#livewire x reader

You were only supposed to be her refuge, her safe place when the weight of the world overwhelmed her or when she felt playful. Leslie loved sending you voice messages loaded with a warmth you knew wasn’t entirely hers. “I love you,” she would say, in a syrupy tone that disarmed even the most guarded, though that phrase, repeated so confidently, was nothing more than a lie. A vile lie that she wielded with the same skill she used to control electricity. 

Leslie—or now Livewire—had always been that way: bold, straightforward, and almost supernaturally skilled at using people to her advantage. With you, her advantage came wrapped in skin and caresses, a tacit contract that allowed no negotiations. Her sparking eyes, always sharp, looked at you with a mix of interest and control, as if calculating your every move. Every time you crossed that line with her, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being a pawn in a game whose rules you didn’t understand. 

So, what changed? 

It wasn’t just desire that shone lately in Leslie’s gaze but something deeper, something even she didn’t know how to name. She had started staying longer after your encounters, her usual sarcasm giving way to half-confessions, her sharp words turning into whispers when she thought you weren’t paying attention. At times, her façade would crack, revealing nervous gestures, words laden with insecurity that didn’t match her explosive personality. 

It was as if the storm had taken on her form. Her lips were bursts of heat and humidity, leaving a trail of chaos behind. She bit with the precision of someone who knows pain can be just as addictive as pleasure. There was no tenderness in her kiss, only an intensity that allowed no truce. 

"Don't stay still," she ordered with a crooked smile. Her tone was mocking, but her gaze pierced you like lightning. Her tongue traced lines over your skin, and each caress was accompanied by her low, dangerous laughter. She pushed you onto the couch with insulting ease—or maybe you surrendered without resistance. With Leslie, it was hard to tell who gave in first. 

Her teeth sank into your shoulder, skirting that line between pain and pleasure. For a moment, you didn’t know whether to pull away or let yourself be consumed by the magnetic chaos Leslie unleashed with every move. 

"Does it hurt?" she teased, as her lips descended, leaving a trail of kisses that weren’t really kisses but small, controlled explosions. 

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The electricity radiating from her body—both literal and metaphorical—kept you in a feverish state. Her hands, rough yet magnetic, explored you with a confidence that left no room for doubt. 

"You're so easy to read," she continued, biting your neck this time. The moan that escaped your lips became Leslie’s trophy, and she looked at you with those eyes that never asked for permission. 

Leslie loved starting with her own pleasure. It was her unspoken rule, her unbreakable law. Her body dictated the rhythm and direction, and all you could do was surrender. With a confident motion, she straddled you, her thick thighs trapping you with an intensity that made you feel both captive and desired. 

"Don’t get sentimental, alright?" she said, her smile itself a challenge. Her platinum hair fell messily, as if the storm within her shaped it too. 

When your hands dared to slide over her thighs, she let out a brief laugh, almost a purr. 

"What are you waiting for, applause?" she joked, though the gleam in her eyes hinted at something more. 

Without needing words, Leslie leaned toward you, pressing her lips against yours with the intensity of someone who knows they’re in complete control. Her teeth, sharp and mischievous, bit your lower lip, pulling it with a mix of violence and playfulness. Her body moved with a confidence that was almost offensive, a rhythm that hypnotized you. 

—Do you know what I like most about you? —Leslie asked, without stopping. —That you are always ready. Like a good boy.  His laughter echoed like thunder as he settled on top of you, his skin exposed, glistening in the dim light of the storm raging outside. Leslie leaned back on the end of the couch with an almost arrogant majesty. Her breasts, firm and perfect as if they were the work of a Renaissance artist, rose with each breath. He bit his lip, his electrifying eyes searching yours.  There were no words. Only the inevitable attraction that made you lean towards her, sinking your lips into the heat of her intimacy, which greeted you with a searing intensity. "Ngh...oh...good doggy...such a good doggy" She whispered placing her hand on your head, sinking you further into her dripping womanhood. A raw, animalistic growl leaves your mouth as she tightens around your pink tongue as you slide again and again inside her, your fingers coming up to make little figure eights on her clit, which was becoming increasingly swollen and hotter.

Leslie's bluish skin was now with reddish undertones due to the heat around you, and her lips were about to bleed from the pressure of her teeth on them. Leslie's lewd sounds and fluids seeped into you. Its juices were a sweet and spicy mixture that wrapped in your mouth as if it were a dessert. Although you will deny it, you loved to adore Leslie, after all, she was your muse. The electric tension in the air seemed to come not just from her, but from everything Leslie represented. Every movement of his was thunder, every moan a lightning that crossed your skin. His hand tightened on your hair, guiding you with almost painful precision, as if the climax was not his alone, but a shared storm.

