Why is Haunting Adeline Popular and Why do I write Dead Dove: Do Not Eat? Fanfic and The Plainclothes Ladies
I am a woman and a writer for dead dove and dark content. I just wanted to share my thoughts about why I write and what it means to me to be a creator for free smut. I can only speak on my experiences and why I like to write dark content or read it to explain that sexuality and consumption is different for everyone.
MENTIONS OF: DEAD DOVE CONTENT LIKE CNC, WATERSPORTS, AND DARK ROMANCE TROPES LIKE STALKING AND NON/DUB CON ARE IN THIS POST!
Dark content and dead dove do not eat work has become mainstream because of the active work of exploring the nuance of sexuality, language, and psychology. See exhibit A: Booktok is a space where women can openly connect with others: consensual non consensual, full non consensual, dubious consent, and other taboo content now appear in best sellers. You can overhear friends talking about it in aisles now, see it on Barnes and Nobles displays, or get it 20% off at Target during a quick grocery run. Why?
Since Fifty Shades of Gray, media picked up on the influx of fantasies but these fantasies don’t just happen with run of the mill men: sex transpires with brooding, mysterious studs or even literal monsters. I can only speak from my specific perspective as a woman especially as I approach my mid twenties, the time where a woman’s frontal lobe develops: I want to feel irresistable. Media shows so many bodies and every corner of social spaces shows bodies bordering perfection through medical intervention or a curated online presence. The female characters of dark romance novels are depicted as ordinary women stepping into uncommon situations to be pined after so intensely and becoming the center of their love interest’s world that the love interest will stop at nothing to have them, consensually or nonconsensually (consensual non consensual kink).
Kink is a word that evokes an image of extreme bondage, leather, leashes, breathplay, and biting. When reading smut, it removes the potential of actual adult actors being hurt or seeing the modified bodies of female stars that can further complicate the average woman’s sense of self (body image, issues with reaching orgasm, or not wanting to get ravaged the way on screen). Reading smut, especially fanfic, allows readers to see warnings and either click ‘keep reading’ or go elsewhere to find what we want. Reading a new concept doesn’t mean you want that to happen to you, especially with ‘x reader’ fanfiction; we aren’t in that universe but find the idea of being in it and being so desireable to a character that they pay us so much attention can scratch an itch.
Even women in relationships read it; writing and reading about fucking men in a universe they don’t exist doesn’t equate to feeling unfulfilled in reality but reaching out into a far off fantasy like the mary sue inserts we created in our youth: I could never be a witch in Harry Potter, a cat in Warriorcats, a troll in Homestuck, or a Pokemon trainer but we yearn for a world without boundaries where our wants are fulfilled and removed from the plain struggles we encounter in reality. You can love your husband, wife, girlfriend, boyfriend, partner, and love the sex you have while also reading smut. You don’t hate your life and the friends you have because you would love to be a soul reaper in Bleach and fight evil forces. You might love your mom or dad but wonder who your parent would be in Percy Jackson to be a demigod.
Wonder and pleasure are intertwined and smut happens to be a world you fall into as you grow up; exploring smut and your sexuality can help us picture what we want or what we want to try and put a safeword to it with someone you trust to try it with. Bucky Barnes probably would not do what Monsterphucker77 posted with breathplay or a gun to the asshole but it definitely doesn’t mean you want to be choked until you pass out or want a real gun pressed to your rectum but you can try it with a fake gun, a safeword, and consenting partner to fulfil the sexual needs you have safely.
It is a hard climate for fanfic writers for many reasons: people think they are entitled to your leisure writing hobby that we log into after our 9-5 and college night classes. Our work gets plugged into AI to get a faux, algorithmic version of our personal practiced and stylized writing, and people will accuse you of being a weird pervert for writing about something you DON’T think should happen in real life because the happenings are fiction and written so that no actresses get hurt and neither do you!
I’m not a psychology major but I can say: the fanfiction writers you follow or lurk on are real people who have held the door open for you, taken your order at a restaurant, scanned your items at checkout, guided you to items at a store, recommended guacamole to you in the freezer section at Trader Joe’s, lent you a portable charger, offered you gum, complimented your jacket, or pet your dog on a walk.
We just happen to write and read that we want to fuck a fictional character or being in a specific situation so we can be the pioneers of our own satisfaction and practice our fun hobby within the boundaries of a place where we tag and warn you to not view our profiles or read our work. We want you to safely consume what you want the same way the menu will warn you: “This has peanuts! This is spicy! This has gluten!” If you will have a reaction to it, we warn you and tag it dutifully: it isn’t good to expect people who can eat gluten, who love peanut butter, and who love spicy food to throw out all gluten products, stop making and selling crunchy or smooth peanut butter, and throw out our cayenne and paprika because you don’t like it. I’ll still make MY OWN food with extra paprika and you can decide to not own or eat paprika at all and it doesn’t make spice enjoyers evildoers when we tell you, “this is not something you like, but I like it so I will make it for myself with that. I’ll let you know if it’s spicy so you don’t take a plate and hurt your tongue!” If you CANNOT under any circumstances consume or be near peanut butter and the house you want to visit loves peanuts and peanut butter then don’t come in the house that says: “WE LOVE PEANUT BUTTER! EVERYTHING HAS PEANUT BUTTER! IF YOU HAVE A PEANUT ALLERGY YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR NOT COMING INTO THE PEANUT LOVER’S HOUSE!” We DON’T smear peanut butter on you or put it in your smoothie to get a giggle when you go into anaphylactic shock: we warn you about what we happen to craft and it is your decision to interact or not.
Now to discuss the very personal sexual turn ons people have that they write about in popular fandoms: it is a double edged sword with many questions to ask how or why a writer may write specific kink content and how they came to really like or enjoy that. Someone may have amazing writing but write about watersports a lot. I might not really want to get peed on but, when looking for fanfiction that is appropriately tagged with a warning that my fictional reader self will get peed on, I say, “Hey I don’t want to read that. I’m going to keep scrolling to find something else.”
For example on the complexity of sexuality and personal values: I hate being called a bitch because I feel it is deragatory and centered in degrading women. When I do something with the man I love, I know he loves me and cares about me even though I (for reasons unknown) like to be called a “stupid bitch” in bed. Sexuality is multidimensional and specific for every person: when we ask someone else to feel shame for their consensual pleasures, when are we allowed to feel pleasure ourselves without looking to someone we don’t know for their approval? When we ask someone to feel shame, we must then look into the world and realize that it is because lawmakers teach us that things require shame that don’t. Shame is not just about sex but is about ducking our heads to feel like our dopamine or serotonin reactions are inherently wrong when that chemical being released is not a chosen reaction.
Overall I want to say: Sharing is caring, we are taught that young, so there should not be shame when we make sure all parties who want to read it can read it and all parties who never want to read it ever also can make that choice. It is no one places to decide for a writer when they should be ashamed when we follow protocol to make sure we properly tag, when we create for free and for fun, and choose to share a part of our writing and self-exploration journey be it with 5 likes or 5000 reblogs.
there was no way you were this eager to fuck him of all people: your giddy demeanor and permanent smile had rubbed off on others, him the most after the divorce. almost as soon as he slipped off that ring, you slipped your hands into his shirt, soothingly rubbing circles into the soft tissues under his burning skin.
he - he probably shouldn’t be doing this…
“sh - shh, baby, y’re gonna wake up the whole town…” driving you home was supposed to be a favor, but you turned to give his a peck on the cheek, then your hand found his chest, then your lips found his, a shy peck, and then you were bouncing on his lap in the driver’s seat —
“sorry…! sorry…!” that cracking voice, desperate and out of breath, hips slipping up then down as you tried to take all of him, as much as gravity and your eager hole could take (he’d give everything you wanted, as much as you want, at any time). “just - just feel - ooh, ugh - so good…! I been - been wanting this since I met you… holy shit, you’re so good, you smell so good — you - you feel so good, Sammy —“ you babble, sinking down to let him bottom out to the hilt.
you feel it knock into that spot and go still, mouth open wide and eyes rolling back, the muscles of your pussy choking his dick between spasms. “baby, w-wait —“
the warmth inside, the way it twitches… it was euphoric, like the first hit of a narcotic. how were you supposed to go on like this, with only one load in you? the emptiness before him stuffing you then filling you up was adjacent to a hollow cavern. a missing piece.
your eyes regain sight as you glance down to where you’re joined, then back up to his flushed, wide-eyed face. a rosy tint blossoms under his freckles.
luv your dennis fics sm 🥹 congrats on 7.3k!! could you make 🥝 of whitaker? amy miller is sent to the hospital over something and reader is assigned as her anesthesiologist before the surgery, but finds out that whitaker is her emergency contact and they argue about it + the fact that whitaker keeps choosing amy over reader again and again when they’re already in a relationship 😣😣
AHH THANK YOU SO MUCH AND I LOVE DENNY
you went over your patients paperwork, amy miller, it wasn’t someone you wanted to be assigned to but being professional and doing your job is what you needed to do. you had already checked in on her, going over what you will do to put her to sleep for the colonoscopy.
it didn’t go unnoticed that your boyfriend was on the emergency contact list, you knew about him helping with her farm, you’d probably throw up if you had to hear another thing about him having to help his “friend” “oh i can’t come i have to help my friend” “i’m sorry im late i was helping amy” “amy make dinner so im not hungry” and you knew amy knew it too, you had a few interactions with her but you could see the way she acted.
it felt like minutes before amy was put into the recovery room, her anesthesia wearing off and you decided to personally come check on her and when you did she asked if dennis could come up. you smiled and nodded.
once you got down to the ED you felt like everyone’s eyes were on you, you never came down unless you wanted to chit chat. trinity and dennis were standing and looking at papers together.
