mrs bob floyd

early twenties ~ love reblogging slutty (and soft ig) fics! MULTIfandom-check tags before reading any

[lacysribbon]

I mostly reblog, so if I like it’s to save until I finish then I reblog, not serial liking lol

about me/fandoms I’m in below

-since I’m getting some followers (I’m quite surprised but it’s welcome, but full warning I just reblog fan-fiction and post pictures of the celebrities/characters I like!

hi! im early twenties, she/her bisexual. My old tumblr blog I forgot the password.

I love x reader fan fiction that’s most of my reblogs !!

I don’t really enjoy reading fics about real people, I try to keep it to the characters.

ACAB and FUCK military but I do love to imagine dating them in a completely fictional scenario ya know??like top gun is sick af but I would never really date or appreciate someone in the military/cop field. Probably wouldn’t even respect most of them.

[cryptic-doe]

i'm convinced that when it's the holiday season, jack is silimar to a bear, in the sense that he gets a little chunky. like it's month after month that he's getting large portions and warm meals. and you're cooking is heavenly! how could he ever say no to you when you insist that he eats a little bit more since you can't eat this all by yourself.

and as household of only two, of course, you send jack off with leftovers when he goes to work. it's supposed to be for the people on the night shift, but the second he gets a whiff of your food all warmed up while on break, he's immediately home sick. he misses his bed where you're most likely cuddled up in, reading a good book or fast asleep. he misses his soft shirts thay you're wearing because "they're just more comfortable than mine." your words, not his. most of all, he just misses you.

so you can't really blame him when he eats the leftovers all by himself. much to the dismay of his fellow colleagues. oh, and don't even get him started on your desserts. when christmas rolls around, your tiktok fyp is flooded with recipes for all kinds of things. from cookies, to brownies, to rice krispies shaped like christmas trees with green frosting on top.

of course, he's the taste tester of everything you bake. every time you ask for constructive criticism. and every time, he tells you that it's perfect. which it is! some taste tester in your opinion. so then you mention that you'll just drive over to robby's so you can get an actual opinion, but jack gets all territorial with his desserts, claiming, "no man is going to get my wife's desserts. not even my best friend."

and you would think that being an er attending who is constantly moving and always on his feet would help him lose the weight. ususally it does! but that's because he's typically working out on top of that. but in the winter months, he's far too tired to even consider going to the gym. even though he has an at home gym, which he built for himself, he has no interest in it. the second he gets home, all he wants to do his crawl into bed with you and never leave.

one night, when your head is resting on top of his soft belly, jack makes a joke saying, "you know, i think you're purposely fattening me up for your gain. using me as your human pillow." you just scoff softly, not even looking from the tv and replying, "it's cuffing season, jackie. besides, maybe i'm doing it so you can't run away from me." the older man chuckles, brushing his thick fingers through your hair. "trust me, baby. i'm not going anywhere."

and that's a promise. that man is exactly where he wants to be.

[whiskey-thorns]

Gotta write a Titus fic…where he does this…but its your underwear he’s wiping his lips with…after eating you out…

[hatosypex]

the bruises, the thick neck, the curls and those fat arms…

[sunsburns]

i melt with you ⭑ kara zor-el

celebrating kara’s 23rd birthday off-world, you’re stuck bar-hopping on planets from galaxies you’ve never heard of. you’re trying to pretend everything’s fine, but you think you’ve ruined your friendship forever.

author’s note. angst with a happy ending! wlw, yearning, mutual pinning, miscommunication (i love a good miscommunication, but only if it gets resolved, and fortunately it does!) it has been a hot minute since i have written wlw pls bear with me. also huge thank u to anon for this request from the celly <3

kara zor-el x fem!reader, 3.9k words (rookie numbers, i know)

You probably should’ve started making your leave an hour ago. Maybe then, the music blaring through the bar wouldn’t have settled into the beginnings of a migraine, one that had slowly crawled from the right side of your head to the left. Maybe you would’ve still been in that perfect sweet spot of tipsy by the time you made it back to the ship—just drunk enough to collapse into bed and let sleep find you the second your head hit the pillow.

You frown, already yearning for exactly that.

Then, like someone dropped an ice cube down the back of your shirt, you stiffen.

You probably shouldn’t be pouting.

Not when you’re supposed to be celebrating Kara’s birthday.

She’d only asked one thing of you: come with her.

That was it. Tag along on one of her birthday escapades across whatever red sun planet had caught her attention this time. One week, she’d promised. Seven days of questionable bars, stranger food, and whatever trouble Kara inevitably managed to find. Then she’d fly you back to Earth, stay a couple of days—maybe three, if you were lucky—and disappear into space all over again.

You’d hesitated.

Not because you hated parties. You actually loved them. You loved bar hopping and clubbing with Kendra in Metropolis when you could.

It’s just that it had been a while since the two of you had spent time together.

And it wasn’t that you hadn’t missed her.

You had!

It’s just that things between you had become... complicated.

Not in the dramatic, world-ending sort of complicated. More in the you kissed your best friend in the Justice Gang’s training room, she kissed you back, and then left Earth the very next day without so much as a goodbye, sort of complicated.

Which, admittedly, felt a little world-ending at the time. And it left the two of you somewhere strange. Not quite friends. Definitely not whatever came after friends. But not nothing either.

Neither of you brought it up.

Mostly because Kara was never on Earth long enough to have the conversation.

She came back when Clark needed an extra pair of hands or when she missed Krypto and wanted to see him or when she wanted more of those Asian candies she liked. Then she’d disappear again before you ever found the nerve to ask what the kiss had meant.

Which was fine. Totally fine.

You didn't want to talk about it anyway.

And Kara clearly didn’t either.

It wasn’t like your stomach tightened every time she wandered into your orbit.

Or that your pulse skipped whenever she absentmindedly grabbed your shoulders to move you aside so she could squeeze past you in the cramped hallway of her ship.

Or that you’d caught yourself wondering, more than once, if she’d forgotten the kiss entirely.

Because that would be ridiculous. Right?

So everything was fine.

“—Doesn’t sound fine.”

Clark Kent, everybody. Delivering the million-dollar observation through a video call that’s cutting in and out every other sentence.

The signal wasn’t exactly built for conversations from several solar systems away. Mister Terrific was still ironing out the kinks in whatever intergalactic communication miracle he’d shoved into your phone, but naturally, Clark’s giant Kryptonian computer inside the Fortress of Solitude had the better connection.

Figures.

“You should tell Kara how you feel.”

Your migraine pulses a little harder behind your eyes.

“Clark,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. The bitter aftertaste of whatever alien liquor Kara had insisted you try still clings to your tongue. You reach for your glass—or at least this planet’s approximation of water—and take a long drink. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on.”

His voice crackles beneath the music, every other word swallowed by static. You squint down at the tiny holographic image hovering above your phone. It’s mostly a blur of blue and red pixels with Clark’s face occasionally being visible.

“It can’t be that bad,” He continues. “You’re just overthinking it.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“I did the same thing with Lois!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“We had slightly different circumstances, I believe.”

“Very different.”

“The principle is still the same!” Clark insists. “You tell her how you feel. It’s just like ripping a Band-Aid.”