It was not worship that led you to obey it; It was something more primal, a desire to be consumed by that energy that only Leslie could generate. You felt how his muscles began to tense under your fingers, how his previously controlled breathing became erratic, a melody that only you could hear up close.  "There, right there..." he murmured, with a voice that no longer had traces of mockery. Now she was the one teetering on the edge, struggling to stay in control as the electricity threatened to explode from the depths of her being.  And then it happened. His body arched as if he had been struck by lightning. His hand trembled tangled in your hair, and a low moan, charged with heartbreaking pleasure, echoed through the room. You felt how your body completely enveloped you, its heat, its humidity, its essence. For a moment, Leslie wasn't Livewire, she wasn't the storm. It was just Leslie, vulnerable, pure energy overflowing, and you, her only witness.  The storm subsided little by little, leaving her panting, her skin glowing as if it were made of liquid light. His eyes looked at you, half tired, half filled with a challenge that never quite died away.  "Not bad, little dog," he finally said, letting out a hoarse laugh that carried with it an echo of his previous arrogance. But there was something else in his gaze now, a spark of gratitude, or perhaps simple acceptance.

You stayed there, leaning against his still trembling thighs, feeling the weight of the storm you had helped release. You didn't need words. Words, at that moment, could not capture the electric and visceral language that existed between them.  When he finally laid back down, his hand slid to your cheek, a gesture that was both possessive and indulgent.  "You've been a good little dog...you deserve a prize for your work," she whispered, more to herself than to you, as her breathing began to stabilize.  It didn't take long for her to pin you down and put her thick thighs around your erect penis. He began to masturbate you slowly and tortuously. You didn't want him to get angry, but you knew that more than a reward, it was a punishment, a cruel one. You felt the pressure of his thighs, the heat they radiated, like a constant reminder of who was in control. His gaze sparked with a mix of malice and something else you couldn't quite decipher, and the slow pace of his hand was calculated, as if each movement was designed to keep you on the edge without letting you fall. —Do you like this? —he asked with that honeyed voice that always carried a hidden edge. It wasn't a real question, but a disguised statement, a game in which she already knew the answer. His laugh, low and vibrant, slipped between the silences, while his hand maintained that rhythm that bordered on the unbearable.

You tried to move, to search for something else, but his thighs clenched with a force that reminded you there was no escape. Her other arm rested lazily on the back of the couch, as if this were casual entertainment, a game she could continue indefinitely. “You're so predictable,” he continued, leaning towards you a little, enough for his swollen blue lips to touch yours. The electricity in the air seemed to intensify, as if his every movement charged the space with an energy that threatened to consume everything.

The weather became strange. The seconds seemed to stretch, each one charged with tension as his thighs guided you in that hypnotic swing. The heat in your body was building, and you felt like you were on the edge of a cliff that she refused to let you cross. “Don't you dare finish until I say so,” he warned, his words like thunder that resonated deep within you. There was something in her tone, a mix of authority and temptation, that made it impossible to disobey her. His crooked smile returned, the one that always made you question how much of this was a punishment and how much a reward in disguise. And then he changed the pace, barely noticeably at first, but enough for every fiber in your body to react. His gaze did not leave yours, as if he were studying your every reaction, enjoying the absolute power he had over you.

—Tell me, how far are you willing to go for me? —he whispered, leaning close enough for his lips to brush yours, but not kiss you completely. The heat of his breath was another form of torture, a reminder of how close he was and how unreachable he still was. Your lips parted, but you couldn't get any words out. It wasn't necessary. She already knew the answer, and the spark in her eyes confirmed it to you: this was her game, and you were caught up in it. Your eyes widened as you felt her slide her dripping womanhood onto your cock. You grabbed her hips as you felt the depths of her interior, rubbing against her uterus. She went gentle at first, trying to make you feel each of her fleshy rings on your length. But it was only a few seconds, in the blink of an eye she was holding on to your shoulders, jumping on you while grabbing her hips. It was fast and hard, there was no time to think.

She felt so full, so drunk from the delicious burning of her pussy on your cock. And it seems like you were drunk on her too, because as soon as her hips brush against yours at a fast and deliciously hard pace, the words escape her. They were whispers, soft whispers that made his saliva drip out of his mouth. “Oh...how I love you.”

oh...Oh...OH! That was new.