“hey y/n” trinity nodded noticing you before dennis could, he looked up and smiled at you. you gave a small wave to trinity.
“dr. whitaker, amy miller is asking to see you in recovery on floor 2 room 14. oh and don’t worry nothings wrong considering you are on her emergency contact list”
dennis straightened his lips, “it’s not what it looks like-“
“what it looks like is that you’re more her boyfriend than you are mine, you wanna go play step daddy farm man then go do that and leave me out of it.” you sneered.
“y/n it’s really not- i just it’s a difficult situation, i mean” dennis trailed off.
“you wanted that, no one told you to do any of it and news flash you’re in a relationship with me, you might wanna get up there though, let’s not keep her waiting.” you smiled, about to turn on your heel to leave.
“and don’t come to my house after work, maybe if you ask robby you can just take the rest of the day off and go home with amy” you left. dennis tried to speak but was left with a dry mouth and no words.
ok im not going to let anything bother me bc im a mixed woman with brown skin and full lips and almond eyes and long black hair and a giant ass and im not gonna let it get to me bc im perfect and superior psychologically and intellectually and morally and it claps im noy letting it get to
summary: ryland has always taken things slowly, but that changes the moment he realises his sweet girl isn’t nearly as innocent as she seems… and that he rather enjoys it
warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, graphic description of sex, submissive ryland supremacy!, begging, glasses stay on during sex, desperate ryland, kind of humiliation?? (forcing ryland to talk dirty), dom-ish reader?? creampie, porn with semi-plot
Ryland had always been an early riser.
It wasn’t down to a specific discipline; it was just how his brain was wired. He woke before alarms, before the sun had fully shown itself. He liked being up just that little bit before the world had fully begun.
Years of teaching only sharpened the habit. He allowed himself to enjoy his morning coffee on the balcony, relished in the quiet of the classroom before the chaos started, allowing himself to just sit in peace for a little while longer. Quiet, he decided, was a luxury he would welcome, even if it came intermittently.
And today was Sunday.
It was a soft morning, lacking lesson plans and half-marked papers, no rushing to beat traffic or coax half-awake teenagers into caring about cell structure. Gentle sunlight poured in through the gap in the curtains, having nowhere it needed to be, much like him for a change.
You were still curled up next to him, still asleep, your breathing slow and even. He daren’t move an inch.
His arm was starting to tingle slightly, and he was itching to reach for his glasses on the bedside table, but he remained still. He could see you well enough like this—soft around the edges, a tad blurry. It was almost like a photograph on film, one that had not quite come into focus. It was an image that would be burned into his brain for mornings to come, and afternoons, and evenings, for that matter.
He feared that if he moved to sharpen the image, it might break the moment entirely. He remained still.
You’d probably tell him off, catching him in the act. He would probably think it was odd if the roles were reversed, watching one sleep, but he couldn’t feel guilt if he tried.
His attention always seemed to bend toward you; the rest of the world would have to wait a while.
The sunlight caught your face just right, tracing along your cheekbone, softening at the curve of your mouth. You were wearing one of his old t-shirts, and it swallowed you slightly, slipping off one shoulder as he tried not to stare at the bare skin.
He thought, not for the first time, that you might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
Which, scientifically speaking, was ridiculous. He could list a dozen scientific phenomena that objectively outclassed a sleepy human in borrowed clothing. Mitoses. Photosyntheses. The rings of Saturn.
But you being here was slowly dismantling his entire sense of scale on the matter.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, careful not to shift the mattress, as he recalled the previous night.
The previous night.
He had been so damn nervous.
Months of careful courting, getting to know you piece by piece and always eager for more. Shared dinners that stretched far too long because neither of you wanted to leave. Walking you home under streetlights, where conversations continued to flow so easily.
Sometimes you let him steal a kiss—or three—with him always pulling away at the last minute, insisting that he wanted to take his time. He wanted to do it right.
He was old-fashioned—not in the way people tend to mean now—but in that he believed in taking his time.
You just mattered to him. More than he cared to admit. That, tied with the fact that he was years out of practise, meant that this was even more rare.
He could not mess this up by rushing anything.
Not when the first girl he had the guts to ask out in years laughed at his terrible jokes, let him ramble through every scientific theory that caught his interest, not when your cheeks warmed at his soft compliments—especially not when his did the exact same.
He was a goner from day one. Every time he got home, he felt like he was floating. In high school all over again, with the pretty girl deciding to sit next to him in class for a change. You didn’t shy away from his personality, didn’t shrink. The knowledge that he had not ruined anything by just being himself.
He knew how easily it could happen. It had before—people brushing him off as distant, too lost in his own head to be taken seriously. He’d be damned if he let you slip through his fingers, not when you understood him so effortlessly.
So he hadn’t rushed, hadn’t pushed. There was no assumption of anything physical, no reaching for more than you were willing to give. But he couldn’t stop last night, not when you had been so certain, so soft.
It was natural with you, easy in ways intimacy never quite came to him.
All the nerves he had been holding in his stomach seemed to quiet. How could he be nervous when your legs pulled him deeper? Looking up at him with those eyes of yours as you asked him so nicely?
He knew he would give you anything you asked for in that moment—everything, actually. He’d be a fool not to.
You shifted then, barely more than a breath, but it pulled his attention back instantly. Your hand slid across his chest, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of his shirt as you turned, instinctively, toward him.
He froze, every muscle going still on instinct, like any movement might break whatever delicate, unconscious decision you were making. He could feel your weight against him, solid and comfortable. Like this wasn’t new for you, even if it was for him.
He hoped that, in time, it would no longer feel so novel to him. The fact that you were still here come morning was all the reassurance he’d done his job right.
You moved slightly against his arm again. Though it wasn’t like before, your unconscious shift still shrouded in sleep. Now you move with purpose, slowly stretching your limbs as you surface, waking in layers. Your hand slid across, your body pressing a little closer as you relaxed, settling into him once more.
He was perfectly still, not wanting to disturb you further.
Your eyes blinked open, still heavy with sleep. It only took you a few seconds of looking at him before your expression softened.
There you are.
“Hi,” you murmured, almost shy, not fully awake just yet.
“Hi,” he echoed, just as soft.
His eyes traced your face again, before he finally moved his hand. His fingers traced gently along your shoulder as you began to focus on him. Your gaze sharpened slightly as you assessed him. He seemed far more cognizant, and your lips curved into a gentle smile.
“...were you watching me sleep?”
The question, entirely fair and completely reasonable. The answer, however, deeply incriminating.
“…no?” he tried, failing miserably.
You uhuffed out a sleepy laugh, barely more than a breath as you nudged him with your foot, your smile widening. “Liar.”
You got him there.
He offered you a helpless shrug before leaning over, trying to salvage his dignity. He reached blindly for the bedside table before his fingers found his glasses. He slipped them on, pushing them up the bridge of his nose, the soft image of you coming in a little clearer. Both were equally lovely to wake to.
“Well,” he said, “in my defence—you weren’t exactly in focus.”
You laughed properly at that, your nose scrunching as you gave up on berating him. You curled yourself into his collarbone, forehead brushing lightly against his skin as you nuzzled closer to him, still amused. His arms enveloped you as they were itching to do all morning.
“Did you sleep okay?” you asked, voice slightly muffled.
“Perfectly,” he replied, although to him, it was a silly question. Even if he’d barely slept, the simple act of you being right beside him would have been perfection.
“Good,” you hummed.
Your body pressed more firmly against his, your leg sliding up just enough to tangle with his, your hand tracing absently along his chest in the soft morning glow
His breath hitched.
The warm feel of you, the way your soft thighs slide higher between his, the press of your breasts against his ribs under that oversized t-shirt…
His mind was already dipping into the memories of last night.
Images flickered behind his eyes in vivid flashes: the way you’d pulled him in with your legs wrapped tight around his hips, the breathy little sound you’d made when he finally sank into you, the way you’d looked up at him with those same sleepy, trusting eyes.
He’d tried so hard to be gentle, to take his time as he’d promised himself, but you’d been so warm and wet and eager, rocking up to meet every careful thrust until his control had frayed at the edges.
He needed to get his mind out the gutter—fast. There was no way you’d be up for that so early, but his mind circled back to your skin in the pale moonlight.
Your draping over him was not helping the situation; his body was reacting faster than his brain could. His cock stiffened fast, thickening against the soft give of your thigh, the thin fabric of his boxers doing nothing to hide how quickly he was hardening for you.
Oh, come on—seriously?
He tried to distract himself, but you felt it immediately. He knew you did, because the corner of your mouth curved against his skin in the tiniest, most wicked little smirk.
Whatever he was in for, he didn’t know, but that expression didn’t put him at ease at all.