You snort, “You don’t even know what that feels like.”

He pauses, scratching his jaw, “…No. Not really.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. You always found everything a little funnier when you drank.

Clark smiles. “But I understand the metaphor. It’s a good metaphor.”

Krypto was probably curled up on the bed back in Kara’s ship by now, blissfully unaware of loud music, questionable drinks, and unsolicited relationship advice from Superman of all people.

You’d never thought you’d be jealous of a dog.

“So,” Clark says after a burst of static, “where is Kara, anyway?”

“Um,” You glance over your shoulder toward the packed dance floor.

The room swims for a second, just enough to remind you you’d definitely crossed the line from pleasantly tipsy into maybe you should’ve stopped two drinks ago. Your eyes skim over a sea of unfamiliar faces in search of bright blonde hair.

“I actually don’t know. She went to get another dri—”

Suddenly, the music changes. Gone is the slow, warbling alien jazz that’s been humming through the bar all evening. A familiar guitar riff crashes through the speakers instead, something you recognize from Earth.  

You whip your head toward the DJ booth. Or maybe it’s a jukebox. You honestly can’t tell, and you don’t find either. You find Kara first.

She’s halfway across the room, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her sunglasses have slipped halfway down her nose, barely hanging on as she points excitedly toward the speakers before throwing both hands into the air.

Then she spots you.

She barrels toward you, and people have to jump out of her way. One unfortunate alien isn’t fast enough and loses half their drink when Kara clips their shoulder. She doesn’t even notice, or maybe doesn’t even care.

“There you are! My favourite person on this stupid planet!”

She reaches the booth in record time, nearly tripping over her own boots before catching herself against the edge of the table.

Then, without so much as asking, she plucks your phone straight out of your hand.

“Who’re talkin’ to?”

She squints at the tiny hologram.

“…Oh.”

“Hi, Kara!” Clark says cheerfully. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week.”

“I know.”

She slides into the booth beside you with a dramatic sigh, shoulder bumping yours hard enough to make you sway.

“…Oh. I just wanted to call and tell you happy birthday.”

“Thanks, man.”

She pushes her glasses back onto the top of her head before looking sideways at you. Then, making absolutely sure Clark can’t see her, she mouths: What a loser.

You bite back a smile.

“Be nice.”

She rolls her eyes so dramatically you’re surprised they don’t get stuck.

“Okay, if that’s all. Thanks, Clark. Bye.”

“Wait, I actually wanted to ask—”

“Bye.”

She ends the call before he can finish and drops your phone back into your hand.

“He can’t leave us alone for one second.”

“He was checking on us.”

You slip your phone back into your pocket.

Kara only shrugs. Her attention drifts almost immediately, latching onto the glass sitting in front of you. “What’s this?” Before you can answer, she plucks it from the table and takes a long drink.

You open your mouth anyway. “It’s water.”

She slowly lowers the glass. “What the hell? What’d you get water for?”

“I was thirsty.”

She stares at the glass for another second before setting it down with a loud thunk. “Gross.”

You let out a laugh that’s closer to a breath, leaning your head on your fist. The pounding has subsided now, and you wonder if it’s because of the change of music or just because Kara is close to you again.

You look away, your smile fading. You’re trying your best to find the words to explain this feeling, to be honest with Kara, and finally to bite the bullet, but it all turns into a puddle of melted letters and colours. It’d be a lie if you said it wasn’t slowly killing you on the inside. She’s all you’ve been thinking about for weeks, running laps in your brain, tangling her fingers with your heartstrings.  

A sharp jab at your cheek makes you blink.

You glance at Kara, who’s already looking at you.

“Not having fun?” she asks, and you think this is the most serious she’s been in the last forty-eight hours.

You can feel your brows furrowing together. Have you been that obvious? You try to spring an answer as fast as you can, but the drinks you’ve had a couple hours ago have made your tongue heavy. Especially with the way she’s looking at you, with the way she’s leaning closer to hear whatever answer you’ll give her over the loud bass of the music.

Instead, you stare at her eyes, those sad, angry blue eyes and watch how they soften around you; how they get wider, like she really wants to see you.

“I’m just…” You finally hear the words come from your lips. Lips. Your lips are so dry. You swipe your tongue over them. Your mouth is so dry. Your eyelids are so heavy. Kara’s hair is so bright. Distracted, you find an answer. “Tired.”

“You’re tired?” Kara says, amused. She’s smiling at you, that stupid grin she has with teeth, all bite. “How could you be tired? We’ve barely been here four hours.”

You groan when Kara reaches for your shoulders, as if you shake it out of you. It works, you think. A little bit. You can tell from the way the dark blue clouds have parted from your head, and she’s all red suns and teasing smiles and red roses with thorns.

She tries to pull you to stand.

“Wanna get out of here?”

This planet was strange, and honestly a little disorientating. Beautiful, in a way, but strange enough that you couldn’t quite tell if the world was actually bending around you or if that was just the alien alcohol still in your system

Maybe it was the sky.

It had been purple when the sun was out, but now the darkness had settled into a deep, almost murky green, the colour bleeding into shades you couldn't quite name. Stars burned through it in strange clusters, brighter and closer than they ever looked from home.

The moment you step outside the dingy bar, the late-night breeze catches your hair and sends it floating above your head.

Finally.

A relieved sigh escapes you before you can stop it. You stretch your arms over your head, breathing in the cool, clean air as if you'd been underwater for the last six hours.

Kara stumbles out the door behind you. But she doesn’t trip like she would’ve if you were on yesterday’s planet. This planet had a strange gravity, lighter here than it was on Earth, making every step feel like you were walking half a second behind yourself.

She smiles as she walks past you, running her hands over your floating hair.

You follow.

Your steps are uneven, and you aren’t entirely sure whether that’s the alcohol or the planet. Every time your feet leave the ground, you feel weightless, like you could keep going and forget to come back down.

You find yourself sneaking glances at Kara. Her sunglasses are back over her eyes despite it being the dead of night, and she keeps looking down at her boots. You frown; you want to make a joke but can’t find anything to say.

You try not to look at her again. But every few seconds, you catch her looking at you.

And every time you turn your head, she looks away.

You tell yourself you’re imagining it.

Eventually, the ship comes into view. You’re only a few metres away now. You can see the soft orange glow of the little bed light through the tiny windows, warm and familiar against the strange colours of the planet. Home.

Or at least what’s been your home for the last few days, somewhere you can sleep.

Kara’s stopped walking. You only take another step before you notice she’s not beside you anymore. You turn just in time to watch her drop to the ground, her knees bucking, and she collapses.

You startle at first, thinking she’s hurt or that the drinks have gotten the best of her. It wouldn’t have been the first time this week you’d have to haul her over your shoulder and make the rest of the trip for the two of you.

But before you can start to panic, she’s groaning dramatically, sinking further into the grass and rolling to her back.

You stare at her. “Kara.”

“I’m soo tired.” She complains.

“You’re tired?”

“Just give me a second. I need this.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t stop the smile growing on her face as you wait.

Eventually, she holds both hands out toward you.

“Okay. I’m good. Help me up.”