His words hung heavy in the heady air. You almost put everything aside to ask if it weren't because he caged you in his arms, preventing you from stopping. Your voice shakes a little as you let out a humorless laugh as you moaned at the feeling of his core engulfing your cock. Soft lips rest on your forehead and breathe in your aroma. Absolutely scorching, so sensual, all while quietly murmuring, "I love you, my good boy."

. . . Rage

You took her regardless of her protests and pulled her under you, thrusting, trying to forget what she said. But when you looked into her eyes...those electrifying eyes that trapped you in their net, and you saw it there, in her eyes, which for the first time denoted a hint of affection. "I love you" God, I wasn't lying. You held on to her like the world depended on it, and with force, before you came inside her, you came out and ended up on her chest, while she squirted beneath you, staining you with her juices. They stood together on the couch, the room lit only by the distant flicker of rays outside the window. The electricity from earlier had dissipated, leaving them enveloped in a dense silence, like the heavy air before rain. Livewire rested on your chest, her breathing still rapid, but calmer, almost vulnerable in the stillness around them.

Leslie’s skin glowed faintly under the dim light, but it wasn’t just from sweat—it was something deeper: a haunting shimmer, as if the storm she had unleashed within her body still left a mark on her soul. Yet there was something different about her now—a serenity blended with her usual disdain. 

“I said a lot of things to you…” she whispered, breaking the silence like a stifled sigh. Her voice was softer, less sharp, and though she tried to hide it, there was an undercurrent of fragility in her words. 

You tensed slightly, a faint fear of what she might say rising within you, but something about her—something in her tone—kept you still, your fingers brushing through her hair in an almost automatic gesture of comfort. 

“Don’t believe everything I say,” she continued, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze. The electric brilliance from before had faded, leaving behind the Leslie she rarely allowed anyone to see. Her eyes, usually full of control and defiance, now seemed vulnerable, almost lost. 

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” you replied calmly. You knew there was more behind her words, but the truth didn’t seem to matter as much in that moment. Just being there with her, listening to her, was enough. 

She let out a small sigh, as though releasing an invisible weight. 

“What I said… ‘I love you’…” she repeated softly, her gaze drifting forward, as if the mere thought of those words unsettled her. “It wasn’t true. I can’t love like that; I don’t know how… I never have.” 

At first, the air felt heavy. An echo of what she had said lingered between you, but you just looked at her—without judgment, without the need to force a response. You knew there was more to her world than her words let on, and this was one of the rare moments she allowed herself to be vulnerable. 

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t feel it,” you said, a bit surprised by your own calmness. Despite everything that had happened, your desire to care for her, to protect her even from her internal storm, seemed stronger than any doubt. 

Leslie looked at you, her eyes slightly wide, as though she hadn’t expected such a steady, understanding response. For a moment, her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Finally, she simply nodded, her breathing calmer now, though it still wavered occasionally. 

You moved closer, unhurriedly wrapping your arms around her, as if to shelter her in a warmth so deep that, even if only for a brief moment, the storm would feel like a distant memory. 

“I’ve got you,” you murmured softly, almost without thinking. The words were so simple, yet the way they left your lips felt like a promise that needed no further explanation. 

Leslie, in her silence, leaned into you, resting her head on your chest, seeking that warmth she had always evaded on her own terms. And though no words were spoken, something deeper seemed to bind the two of you in that moment. 

Perhaps it wasn’t love—not the kind you could name—but it was something far more real between you: a quiet understanding, an acceptance. Leslie didn’t know how to love in the conventional way, but you understood that, in her own way, she did—though in a form so complex that only time and patience could unravel it. 

She said nothing more, and she didn’t need to. It was in the way her body relaxed against yours, in how her breathing aligned with yours, in that shimmer in her eyes that now resembled water after a storm—clear but still unsettled. 

And you, without moving, understood her. Not with certainty—because there was never certainty with Leslie—but with an intuition that settled in your chest as gently as her weight did. 

She closed her eyes and leaned into you, a surrender without words that spoke volumes. Outside, lightning still traced fleeting patterns across the sky, but inside, in that moment, there was a silence so profound it almost carried the echo of what she dared not say. 

Maybe it wasn’t love—not yet—but it was something that, in its ambiguity, held everything

A/N ─── Yay, it's done! And... I guess you could say it's a PWP? I'm not sure. It was hard to find the necessary information, but I hope I’ve provided something you’ll like. I’ve been really busy, and right now as I’m writing this, I’m extremely stressed, so I’m not sure if it turned out well or if I have any spelling mistakes. Please correct me if so.

Feel free to ask me anything