Your lips brushed his jaw first—deliberate kisses that trailed down to the sensitive spot just under his ear. Then lower, along the line of his collarbone, slow and open-mouthed, like you were tasting the morning on him. When you pushed your knee up even higher, pressing right against the hard line of his cock, he twitched visibly beneath you.
A helpless sound slipped out of his throat before he could stop it.
You breathed a quiet laugh against the side of his neck, warm air ghosting over skin, and it did terrible, wonderful things to him. His hips jerked once, involuntarily, chasing the pressure of your thigh; he couldn’t help himself.
“Excited this morning, hm?” you teased, voice still husky with sleep but laced with mischief.
This was cruel.
He huffed, but it melted straight into a groan when your mouth found the side of his neck again—this time harder, lips and teeth and tongue working over the same spot until his toes curled against the sheets.
“I—it’s biology,” he managed, voice rough, “waking up in bed next to a pretty girl, it’s not—”
Your teeth sank gently into his neck, right where his pulse hammered, and the rest of the sentence shattered. His arm shot out across your back, hand gripping your shoulder hard.
In one smooth movement, you swung a leg over and straddled him, settling your weight right over the aching ridge of him. The thin layers between you doing absolutely nothing to dull the sensation.
You looked down at him, all doe-eyed and teasing and absolutely loving how flustered he was getting. You were still laced with sleep, but your lips curled as you knew exactly what your were doing to him.
“You think I’m pretty?”
God, you were gonna be the death of him.
His head was so foggy as you grinned down at him, loving the reaction he was giving you. Last night was all chaste kisses and whispered words.
Now, you were looking at him like you wanted to devour him.
All he could do was nod up at you, glasses slightly crooked, hair a mess against the pillow.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed, voice wrecked already, “like you—like you even have to ask.”
The flush that bloomed across his cheeks was beautiful and your grin grew even wider. You wasted no time in rewarding him with a slow drag of your hips against his, rubbing along his full length through the fabric, the friction pulled a sharp groan out of his chest.
You took the opportunity to lean down, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Ry…” you teased as you rocked against him again.
His hips bucked up into you, trying to chase the heat and pressure like his body had a mind of its own.
He could barely think when your thighs pressed against his hips so deliciously. He didn’t trust himself to speak clearly, worried his voice would crack further.
“T—top drawer,” he managed, his words stumbling out between quick breaths.
You pulled back with the proudest smile, clearly pleased with yourself. You pressed a gentle kiss against his lips as you leaned over to grab your reward. You stretched toward the bedside table, letting the hem of his t-shirt ride up your thighs, allowing him the devastating view of your bare skin.
You chuckled when his breath hitched at the display. He was far too easy to rile up—you loved it.
The drawer slid open with a quiet rattle. You reached in, fingers closing around the familiar box of condoms before giving it a small shake.
His stomach dropped.
Goddamn it.
He groaned, cursing himself repeatedly in his head. This was mortifying. One hand dragged down his face as reality hit him.
After so long without anyone, he barely touched the damn things. Not like he was getting anything close to action these days.
He should have remembered—there had only been two left yesterday, and you’d made such sweet, perfect use of both of them last night. You’d asked so sweetly if you could say, if that was alright, and then one thing led to another in the glow of the bedside lamp.
He should have been better prepared—god, if only—but he had been selfish last night. He gave in. He wanted to memorise every sound you made, every way your body fit against his, every breathless call of his name that was suddenly flashing through his mind once more.
Now, he would be facing the consequences.
“I–I’m sorry,” he started immediately, voice thick with apology, eyes wide behind his glasses. “I should have—I wasn’t expecting—I’m an idiot, I—”
You shushed him gently, stopping his rambling. You leaned down close again, forehead almost resting against his.
You didn’t look upset, which was a good thing?
With a gentle voice, so filled with affection despite its teasing edge, so much so that he never would have guessed the filthy words that left your mouth.
“I’m protected, Ry,” you placed one hand on his jaw, keeping your lips to his ear. “If you want… we can still…”
Surely you didn’t mean….
It took every single scrap of willpower not to combust right then and there. His brain scrambled as he caught your insinuation.
He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it—of course he had.
He was a man, and he was stupidly, helplessly in love with you. And, at the end of the day, biology was biology. Late at night after those long dinners, goodnight kisses that left him aching in his car, his mind wandered to the most primal thought: what it would be like to feel you. All of you.
No barriers—nothing. Just the soft and slick feeling of your skin against his.
He’d always shoved the thought away, called himself delusional, told himself it was far too big of an ask to impose on anyone, let alone you.
He’d never done that before. Not once. Not with the handful of careful, cautious flings he’d had years ago. Nothing this intimate. Nothing that held like handing you every last piece of him.
But you were offering it so willingly. Sitting all pretty on his lap like it would be a pleasure for not just him. His cock gave a helpless throb against you at the mere idea.
You chuckled at his reaction, you knew the effect you had on him.
He was nodding before he could stop himself—quick, frantic bobs of his head, glasses struggling to stay still, mouth dry.
You smiled that little smile and placed two fingers under his chin, tilting his head and forcing his dazed eyes to meet yours.
“I need words, Ry,” you whispered as your thumb brushed his bottom lip. “Can’t do it unless you tell me yes.”
You were going to be the absolute death of him.
“Yes,” he rasped, voice cracking. “Yes, I want—but only if you do. Please don’t feel as though—I would never—”
You quieted him with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, cutting off the rambling before it could spiral.
“I want to,” you murmured against his lips. “Wanna feel you everywhere.”
The groan that tore out of him was completely broken and involuntary. If that’s what you wanted, that’s what he’ll give you. Gladly.
“I’m gonna be on top, okay?” you ask, but it isn’t really a question.
He forces himself back to reality, to the fact that you are going to be on top of him. That the fantasy of you riding him is unfolding right in front of his eyes. You give him a second, a small window to object as you pull your underwear down slowly—like you think he might. Like that’s even remotely a possibility right now.
You smiled down at him as you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, eyes locked on his, a knowing smile playing on your lips that made his stomach flip.
He watched, utterly transfixed, as you tugged the fabric down his hips with aching slowness. His cock sprang free, painfully hard and already leaking at the tip. The cool morning air hit his overheated skin, he hissed through his teeth.
“Eager, hm?” you murmured as your fingers brushed against his thigh.
He opened his mouth, some half-formed protest already forming, but your hand wrapped around him before he could get a single syllable out. The sudden pressure of your palm stole every thought. His hips jerked up into your grip on instinct, and all that came out was a broken, breathless babble.
“Never—never done it like this before,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “Not—not bare, I mean—”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, your expression softening in a heartbeat.
Your hand stayed right where it was, stroking him, thumb circling the slick head in a way that made his vision blur at the edges. For one terrifying second he thought you were going to stop, that the weight of being someone’s first for something this intimate might be too much.
That maybe you’d decide he was too much.
But your cheeks flushed darker, your eyes gleaming with something possessive, and your fingers tightened just a fraction around his shaft.
“Does this mean… I’m the first?”
The thought was dizzying. You were going to be the first one to give this to him, the ultimate trust. The idea sent a jolt down to your lower belly, your breath getting heavier in your lungs as you looked at his dishevelled expression.
You stroked him again, base to tip, torturously unhurried.
“Y–yes,” he nodded. “You’re the first.”
He could barely get the words out, your hand distracting him from anything coherent.
“Hm,” you hummed, low and fond. You leaned over him until your breath ghosted over his lips. Your hand never stopped its slow, devastating rhythm on his cock.
“Better make it worth it then, don’t I?”
He was gone.
Helplessly gone.
A wrecked sound tore out of his throat and his hands flew up to grip your thighs, fingers digging. His cock throbbed hard in your fist at the words, another bead of pre-cum sliding over your knuckles. He couldn’t even form a reply—just nodded frantically, cheeks burning crimson.
You sat up and peeled his old t-shirt up and over your head in one smooth motion. It dropped somewhere off the side of the bed. Ryland’s eyes went wide, pupils blown behind the lenses as he drank in the sight of you—bare, soft, perfect—straddling his hips. His mouth went dry. He stared at the swell of your breasts, the way your nipples had already tightened in the cool air, the gentle curve of your stomach, the place where your thighs pressed warm against his.
You caught the way he hesitated, his hands hovering like he was afraid to ruin the view, and you laughed again.
“You can touch me,” you said, voice warm. “I want you to touch me.”
Gladly.
His hands found you instantly, reverent and greedy. Palms sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, then cupping them, feeling the goosebumps rise across your skin.
He leaned up on his elbows, mouth following the path of his hands—open-mouthed kisses pressed to your sternum, your ribs, the soft underside of one breast before he dragged his tongue over your nipple and sucked gently.
It was clumsy with his adrenaline, but you still sighed, arching into him. Your hand threading into his messy hair and scratching at his scalp in that way that made his eyes flutter shut.
He kept going, lost in the taste of your skin, the little sounds you made, even as his cock ached and leaked against you.
He could have stayed there forever, worshipping every inch of you, but you gently tugged his head back by the hair. He hissed at the sting, glasses fogged and crooked, eyes dazed and glassy as he stared up at you.
Please, do that again.
You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his flushed cheeks.
“Lie back.”