You step closer and take her hands. The wind suddenly shifts, blowing downward this time, and your hair falls across your face. Her fingers close around yours immediately. And you barely have the chance to blink before she’s pulling you down.

“Kara—!”

You lose your balance and fall, landing squarely on top of her. The air is knocked out of your lungs as your chests collide. You can feel Kara’s shaking as she laughs under you. Your hands are planted on either side of her, her arms caught beneath you. Your face is inches from hers when you shift, and you can feel her warm breath against your cheek.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Kara only grins, and there's not an ounce of guilt in her expression. She reaches up and pushes her sunglasses into her head. She lets the ends of your hair tickle her cheeks.

“I don’t wanna go back yet,” Kara tilts her chin at you, and you jerk back so her nose doesn’t brush with yours. You pretend you don’t see her noticing. “Stay here with me a bit?”

Her voice is quieter when she asks, and it makes something inside of you melt a little bit. There’s something behind her eyes that makes your stomach twist because you can’t name it. You want to find the name for it so badly it makes you sick.

So you roll off her and lie into the grass beside her.

And for a while, you both say nothing.

The grass is cool beneath your back.

Above you, the sky stretches endlessly, dark green and violet and littered with stars. Some are white. Some are blue. A few burn almost pink against the darkness.

You wonder if any of them have names.

You wonder if Kara knows them.

You wonder how many worlds she’s looked up at the sky from.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Kara’s voice pulls you out of your head. It's soft, you realize, an earnest tone she only ever keeps devoted with you. You turn your head to look at her; she’s already looking at you again.

“What?”

Her blonde hair fans around her head against the grass, catching the strange light from the sky until it looks almost silver at the edges.

She looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Our kiss.”

You flinch and look away. Not that you meant to, but you felt the heat crawling up your chest, neck and face. You didn’t want her to see you.

Your fingers curl into the grass below you. You can feel it again; her lips against yours; that faint memory; the softest encounter; the most gentle brush of skin. You remember the taste of her. Sweet lychee.

Kara had always loved those fruits and candies from East Asia, always coming back to Metropolis with bags of tropical flavours for everyone in the Justice Gang.

You try not to think of it. Instead, you’re trying to find constellations in the sky, if there even were any in this solar system. You can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest; you worry it’ll burst from your ribs and jump into her hands.

“I don’t know.”

You swallow. In your head, you’ve played out this conversation thousands of times; admittedly, you imagined it happening when you were both sober, sitting down preferably. In a nice cafe in Metropolis, maybe. Somewhere bright enough for you to see her face in the sunlight and crowded enough that if she let you down you could slip away easily. Or maybe after a mission when she’s patching you up with a strange gentleness she’d never admit to having.

“I think about it often.”

Your head snaps toward her so quickly you nearly give yourself whiplash. But really it’s your eyes squinting and her blurry image in your view. She’s not looking at you anymore; she’s looking at the sky, and her eyes catch the shining stars.

“It’s funny,” Kara continues, “because Kendra told me friends kiss sometimes on Earth without it meaning anything. Like at sleepovers and stuff,” she says, and her mouth quirks in a faint smile.

You wonder briefly if Kara’s ever even had a sleepover before. You turn to her fully.

“But it’s different on Krypton. I mean, I didn’t have many friends my age there. But I knew kissing was something intimate. I remember mom and dad, and sometimes I’ve seen them kiss. And it wasn’t just to kiss each other; it was like…” she gestures vaguely at the air, and the sound of her jacket rustling soothes you. “So much more than just lips pressing together. It’s like a moment when two people share that same breath. So when you kissed me I just… I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

You never know what to say when Kara talks about Krypton. In those rare times she does, at least. But you notice there’s always this different look in her eye. Something distant. She never really looks at you when she talks about her home, always past and through you, at something you could never follow or begin to understand.

Tears burn in your eyes.

You reach for her blindly before you can think better of it. Your fingers find her pinky, a soft brush of warm skin. Kara’s head turns, eyes dropping to look at your hooked fingers, then back up at your face. She looks… sad.

Sure, Kara’s always had this sadness about her, an inner turmoil you’ve learnt about early on and still can’t find a way to understand. But this is different.

And an awful feeling sinks in your chest. It’s because of you.

“Did it… did it feel that way to you?”

“Don’t stress about it,” Kara snorts, but there’s no real humour to it, nor that sarcasm you’re oh so familiar with. “You didn’t know.”

You watch it happen before your eyes, the way she’s starting to shut you out. Walls rebuilding themselves before you, as if you haven’t spent the last few years trying to climb them.

She pulls her hand away from yours and presses both fists against her eyes.

Your stomach drops.

Was she crying?

“Kara.” You sit up. “Did it mean something to you?”

“Yeah,” She says quietly, dropping her hands from her face. Her eyes are wet, and she sits up next to you. Kara shrugs as if it’s not a big deal when she sees you look at her with a similar sadness. She drapes her arms over her knees, muttering, “It’s not like it matters.”

“Of course it does.”

That feeling of your heart jumping out of your chest returns when she looks at you again.

“It meant everything to me.”

She blinks at you. “…you’re serious? Because it’s not funny if you’re fucking with me.”

“I mean, I-I wouldn’t have kissed you in the first place if I wasn’t like into you or anythin—”

“You’re into me?” She asks flatly.

You narrow your eyes a bit. You’re at a loss with where to go further now, losing your words again. You’d thought it’d been obvious; your feelings have been spilling all over the place since the moment Kara put you on her ship.

“Well, yeah,” you say. “And don’t listen to Kendra about the friends kissing thing. It’s totally as big of a deal on Earth as it is on Krypton. At least it is to me. I don’t know what she’s getting up to at her sleepovers. But I also do find kissing… uhm… intimate.”

When you look at her again, you can see she’s grinning at you. Your heart swoops a little bit, knowing she’s about to say something crass by the glint in her eye. You always loved being on the receiving end of her taunts.

“I’ve always thought you were pretty hot,” Kara says.

You exhale a snort. “Charming.”

She rolls her eyes and takes your jaw in her hand gently. Now you’re certain, surely, that your heart can’t possibly beat any harder than it is right now. And Kara’s most definitely, surely, got the strings wrapped around her fingers. Her hands are so cold, and your cheeks are blazing. And her eyes are so blue, like bright glacier blue, and your head is spinning. You blink, and she’s closer. Blink again, and her breath twirls within yours.

You think you might explode if she doesn’t kiss you in the next second. Your pulse is a strange, sluggish-rushed beat on your neck, and she presses her pinky against it. You nearly squeal from excitement.

“Are you fucking with me, Kara?” You say, breathless, when she leans closer to your mouth just to swerve the last second and press her nose to the other side of your jaw.

The hand on the side of your face shifts when she laughs. You feel her thumb running across your cheekbones. You sigh, your eyes fluttering closed when she presses a shy kiss to the side of your neck. Her lips are chapped and dry, and it tickles a little.

Kara pulls away and looks at you, and your free hands find themselves tangled with hers against your hip. You squirm, squeezing her hand and leaning in to make the first move, but she shifts back just to look at the pout you make.

You draw closer. She softens her breath, but you still feel it on your mouth. She licks her lips. And you can tell she doesn’t do it on purpose, but it’s still unfair.

