little deaths

20-something | she/her | a hub for fanfics because we appreciate our writers here

[ballerinadust]

ꫂ᭪ riding. 18+ mdni. armand x fem reader.

“armand,” you whined, riding him on the couch — your dress was bunched up, your underwear completely forgotten. all you could think of was the press of him beneath you, the way his hands gripped your hips, guiding you, holding you perfectly against him.

“so perfect, my beloved,” he murmured, voice low and smooth. you gasped as he held you down harder, causing you to feel him deeper. you continued to move, leaning down to kiss him as you did so.

each movement you made sent shockwaves through the both of you. with each roll of your hips, he pressed up into you, letting you feel every inch, every pulse, every heat-drenched curve of him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, thumbs brushing over the most sensitive parts of your skin, keeping you perfectly in place while letting you take the rhythm at your own pace.

“needed to feel you all day,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw and down your neck, teeth grazing lightly — like he couldn’t decide whether to kiss you or bite. “don’t stop. don’t you dare stop.”

armand looked at you with reverence — his eyes full of adoration. you were a masterpiece to him. it only made him hungrier for you. and armand was never gentle when he was starving.

your fingers slid into his hair and you kept moving, your dress sliding higher with each roll of your hips. you could feel how badly he wanted you — the tension in his body, the way he held you closer every time you tried to slow down.

“no,” he breathed, almost a growl — quiet, but absolutely firm. he pulled you down onto him harder, making you gasp, making you feel all of him. your breath stuttered. your thighs trembled.

“that’s it,” he whispered, eyes on your face, watching every reaction. “ride me. let me see you fall apart.” his hand slid down the front of your thigh and between your legs, fingers brushing exactly where you were already throbbing.

“you’re dripping for me,” he murmured, thumb circling lazily, wickedly. “look at you.” the sound you let out was helpless — something broken and wanting. and he smiled. that soft, devastating, “i have you” smile.

“come for me, beloved,” he said — voice calm, steady, sure — like it was already happening. like he owned the moment your body collapsed around him.

“show me how much you missed me.”

© ℬ𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒅𝒖𝒔𝒕𝜗℘ ݂ est 2025 : please do not copy, repost, translate, or feed my work to ai. okay bye!

[3leni]

the tags on that edit from tiktok u posted...........armand and dumbification????????? i think im abt to faint holy shit ur mind

you've just opened a bag of winds, i hope you know that <3 /// ARMAND / F!READER, 18+ MDNI, 1.2K ⋆✴︎˚｡

paris!armand who first sees you at an underground cellar turned jazz club in post-ww2 paris. he’d gone there to stake it out for a group hunt, gauge any particularly wealthy patrons. by the time he returned to the theater, he’d half forgotten about the hunt entirely; santiago had to pry, but that went as well as you can imagine.

at the club, you're caught in a heated back-and-forth with a man who's clearly not worth a second more of your time. you approach armand with a slim cigarette tightly between your fingers—all the bravado in the world—lips pursed as you ask him in (endearingly, adorably) broken french if he thinks your outfit is provocative.

it is: a deep-blue velvet skirt that hugs you in all the right places, armand's stained-glass eyes trailing after every trick of the lights over your curves. he can see halfway up your thighs without even straining his neck. your blouse is a cheap, frilly thing, but you wear it well. your tights are sheer, and the tease of naked skin that's peeking through the nylon is enough to have his mind wandering, mapping veins he knows are there.

it's clear you recruited him in hopes of coming to your defense against your... who's that little insignificant worm you have with you? a boyfriend, a fiancé? clearly not a husband, judging by the glaringly obvious emptiness of your ring finger. just a worm, then. and he'd had his fun.

"i don't know which answer you seek, madame," armand shrugged, eyes catching on yours like a honey-trap. "the polite one, or the honest one?"

oh, your expression then? if directed at any other man, in any other century, in any other place, it would've made emperors bow down for a whacking. but not armand. not here, and not now.

"yours," you bite back, eyes making a show of trailing down his figure, cigarette finding its way between your lips before you blow the smoke right in his face. "...so?"

wordlessly, armand plucks the cigarette from between your fingers, nails faintly scraping against your skin, biting down his grin when he feels you twitching. you watch him, this stranger who thought it right to test you, provoked and intrigued in equal measure.

lips closing around your lipstick mark on the butt of the cigarette, he takes a deep drag of smoke. without breaking eye-contact, he echoes inside your mind: "i think you look exquisite, puce. it's a shame he doesn't, isn't it? a shame, easily remedied..."

he knows right then and there that he has you. hook, line, and sinker. your look around insecurely, hands tugging at the bottom of your skirt, eyes searching for the trick; the shadow on the wall. you don't know the shadow's standing right in front of you. he revels in the way all that confidence melts into an uncertain pile of doubt, of exposure.

expertly turning the cigarette in his hold, he places it back between your gaping mouth. his thumb lingers, swiping on your bottom lip, some of your lipstick smearing on his skin. with a bent forefinger, he taps the underside of your chin, and turns on his heel.

on his leisurely stroll back to the theater, he's overcome by the urge to fuck that attitude clean off of that head of yours. clearly, someone ought to. he's not worried, though; he knows he'll see you again. he won't be able to help himself.

"can you hear me, puce?"

"u–uh, uh-huh, uh-hu–uuh—"

you're nodding dumbly, bent over his desk in the theater, face smushed against his script drafts and drooling onto the papers. you're dressed in one of his dress-shirts, his scent on you like a mark, and absolutely nothing else. your feet are dangling off the desk, curling like loose hairs with every roughly calculated thrust. and your mind, usually sharp as a razor, now reduced to a mumbling, moaning mess. music to his ears.

nothing's left inside your mind but armand. his weight on your back, pressing you down against hard and cold mahogany, making you feel as though there's no space for your lungs to expand anymore. his lips on the side of your neck, mouthing at your sweaty skin. his fangs teasing at your veins, the smell of your thrumming blood making his mouth drool. his hands, splayed on top of yours on the desk and covering them whole, keeping you still for him like a butterfly pinned for display on a corkboard. his butterfly. (<3)

he kisses you softly in the ear, letting his own sounds spill for him, because he knows how much you love hearing him. and, really, it's clear by the way you clench around him, sucking him in like you need him to take root inside you. he drags his fangs up and down your earlobe, lips curling in a smirk when he feels a shiver wreck your frame.