He obeyed quickly, falling back against the pillows, hands still locked on your hips.
He almost felt bad, the way you took over so easily. Surely he could be doing more, giving you more. But the thought faltered under the weight of the look in your eyes.
There was something in your expression that made his stomach flip, something that felt almost dangerous in the gentlest way. Like you were about to take him apart piece by piece.
The moment he was flat, you wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock again and gave him one long, torturously slow stroke.
“Please—” he squirmed beneath you, hips twitching.
You smiled down at him, wicked and sweet.
“If I’m the first one to have you like this, Ry,” you purred, stroking him again, even slower, “I gotta take my time.”
The look on his face must have been devastating, because your eyes darkened with pure satisfaction. He whined when you kept teasing him, thumb pressing right under the head on every upstroke, spreading the slickness until his cock glistened.
“This is cruel,” he gasped, voice cracking, head tipping back against the pillow. His thighs trembled under you. “Sweetheart, please—I can’t—”
He needed to feel you—now.
You took pity on him then, because he looked so desperate, so beautifully wrecked beneath you.
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Thank God.
You shifted your weight, guiding the flushed, angry tip of his cock to your entrance. The first brush of wet heat against him made his breath stutter.
“Oh—God—” he choked out as you started to sink down.
The slide was slow, deliberate, and devastating. Nothing between you. Just slick, perfect heat enveloping him inch by inch until you were seated fully on his cock, your ass flush against his hips, nothing separating you at all.
“Baby—I—”
He could feel everything. Every flutter of your walls, every tiny twitch and clench as you adjusted around him. The way your body welcomed him completely, hot and wet and so tight it made his head spin. His hands spasmed at your sides, fingers digging into the soft give of your hips. He watched, transfixed, as your eyes fluttered and rolled back for a second when you rocked your hips experimentally, your walls rippling around his bare cock.
“You feel that?” you asked, voice husky, one hand braced on his chest as you rolled your hips again, taking him even deeper.
“Yes—yes, I feel it,” he gritted out, the words ragged. “I feel all of you—it’s—”
Every nerve in his body was lit up, oversensitive and raw. Nothing could have prepared him for this.
All those nights he was alone, his cock in his hand as he felt guilty about what he was doing. Images racing through his head of you like this, raw, so beautiful on top of him.
All those half-hearted imitations didn’t come close to this bliss.
“I need you to move,” he begged. “Need you to move, sweetheart, please—”
He sounded almost pathetic as he pleaded with you.
You began to ride him, rising up until just the head of his cock kissed your entrance before sinking back down, taking every thick inch again. The wet, filthy sound of it filled the quiet room. His head fell back, a moan tearing from his throat as pleasure exploded behind his eyes like fireworks. Sparks shot down his spine, pooling hot and heavy in his gut.
He watched you through half-lidded eyes, completely blissed out—your head tipped back, lips parted on soft little gasps and moans that made his cock throb inside you, the way your breasts bounced with every roll of your hips, the way your thighs flexed as you rode him like you owned him.
And you did. In that moment, you absolutely did.
“Fuck, Ry,” you breathed, leaning forward so your hands braced on his chest, nails digging in just enough to sting. “You’re so deep—”
Fuck, he knew. He could feel it.
Every thick inch of him buried to the hilt inside you, the slick, velvety drag of your walls hugging him so perfectly with nothing between you. It was overwhelming, obscene, the wet heat of your pussy swallowing him whole and clenching like it never wanted to let go. His hips snapped up on pure instinct, chasing that devastating friction, but you were the one in control, grinding down slow, making sure he felt every single flutter.
You picked up the pace then, rising and sinking with purpose. He whimpered, the sound punched out of his chest as pleasure coiled tighter in his gut. His glasses were completely fogged now, the lenses useless, but he didn’t care. He could barely see straight anyway, too lost in the sight of you above him: flushed cheeks, lips parted.
You looked like sin in the morning sunlight, and he was helpless beneath you.
“Does it feel good?” you teased, voice breathy but dripping with satisfaction as you clenched around him on purpose, a rippling squeeze that made his cock throb hard inside you. “Can you feel it?”
Can he feel it?
You were killing him.
He didn’t know where this new, wicked confidence had come from—last night you’d been soft and sweet and letting him set the pace, but now you were riding him like you owned every inch of his body.
He wasn’t complaining. Not even a little. If anything, the contrast made his head spin faster.
“Yes—yes, god, yes,” he babbled, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. “Feels so good—been thinking about it for weeks—”
The confession slipped out before he could stop it. Your movements slowed instantly, dragging to an aching crawl until you were barely rocking on his cock, just enough to keep him throbbing and leaking inside you but nowhere near enough to satisfy.
You looked down at him, one hand sliding up to cup his jaw, fingers firm as you forced his blue, glassy eyes to meet yours.
“Weeks?” you echoed, voice soft but edged with pure delight.
He was panting, chest heaving, sweat already beading at his temples. He nodded frantically, too far gone to lie. His cock gave a helpless twitch inside you at the way you were looking at him—like you wanted to devour every filthy secret he’d ever had.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you rolled your hips with excruciating slowness.
“Come on, don’t be shy now,” you whispered, voice dripping honey and sin. “How much have you thought about this? Be honest.”
This was mortifying.
He groaned, cheeks burning hotter than he thought possible. This wasn’t fair. This was cruel. You were sitting so pretty on his cock, pussy wrapped tight around him, and now you were pulling dirty confessions out of him like it was nothing.
He wasn’t good at this—words always tangled on his tongue around you at the best of times, and now, with you clenching around him on every slow drag, it was torture. Pure torture.
“I—I don’t know, I just—ugh, please move faster,” he begged, voice cracking, hips twitching uselessly beneath you in a desperate attempt to get more friction.
You stopped moving completely. Just sat there, warm and full of him, smiling down at him with that innocent little tilt of your head that did not match the filthy way you were keeping him buried inside you.
“I’m not moving until you tell me,” you said sweetly, like you were asking him about the weather instead of demanding he spill every desperate fantasy he’d had about filling you up bare. "
His brain short-circuited. The contrast—your soft, almost shy tone against the way your pussy was still fluttering around his aching cock—was going to end him. He was so sensitive, every tiny shift of your body sending sparks shooting up his spine, his body drawing tight with the need to cum.
“Ah—okay—since the second date,” he gasped in a humiliated rush. “Just—please, honey—don’t stop—you’re killing me here—”
You had the nerve to giggle, the sound vibrating through your body and straight into his length. For a second, he thought you were going to lean back and finally ride him properly, but you just stayed there, smiling down at him like he was the most adorable thing you’d ever seen.
Just take pity on him already.
“Long time, huh?” you murmured, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, now we can do this whenever you want, Ry. Just gotta ask.”
Whenever he wants?
Christ.
He swore he was going to die. The casual promise in your voice sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through him.
You owned him. Completely.
You finally took mercy and started moving again, you rode him with purpose. You moaned his name, and he could barely contain himself.
He was so sensitive, every drag of your pussy around his bare cock sending him spiralling higher, the heat of you with nothing between you driving him out of his mind. He could feel everything—the way your walls squeezed, the slick slide of your arousal mixing with his, the way your thighs trembled against his hips.
“Fuck—” you groaned, voice so gone it broke him. You leaned down, pressing your forehead to his, eyes locked on his as you kept riding him deep and perfect. “Please, Ry?—Wanna feel you.”
The polite little plea combined with the filthy request shattered what was left of his control. He came with a shattered cry of your name, hips jerking up hard as he gripped your waist.
“Baby, I'm—”
The words tumbled out, even as his cock pulsed and throbbed, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside you. Wave after wave, more than he thought he had in him, flooding you until he could feel the slick mess of it already starting to leak out around where you were joined.
His whole body shook with it, oversensitive and wrecked, glasses slipping down his nose as his head tipped back against the pillow.
You kept moving through every pulse, milking him for everything he had, whispering soft praises against his mouth until the last weak spurt finally faded and he was left trembling beneath you, spent and panting and so full of love and lust he couldn’t even form words.
Slowly, the world came back into focus. His heartbeat thundered in his ears while the rest of him felt loose and heavy. You were still straddling him, full of him, but your movements had gentled into lazy little rocks that sent aftershocks rippling through his oversensitive cock. He was still buried deep inside you, the mess of his release already starting to leak out around where your bodies were joined, warm and obscene and impossibly intimate.
Your lips were on him, sweet kisses scattered across his flushed face. One to the corner of his eye where his glasses had slipped, one to the bridge of his nose, one to the corner of his mouth that was still parted on a shaky exhale. You kissed his forehead, his temple, the flushed shell of his ear, murmuring little nothings between each press of your lips.
He was still floating somewhere outside his own body, chest heaving, but the sweetness of it pulled him back down gently. His hands, which had been locked in a death grip on your hips, loosened and slid up your back in a dazed caress.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, hair a complete disaster against the pillow, he looked up at you with pure, raw apology written all over his face.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I’m so sorry, I—I didn’t mean to—”
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
“What?” you asked, genuinely confused, one hand brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead. “Ry, I asked for this. I wanted it. There’s no need to apologise.”
He huffed out a half-frustrated groan, and let his head fall back against the pillow. His cheeks burned hotter.