She turns and touches her lips to the edge of your mouth. Just a graze. Your vision blurs from the tiniest contact. You breathe a little too hard, or wheeze, and feel your spine tremble. That’s all it takes. “Please,” you whisper. Your eyes roll to hers. “Are you ever going to kiss—”

The “me” is smothered because she’s finally kissing you. You move to hold her tight, afraid that she could float away despite there being a red sun. Not that it matters; Kara’s holding you just as tightly, and she raises your linked hands to shake hers out of yours. Her newly freed hand touches your shoulder, then squeezes, pressing gently to push you back.

You’re suddenly anchored to the grass. You feel your heartbeat thrum and your stomach twist, but it’s good. No. Good doesn’t do it justice. Her lips are now smooth and soft, and the bite of her nails on your face feels just right. You’d love to see the little crescent moons later.

She breathes into your mouth, hums all quiet and adorable, and smiles while you kiss her silly.

[rosesaints]

sue me, i wanna be wanted!

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader, set after brand new day summary: it's been a long time coming and you want nothing more than to jump peter parker's bones. or in other words, as charlotte york from sex and the city once said, damn it! I just really wanna be fucked, you know? just really fucked! content warnings: 18+ mdni, fem!reader, no use of y/n, sweet (and spicy) lil. drabble, established relationship, fingering, light dom/sub undertones, leaving marks, peter fingers you from behind, cum eating, pussy slapping, peter being so gosh darn tooth rottingly cute ugh, not beta read

"This is what you wanted, isn't it? Just wanted to make a mess on my couch, get my fingers all filthy? For me to take it?"

You're gonna be in serious trouble, you think. Peter's fingers curl upwards, and your whines break off, broken and wanton and so delightfully needed. You can feel stray tears dripping down your cheeks, lashes wet from all the different sensations Peter's taking out of your body. "I–I think I'm gonna come."

"Yeah?" He leans back in, not quite kissing her, eyes dilated in the dark of his apartment. "You think you deserve it?"

Nodding, head shaking up and down frantically. Why yes, absolutely, Peter Parker, you do deserve it.

You had been on a total of three dates with one Peter Parker so far. Far too impatient for your own good, so you'd suggested his place this time, low-key, no pressure, you'll bring the wine, and he'd said yes fast, too fast, in a way you'd have found suspicious from anyone else. But not Peter.

You wanted, so badly, horrifically, to get your hands on him. You had wanted this since date one, technically, possibly since before date one, and you had spent the intervening weeks channeling that want into research and preparation, the same way you channeled everything, because if you were going to lose your mind over a boy you were at least going to do it efficiently.

First, you wore kitten heels for the occasion even though this is definitely not the right occasion, but you couldn't help yourself. They were the ones that made your ass perk up just-so and led to three seconds of Peter eyeing your legs up and down as you passed him into the elevator, and you even wore perfume that a very reputable and frankly life-changing article on The Cut described as the closest thing to a pharmaceutical aphrodisiac you can legally buy at Sephora. He had leaned over in the cramped elevator car and looked at you, wonderstruck and in that low, boyish voice of his, "You smell really good."

And you were, as of nine-forty-two p.m., extremely fucking frustrated, because none of it, not one single thing you've done, had resulted in the guy making a move.

The movie's some spin-off Star Wars movie that Peter had frantically explained before chucking it into his bootleg streaming site, laptop flickering slightly as he plopped next to you on his couch. God yeah, Rogue One was just so severely underrated, he says as one hand brushes against your shoulder, and you'd nodded along like you had any context for what he was talking about, and you'd had to press your knees together like that would help. You've already decided you're going to watch the other seven (eight? nine? you should probably know this) before you see him again, so that next time you can argue back instead of just making the interested noise you've been perfecting for the last twenty minutes.

You end up abandoning the heels. 

That was his idea, technically, a stammered offer somewhere around minute fifteen—you can, um, if your feet hurt, I don't know if they hurt, forget I said anything—that you'd accepted with a swiftness that surprised you both, unbuckling the little metal straps and easing your feet into his lap like you'd been waiting all night for permission.

Now his hand's on your ankle. His thumb does this thing, tracing little spiderwebs around your lateral malleolus, and you're so fine. So okay with this progression, totally.

"You can talk during it," he says ten minutes later when your feet, have decidedly fallen asleep, not looking away from the screen. "I know people say you're not supposed to talk during movies, but I like—I mean, only if you want. You don't have to. I just talk during movies, but not in like, a mean, dickish way like some people do in theaters, not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just a little disrespectful, but not in my apartment, so if you were gonna say something you don't have to feel—"

His thumb then drags one slow line up along your instep, absent, unthinking, entirely unaware of what it's doing to the rest of you, and something in your chest pulls taut like a wire about to snap.

"Peter, that's not it. That's not—it's just—I've never done this," you say, quieter now, and it costs you something to say it, you can feel it cost you something. "Any of it. I don't have a… single fucking clue. I don't know how this part goes."

"Neither do I."

"I know you don't, that's the problem, we're both just sitting here being—" You cut yourself off. Start over. "I'm not gonna say it. You have to do it."

"Do what?"

"Peter."

"I don't know what you—"

"Take what you want," you say, and it comes out low, and a little wrecked, and entirely unlike you. "For the love of God. Just—take it. Please. I'm not saying it again."

That's how he ends up fingering you over the arm of his couch, half-suspended and scrambling for purchase. A mean, relentless lover is most definitely not what you pegged Peter Parker to be. The boy who was flustered and uncertain just a mere ten minutes ago shouldn't be wrapping a stray arm around your waist to pull you closer, practically making you fuck yourself against his fingers. The boy who's now making embarrassing huffs of breath escape your lipgloss-stained lips and wrenching the oxygen out of you. 

You know, for a fact, that Peter would never, ever let you drop, but the look on his face when you turn your head over your shoulder makes you think that the ground might be a bit safer for you.

God, you've never even been fingered from behind before but the angle of it, the relentlessness, it makes you feel so thoroughly used, dizzy from the speed and the sheer force of him taking you. Combined with him dipping his head down, sucking harsh love bites into the swell of your ass, and you think you may as well have just lost your mind.

The movie's still playing when his hands force your legs wider apart, his hushed "that's right, hips up for me," lining up at the same time as Vader chokes and dismisses Director Krennic, breath hitching. You're so proud of Peter, he had mentioned how cool this scene was, and he's so focused—your cunt squeezing tight like a vice grip on his fingers. Your whole world is spinning, just an endless cacophony of Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter—and oh, oh god, when his thumb swipes over your clit, you realize that that that's all you've been saying.

"What is it? What do you need, sweet girl?" He bites harder at your neck, filing the way you twitch and heartbeat flutters uselessly. You're gonna be all marked up tomorrow, but you couldn't care less. The pleasure and pain felt like an electric current through your body, sending phantom shocks down your spine.

"M–More, please—Peter, oh, Peter—"

"Pretty girl needed someone to take care of her, huh?" His brows furrow in mock concern, even though his hands make no move to slow down. Your thoughts trail off, wondering if Peter could take care of you just like this forever. You think he might, he could, he should. You wouldn't mind. You'd let him keep fucking you until your voice ran raw, keep his fingers wet and pretty for as long as he wanted, just one orgasm into another. 