"mon petit chou," he coos, moaning lowly, "use words, hm...?"

he knows you can't. or, rather, he's not letting you. he's using the mind gift to dig around that pretty skull that loves nothing more than causing him headaches. he's drinking in those distant zaps of sensations from your point of view as his hips slap against yours. best thing is? he can sense you trying to form words, the syllables materializing, your mouth opening to give them form. but he shooes them away, scattering them like crumbs, leaving nothing behind but his name, his weight, his cock.

he loves that you don't fight it, that you welcome it. he loves how much you love it. back arching for him, pussy squelching for him, milking him for all he's got. made for him and him only, even if you didn't know it. you'll know it soon enough.

he loosens his control of your mind once he feels you tiptoeing on the edge, letting you go and feeling your saccharine cries washing over him. you come around him thrashing, mind thrown into the deep end as everything rushes in at once, his name a litany. you sob, shuddering: "oh–oh, arm–ah–nd, arma—!"

you hiccup wetly and brokenly. when he feels that rhythmic pulse around him, his jaw hangs open in an open-mouthed smirk and his brows form a desperate, euphoric 'Λ' shape. hips losing focus, he pistons and makes your body jump every time your skins meet, surely bruising you in the process. he doesn't care. he wants to see you purple from him, and he knows you want it too.

he comes with a brutal, resounding thrust; impossibly deep, skins one, painting you in thick ropes of crimson until he's dripping out of you. he's twitching aimlessly now, mouth drifting from your nape and across your shoulderblades, kissing your puffy cheeks and murmuring: "mmh... ma chouchoute, mon petit chou... mine, yes?"

he's smushing his cheek against yours, smiling when he feels your grin and nod. afterwards... he turns you around, scripts flying everywhere, giving you a lingering kiss before his palms grip onto your thighs and open you up, nearly spread-eagle. he eats you like this, cleaning you up, using the mind gift not to dampen your thoughts this time, but to swim in them. to hear how much it aches and how much you love it, thoughts spiralling sweetly as he drives you to another climax. this one sweeter, because he's there to lick it up.

"mon petit vieux, armand..." you coo when he comes up, one palm covering your mouth to stifle the cheek-splitting grin and failing completely. your giggles turn into a gasp when his palm comes down the meat of your ass, the slap stinging and delicious.

"behave," he clicks his teeth, but his smile gives him away.

A/N; woah. i did not know i had so much to say. when anon orders dumbification armand but the chef sprinkles in a bit of that brat taming house-special sauce and adds complimentary patronizing terms of endearment fries... we're eating good tonight! oh to be his little butterfly sighhh <3 also, mon petit vieux means my little old man, which made me do sommersaults once i found out bc it's the cutest fucking thing ever for armand :'3

(puce = literally "flea" (sweetheart, darling, etc) / mon petit chou = literally "my little cream puff" (sweetheart, darling, etc) / ma chouchoute = my favorite/darling/pet / mon petit vieux = my little old man!)

⭒ ݁ . read on ao3. my masterlist. leave a reblog and your thoughts!

3leni © 2026 — i do not consent to my work being republished on other platforms or put into ai. do not copy or plagiarize.

[theeraggedygirl]

primum non nocere

this was both an idea that came to me after the first episode and a request I received right after that comment: eye-patch!brat-tamer!Armand -- sort of.

Pairing: armand x healer!reader

Warnings: smut

Word count: 4098

a/n: I'm having fun in creating some sort of plot for some of these requests, that's why it's taking me a bit longer to write. So here is a new story for everyone!

Summary: After Akasha's destruction of the world, you had to perform your duties as a healer even if it required you to leave everything behind. Even your companion, Armand.

Disclaimer: english is not my first language

In the supernatural world healers tend to stand on the sidelines.

They have existed since the beginning of time, evolving during the centuries but never falling victim to the the threat of extinction.

Your family had been one of the longest-lived among the healing community and, after Akasha's destruction of the world, you were the last one standing.

It was your duty as healer to offer your powers during trying times, the Talamasca reaching out to you as soon as the first drop of mayhem fell on the world and you answered. You never stayed in a single place longer than two weeks, moving back and forth between countries and continents to reduce the number of victims as much as your abilities could allow.

You had been raised to be ready for times like this.

You had only one regret.

You had left your companion behind. You had left Armand without saying goodbye. If you closed your eyes now, you would still see the last time you had seen his face, eyes unaware that they would not ne able to meet yours again after that day.

Two years had passed since then. The defensive shield you had raised to stay safe and hidden prevented you from reaching out and contact Armand, and him from the doing the same.

You just hoped he was still alive. The chances were high, he was immortal, you were not and yet here you stood. You wondered if he wished the same, if he too spent days and nights unable to sleep with a heart heavy with nostalgia and heartbreak.

You missed him. If you could exchange the oxygen in your lungs for a chance to be held in Armand's arms once more, you would.

But you had a duty. And duty came before love, that had been your father's first teaching when you were only five years-old. Thirty years later you could still hear his booming voice as a reminder.

You were in Toronto now. The wave of destruction hit stronger here than in most areas, making your stay longer and more dangerous. Luckily, with the city in ruins, it was easier to hide and to stay alert for any unwanted approach.

You had found a small apartment in an abandoned building, stable enough for you to move in for a few weeks. You had managed to retrieve a big storage of supplies, filled with non-perishable food and herbs you needed as support during your healings.

Those were there only for emergencies, for the times when you had completely drained your body of its powers and needed to give it time to recover, so you could provide cures even when your abilities couldn't be of service.

You had followed your training to the letter. Your parents would be proud, even though they were no longer on this world to witness it. This apocalypse made sure of that.

That night you had finally succeeded in getting back to your apartment to rest after two days of no sleep, little food, and hands on never-ending bleeding bodies. Even feeling clean enough water cascading on your skin felt like a miracle to you, a blessing.

You were eating instant noodles, the taste almost nauseating but your body could not afford to skip another meal, as you watched the news on your phone, only a small lamp switched on the small living room. You hated to be surrounded by complete darkness, but you knew you could not draw too much attention to your shelter even with the neon signs still on in your neighbourhood. Never lower your guard.