Of course you’d say that. Of course you’d be sweet about it. But the guilt still twisted in his gut like a live wire.
He’d come so fast. Like a damn teenager who’d never touched a girl before. He hadn’t even lasted long enough to get you off, and that was the part that stung the worst.
He was supposed to take care of you—had promised himself he would, after all the careful, patient months of waiting. He was the one who was supposed to make you fall apart, not the other way around.
He’d spilled inside you like he had zero control, like the bare feel of you around him had short-circuited every rational thought he’d ever had.
Pathetic.
He could already feel the scientific part of his brain cataloguing the humiliation: refractory period probably shot, ego thoroughly demolished.
“What about you?” His voice was still shaky, but the concern was there.
You blinked down at him, all innocent again, like you hadn’t just ridden him into oblivion.
“What about me?”
“You didn’t even—” He gestured vaguely between you, cheeks flaming. “I didn’t get you there. I couldn’t even last long enough to—”
You chuckled, as you slowly lifted yourself off his cock. The wet drag pulling off him made him twitch hard, a broken sound escaping his throat as the air hit his oversensitive length. You flopped down beside him on the mattress, curling into his side, one leg sliding over his thigh.
“Well,” you said, propping your chin on his chest and looking up at him with sparkling eyes, “we have the rest of the day. I’m sure you can make it up to me later.” Your smile turned just a little wicked. “Or maybe in the shower?”
He groaned, already turned on again, and pulled you closer, arms wrapping around you.
You were unbelievable.
The way you could go from filthy and commanding to soft and playful in the space of a heartbeat left him dizzy.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” he muttered against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head even as his body still hummed with aftershocks.
You laughed softly and tilted your face up, catching his mouth in a deep kiss that tasted like morning and sex and everything he’d been dreaming about for months. When you pulled back, your lips brushed his one last time.
“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” you whispered, voice warm against his mouth. “You’re more than welcome to join me.”
You slipped out of bed and he watched as you padded toward the bathroom. His eyes dropped to your thighs, where the evidence of what you’d just done together glistened in the sunlight: a slow, shiny trail down your skin. The sight hit him like a punch to the chest, possessive and so fucking beautiful it short-circuited whatever was left of his brain.
He was out of bed in an instant, nearly tangling himself in the sheets in his rush, cock already half-hard again just from the sight of you. You glanced over your shoulder and giggled and he followed without a second thought, trailing after you like a man who had already accepted his fate.
Yeah. He was definitely going to make it up to you in the shower.
a/n: im ovulating idk i think i blacked out when writing this. two people have asked me about creampies and this is where my mind immediately went
also sub ryland is real to me and i'll do anything to write about him being pathetic <3
hopefully you enjoyed and i will hopefully have something else written by next week so keep a lookout ;))))
summary: bob always gets in these moods where he always needs to be touching something. the team have started calling it his ‘touchy-time’, but they don’t know the extent of bob’s neediness when it comes to you. today’s touchy-time happens right before valentina's mandatory team dinner.
prompt: you don’t make it to dinner 🌶️
pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolts!reader
word count: 3.1k
content contains: +18 content— smut. secret relationship lets go, wall sex lets go, neck kissing lets go, bob is super needy and touchy lets fucking go, manhandling(?)letsgo
authors note: day six of galentines collab!! the concept of male ovulation 🧠 he’s like a little funky boy dog that goes around humping anything and everything he sees. that’s the vibe i’m going for. can you tell. also this has been in my drafts forever and ive wanted to write for it but never got around to it. hurrah for clearing out my wips!!
erin's galentines collab masterlist
no one could remember exactly when bob stopped being mopey and started getting more touchy-feeling with you.
it hadn't been sudden, nor had there been a single moment where the team could think back to a certain time and say 'that's when it started'. it was subtle enough that he'd managed to slip under the radar until it became something that nobody could ignore.
it started with bob inching closer to you on the couch when the two of you were watching movies. then it escalated to holding your hands at random points in time even if you needed them, and in that case, his hand would fall to your thigh instead. at one point, he'd managed to convince you to let him into your bed by blaming it on the void, and stupidly enough, you'd let him.
at first, it had been a joke between the team because it was honestly a little funny to see bob clinging onto you like a puppy, but sooner down the line, the touch turned into something needier, and that's the part that the two of you hid from them.
the touch turned sexual, and even though you both knew it was wrong doing this with someone who is essentially a coworker, you could never stop— or more like bob could never stop.
maybe it was because he had taken a liking to you. you'd been nothing but kind and accomodating to him since you first met him in that bunker (apart from when you'd shoved your gun in his face). whenever he sensed he was falling apart, he gravitated towards you, and you'd always let him. you had assumed he had just wanted to stick around that kimd of energy when everybody else on the team had turned a blind eye to him.
of course there were days when bob could keep his hands to himself, but he had found that if he stayed away for long enough, his hands— restless and searching— always seemed to settle easier when they found you.
and unfortunately for you and the team, today seemed to be one of those days where he'd restrained himself from touching you.
valentina had organised a mandatory team-building dinner in order to... well, team-build. she practically demanded that everyone get dressed up to the nines and that the jet would pick them up and drop them off at some fancy restaurant halfway across the country.
you linger in your room longer then you mean to, smoothing down the wrinkles and creases in your black dress like it might change its mind about how it's sitting on your body if you dont reassure it enough.
you almost never wear this dress and only wear it for special occasions, and you counted this as one. it fit nicely almost like it was made specifically for you, it skimmed down your body just enough to make you stand a little taller as you look at your reflection. you look really good.
you slip on your heels, tuck your phone into your purse, and give yourself one final look in the mirror— more for courage than vanity— before heading out of your room and shutting the door.
the living room is quiet apart from the boring show on the television and the click of your heels as you walk across the marble floor. the entire team is there scattered across the sofas in their fancy attire like a bunch of overdressed mannequins.
jackets are unbuttoned, ties are loosened, makeup is already a little smudged, some are scrolling on their phones, others are staring at the television screen. they all just look like they're reconsidering every life choice that'd led them here.
the first thing you notice is that bob isn't there.
yelena is the first to turn her head. her eyes fall up and down you a few times before she throws an arm across the back of the sofa. "you look nice." she compliments, and it sounds genuine.
"thanks. it's a bit itchy, but it's comfortable enough for one night." you tug at the fabric that'd bunched at your hips after your short venture down the hall. "you guys look nice too. maybe we should start dressing up more often."
bucky shakes his head, eyes set on the tv. "i'd rather not."
john looks around the room at the team, brows raised as he takes in the mixed of bored expressions and sluggish bodies. "is that all of us? can we finally get off of our asses and get going?"
"eh, bob is not here yet." alexei points out.
"speaking of bob—" bucky turns his head to you, "did you manage to talk to him about limiting touchy-time like we talked about?"
"i cant believe we call it touchy-time." ava mumbles as she stares at the television screen, more to herself than anyone else.
"i tried during training yesterday," you scratch the back of your neck. "but he kept changing the subject. didn't seem like he wanted anything to do with it, so i stopped asking."
"have you ever considered telling him to stop completely? i mean seriously, imagine when he gets sentry under control and valentina clears him for missions." john gestures to nothing in general, hand waving around like it's helping the team visualise it. "kid's gonna be humping your leg like a horny chihuaha while we're getting shot at—"
yelena cuts in with a groan of disgust, "gross, walker. nobody wants to imagine that."
bucky sighs, "i hate to say it, but i agree with john."
ava turns away from the screen, suddenly tuned into the conversation. "me too. do you ever think he just comes up with excuses because he wants to get all touchy-feely with you? i know he's a little... unstable, but how many times can he use the excuse of the void to fondle you all day?"
"he doesnt—" you blink, a little shocked at ava's use of words. "he doesnt fondle me. he just needs a little attention sometimes. that's all." you try to defend yourself as well as bob, but it seems to fall upon deaf ears.
"attention turns into obsession." john adds as if he's a wise old wizard. "i read that online once."
alexei decides its his turn to add his input. "i think its very sweet! is like little puppy and mama dog. if no lines are crossed, then i think those two should be allowed to have touchy-feely time."
you cringe at alexei comparing you and bob to dogs before you huff out a sigh. "can we not talk about bob behind his back? it feels rude. where is he anyways?"
"no idea." yelena shrugs. "we're all out here because we were waiting on you and him."
john checks his watch, one certainly gifted to him by valentina. "yeah, and we're gonna be late if he doesn't haul ass within the next ten minutes."
you glance down the hall, your eyes fixed on bob's door. it remains shut just like it has been all day, and a small knot of concern ties itself in your stomach. something about him being late doesn't settle well with you. you know his routine and his moods, and you know that when he's unusually quiet like this, then it means he's fighting something.
"i'll go check on him." you say, already turning towards the corridor, "make sure he's not dead."
"and tell him to hurry his ass up!" john calls behind you.
you don't bother responding. you turn and head down the hallway, the echo of your heels on the tile bouncing off of the walls while the noise of the living room fades as you move. you come face to face with bob's door, your hand hesitating before you knock, but your knuckles hit the wood three times anyways.