"Someone to spoil you," his tongue drags from your cheek, up to your lower back, "someone to give it to you every day," up, and up, and up your spine until his breath bears down on your neck. "I can be that for you, right, baby?"

Your whining hits a fever pitch, blissed out and on the edge of your orgasm. "Yes, of course, mmm—just don't stop."

Peter slaps your clit once, twice—fuck, and your cunt squeezes one final time around his fingers, and you're coming, your hand closing into a fist on the chenille fabric. It feels like the rest of the room is just pure nothingness, just static and buzzing and the feeling of Peter's hand coaxing you through each wave. 

"You got my hand so wet, honey," He tuts, and oh. There was no reason for that to be as hot as it was, and you're sure he can feel it too, the way you clench down on his hand and pull him further into you. You've always been told you respond like a dream.  "Such a good pussy. You're going to feel so good around my cock."

You turn onto your back when Peter gently pulls his fingers out of your cunt, still breathless and heaving from the attack on your senses and nothing ever could've prepared you from the sight before you. He examines his fingers in the light, the way they glisten–god, did you really get that wet—a small smile playing at his lips—and sucks those very fingers into his mouth.

Maybe it's only been seconds, or maybe it's an eternity, but you sit there like that, watching him in that entranced way of yours. He doesn't break eye contact with you once. It's filthy. You think you could be raring up to go again just from the way he looks at you. 

Peter hums contentedly. The sound goes straight to your cunt. This boy's gonna be the death of you.

The laptop stirs back to life at some accidental brush of the trackpad many, many moments later, Rogue One resuming exactly where you left it, some spaceship still doing something important that neither of you had ever actually been watching. 

"Oh man, we missed the ending," Peter says, squinting at the screen and dragging his mouse down to try and wind it back. 

"Really, Peter? You just made me come and you'd rather I care about the ending?"

"You're gonna care. I'm gonna make you care. I have so many more things to explain to you."

"I'm sure you do."

"Is that—was that sarcastic? I can't always tell with you."

"Fine, we can watch the movie," you say, and press your smile into his shoulder so he can't see it, and he does, mostly, in between turning to look at you every ninety seconds like he still can't quite believe you're still there, and you let him check, again and again, all night, because you're checking too. "Go ahead, play it back."

+ from mara

this was short and sweet! i haven't written anything in over a year, but after seeing tom holland's rock hard abs grace my screen, i simply had to dip my toes back in. it's been hard getting back on the horse (that is, the metaphorical writing horse) and i fear you guys will most definitely be able to tell but i hope you guys like it! IM SO SCARED but okay stream audrey hobert and support your local nurses <3

[kinned-the-evil]

Thinking about Omega!Reader who works with an outreach program to help inmates settle back into life once they have been released, including being matched to an Alpha as a penpal. That penpal ends up being Alpha!Pope Cody.

Omega!reader sending lots of letters to Alpha!pope Cody who has been forced to switch from the heavy, probably illegal, suppressants Smurf provided to the much weaker government ones provided to inmates. Alpha!Pope Cody suddenly able to actually smell omega scents and has alpha hormones running through his body for the first time since being a teen.

Alpha!Pope Cody deciding that Omega!reader should be his omega

[visualsbyaina]

DAVID CORENSWET in TWISTERS (2024)

[penandinkprincess]

truly few things instantly put me in a bad mood more than humidity

WHY is the fucking AIR out here TOUCHING ME

get OFF

[pinkandblueblurbs]

18+ mdni when frank castle fucks you and he knows you’re you’re in a stubborn mood he likes to make you beg for it. just for the power struggle <3 

“You wanna cum, doll face?” He croons, low and condescending. He smirks when you nod. “Gonna have to beg, then. Go on.”

Your eyes harden and your lips form a straight line. “No.” 

“No?” His cock throbs inside you and his smirk only widens. His voice lightens as he patronizes “Come on, baby. It’s easy. Just gotta say “please, sir.” That’s all.” 

You stay silent, continuing to glare at him. He lets out a breathless chuckle. His hips slow from deep, steady thrusts to a shallow rocking motion. You whine at the loss, your own hips lifting to chase the feeling. Frank lets out another chuckle.

“Look at that. That’s cute.” His eyes flit from where your pelvis grinds against his back up to your face. “You can rock your hips all you want, baby, I know it’s not hitting the right spot.” 

“Fuck you,” you spit.

“Oooh,” he drawls, faux impressed. “So close, dolly. It’s ‘please, sir,’ remember? Think you can say that for me?”

Frank snaps his hips harder, once, a clear taunt, and your brows furrow at the jolt of pleasure. A soft whine escapes you— not quite a syllable— you just barely manage to swallow it down.

“P—“ he mocks in the same pitch as your pathetic sound, mirroring your expression, urging you to speak with another snap of his hips, “Please—“

“Please, sir!” You finally gasp out. Frank’s grin turns deadly. 

“Good girl. Such nice manners.”

[abbotsmyhabit]

pope cody who’s carrying literally everything you brought for your day at the beach together: the umbrella, cooler, chairs, bag stuffed with blankets and towels and sunscreen. and you, his empty handed, menace of a girlfriend quietly whining, “andy why aren’t you holding my hand?” and the look of genuine distress on his face as he turns to you makes you drop your little act immediately. “i’m just teasing, my love.” but he’s already shuffling thing around in his arms until he frees his right hand, extending it towards you. you twist your fingers together squeezing his hand three times in a silent, little declaration, i love you, a squeeze for each word. he smiles, the message not lost on him, as he squeezes your hand three times back.

[lostalioth]

— ᴛᴡᴏ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ᴅᴏᴠᴇs ོ⋆.˚

pairing: s1!andrew ‘pope’ cody x fem!reader

premise: when pope comes home from prison to find you with a 2 year old little girl on your hip that looks an awful lot like him, he is determined to figure out if she is his. she has to be, right?

warnings: little angst & fluff, smut | 18+, more lore than smut oops, fresh outta prison pope [definitely ooc], ex gf!reader but they weren’t exactly ‘official’ , reader has a unnamed kid, nicknames [little dove, angel], unprotected sex + pope cums fast, not proofread!

requested! | 3.5k wc

You are Andrew's very first thought when he's no longer trapped between those 4 cold gray walls and bars. You were his every thought when he was in as well if he's being honest — He so desperately wants his first stop now that he's out to be your house. However he's not as sure as he used to be that you'll even open your door to him. 

Wearing a polo with his shitty grown out prison buzz cut is not the way by far he wants you to see him after 3 years away either. He wants to look more a bit more presentable and bring a peace offering of flowers or something if you even do let him in. So he settles on heading 'home' first. Not his apartment that he has no idea what his family even did with while he was away but Smurfs. 

The Cody house is full of more surprises when he expected to be met with even with the years away.

For one you're here but also, he learns that the only other person besides you who wholeheartedly genuinely loved him and let him be himself, his twin sister…is dead. Not that he expected Julia to magically be there to greet him home with his brothers but instead he finds her kid. Who is not only living at Smurf's but sleeping in his old room. J is not a lone new addition nor the only adolescent one, you have a child. 