You knew you had been careful when you got back, all your senses on alert way after closing the door behind you just to be sure you were actually alone. That's why you felt the blood in your veins run cold at the sound of light footsteps inside your apartment.

You held your breath, your muscles growing still as you waited for the approach. And, then, your heart started beating wildly in your chest.

Not out of fear.

"Armand, is that you?" you asked to the darkness beyond your living room.

A familiar figure stepped into the light and your breath hitched in your throat at the sight. You had imagined this moment countless times since you left, and yet now that it was actually happening it didn't feel like the way you had expected in the slightest.

You stood up from where you were eating on the small sofa, taking careful steps towards Armand who was standing there in complete silence. Your emotional core was a volcano spurting out lava lapilli as you could not understand the extent of your inner turmoil. If you were happy, or excited, or scared, or everything all at once.

You could not settle on a single sentiment because your eyes were focused only on Armand's face, on the eyepatch that was now covering his left eye, a deep scar showing outside of its borders.

Armand had lost an eye.

"What happened to you?"

You were now a few feet away from him, your body unable to step even closer, your words met only by silence and stillness, and not the ones that used to give you comfort while standing in Armand's presence.

"How did you find me?"

Still silence.

You swallowed around nothing as you tried to figure out a way to move forward, to get a reaction out of him.

"Are you going to answer me? Why are you here if you're just going to stand there unmoving?"

This time it was his turn to step forward, closing the distance even more between your bodies. The intensity in his gaze never changing even now, the feeling of being scrutinized from the inside out soothingly familiar.

"You left me."

Three single words. Enough to trigger a shiver down your spine at the coldness. You knew Armand would be furious and yet you could not accept the confirmation of your fear.

"I had to. I could not refuse the call when it came."

A twitch in his fingers. "You could have told me." Phalanges cracking lightly with the movement. "I could not reach you. I could not find you. You could have been dead and I wouldn't have known."

You took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I had no choice."

"No. Choice."

"You would have tried to stop me."

"Yes."

Another deep breath. "I could not allow that. Your wish could not have been ranked above the oath I swore to my kind."

"Your kind?" The contempt in his voice was like a dagger in your heart. "People who won't bat an eye while sending someone so fragile right in the eye of the hurricane."

"I'm not fragile—"

"I am immortal. A vampire," Armand continued without listening to you anymore. "And I have lost an eye still."

"I am not human either, Armand."

In a blink of an eye, the remaining distance between your bodies finally nullified. Armand's hands were on the top of your arms, squeezing the flesh without any intention of hurting you. "You are mortal. You could meet your end in a single second of distraction."

"I know. But I'm here."

Armand closed his eye, the strain to rein in the wildfire burning inside him clear in the way his hands were shaking. "It is not enough to repair two years of imagining you dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Neither are apologies."

You wanted to hold him, but with his hands still restraining you, you could not move. "What do you want me to do?"

Armand opened his eye again, the amber of his iris blinding you. "You come back to me, and you won't leave again."

A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, because you wanted to say yes. You wanted to go back to how your life was before, to feel the comfort of his embrace again and live entangled together for the rest of your life. But it was not your place to make this decision.

"I can't."

You barely felt the whoosh of air, only realizing you were moving when your back landed heavily against the wall. Armand's body was fully melt with yours, putting increasingly stronger pressure on you as you felt the concrete behind digging into your back.

Still, Armand's actions were measured in a way that prevented you from feeling any pain.

"This outcome cannot be accepted."

You shook your head. "I cannot leave the people behind. It's not fair."

"Fair?" You could feel his breath on the skin of your face, your nose brushing against his. "So it is fair to force me to watch you die, because that's the end lying ahead if I let you go out there again."

"I promise you I won't die."

"Do not make promises about something you can't control." Armand leaned forward, forehead resting lightly on yours. "Your body is too easily breakable."

"I can protect myself."

Armand moved back again, gaze meeting yours. "Another vampire in my place would have killed you in a second. That's how simple it is to breach your defences." You felt the tension leave slowly his body. "Death would be preferable compared to what others would do to your body. I will not allow this scenario to become a reality."

"Arm—"

"There is only so much of your disobedience that I can tolerate. No more."

"Please, let me expl—"

You body was turned to face the wall in a second. Your hands paralysed above your head by Armand's mind as his were slowly descending down your sides, before moving to your front.

You felt his fingers unbutton your shirt, taking their time with each button as if you both had all the time in the world.

"Did you let anyone touch your body in the same way I'm touching it now?" Armand asked bitterly in your ear, the tip of his fingers caressing the skin of your belly after removing the last of your buttons.

"I could never."

He hummed. "Shall I simply trust your words? I know how lustful you can be."

Your breathing was ragged, all your senses waking up at once with just a single passage of Armand's touch.

"I swear. My focus was only on my duties as a—"

"Yes, duty. You keep repeating that word," Armand interrupted you again, as his hands moved lower to unfasten your pants. "A cloak you love hiding underneath to justify your unacceptable behaviour."

You felt your pants fall down your legs bunching around your ankles. Goosebumps raised on the skin of your thighs as the chilly air of the room touched them.

Armand's hands moved to the side of your legs, ascending slowly as his fingernails pressed down on your skin leaving a trails of scratches in their path upwards. You shuddered at the sensation the action provoked in your core, a warmth starting to spread in your centre.

Their journey never stopped, making you arch your back as much as the restraints allowed you when Armand's fingers passed over your ribs. The intensity decreased slightly the moment your open shirt turned into a barrier between his skin and yours.

Armand was touching your upper back now, fingers inserting themselves in the little space between your neck and the collar of your shirt.

"Are you going to tell me you haven't touched yourself once either?" Armand's voice reached you again, the sound so low and dark that was shaking you to the core of your soul.

You opened your mouth to answer, but nothing came out. A short-circuit generating in your mind and burning your synapses as you struggle to formulate a single coherent thought.

You heard a sharp noise coming from behind you, Armand's nails cutting through the fabric of your shirt effectively ripping it in half. An efficient way to get rid of another piece of clothes that didn't require any unnecessary movement from you.