"bob? are you in the—"
the door opens and you're yanked inside by a sharp tug on your wrist before you can finish your sentence, the corridor disappearing as the door shuts behind you.
the first thing you notice is that bob is in front of you and he's sandwiched you between the wall, his mouth already working against yours. the next thing you notice is that his hands are already pulling up your dress, the fabric bunching in his hands as he drags it up.
you break away for air, but bob doesn't take a second for granted. he latches onto your throat and he inhaled a sharp breath that sounds like a mix of relief and indulgence, as if kissing you in the only thing keeping his alive.
"i'm sorry." he whispers into your skin, but you both know the apology won't stick. "sorry—"
his room is quiet apart from his heavy breathing and the small pants that he pulls from you, the light dim through closed curtains and the red glow of his alarm clock. you can still hear the soft chatter of the team down the hall, and it pulls the urgency from deep within you.
you place your hands flat on his chest. he doesnt pull away, but he doesn't push any further either, caught in the miserable in-between where restraint is costing him. you can feel his heartbeat through his chest where your palms rest, pounding and restless with you in his arms.
you frown, "the team is waiting for us, bob—"
but the words barely leave your mouth before he's shaking his head, brown curls brushing against your neck and the underside of your jaw.
"i know they are. i'm sorry, baby. i tried to stay away. i really did," he murmurs against your throat, apologies spilling out of his mouth although his teeth nipping at your skin says otherwise. "but please— i need you."
bob's hands are already tugging down your panties, thumbs hooked in the bands as he drags them down your legs, and although everything in you is screaming to pull him off of you and rush him out of the door, your body moves on its own, stepping out of the fabric as soon as it drops to your feet.
"val's going to eat us alive if we don't make it to dinner." you whimper when he sucks at the base of your neck, hands crawling at the back of his dress shirt.
"then let her. i'll be quick. been holding it in all day, but i cant do it anymore." he groans as his lips travel back up until he's pressing messy kisses onto your jaw and your cheek. "jus' need to feel you on my cock. need to feel you cum on me."
that sends a pant of heat through you.
your brows knit. he really has been good all day— no hovering by your side, no excuses to linger, and no absent minded touches— but now you can feel the cost of it in the way he's undoing his belt and in the way he's so hungry for you that you think he might actually bite you, and you know that you cannot let him go to dinner like this.
"okay." you sigh with a small nod, your hands crawling up to his neck and slotting into the soft brown tuft of hair at the base of his head, "then fuck me."
the groan that rips form his throat and low, and he unbuckles his belt faster than he ever has before. he rips it from his dress pants and it clatters to the floor in a stringy mess. then come his pants, the zipper already undone as he shrugs them and his boxers to the ground.
bob's hands hook under your thighs and he hoists you up against the wall, his weeping cock pressing against you with a pathetic whimper.
he's learnt that even without the sentry, he has enough strength to lift you like you weigh nothing. he's even learnt that he can lift you with one hand. dont ask him how.
his lips are back on yours, his tongue lapping messily against your mouth before you let him in. the kiss is a little rough around the edges like he's forgotten how to be careful with you, all heat and urgency as he breaths you in. you're sure your makeup is all smudged, but you don't really care now that the blunt tip of bob's dick is pressing into you.
and when he finally pushes in,
"fuuuuuccckkkk..." he moans, a little too loud for your liking.
"bob, you have to be—" you cut yourself off with a staggered breath as bob drops you down onto him deep enough that you can feel him in your stomach. "you have to be quiet."
"i'm sorry, it's just— i missed you." his brows furrow in pleasure, his head dropping back down to your neck. "god, you're so tight."
you sigh, "it's been two days."
"too long." he murmurs into your neck. "never wanna be apart from you ever again."
bob starts moving slow, holding onto you by your thighs and rutting his hips into you like he's trying to make sure that your body remember him. his chest is pressed so tight against yours that you almost feel like you can't breathe, and your arms are wrapped around his torso clinging for more.
just as you think he might be savouring the moment, he lifts you without warning and drops you back onto his dick. the sheer force of it rips a moan from your mouth, catching you so off guard that you bite down into his shoulder, your saliva soaking the fabric.
bob pants into your ear, eyes heavy with pleasure. "needed this so bad. needed you. needed to fuck you."
bob doesnt rut into you anymore. instead, he begins lifting you up and down his cock, shuddering in your arms as he drags against your warm walls. the pace he sets is fast enough for the echo of skin-on-skin to bounce around the room, the angle and the pressure of which he has you against the wall hits all of the soft spots in you. your eyes almost roll back, body practically going limp in his arms.
one of his hands come up to cup your face, thumb running along your bottom lip and his eyes watching every quiver in your expression. his other hand continues lifting you and dropping you onto his dick, his fingers digging into your skin with every harsh bounce.
"i heard you talking to the team about our arrangement— about whatever this is—" he admits quietly, eyes set on your saliva coated mouth. "i know it's bad and i know we shouldn't do this."
"bob." you try to cut him off, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to ground him, but he continues, panicked and a little earnest.
"so just— just tell me to stop and i'll stop—" he rushes, his brows furrowing as he speeds up, his hips bucking up into you, "say the word and i will, i swear. i'll back off and i'll behave, i—"
"faster."
the word leaves your mouth as a whisper, soft and broken and honest, and that seems to be what undoes bob.
his hand falls back to the underside of your thigh and lifts your legs a little higher until your hamstrings burn and your knees are pressing into your chest. he's not bouncing you anymore, but now he's fucking up into you, his cock tearing through you like this is all he needs.
you grab at him, hoping to hold onto something that'll ground you, but he's so strong and so steady that you don't even need to. he's holding you so tight in his arms that you're sure he'd catch you if you were to fall, and that in itself has the ball of heat in your stomach ready to snap.
but then there's a knock at his door only a feet feet from you, and even though it pulls you from your daze, bob continues dragging you his cock in and out of you as if one of your friends isn't right outside.
"hey, you guys in there?" yelena's voice spills through the quiet, "john's getting all pissy with us, so we're leaving."
you have to force a hand over bob's mouth, his moans and panting spilling into your palm, and you feel a little bad when you see the tears that brim in his waterline. your brows knit as you force your eyes to stay open, willing yourself to keep focus when bob can't.
"bob isn't feeling good, so i think—" you swallow down a moan when bob thrusts into you hard enough that your clit grinds into his lower stomach. "i think we're just gonna stay back so i can take—" you gasp, "take care of him."
and maybe bob understands your words as an excuse to fuck him all night long, because his eyes shut and he gets a little closer, hips grinding into your ass instead of fucking you. you've noticed this as a tell that he's close, and the friction is enough to send you over the edge too.
"okaayyyy..." she drawls through the door. "your funeral. we'll be back in a few hours. dont burn the tower down. or do. i dont care."
you can hear yelena's footsteps recording down the hall, and as soon as you move your hand from his mouth, bob starts pistoning into you with inhumane speed, his head dropping onto your shin as he presses into you and finally fills you up.
the sound of his hopeless rutting turns filthy with the combination of your slick and his cum, and he leans in to press another messy kiss to your mouth. your chests move together, and the room falls silent except for the soft sounds of your breathing— his uneven and yours still catching— paired with the quiet thud of his heart.
and the first thing that comes out of his mouth isn't a reassurance or a apology, but a question.
"does that mean you don't want to stop?" he asks, his voice low with uncertainty and what sounds like hope, almost like he's bracing for the answer even though he knows what it is.
your smile as best you can, already tired. your fingers run through his hair, tugging at the soft knots you'd accidentally formed before you speak.
"of course not." you say quietly, "i know the team complains about it sometimes, but that's not something they get to complain about. i dont think its a problem that needs fixing."
the hope in his expression warms your heart. he exhaled like he's been holding his breath all day before he leans into your touch like he's finally allowed to. but then, slowly but surely, you feel his dick harden inside you again.
"are you hard again?" you ask with false annoyance lacing your words, but you could never actually be annoyed with him.
he plays it off by giving you a small peck on the lips, the top of his nose brushing yours as he leans his forehead against yours. "maybe."
Jack Abbot who holds your head in his lap while Robby fucks you — one of your legs presses into your chest where Robby holds you open. Jack's stroking your hair and telling you what a good girl you're being for them how he's so proud of you then tells Robby to take it easy when he sees you wince when robby pushes your leg back a lil too far and robby mumbles a soft "sorry, honey. How's that?" Offering your leg up to Jack who holds the inside of your knee and nods along with you when you start getting all foggy, saying "ohhh there we go," and theres tears trickling down your cheeks and Jack is just so sweet when he takes your hand in his and gives you a gentle squeeze, a reminder that you're okay, that you can tap out anytime you want <3
Bestie, I am on my knees begging for an Andy Dufresne x reader soft smut, if you please. You share the thirst. You're my only hope. Please, please, please ♥️
If it's a hard pass on your end, I get it. Thank you anywayyy
fuck im so bad at soft smut 😭 lemme try
Make Me Happy? (Andy Dufresne/F!Reader)
“Sorry.” It’s choked, a strangled noise in his throat that didn’t even mean to come out. He feels sorry, for something you’re not positive about, or why. Your hips bump back, the fat of your ass pressing to the hilt where his graying pubes sit all sticky from the way you’re leaking. “Don’ be sorry, baby,” you hum, a gentle palm pressing to his thigh to cup the thick muscle under his hairy skin and rubbing a thumb soothingly over the flesh.