A 2 year old beautiful little girl that is staring up at him wide eyed and confused with a small wrinkle in her brow as she clings to your leg when he joins the rest of his family in the living room.  You were frozen place half way to the kitchen to get her food or a drink he presumes when you finally speak up. "An- Pope you're home" you state the obvious in a half surprised yet half blank tone he can't quite read. He can't tell if that's what irritates him or the way you stopped yourself from calling him Andy in that sweet tone he missed so much. Before he can reply he is bombarded by his brothers, getting short hugs or a ruffle of his shorten hair with a barrage of "Welcome home" 's. His eyes are still stuck flicking between looking at your kid and your shocked face.

"Got out on good behavior" his answer is aimed half for you and half for the questions he is expecting from his family. "You, good behavior?" Craig chuckled lightly hearted-ly, Pope watches as you grimace a bit at the comment. Smacking his brother on the shoulder lightly Deran butts in, "Just glad to have you home brother" 

"Yeah, happy you're home…I-" you cough softly cutting yourself off, causing your daughter to briefly look up back towards you. "We all missed you" you speak up once again, hoping the slip up wasn't too obvious. With the way Andrew raises his eyebrows slightly in response you know it didn't pass him by. Really what did you expect from the man who learned to read every twitch, awkward shuffle and micro expression of your body language when you were 'together'. The two of you never exactly labeled it, and before you could give it that permanent tangible title Pope desperately wanted, he was locked up. But as he is readjusting he's noticing all the same ticks and small signs of your body that mean you are nervous. 

"Yeah? And who all is we?" He prompts, finally addressing the little elephant in the room that is tracking his movements in the same way he used to do with new people as a kid. Her bright eyes watch as he squats infront of her to get on her level like he typically would do with Lena when he tried to reason with her to eat vegetables before ice cream. As you are telling Pope her name, he finally fully takes in her face now that he is eye to eye with her. She hardened her eyes a bit, clearly weary of this strange man infront of her and he can't help but smile a bit, she clearly has your personality. At first look her face mirrors yours and it makes his heart twist…almost all of her scrunched up face expect…her eyes. 

He still has the number of your eyelashes mesmerized, the shape of your lids, the color of your iris…all of it. She certainly has your eye color but the shape more resemble his and maybe even so does her little nose? Maybe his lack of sleep locked up is getting to him…there's no way you were pregnant with his kid when he went away. The math is there but you would've told him. Right? With the way she so clearly resembles a mini you, only solidified to him that she really is your child and Pope doesn't exactly know what to do with that. He went away and you started a family seemingly without him. 

"Well I'm Andrew" he greets the little girl, putting his hand out albeit awkwardly as he tried to ignore the stares he feels from his family as if he's grown a second head. "I'm-"

"He's Lena's uncle" you fill for him, and he doesn't know what he'd prefer you to say but for some reason it isn't that. Having confirmation on who he is she finally greets him, shyly grabbing his pointer finger in her little hand and shaking it. "Hi Andew" she smiles softly at him, missing the r sound when she says his name and it takes a way a bit of the sting of your label for him. 

Pope is slowly adapting to being back home, sleeping on Smurfs couch instead of his apartment since his family decided it made more sense to get rid of it. He still doesn't understand that one…But as he is adapting he is watching, watching you and your daughter mostly. You, your daughter and his youngest brother…Deran. Who according to his mother is the father. 

He tried his hardest to school his expression when he asked that afternoon in the kitchen while you played in the pool with the little ones. Your daughter clinging to you with floaties on as she tried her hardest to splash Lena but she could only make small splashes. Her wet hair under the summer sun giving off an auburn hue that only further confuses him when his eyes flick that way briefly. The girls little squeals as well as your own flood inside from the backyard and his chest only aches more. He didn't want it to show how it made him feel to Smurf when she told him that, especially when he could feel her studying his face for a crack in the surface. His throat is dry and he's not confident his voice wont come out broken so all he could manage to get out was a head nod, and she seemed to accept that as enough because she went back to making everyone lunch. She must chalk it up to him being tired and he's grateful.

Deran…Deran…Deran…

Andrew isn't mad, you deserve to be happy so does his brother but he doesn't know exactly what he feels. He can't stop himself from staring at the three of you, trying to spot Derans features on the girl and he can't. All he sees in her is you and him. He watches that afternoon waiting on his youngest brother to kiss your head or your lips, put a hand to your back, brush the wet hair sticking to your cheek off. Hold your little girl, pet her head, kiss her cheek, something…and he doesn't. Beyond the basic level of affection and touch the two of you have shared long before Pope went away — a soft nudge to Derans shoulder, his hand to your shoulder, or at most a short hand hold when you drag him inside or a hug when you leave. Deran hardly touched you that day. Besides your daughter getting a hug goodbye as well, he doesn't give her much affection. He doesn't act as if he is the father of your child.

Maybe he's projecting and thinking of how he would act when he had you. He could hardly keep his hands to himself you often had to pry them off you when you needed to get up or move. He might just be thinking about how he would never let go of you nor your daughter if she is…was his. His brother must just be more reserved with his affections is what he tells himself. But when he doesn't sleep that night. Pope can't help but think there's more chemistry between half the damn animals in the documentary he watches then between you and his brother. 

He also can't help thinking there's still more chemistry between you and him then you and his brother. The way you lock eyes with him as he protectively watches over you and your daughter and give him a little smile. He's determined to get to the bottom of it so that at least it will stop bothering him. He's given the perfect opportunity when as usual his rowdy brothers throw a party and you attend. 

Andrew's been watching you float around the house and when you waltz down the hall towards the bathroom, he seizes his opportunity. Pushing off from his spot on the couch surrounded by people he doesn't know high and drunk off their ass he follows you. With his large stride he catches up quickly, just before you can shut the door behind you his large palm stops it. "And-" you are cut off by the loud sound of him slamming the door shut behind him when once the two of you are inside. "Pope what the hell are you doing?" You exclaim as he invades your space. 

"Is she really fucking Deran's?" He demanded as he walks closer and closer til your back hits the wall. His voice isn't loud enough nor the bathroom door thick enough to silence the sounds of the party flooding down the hall. You fane stupid, "Who?" As you put a hand up to stop him getting any closer. "Who-" he groans and tries to ignore the heat your touch send through his body, you hadn't touched him since he got home. He didn't realize how bad he missed it, he hopes you don't notice you haven't taken your hand away. 

"Your daughter. Is she really Deran's?" His voice not any calmer but quieter this time around he asks. "Who else's would she be?" You continue to beat around the bush, head down as you start to fidget with the hem of your dress. Your dress that Pope didn't fail to notice either even if he was trying not to with the way it perfectly hugged your body. He's also certain if you even leaned forward an inch the bottom of your ass would peak out. "Mine…" he whispers finally making you meet his eyes as he continues on "Is she mine?" He pleaded, more desperation lacing his voice then he intended. With the wet puppy eyes he is giving you as he waits on your answer you concede "Yes, she's yours" you sigh. He lets out a small broken sound in either relief or pain, you don't know.