Your shirt fell on the ground in shreds, joining your pants at your feet. You were now standing only in your underwear, your body shivering from the cold and from the slow torture you were subjected to by Armand.

Your body was turned abruptly, allowing you to look Armand in the face again while your arms were still kept firmly above your head and against the wall. The tip of your fingers starting to grow numb from the prolonged position they were caged in.

Armand was staring down at you, the amber of his eye now a darker shade. He was waiting for you to answer.

"I have," you managed to utter between short intakes of breath. "And I have always imagined it was you touching me, but I could never…"

You stopped.

"Yes?"

"I could never reach an orgasm on my own."

A twinkle passed through Armand's gaze at your words. It was brief but you caught it before it could disappear again behind his usual mask.

"Do you want me to fix this woeful predicament for you?" Armand asked you, the tone bordering on patronizing, as he rested one of his hand on your belly an inch above the hem of your underwear.

"I do."

Armand's lips quirked up into a smirk. He was wearing a knowing expression on his face as if you had just fallen in his trap, no matter what you were going to say next.

"Only if you promise to leave this place with me, never to come back."

You pursed your lips at his demand, your stare hardening. He was unmoving in his conviction, but so were you.

"I already told you I cannot abandon—"

Armand let out a deep sigh before you could finish your sentence. He was hell-bent on interrupting each time you opened your mouth, while still demanding you to answer his questions. Another dimension of his power plays.

Armand bent over to his middle, hands coming to rest on your waist as he lifted you from the ground and put you over one of his shoulder in a swift movement. Your arms were now free from their previous restraints, though they could not be of much help as they moved quickly to grip the back of Armand's shirt for balance.

"Wrong answer," Armand commented firmly. "Again."

He was taking you toward your bedroom. You could try to rebel against his hold, albeit without any success, though that would only postpone the inevitable, and make your situation worse.

You were at Armand's mercy now.

He threw you on the bed unceremoniously, the remind of his strength sending a thrill down your spine.

"Maybe if I give you what you're craving," Armand continued, staring at you from the bottom of your bed while his hands moved to remove his clothes in a calm manner, "you will be more inclined to follow my instructions."

This composure he was presenting you was all an act. You could perceive the emotions boiling under the surface.

Slowly, you shifted your body back towards the headboard, your hands supporting you in the slide on the mattress. Your eyes never left Armand for a second.

When he was done with his clothes, standing proudly naked in front of you, you forced your gaze to not drop lower than his chin fighting against the temptation to admire his full figure again after years apart.

Feline-like Armand climbed on the bed, inching closer to you in a calculating pace. You sat still in your spot. There wasn't much you could do beside wait for his approach and pay close attention to every single one of his movements. You knew, though, that keeping an eye on him would have been pointless — not that you could stand a chance in this battle — but you had wished to put up a better fight at first, at least.

Just like a black panther, Armand jumped on you, getting a hold of your body and successfully putting you on your knees with your front turned towards the headboard. Another ripping sound followed. The last two pieces of clothing still on your body lay now on the duvet completely torn.

Armand inched even closer as he pressed his front right against your back, one of his arms circling you around your belly, while his other rested across your shoulders with the hand pushing your head back by putting pressure below your chin.

From this position he could keep his stare straight to your face and, even with your vision upside down, you could not escape the intensity in his gaze.

The arm on your stomach moved lower, his fingers finding your centre right after. You gasped at the touch and your mouth opened slightly at the feeling. Armand was studying your expression, paying attention to any minute change.

His fingers pressed down on your clit, attacking you suddenly with quick and firm circles, your wetness making the slide easier. A moan left your lips at the sudden sensation, the sound filling the otherwise silent room.

He was going hard on you right from the start, building up your pleasure fast without giving you the chance to fully enjoy the feeling. Armand wanted you to reach your climax in mere seconds and, embarrassingly enough, he was going to succeed.

You tipped over the edge with a high-pitched whine, promptly silenced by Armand's hand raising to cover your mouth from its previous position on your chin.

His palm was pressing down on your lips, your sounds muffled against his skin as his ministrations on your clit never stopped.

You could feel your legs begin to shake, the pleasure in your core now bordering on overstimulation but you could do nothing besides welcoming the sweet torture.

Your hands came up quickly to grip his wrist, not to remove his palm from your mouth, but as a way to anchor yourself and have your fingers visible to Armand's eye. Deprived of your ability to speak, you were going to tap against the back of his hand if the sensations were about to get too overwhelming for you to handle.

The purpose of this moment was to teach you a lesson according to Armand's fashion, not to hurt you. And you knew Armand would want you to stop him, and not to endure unwanted pain in silence.

The fingers on your clit never slowed down, and the overstimulation washed away in your limbs as a new peak was coming up from the horizon. The wet sounds coming from between your legs only increased, your wetness now dripping down the skin of your thighs and on the bed.

Your second orgasm hit you mere minutes after first, the heat so fierce that you were almost glad to have Armand's hand on your mouth to cover how loud you were screaming. Your legs felt like jelly, convulsions taking hold of your nerves as you struggled to keep yourself upright on your knees, Armand's arms doing most of the work.

Two of his hands entered you while your body was still in throes of pleasure, hitting the sensitive spot right behind your clit to prolong your climax for a few seconds longer. Tears blurred your sight before starting to fall down your cheeks, while your screams turned into whines at the never-ending pleasure you were experiencing. You knew you were covering Armand's hand with your drool, but none of you seemed to care in the moment.

All his focus was on your face and on his fingers fucking you at an unforgiving rhythm, and the squelching sounds that followed after each thrusts were a further proof of how responsive your body was to his ministrations.

Armand pulled his fingers out after slowing down his pace. He could have pulled another orgasm out of your body, but you could see in his eyes that he had other plans. He let your body go and, without his hold helping you keep yourself in position, you fell face down on the mattress.

"Are you willing now to abide to my request?"

You were panting against the pillow as you willed your lungs to take two deep breaths before slowly turning your body around to rest on your back. You looked at Armand, the usual tension in your muscles gone after coming twice in a few minutes, but your stubbornness was still burning alive in your veins.

"No."

"Pity."

Armand laid down next to you, mirroring your position on your back before reaching out to lift your body again. He manhandled you in the way he desired and, with your limbs still shaking with aftershocks, you simply let him.