“I - sorry, fuck - not really - ugh, fuck - used to this st-still,” he huffs, jaw tight even though you can’t see him with your chest pressed to the dining room table. “I’ll get you used to it,” you coo, still gently rubbing his thigh with your thumb and cupping his leg. You push your hips forward, the hilt slipping out and tip rubbing back to the opening on your hole, then sheath it again with a rocking motion from where you’re bent over the table.
“I don’ wanna cum too soon,” he grunts, teeth nearly grit from the tension, grabbing your hip in one hand and your wrist at his thigh with the other — tentatively like deciding to make you stop or drink the pleasure you keep spilling on his nerves.
“You can cum,” you mumble, a giggle in your chest; fucking Andy was a simple pleasure you couldn’t resist. You had inherited a farm and needed a farmhand, the acres and needs too vast to do it alone, he offered to do it free so long as he could sleep on your sofa. He’d done a long time in the can, that much you knew, but he was gentle and mild in a way you had never seen a man be. He seemed shameful about being so aged compared to you, cumming fast and taking a long while to recover. As your farmhand, you delegated an extra task to kiss that tender spot between your legs in exchange for letting him stay on your farm — that he should do, right? He owed you.
“Cum and then clean it up, yeah, Andy?” you sighed, sheathing him again into that one spot that made your head all muddy. His warm cock twitches inside, threatening to spill as his grip tightened hard enough for bruises to bloom.
“Can I — please —“
“Cum in it, baby, ‘s ok… just clean up after yourself, hm?” you hummed, sighing as you bounced back faster, letting his squirmy pelvis bump into your ass as he struggled to hold back. “I don’t — I shouldn’t —“
“I’m telling you to, Andy,” you scolded him softly, words caught in a sigh as his hips bucked and he made that choked sound he always made. It twitched, the head pressing up as the length spasmed, pressing hard into that spot. You grit your teeth, knees wobbly, almost there but not quite — as long as he cleaned you up and kissed it better, you could do it.
You giggled as he buckled, knees pressing to the floor as you rolled onto your back on the table; white drooling from the winking hole onto the hardwood. “You’re messing up my hardwood… you said you’d clean it up,” you scolded, reaching for his head and cupping the back of it in one hand to press toward the sloppy mound. He steadies his breath, eager to please you, and licks a flat strip from your ass to your clit, once, twice, three times before digging his tongue into the twitching, gooey hole he was just filling. You buck, happy.
“Theree, you go… so - so good at this… I love you so, so much…” he makes a sobbing, happy cry into your pussy, eyes closed with contentment as he starts to suckle your bud hard, the way you told him you like. “So good at everything,” you purr, bucking into his mouth as he moans as your praise, big hands setting at each thigh to grip at with that bruising hold. “My special, helpful, handsome boy,” you coo, relishing in the happy cry he makes still sucking your clit, “make me so happy…” Your hips buck, as he spits a glob onto your loins before diving back in with licking flat strips up the entirety of your vulva then sucking your throbbing clit again.
“Make me so happy, I’ll keep you on my farm forever. Right, Andy? Make me happy forever? Milk your dick like a cow forever? You want that, Andy?”
You choke, a strangled sound again, and arch — tears dribbling from your eyes at the fingers pressing into your hole while he sucks at your clit. His dick, empty, twitches weakly when his tears spill and wet your already damp mound as he moans, loud and desperate in your clit:
“Mhm! Mhm! Mhm!”
-
I hope uu likeeeeee yaaay im trying to be more productive & vigilant so feel free to ask for more anon :3
I j wanna announce that, yet again, all the ppl who have wronged me have worse lives only bc they wronged me, who is pure of heart and, more importantly, a beautiful woman of color
Last year, your father sponsored a science project you didn't agree with the concept of. Yet, you must visit that place with him because you were sympathetic to the Creature. One day, the project was over, and the Creator intended to burn his own work to cover mistakes. It was the Creature's luck that he could survive and find your manor. And it was your luck to meet someone whom you could be yourself with. Today, after months of residing in your place and learning how to be human, the Creature asked you for kisses and love.
ONE MORE LEAF FOR ONE MORE KISS
Sweet! The Creature (Adam) x Naughty! Fem! Reader (2.6k words) — It should be fluff, but I really can't help myself, so it becomes smut. You'll give him kisses, and your mouth will be full (blowjob). I hope you enjoy reading this short story!
“I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…” the Creature, Adam, said, smiling to himself.
He was sitting on his favorite rug, lap covered with the comfortable blanket you had used when you were younger, hands holding dry leaves he collected from the tree in front of your cottage.
This place, your cottage, was the small space after your family’s manor, locating close to the pine forest, where you secretly let Adam reside. No one but you and your sweet creature cared about your cottage, since you claimed that this place had only books and stuff for your hobby, which your family didn’t want to know about it, or you would keep talking about this and they would walk away. You weren’t a young woman who needed to marry for wealth or dignity, at least not yet, so you lived freely than other young women you knew.
“She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.”
But what Adam just said wasn’t the thing you expected to hear.
“He seemed happy. She seemed happier.”
You paused for a brief moment, before replying: “Kissing a person you love will always make you happy.”
You didn’t look straight at Adam’s seamed face, only staring at flames in the fireplace. As your heart was throbbing, your body was tense on the armchair next to his cozy spot, especially when he leaned his side close to your legs covered with the exquisite skirt.
It wasn’t the first time he was close like this, but you both had never done anything that needed to be closer.
“Love…” He whispered that word to himself, but you heard his voice, full of curiosity and pureness.
You taught him to repeat your words, you taught him to speak with confidence and read with attention, and you taught him to study human behavior to help him understand how to use words.
It had been a long while since the day his creator tried to eliminate him, and to be with you, for almost three seasons, were the most meaningful thing Adam had ever experienced.
“Love… It’s like fairy tales you had read,” you added, tone sultry. One darkest thought you had never revealed to him was: your heart attached to him.
You didn’t admit to yourself that it was love, although recently, you found no way to lie to yourself. You thought he was looking for a companion, you as well, which you secretly imagined the thin line for you to not cross, the thin wall for you to not break.
But another part of you shouted too loud inside your mind: you loved him. You longed to be with him. Your feelings were too intense to sit calmly like you tried to do at the moment.
“I still remembered that tale,” Adam said, looking up at you. In your sight, he was so beautiful, like a broken yet still delicate statue, like a charming stag in the wild forest.
Like a man you would make love until you forgot the time.
You still remembered the day you instructed him how to wash his hair and clean his body. You still remembered when his large hands grasped your hips when you tried to dry his dark hair with a cloth. You still remembered that he wore nothing while sitting on the edge of the bathtub, although you told him to cover his lower body when he was around a gentlewoman… You still remembered that your eyes dropped when he was exposed again and again, although you tried to cover him again and again.
The Creature had a thing like a normal man had, probably having more than a normal man. His figure was incomparable, tall and lean. You liked those seams, since it made your thighs wet for some reason… You didn’t know why. Or, because he was so fragile?
He had what you needed the most from the man you would devote yourself to him: seams on the broad chest and the big cock.
Oh, no. You were blushing. Your breath was ragged, and the curious creature just looked at you with a question. Why did you keep sitting like this? Frozen and nervous.
“Are you all right?” he asked, one of his large hands touching the back of yours. You looked at entwined fingers, warm and cold on two fleshes. How could it feel if you took him deeper—?
“I’m fine,” you said, suddenly pulling your hand from his grasp, although doing that quickly might make him feel vulnerable. You told him to not be frightened by your sudden thoughtless expression, but you had never told yourself to be gentle. “I—I should go home—The sun is going down—”
“I looked around the forest, but I can’t find a flower.” Adam said, his gaze like a sweet plea from a sweet boy. “I… I can find only these leaves.”
Before getting up, Adam placed one dry leaf on your lap to make you sit on the same chair. Your eyes widened with surprise, because his hand was still on your knees.
You stuttered:
“A leaf? For me?”
He nodded, and if your eyes didn’t lie, you thought the pale skin on his cheeks had a tint of red, as if a shy boy confessed something to a girl he adored.
Then, you recalled what he just talked about.
‘I saw a man… giving a flower… to a woman…’
‘She held a flower in her hands, then she kissed him.’
You gently held a leaf, and Adam averted. He looked at his own lap where other beautiful golden leaves were. You began to understand what he tried to talk to you.
“You gave me your leaf for a kiss?”
You swore to yourself that you noticed how shy and sweet Adam was. In many fairy tales you let him read, all men got kisses from women they loved. And he saw a man in the real life got a kiss from a woman…
“You… love me?” you asked, your voice laced with hesitation. But your heart fluttered as if you would get a thing you had waited for a long time.
His love.
Adam took a deep breath and looked up at you again, as if he was begging for something.
“I love you,” he whispered, your name on his tongue such a gentle thing you had ever heard. “I love you… and… and I want to kiss you.”
You froze, fingers almost tearing a leaf you just got.
“You want to kiss me?” you asked, the air around you warmer.
“I want to kiss you,” he repeated his own answer, smiling shyly.