"Why…why?" Is all he can get out but you seem to understand his question. "I knew you'd leave everything behind to be with us, and Smurf would just about kill you before letting that happen" your head hangs low again, eyes glued to your hand still pressed to the top of his chest, you let it fall a little. Pope's hand itches to grab your wrist and stop you from pulling it off but then you grab hold of his hand and run your thumb across the back of his hand as your fingers intertwine. "Then you went away before i could even tell you" you whisper lowly. 

Using his free hand he softly pushes your head up so you look at him by grabbing your chin with his pointer finger and thumb. "Why let her think she was Deran's?" It's the last question weighing on his mind, he's fairly certain you aren't dating his brother so he's a bit confused. "Smurf let me still come around when you got locked up" you start to explain, eyes watering a bit as you recall the memories of the lonely feeling that ate you alive. Pregnant and alone without the one person you wanted around. "Let me hang around and even sleep in your room for whatever reason, think she liked seeing me so miserable" you laugh softly but the idea of that only makes Pope grimace. "And well i couldn't bring myself to let go of the last piece of you i had so as i got more noticeably pregnant, Deran and I came up with the plan to say the baby was is" He nods, his face soften once again as he resisters that it was his brothers own way of protecting you from their mother and he's grateful. "It was a little easier way of explaining why she came out looking like a Cody, then to tell her about me and you" 

"You know she looks more like you than me, little dove" he chuckles softly in attempt not noticing his slip up of using his old nickname for you. Your breath hitches in your throat, "Missed you so much, promise I'm gonna give you two the world alright? I can deal with Smurf alright?" He is leaning forward as he babbles on, his eyes hardened not in anger or caution but in determination. "I'm here now and im not going anywhere" his thumb holding your chin mindlessly reaches up to brush over your bottom lip out of habit. "Not gonna let anything happen to either of my girls" 

You can't help the shakey huff you let out in response to hearing him claim you finally. "Pope" you moan softly when he leans even closer and his breath fans over your parted lips. "Andy" he whispers in correction as he inches closer, "What?" You sputter out, eyes darting between his and his lips that hovered over yours. "Andy" he growls lowly making heat shoot down your spine, your hands grabbing at the loose fabric of his shirt by his stomach, not knowing yet if you are trying to pull him closer to stop him. "Call me Andy again please" he begs, voice low. The chatter and chaos of the party outside the bathroom drowning out as you breathe out in time with his breathes in. "Please…angel" he pleads one last time, mouth now lightly pressed to yours. With a sickly sweet whine you comply "Andy…" your breathing picking up as the sound of it finally leaves your lips. Pope has never really cared to be called Andrew by anyone but his sister once he became Pope. When she left no one else did until you and somewhere along the way it morphed into that little endearing nickname that made his chest hurt. It rattles around and replays in his head as his lips finally smash against yours for the first time in years. 

"Andy" you repeat this time through a moan muffled in his mouth as you kiss back with just as much unrestrained yearning and love that he pours into it. Kissing you so hard he might as well be trying to bruise your lips, tongue slipping in to lick into your mouth. The warm muscle sliding around your own and winning the fight of dominance in an instant with the way your body melts against him. Your hands pawing at his chest and arms trying to tug him closer as the kiss intensifies. "Missed you 's much little dove fuck" he repeats his previous sentiment through a grunt as his own hands land on your waist before sliding behind you down to your ass, using that as leverage to tug your body against his. 

"Fuck…missed to you too Andy" you purr into his mouth, body heating up with the feeling of his poorly contained bulge pressed to your front. "Show me how bad you missed me sweet boy" you tease when you finally pull away a bit from the make out, saliva still connecting your lips. Pope whines a bit at the loss but recovers quickly when your hands trail under his shirt and scratch at his stomach. He slips his knee between your legs to part them, pressing his knee up against the growing wet patch in your panties. 

Your hips having a mind of their own grind down on his thigh, making a small cocky smirk form on his face. "As bad as i want to make you cum on my thigh angel…" he huffs out like it's painful for him to stop you, "I also haven't been inside you In threeyears" he pants out as his hands drift down to the bottom of your dress to hike it up, moving his leg so he can pull your soaked panties down til they hit your knees. Helping him along with frantic hands you unbuckle his belt, unbutton his jean and yank them with his boxers half way down his thighs. When his cock springs free and lightly smacks his stomach you let out a small whine at the sight. Tip reddened and leaking pre-cum, the vein you used to trace with your tongue and make Pope finish in minutes running down the shaft. Grabbing your waist he effortlessly spins you around and presses his large hand between your shoulder blades. Pushing your body to press your chest to the bathroom wall, your back forming an arch as his other hand grabs at your hip to keep your ass in place as he kicks your feet to spread your legs further apart. "Just as obedient as I remember" he coos softly under his breathe as if the words weren't meant for you. 

Gripping himself at the base he parts your slick soaked folds with his tip, collecting and coating his cock in the wetness to act as lube. "Please" you pant out when he catches on your clit, turning your head to look back over your shoulder at him and fluttering your lashes as he peels his gaze away from your lower half to meet your lust filled glazed over eyes. "And just as impatient" he adds on to his earlier statement with a short chuckle, before thrusting forward to push all the way inside to the bottom inch by inch. Little pants and whines slip past your lips the further your sex stretches around him to accommodate his thick cock. 

His head falling back in a choked gasp once completely buried inside when your pussy clamps down around him. "Oh fuck" he hisses out, slowly pulling his hips back to pull out, thrusting back inside fast and hard. "Feel as fucking good i remember too Angel holy shit" he cries out as his hands tighten their grip on your body. Using that as leverage he pulls your body away before slamming your back down on his cock as he pushes forward. "Andy!" You cry out in a loud wanton moan that bounces off the tile of the bathroom walls. As he is shushing you Pope presses you further against the wall, forcing your ass poke out more and push against his hips. 

His large hand comes around to cup over your mouth, "As good as you sound little dove" he begins, his pace not flattering and only speeding up as his tip practically hits your g-spot on every thrust up. "And trust me you sound soooo fucking gooood angel" he coos, dragging his vowels near the end as he leans down to kiss at your shoulder softly. His hips slowing their pace and flattering a bit. "Don't want some nosy party goer to come knockin' cause they hear you screaming for me"

 

He lets out a shaky breathe at the way your ass pushes back against him, eyes falling down to watch as you start fucking your self back on his cock. "Fuck- wait wait" he sputters out, strings of curse words whispered under his breath as that thread in the pit of his stomach snaps fast. Grabbing onto you to stop you before your cunt can milk him even more. 

"Already Andy?" You giggle softly as he presses his forehead to your back, panting softly "Fuck 'm sorry angel, it's been awhile alright…" he grumbled, rubbing at your hip as he regains a bit of his composure. "we'll get your stamina back up it's okay Andy" you tease, wiggling your ass against him causing another whine and whispered curses to fill your ears. 

! didn’t name the child bc I didn’t wanna run the risk of picking a name and it being the name of someone reading yk? so y’all can chose whatever name you want. also somehow i like everything i wrote for this expect the smut idk my brain couldn't do it and i hate that part so idk how i feel about this.

