You put a hand over his arm, feel the scorch of his metallic skin. Hear the hitched moan as you draw physical contact against him.
“Ask.” You assert with determination. “How do you want me to fuck you?”
Your thumb soothes against his skin and clears house of any other thought than pleasure.
“Please—”—He begs—“—Get on top of me. Ride me.”
And when you find yourself perched on his cock, sinking your hole down onto that curved metal shaft; his wrists jerk against the chains that do not give. His whole body shudders as he mutters whispered praise to your body, your hole, your gift to him.
“I am lost without you,” he praises in worship as you bounce on his cock. As he watches the way the flesh of your body twitches and trembles as you hold onto his calves backwards—and fuck yourself on him. Your thighs burn, your breath comes tight—but he fills you so perfectly. He was made for you.
“I am yours,” he whimpers quietly, “I am servant to your body. Bozhe moi—I am liberated by you.”
You work him all the way in he can make—pausing as you feel how impossibly full you are, how your body twitches in perfect agony—
“I am made anew with you,” Peter groans, “You are my savior.”
As he spills into you with near-roar of pleasurable relief, without softening within you, you can’t help but smile with relief. Even though you huff for lost air, your body covered in thick layer of sweat. Looks like you definitely have your work cut out for you.
Reed Richards/Reader
“Reed,” you begin, unmoored, bearing no small amount of horror as you stare at his reclined body, “You did this to yourself?”
“Just,” he grunts, a fine sheen of sweat coating his face, a long trail of exertion slinking down his slick chest, “Thought it would be a worthy pursuit for science.”
Science certainly explains the way his cock angles out in such incredible arc—to the point of painfulness. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen it so large, with such great vein that trails down the shaft, precum already dribbling down the head.
“To infect yourself with it?” You ask, licking your lips in spite of yourself. “And what’s the cure?”
“Well,” he groans as he looks at you, his cock making traitorous twitch, “We have to have sex.”
You take a step forwards. “You think once is enough?”
“The assumption,” he says, “Is that we go as long as we need to. That’s what previous studies have found.”
“Previous studies—”—You begin, breaking off abruptly. “Reed, have you done this to yourself before?”
“Yes,” he admits, “though all I had were uh, other methods to relieve pressure.”
“But now you have me,” you return, sucking through your teeth. Reaching out to touch the shaft that jolts at the curve of your palm. Precum freely dribbles down at the merest contact; you gasp.
“Yes,” Reed says, and there’s ghost of a plea in his voice that even pride, in this haze, restricts him, “And I need you.”
You make experimental pump up his cock, hear the raw, ragged noise of pleasure as you work your thumb at that sensitive bundle of nerves behind the head. And you decide to hop on.
You’ve ridden him like this before, canted your thighs up and down on the length of his cock. Groan around the way that his curve fits so perfectly into you, dragging with such deep intensity against your walls that you can only let your head fall back and moan.
But he’s not content to watch you; his hands, his arms reach out for you, his fingers going against the conceivable rules of anatomy to tug both of your hands behind your back. You let him, something wicked and wanting as he restrains you with the easy pinioning of one hand, digits wrapping around you.
“Reed—”—You begin as you relax your thighs, sink onto his cock again. As you swallow another moan that makes you dizzy.
“I can go bigger,” he murmurs, a rasping breath huffing out of him, “For you.”
“What?” You ask, confused and lost as you fuck yourself on him. And then: your sense of grounding shifts. Your hands, still tugged behind you, begin to tilt as you’re eased back—as Reed’s body moves in malleable manner—as his hand seizes around your throat.
“There we go,” Reed coos, “That’s better.”
“What do you—”—You ask, before his hand clenches with just enough pressure to help you toe the line of pain and pleasure. The groan of want you make is barely stifled by his fingers that seek to keep you trapped under his grasp—and then you feel yourself lifted.
“Reed?” You ask, confused, searching for what’s happened. Through the glassy-eyed desire, you look on in bemusement as you lean against his lower thighs, your angle adjusted to recline on him like you would a lawn chair, bathing luxuriously in the heat. As though you’re not in your husband’s lab, bound and restrained in such flustered state of nakedness.
And then—his hips roll up into you. And whatever follow-up question you were going to make is silenced. And all that escapes you is a tight, “Oh, fuck—”
You don’t know what he’s done—he's never this big. He's never this thick and wide as he fucks into you at this perfect angle that you're unable to do anything more than take it. He must be using his powers—it must be the pollen—you feel like can’t think of anything save the way your thighs tremble before him.
And how he’s still sinking into you with the rut of those desperate hips, making your walls stretch more than they ever have before. You want it more than anything else.
“Reed—”—You whine—“—Please—”
He knows what you want. So he obliges—and starts to set a pace. A quick, desperate, needy fuck to satisfy this want that’s been boiling over in the both of you. As he glides his cock that is so impossibly tight inside of you, taking every bit of space that he can as he keeps fucking that spot that has you a shaky mess.
“Oh my god—”—You’re vaguely aware of saying—”—Don’t stop, don’t stop, don't stop—”
If there’s one thing that Reed can do, it’s listen to orders. And he fucks you without resistance, without difficulty, keeping his hips tethered in singular direction, pumping it into you with such speed that your moans are broken up by each wet slap.
Each sink of his cock bookended by satisfied groan from him as he keeps you bound and helpless. As you try to work your hips, arch your back against him—sing his praises.
“Reed, I'm gonna come—”—You beg—and if you thought the speed was mind-numbing before—when his hips begin to rock into you with such starved cadence, making your flesh bounce with each snap of his hips—
“Oh, fuck—”—Is your only preamble before you come, collapsing fully into the cradle of his arms, his body. Still, lazily he keeps deliberate pump to keep you familiar to the shape of him. But when you resurface enough to send him shaky smile; you know that starved, needful look in his eye.
After all, Reed’s a scientist. He must exercise experimentation to the best of his abilities to confirm his theorems. And you, to your delight—happen to be his guinea pig for this avenue of study.
When he starts to pick up the tempo of rocking his hips back into yours, you can’t help but think about how lucky you are.
Haii! Erm simple request... can u draw Mark butt 👀 Preferably Main Mark, but I'm fine with whatever u do! I just love guys with big juicy butts fr! (///∇///)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