Forgetting all thoughts you had, holding a leaf in hands, you leaned close to him and pressed your warm lips against his cold ones. He was surprised by your sudden move, so were you. He froze, but you knew that it was his first time, so you weren’t bothered at all.
Then, you pulled back, your eyes looking at his face. He murmured your name, as if he was praying to the God he believed.
“You kissed me,” he said, smiling with contentment. You loved this picture, since it was you who pushed him out of innocence. “Your lips are so soft.”
“Thank you,” you replied, a hand with a leaf on your lap like it was, another hand cupping his seamed cheek, thumb stroking his bottom lip. “When you kissed a woman you loved, you should shut your eyes.”
Adam chuckled, fingers fidgeting at leaves—Right, he had more leaves in his hands. And he got an idea.
“If I give you more leaves, will you kiss me more?”
That question, from the most purest heart, broke your sanity. You wanted nothing but him for so long—too long it hurt—but today, right here and right now, he asked for more kisses.
You smiled at the idea, before saying:
“One more leaf for one more kiss.”
Oh, but how could you cage your intrusive thoughts when the perfect opportunity was here?
“But if you give me all leaves, I’ll not kiss you only on your lips.”
“My cheeks, too?”
“Your cheeks, too,” you chuckled, before shifting yourself to the floor. Since he was taller than you, you were smaller than him at this moment. “But when you love someone so much, you won’t kiss another person only on lips or cheeks.”
“You love me?” he asked, his voice soft, like the time you asked him the same question.
“I love you,” you reassured, biting your bottom lip as your gaze observed his rugged form. He wore proper attire, staying comfortable and adorable, but this picture wasn’t less tempting at all. He made you want him more… That gentle kiss wasn’t the thing you desired.
Your twisted thoughts urged you to teach him a new lesson—a sensual one you had only read from famous erotica you got from markets.
“Your leaves,” he said, smiling as if he saw an angel before him, offering you precious gifts you knew you would keep forever.
And you did… You exactly did what you thought.
Without a word, you grabbed leaves from his hands and placed them with caution on the table nearby. You shifted close to him and pushed the comfortable blanket aside when you straddled his lap. Your skirt wasn’t an obstacle but luring you to press your hips against his lap. Your hands held his cheeks, your mouth kissing him once again.
You had waited to kiss him. You had longed to kiss him. And you now did. Your tongue trailed the line of his lips, urging him to gasp and open his mouth for you. As tongues touched, you felt his large hands grabbed your waist.
Instinctively, Adam was a quick learner. He shut his eyes and absorbed the love he was supposed to receive, as if to collect all of feelings deeply in his sacred mind. His tongue followed your lead, tasting your warmth and sweetness with admiration. His hand touched your back, like the way he held a leaf with tenderness. You heard him groan, soft and vulnerable, and you liked that noise so much.
You poured kisses on his cheek, your tongue trailing the seam without any second thought. So arousing… You were enjoying the broken part of his, and he were willingly giving it to you.
“Move to that chair,” you commanded, your voice thick with craving, as your throbbing core clenched nothing. But no, you shouldn’t push him too far, especially when he just discovered that giving love, like a flower, should receive love, like a kiss.
Right now, he must learn what true pleasure felt like, and he should understand what his tempting body needed the most by himself.
Adam did exactly what you said; he sat on the armchair you just got up, yet he froze when your hands caressed his broad chest, tracing down to his stomach. He had never known how intense this feeling was… It was exciting. It was warmer than he had felt, melting coldness inside his body completely.
“Relax, my dear,” you cooed, hands undressing his clothes. “I’ll take care of you.”
Adam leaned against the backrest, trying to relax like what you said. He looked down at you, sitting on the floor, staying between his thighs, taking off his pants so eagerly. He didn’t know if he was desirable or attractive enough to make you do this… He saw charming men kissing charming women, and what was he doing now?
You looked beautiful for him, delicate and fragile. And he wouldn’t judge you from what you were doing, the sweetest mouth kissing his bare chest, the eager tongue lapping his nipples, one of soft hands holding his length, one of gentle thumbs tracing his cold skin.
You would always be the pure soul for him, and he doubted that he could belong to you or not.
“Should I go and collect more leaves…?” he asked, his hand touching the back of your head as your mouth found his groin. “I don’t know if I… if I deserve you.”
“I don’t kiss you because of your gifts,” you said, your lips touching his ball, your hand stroking his shaft gently. “You deserve me, Adam. I love you… I know I love you since the day I met you. And you love me. That’s sufficient for us to be here, to make love.”
Adam hummed as your tongue trailed over his length, from the base to the top.
“Make love…”
“It’s what I’m doing right now, Adam. It’s not just a kiss anymore.”
He was tense, like the day you dried his hair and saw how thick his cock was. He didn’t know why he was drawn to this feeling, but his instinct told him that it would be fine, as long as he was with you.
His eyes were hazy with desire, almost shut, but he wanted to look at you, wanted to watch you, wanted to observe the way your tongue swirled around his tip. Whenever you glanced up at him, he felt nothing but heated. He began to love it. And when your mouth sucked him… his hand tangling with your hair was the only anchor he could grasp.
Adam whispered your name, his voice gravelly and sensual. That made your thighs slicker, but you knew you should be patient with him. Your warm mouth provided him the new passion he might not know that he needed, your hand still stroking him—making him harder. His skin wasn’t cold like he used to, right now he was as if a mere human, and it all was because of this new lesson.
His instinct told him to buck his hips up, seeking the friction around your lips and in your mouth. You almost choked, but that was fine.
His breath quickened, his chest moving. And you knew what it would happen. You had doubted if his body would work like a human, but spending time with him for months only told you that he was the real human. He knew. He felt. You witnessed it all. His taste was like berries he enjoyed eating, sweet—bitter, intoxicating.
You moaned against his cock, gulping but trying to send pleasure to him. You felt his fist around your hair tighter, his movements against your mouth rougher, and your breath almost faded away. You tight heat clenched nothing, spilling wetness… And when he shuddered, groaning so deeply, filling your mouth with his seed, you knew what you wanted to do in your lonely life.
You wanted to make love to him, deep and senseless. You wanted to become a vice and fuck him until he came inside you, but you should let this beautiful creature learn this new thing.
“If I want you to do this again, what—what should I do?” he asked breathlessly after spilling his release in your mouth.
You pulled back, letting his cock slip from your mouth. You swallowed that taste and said: “Just ask me when you need me.”
His hand shifted from your hair to your face, thumb stroking the drop of his own seed on the corner of your lips. He didn’t know that he could do such a thing, but seeing you smile and blush made his heart throb with affection.
You kissed his thumb, teasing him by lapping his skin. “Or, say you love me.”
“I love you…” Adam said immediately, spent yet eager to lean forward. His mouth captured your lips and tasted himself through this slobbery kiss. Your hands grasped his shoulders, letting him pull you up to the armchair and straddling his lap.
“So… you need me?”
“I always need you,” he whispered against the kiss, begging for your attention.
“Actually, there is more than my mouth you could feel,” you suggested, hands cupping his seamed cheeks. “Would you love to try?”
He nodded, smiling.
“Please…”
Thank you for reading my fic! This film consumes my soul in the best way. I can write 2.6k words in 24 hrs again after a long, long time, and I'm so happy to do it. And it's a bit dirty 👀 I hope it's not that strange since it's the first English smut I let people see. If you love it, you may tell me, scream at me, or suggest some new plots in my humble ask 💗 Have a nice day, the Creature's girlfriends! Xx
here's a list of programs/sites/whatever that were helpful to me when i was moving away from using spotify & back to downloading music:
soulseek - peer to peer downloading program, has most music you'd want. there's "rules" to it though and the UI is a little confusing, but you can figure it out. there's tutorials. i believe in you
cobalt.tools, ytiz.xyz, yt-dlp - mp3 downloaders, for the songs that you can't find on soulseek
musicbee - music player, extremely customiseable. reminds me of when i used itunes back in the day. has a lot of good features, including syncing music over to your phone
lastfm & listenbrainz - sites that keep track of your listening stats. i'd recommend this even if you still choose to use a music streaming service
syncedlyrics - cmd thing that gets you timed song lyrics, like the ones spotify has. there's no UI but it's easy enough to use. just grab the lyrics and timestamps it spits out and paste it into musicbee
music presence - program that shows what song you're listening to in your discord status, in case you use discord and enjoy the thought of other people seeing what you're listening to, which i do for some reason
i'm not going to lie to you and say that switching away from spotify/streaming services is an effortless task, it took me half a whole day of nonstop Work to get all my music downloaded and sorted out, but i will say that it was worth it!! and you should do it 👍 if you want to
Spotifymate - not 100% reliable, but very helpful in downloading songs from your spotify lists to your mp3 folder.
MusicBrainz Picard - named after Starfleet's esteemed bald man, a program for all your tagging and renaming needs.
Mp3Tag - fewer features than Picard, but a bit easier to use. I like it especially for mass renaming of the tracks. Offers 3 days free without registration, and it counts only the days when you use it. Usually, one afternoon of using it gets you sorted out.
As a much-superior alternative to Spotifymate, take a look at casualOnTheSpot. It will grab entire public playlists, albums, or artists. It does have some bugs, but persistently retrying when it starts having issues, or re-running your query will almost always work.