LOOKING FOR MORE POPE? HERE ꩜ .ᐟ

[vigildante]

bob reynolds x afab!reader (cw: cockwarming, no gendered pronouns for reader)

Thinking about… Bob Reynolds, your sunny boy who immediately blushes all over, breath stuttering just from wanting to be close with you. He approaches you, torturously slow because he still can't convince himself that you want him as much as he wants you. He just wants, wants and wants... Even if its just a look, a brush of your hand, your voice. He wants it all. Most of all, he just wants to be with you, all the time. Feel your presence wrap around him.

It makes him go insane, actually. He needs to be close to you. He craves it, deep inside his bones, the need to be close to you is constant. He yearns for your warmth. He needs to feel it in every part of his skin, including on his now full on hard cock.

So he gets closer, closer and closer. You let him. God, you always let him.

When he gets like this, when he is clearly uncomfortable under his skin, when every little thing seems to set him off, eyes twitching, fingers fidgeting, his sole solution is you. And you are painfully aware. He puts his hand on your hip, eyes searching everywhere but your face. He is shy when he wants this. Pulling you closer by the hip, chests now touching, you can feel he hardness of his cock through his sweats. He rests his head between your shoulder and neck, noses along it, inhaling your scent. He rubs his head on your neck, then your cheek like a pup, and honestly, it is endearing how much he loses himself in you. How he is so needy, so desperate.

He stops for a moment, putting his entire weight on you, and lets out a sound that is close to a whine. He whispers, quiet and small, "Can we... Can I... I need you, baby. Please."

He gets overwhelmed easily. You tease him about it, how he goes dumb, how he cannot form a sentence when he gets like this. But you know what he wants, you can feel it in his skin. You can feel it on your skin too, because you can feel the wetness on your underwear start to grow by the second. You can't resist him. "Yes, honey. Get comfortable for me, yeah? Be good about it."

He thanks you repeatedly, calls you his baby, and kisses your neck as he gets up a little. His hands start wondering under your t-shirt, and slowly starts to reach for your underwear. When he realizes you are wet, he groans loudly and curses under his breath. He palms himself through his sweats and after a moment he pulls it down, revealing his hard, weeping cock. His tip is flushed pink and shiny.

He is not going to last too long being still, you think to yourself. He loves being buried inside you, loves how you envelope him in your warmth, both inside you and in your arms. It soothes him, makes his head clearer, thoughts silent. But he always gets needy after a while, always.

He pumps his cock a few times, spreading his slick along his length. With his other hand, he touches your underwear where there is a wet spot and pants loudly, like a needy dog. He slips it to the side, reveals your aching and glistening pussy. The sight makes him bite his lip, stopping the embarrassing sounds he was going to let out.

"Come on, Bob. Don't make me wait." Your breaths were starting to come out shaky from the expectation. As much as Bob needs this, you need it too. You love seeing him this desperate for you, love keeping him inside you, filling you up, making you whole.

He apologizes a few times, and lowers his head to give you a kiss on the lips. You brush your hand along his curls, always loving the soft feel of his hair along your fingers. At the same time, you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, making you tense up momentarily. His cock slips, catches in your panties and slides over your hole to your clit. You exhale loudly, Bob groans at the same time, then quickly apologizes for it. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his bicep. "Honey..." Bob shakes his head, curls going around, face going redder, and ruts his hips again, this time entering you slow, so slow.

Your hole welcomes him gladly, he moans and grips your hips in a soft hold, head going to rest on your neck again. He buries himself in you, gently, feeling the warmth of your walls around his cock, relief going through his spine. When he is buried to the hilt, he sighs and puts his weight on your chest, body going loose. You start to pet his hair again, listening to his (and your own) breathing getting steady, melting together. He kisses, kisses and kisses your neck, lips constantly seeking your skin. He holds you closer, caging you in his unrelenting but gentle hold.

This is what he wants.

To be with you, to be one with you. He wants you to keep him inside forever, maybe live under your skin, wants you to own him, never let him go. It makes him feel safe, in a way, safe and wanted.

You know he is going to start moving soon, getting needy like a bad little pup. But you are going to keep him like this, as much as he wants. You know he deserves it.

a/n: heyy!! this too is an old work from me that i decided to post here again... hope yall like it!! i wonder if you miss bob as much as i do...? also how do you feel about the 3 pixels we got of him in the doomsday trailer? 🥲

[harrystylesyogurt]

baby don’t play about his button up!!!

[fairycosmos]

clicking not interested on something used to mean they stopped showing it to you

[abbotsmyhabit]

andrew cody who sneaks into the bathroom after staying over at your place to brush his teeth with his finger as usual and spots an unfamiliar green toothbrush in the little cup where your purple toothbrush has always sat. his throat immediately gets tight. he didn’t realize you were seeing other people. he certainly isn’t. and in a moment of hurt more than anger he grabs the green toothbrush and walks back out to your bedroom.

“what is this?” andrew says, holding up the toothbrush, as you rub your eyes and roll towards him with a groan.

“mm… good morning,” you hum, trying to wake up, “toothbrush,”

“whose toothbrush?” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you, trying not to sound desperate.

“yours,” you say, voice still scratchy with sleep.

“this isn’t mine,” andrew says.

“well, i guess technically not yet, yeah,” you sigh, sitting up and shifting closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, “you gotta use it first,”

andrew just sort of stares blankly at you and you finally wake up enough to catch on to what’s happening in that head of his.

“i got it for you,” you say, threading your fingers through his curls which have fluffed up with sleep, “for when you stay here,”

“you got this for me?” andrew blinks at you.

“well, i know it’s not the most romantic gift,” you smile, placing a kiss on his shoulder, exposed by his muscle tee, “but i thought it might be nice,” you mumble against his skin.

andrew drops the toothbrush on the bed next to him and takes your face in his hands, kissing you sweetly. you giggle against his lips, pulling yourself closer to him.

“thank you,” he says your name tenderly, forehead resting against yours.

“you’re so sweet,” you say, placing another quick kiss on his lips, “it’s just a toothbrush,”

“no- it’s-” andrew sighs trying to collect his thoughts, “it’s just nice that you thought of me,”

“well, i think about you a lot,” you smile.

“yeah?” he says, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“mhm,” you nod before leaning forward, peppering kisses to his neck softly, “i like you,” you murmur between kisses.

andrew sighs, his eyes fluttering closed, god he likes you so much. in a little burst he grabs you by your hips, lifting you around his waist as you grab the back of his neck with a giggle. he stands, swiping his toothbrush from the bed, carrying you to the bathroom.

“andrew,” you squeal, “what are you doing!”

“i gotta try out my new toothbrush,” he says, placing you gently on the counter next to the sink. he stands between you legs as the two of you brush your teeth, giggling and exchanging minty kisses. you both rinse, smiling almost shyly at one another before he passes you a little hand towel to wipe your mouth with.

“so…?” you say, resting your hands on the edge of the counter, leaning towards him, “i’d like the review for your new toothbrush,”

andrew just smiles at you, pushing further between your legs, resting his hands on your waist. he places a soft kiss on your lips, your mouths moving together slowly. he pulls you closer with a sharp tug, slipping his tongue past your lips, the sharp sweetness of peppermint dancing in your mouths.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you’re a sick fuck

[lacysribbon]