Not that you had a problem with Armand taking full control of your movements.

He put you on top of him, straddling his hips, your chest resting against his as you didn't even try to lift yourself up in a sitting position, knowing full well that you would fail.

"Let's try another method, since you didn't seem to understand the first lecture," Armand whispered in your ear as a warning. All you could do was shiver in response.

Armand moved your arms to your back, his left hand taking a hold of both of your wrists, the grip tight enough to stop any movement, while his right hand reached for his length aligning it with your entrance.

He pushed inside you, your walls so pliant and wet made his entrance quick and smooth. Armand stopped only once he was completely bottomed out in your pussy, and you moaned at feeling so full of him again.

Armand stayed still for a moment, now both of his hands keeping your wrists and arms restrained against your back. You simply sat there, waiting, your cheek resting on his shoulder as your ragged breathing tickled the skin of his neck.

You heard Armand hum deeply in his chest and then, with careful movements, he lifted his legs propping his feet up on the mattress.

It all happened quickly. One second you were both lying still with his length warming you from the inside, the next Armand was pounded inside you with total abandon.

The spike of pleasure in your core was immediate, with you being so sensitive after the previous orgasms, but you had no more energy to scream. Your mouth was open and no sound was coming out of it, only quick and shallow breaths punched out of your lungs with every hard thrust of his hips.

"Shit, shit, shit," you mumbled against him, no other coherent thoughts generating in your mind.

Armand's pace never faltered as he fucked you from below, the hammering sounds of skin against skin resonating everywhere around you.

Your knees locked against his waist as you reached your peak again, the strong feeling draining you of whatever remaining strength you still had in your body. You collapsed on his chest, shaking wildly while you distantly felt Armand meet his own end and filling you up with his release.

With your body completely spent, the dam you had built around your heart crumbled down and all the emotions you had carefully repressed in the last two years burst out of you in a desperate cry.

Armand was already there to hold you tight against him in comfort, as if he was expecting this reaction out of you.

"I'm sorry for leaving you, I'm sorry—"

You apologised over and over, Armand shushing you softly in your ear. "I know, my love. The idea of you dying out here alone tormented me, I looked for you everywhere."

"I didn't want to leave you," you managed to say between hiccups. "I had no choice."

"You should have told me, we would have found a solution together."

You shook your head, still hiding your face in his neck. You had been feeling so lost and broken without Armand by your side, and your parents' death had been your last straw. You shut the world out completely right after that.

"I don't know what to do," you cried. "I don't want to leave you, but I cannot abandon my responsibilities."

Armand was caressing your head softly, his nails scratching your nape in soothing motions.

"I will stay here with you," Armand stated firmly. "But the moment this apocalypse finally ceases, we disappear from the world. Just the two of us."

You kept quiet for a few seconds, Armand's heart beating calmly below your chest. "Yes."

There was no need to say anything more. Both of you would endure and survive time and time again, that was all that mattered. As long as you were doing it together.

You had learned your lesson. ---

Now I'm working on the Old!Daniel x reader, and I'm ovulating. I feel so wild already about it.

Taglist: @park4parks, @inejghafawifesblog, @gotham-city-muse, @justrents, @chewbrry, @katyasrussianaccent, @witch-of-letters, @aceitunanostalgica @heaven-lyxx, @temperaynse, @satans-lil-angel, @v4mpir3s0oul, @fawningangelle,

[sheriff-bodecker]

steel and vibranium

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, pwp, straight porn, missionary, d/s dynamics, softdom!bucky, sub!reader, slight brat!reader, slight dumbification, oral fixation, sweat/spit/teeth kink (idk maybe lol), the aftercare is fucking again, creampie, bucky has a bush . . .

word count: 1.8k

a/n: this is me trying to get some requests finished :") i have a whole bunch, some of which i accidentally turned into long fics, some i hate the things i wrote and am trying to start again and some im figuring out, but this one came to me when i woke up horny for bucky barnes lol thank you anon for the request !! <3

masterlist || navigation

The mattress creaks and the frame knocks into the wall, chipping the paint, denting the wood where the two meet.

Forehead to forehead, sweat accumulating with torrid breaths and aching muscles, Bucky's hips caught to yours. Pressing, slamming, holding down as he clenches his glutes and humps, elongating the pleasure, taunting.

But the light chime of his tags kept ringing. They keep batting across your chest, cold and moist, patting your chin and dragging across your skin when you were right there.

It was just as your legs fell open, knees laying up as his dick dragged in and out, and he willed his noises to stay at a minimum, when the tags flittered to the dip of your neck. Your lips parted, sighing, rolling your eyes as it tap tap tap's and sings against your hot skin. You move, careful not to ruin the precision, pressing the chain against his peck, holding them firm to his chest.

At first, Bucky almost sat up, almost paused to ask if you were okay — pushing at his sternum, brows taut and eyes glassy, whining with every breath. Instead he pushed deeper, metal fingers drawing up your body until they held your jaw, squeezing your cheeks, making you look into his eyes.

"What's the matter?" His breath sticks to your face, bumping his nose to yours. "Pushin' me away? C'mon, speak to me."

You can't. That's the problem. It feels like with each pull and push, each pulse around his cock, and every kiss his tip grants your cervix, he drives all linguistic knowledge out of your brain, spilling it from your lips in garbled nonsense and breathy moans.

A whiney hum spills out as you tighten your lips into a line, keeping your jaw firm. You lean back into the pillow, shutting your eyes trying to find any semblance of words, but his hips keep moving. Slower now, yet still as effective, still holding you rigid and perfectly, and tauntingly precise. Rutting the length of himself inside of you while the fuzz of hair that littered the base kept grazing your clit. It isn't until one hand claws at the meat of his shoulder, and the other, the hand that pushed at the chain, leaving tiny dents in it's wake, fisted at the metal.

It clinks as the tags stay dangling from your palm, bumping to and fro.

"Oh, sweetheart," Bucky soothes, the warm metal of his thumb strokes against your bottom lip, slicked with spit and salty with sweat. "We're they botherin' you?"

You nod quickly, leaving a sharp smile on his face, dipping down to leave gentle kisses against your jaw.

"My smart girl," you keen into the praise, leaning deeper into his hand, letting his voice rasp and vibrate into your skin, leaving more room for him to lick and kiss. "Thought you wanted me to stop."

Ardently, you shake your head, ruffling your hair into the pillow behind you.

"No, no stopping. 'M not gonna stop." And he doesn't. His flesh hand replaces your own around the tags and he slots them between his teeth.

Salt and iron cover his tongue, sweat that had dripped from his down body, and your own that had mixed in as it had laid against your own skin, or tapped annoyingly your neck. It makes a dull sound as they sat firmly between his teeth, braced to the side, just where his molars start and his canines dig into the printed letters of his name.

It shouldn't be hot.

The sight of his mouth full, his teeth bared, carrying something precious with an iron grip of his jaw, made your walls pulse. You almost wanted to swap it out, to reach up and take the tags in your own mouth, enveloped in the debauched taste of century old metal, skin and spit.

But its hedonic. You love how he looks. Skin slick, chest heaving, drool already pooling at the edges of the tags, at the corner of his mouth right where his lips met. Animalistic in a way.

"There we go, there we go," his speech muffled, yet still affirmative and firm as he brings back the pace. Making your head drop back and mouth hang open on a gasp, arching your back. The warmth of his palm glides up your torso, leaving goosebumps as he drags up and down, before pulling your leg up by the thigh to latch onto his waist and holding you firmly at the hip. All while holding himself up on his forearm, vibranium fingers holding the top of your head reassuringly, grazing his thumb on your hairline.

He hums, unable to speak with his mouth full, unable to gather the spit about to fall. Your hands claw at the contorting muscles of his shoulder blades, moving to capture his hair between your fingers.

The tug you force has him stuttering, hips pressing to your own, the hair surrounding his base tickles again, right against your nub.

"Oh—fuck," you breathe out, jaw slack and tight all at once, the light feeling of release easing up your back as your thighs begin to tingle and tremble around his torso. "Bucky… Bucky, please."

The rivulets of spit drop, coating your neck and chin, and he follows them down until his hot, wet breath finds your temple. His chest caves with each inhale, keeping his hips up, holding down the pace that has you throbbing up his shaft, your nails digging into his shoulder and thighs shaking. He can feel the ring around the root of him, creamy and white, mixed in with the dark patch of hair.

The tags tinkle dully, let go from the cell of his teeth to lay wet next to your neck. You pay no mind to the slurping sound of him gathering spit from his lips; only staying in the blissed out haze of Bucky's body atop of yours and his pretty cock slapping in and out of you.

"C'mon, c'mon…" he repeats like a mantra, whispering under his breath, heated on the shell of your ear. "You got it, fuck, you feel so good. Wanna cum—cum inside of you, wanna push it in deep, n'keep fuckin' it in… Please, please, please…"

As your nails print crescents into his skin, your mouth holds a jumble of 'yes's to his shoulder. Balm and torrid to the meat of his shoulder, your body locks and a sweet ache begins to release around the stretch of him. Your lips press to his collarbone, muffling the shudders and whines and gasps that release as he fucks you through it, wet slaps and mumbled grunts chorusing together while you jolt and pulse.

It isn't long until he follows through, finishing deep inside, pressing and holding himself as his cock twitches with each spurt of cum. As if awoken from his daze, he keeps his hips moving.

Splatterings of white coat both of your pelvises and thighs, shuddering with overstimulation, muscles limp from overexertion, eyes half lidded and lips parted and red.

Bucky slowed himself as your jerking lessened and your teeth bared to hiss at the mild pain, and his dick softened. He watched, holding himself up with his knuckles to the pillow, guiding the softer limb to stay inside of your full warmth, uncaring about the mess that now coats his fingers — absentmindedly licking them off like candy residue.

Sighs and soft groans alike leave you both as he slips out. Your nails caress his torso, gliding gently up the red marks you printed on his back, down to the sensitive muscles of his ass, making him twitch and press his hips to yours again with a stifled laugh to your jaw.

"Careful, might get hard again before I can clean you up." He kisses and breathes you in, holding you into his body as your fingers hold their gentle rhythm.

You huff a lazy version of a laugh, nosing against the sweet smell of sweat where his neck meets his shoulder.

"Oh no, how awful," You croak sarcastically. The weakness in your voice makes you both laugh fully, rumbling chests pressed against one another, cheeks tight with smiles, and eyes watching with warm fragments. After a short moment of silence, of lungs catching up, you follow down the column of his neck to where his dog tags laid lopsided on your chest, and hummed. "I liked that thing you did."

"'That thing'?" He pressed, smirking, lowering his voice. "I've got many things goin' for me, sweetheart, be specific."

Another laugh breaks, crinkling your eyes at the corners, playfully pushing at his chest.

"That dog tag thing, you know, putting them in your mouth."

"You liked that?"

You nodded, fervently. "Uh-huh. Very much."

His lips move into a soft smile, catching the slick metal cards between his fingers to bring them up.

"That so?" He teases quietly, dragging them across your bottom lip, leaving the dewy residue to sit, sliding them just between the seam of your lips only to jut it out with a pop. "Maybe next time you can hold them for me?"

With your tongue poking out, you get a taste of the flavour that pooled alongside Bucky's own tongue. Musky and sour, tangy with body heat. And with a soft press on your thigh, you know that you're under a limit.

"Next time meaning five minutes?" You prod, tilting your head innocently. "Haven't even gotten cleaned up and it seems like little Sergeant Barnes is reporting for duty."

With a tut, he holds your chin, shaking his head. "Nuh-uh, fuck that and your smart mouth. Open wide, hold tight."

You obey and bite down as he slots the tags between your teeth, tugging at the chain twice to test out your grip. You scrunch your nose and furrow your brows, playfully pulling back at the chain. The grotesque brackishness of the tester you got grips you fully and drips down your throat.

"'Little Sergeant Barnes'," he repeats, sitting up as far as he could to grab ahold on himself. Sticky, wet and just as hard as before. He strokes himself, groaning as he fists tighter at his ruddy tip, coaxing a pearl of precum. Defiantly, he taps his heaviness on your clit. "Keep that up and making sure every inch of you aches with me the next day, understood?"

A giggle bubbles up before you could force it down. He slaps his cock against your clit again, holding and coating it down and between your lips, still creamy and dripping his own release, bullying your button with his tip. Your whine is muffled between your teeth as you bear them down.

"Understood?" He pushes, voice firmer, harsher, and you nod, heart racing, ribs already quivering. The sounds of your joint bodies squelch louder and louder, as your head lays dizzier and dizzier, but his voice whispers so soft and the way he terrorises and hounds your insides brings stars to the corners of your eyes.

taglist: @devililithh @buck-star @buckyfmd @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner @barnes-babydoll @kqtholins @wint3rbarnes @swimmingnightcolor @ilovestizzy @chronic-fangirl-222 @ornateglass @bucklesby-barnes @avgdestitute @demiebarnes @sunkissedspell @stanmarvelous @castielscaplan @ladymiseryy @phoenix-in-writing @layaflores @wherewinterblooms @sunday-bug @buckybunni @filthgf @angelryex @megsavengersslut @sassandscribbles @amidnightwish21 @goobers-mcgee @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelryex @iloveotters101 @venigrantrogers

marvel taglist: @colettebarnes @marvel--obsessed @pughsbelova @quantumbarnes @my-drvidess

seb taglist: @slutdier @clover1004 @colettebarnes @metal-armed-muse @68ep @herejustforbuckybarnes @quantumbarnes @buckysdecaflove @erina00 @onyx8514

© 2026 sheriff-bodecker

[eyelessfaces]

hold still

bob reynolds x reader

summary: bob can never pretend to be patient when he's in bed with you, so you try to teach him to be.

cw: smut, edging, handjob, sensitive desperate bob lets go, whiny bob lets go, sub!bob, light bondage, praise, bob's power making him break stuff when he comes yayy, fluff, aftercare, like one single mention of drugs

a/n: well...... yeah. I need to make this man whimper I'm sorry. I'm not so used to writing smut I hope it's not so bad pls be indulgent!

word count: 2.6k

masterlist ⋆ taglist ⋆ ao3 ⋆ @eyelessupdates ⋆ ko-fi ♡

Bob can be patient if he really has to. Sitting for dozens of minutes in the waiting room of his psychiatrist when all the previous appointments have progressively gotten delayed, meaning his own is no exception. Waiting for John to put his ego aside and finally call it quits with the punching bag so he can get his turn. Watching Yelena hesitate on which movie to pick from her watching list when really, she could pick any since she plans on watching them all anyway.

One thing he has never gotten acquainted with is being patient whenever he’s in bed with you.

Not when you’re slowly kissing down his neck and no matter how good it might feel to take the time, his pants feel like they’re about to burst from how long he has been hard. He can’t pretend to be patient either when he has you under him on the couch of the Watchtower when no one else is home, lips swollen from kissing, your chest heaving in ragged breaths and your hands buried in his hair, lightly tugging to pull him back to you and kiss him again when if he doesn’t have you touching him elsewhere he’s pretty sure he’s going to cream his pants in the minute.

And he certainly cannot be patient when, just as you are now, you’re straddling his thighs, the palm of your hand gliding along his throbbing cock, slow and languid, your teeth biting a mischievous smile into your bottom lip as you watch every reaction of his.

Your eyes wander over his figure, insistent and lustful as you admire the way his hand digs and paws at the fuzzy pillow over your bed, limbs reacting the only pathetic way they can when he knows he’s close to coming, the muscles of his lower stomach tensing with the intensity of it, hips rolling into your touch, just enough so he doesn’t look so desperate yet.

It’s all so cruel when he very well knows you will stop stroking him before he tips over the edge, letting it all fade away, but some part of him hopes he will get to come before you pull your hand away, even if he will feel guilty that he did and he knows he doesn’t really deserve to. 

Because some part of him thinks he deserves to feel the frustration of not being given what he wants, for all the shameful things he’s done, and in some way, he shouldn’t even deserve to come – if he really had to get what he deserved then you shouldn’t even let him, you should just leave him hard and aching.

But the thing with you is you’re too good to him, and he doesn’t even deserve to have you making him feel that good when all he’s ever done in his life has been trying to be just as good and ending up making things worse, for everyone around him, for himself.

So he will have to be patient.

His lower stomach burns as he feels it building, can only hope that this time will be the one you will let him come – he hopes each time, so desperate and lightheaded that his guilt can’t even reach him anymore. Your hand glides maddeningly tender along the length of his leaking cock, and even though his bottom lip almost dents with the way he bites back his sounds, the lightbulb of the dim light over your nightstand starts to flicker betrayingly – just as he’s about to come and maybe break something, you remove your hand, once again. “You’re gonna short circuit something” you say, denying him his orgasm once more tonight. The whimper that leaves his swollen lips as you pull away is almost endearing, his eyebrows pulling in a desperate expression. 

“You’re short circuiting me,” Bob whines, voice small but rough, head dropping forward all at once like the strings of a puppet brutally cut, hair draping over his face and hiding the flush over his cheeks. 

You fake pout, running a hand through the brown waves of his hair, brushing them back from his face, admiring the visible warmth over it. “I know, but it’ll feel even better once I finally let you come” you say, voice soft with enjoyable pity. Your hand leaves his hair to caress his thigh where you’re straddling his legs, fingers brushing beside where his cock twitches desperately, just inches away. His chest heaves in frustration, fingers clawing helplessly at the soft sheets of your bed like he’s trying to hold onto something other than you or he will burst.

“The…” he vaguely gestures to his side, glancing there for nothing more than half a second, a helpless exhale leaving him. “The lamp is telling you”

You look at the lamp over your bedside table, the light stabilized now. “I could tell even without the flickering” you declare, a chuckle escaping your lips. Even without the lamp, there is no mistaking the way he thrusts into your hand when he gets closer, desperate for more friction. You adjust your position over his lap, hand caressing over his bare thigh. “You’re doing so good for me Bob,” the already satisfied smile over your face grows with the way his dick twitches at your praise, and the ache between your legs strengthens too, painful and obvious, but that's a matter for later. “Just a few more and I’ll let you come, okay? Gonna make you feel so good baby.”

He nods eagerly, brows still knitted in a pitiful expression. 

There’s a desperate humming vibrating into your mouth when you kiss him, tongue brushing against his as his chest heaves with a moan when your hand runs along the hard plane of his abs, fingers tracing down his happy trail to eventually close around his cock again. Your hand isn’t even moving, and he’s already almost just as close as he was when you stopped, quiet whimpers hummed into your mouth that turn into full moans when you let your thumb focus and rub on his sensitive tip. You've been at it for so long and he has never stopped leaking, probably a curious side effect of the serum. Maybe the fact that he’s so easily worked up and sensitive is part of it too.

“Do you remember,” you start, lips still so close to his, thumb teasing around the sensitive tip of his dick and spreading the bead of precum leaking from it. A shuddering halt escapes his mouth and he looks down to where your hand is working, his breathing starting to get thicker again. “That time you came so hard you couldn’t stop laughing?”

His chest lifts with a laugh, and you feel the breath he huffs out. “Yes”, he says, ears turning red at the memory, still vividly remembering the weird mixed feeling of ecstasy and disbelief.

“I’ve been meaning to make you do that again” you declare, teeth sinking into your lower lip with a smile.

A whispered curse slips from his lips as he bucks into your hand, his laughter immediately dying down as the focused frown takes place over his face again, trying not to come right then and there. “Shit, okay” his eyes squeeze shut, head sinking back into the pillows of your bed, a loud sigh leaving his chest. “I’m gonna come if you keep it up and tell me stuff like this” he warns, eyes half lidded from the weight of all the sensations he’s bearing. 

“Oh, okay.” your mouth twists in a grimace. “But that’s kinda the plan, you know. Eventually”

He hums a low sound and his eyes open to the ceiling, a low whine coming from his chest when he adjusts his position, shifting your weight over him, and uses it as an excuse to thrust his dick into the palm of your hand. His hands rest at your hips, broad and warm, his sense of discipline off as his thumbs ever so lightly slip into the hem of your underwear, and you let him for a second, until you remove your hand from his dick and his chest caves with another pitiful sound. “Bob, do I have to tie you up?” 

He knows better than to speak. Or even think about it. He knows he’s fucked if he allows himself to imagine being bound and at your mercy for more than a second.

“You’re lucky I even let you thrust into my hand”

“Sorry” he mutters, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, a sigh leaving his chest. “I’m really trying to focus, but–”

“I bet you are” you cut him off, climbing off his lap to get off the bed. His throat tightens with confusion when he thinks you are leaving him here like this, and he props himself up on his elbows, watching as you rummage through a drawer of the dresser, his breathing still short. “I’m still tying you up”

When you walk back to the bed it’s with a belt in hand, and Bob swears he could come right then and there. You’re really doing it. “Oh–” he lies back on the bed when you straddle his lap again, purposefully grinding against his dick when you grab his wrists. His eyes carefully follow each of your movements, an obvious awe over his face, and he lets you handle him with ease, completely pliant under you when you wrap the belt around his wrists, gently tightening the loop. “I’m sorry” he murmurs as he watches you above him.

“That’s alright,” you declare as you let his arms rest above his head once you’re done binding him. “I’m doing this because I knew you’d like being tied up but would be too afraid to ask for it” you grin, giving his thigh a gentle pat. His face scrunches into a grimace of awkward agreement, and his dick twitches with need like a poor thing denied attention. “Look at you, Bob. You’re a mess” you grin before you lean to kiss his cheek. 

He could break his bounds easily if he wanted to, could get this over with quickly. He’s never really had to wait before, the drugs wouldn’t really allow him to – but he wants to, wants to be good for you, needs to ignore the pressure in his loins as your mouth trails from his jawline to his neck in soft kisses. It’s evil that this is the thing that almost undoes him – he would hate to end up having a ruined orgasm after all of this.

“You’re gonna be good for me now?” you ask, talking between kisses against the slope of his throat. He nods, eyes shut tight and assured, and you sense his throat tightening where your mouth feels it, can feel it budge with anticipation when your fingers trail down his defined abs to meet the core of his need again. Your face is still tucked in his neck where you can directly feel the vibration of his whimpers of relief – or oppositely, of frustration because he’s still trying to hold on – when your fingers wrap around his throbbing, aching cock again. “I’ll let you thrust.”

His head digs further back into his pillow, eyelids fluttering back and forth as your hand starts to work on his sensitive cock. He won’t get sheepish on the one thing he’s allowed – he bucks into your fist, fucking your hand further than you do it, chasing the pleasure you're giving him. The feeling of your soft palm gliding over his aching cock gets much more maddening now that he controls the pace, and he knows he can and will probably sabotage himself with it, but he can’t help it, he’s far too deep into it now, he’d rather suffer the consequences later than have you deny him his orgasm once again.

“Please,” he brokenly pleads when the light flickers again, when what’s resting over your bedside table starts to tremble with the way he bucks into the palm of your hand with erratic, desperate thrusts. His wrists strain against his bounds, the muscles of his stomach tensing, sweat beading at his temples when he tries to hold it, still guiltily moving against your touch. “I can’t–”

“It’s okay, Bob” you murmur. “Let go”

His face contorts with a whimper of relief, and his frown of focus turns into one of determination when you finally let him loose; he bucks wildly, fucking your hand with short, sharp thrusts until the pleasure is too intense, too much to bear. 

He’s been there before tonight, only this time, he doesn’t have to hold it, and white flashes before his eyes when with a guttural cry, he hilts inside your fist, his cock pulsing and jerking as he starts to come – the lightbulb explodes with the force of it in a sharp sound.

He’s too far gone to notice, and you can’t let the sudden fright of it stop you guiding him, so you keep helping him through it, maintaining his pace when his body gives up on the effort and only sinks into the mattress when he can’t give any more.

He’s wrung dry, dizzy with the intensity of it, soul up to the ceiling or even well up above at this point, but completely out of his body, he’s sure. He only feels the ghost of your touch over his cheek, just feels the warmth of your mouth after it has left it, barely hears it when you praise him and help him down the slope of it all. His eyes fall shut, chest heaving heavily as he catches his breath, blood pumping and limbs light when you free his wrists and guide his arms down.

He nods when you make sure he’s okay, body doing it on his own, eventually smiling when he finally regains sentience. His hands cover his face, and while he knows he’s safe with you, he starts giggling – either in embarrassment or relief, he has no idea, but he can’t help it, and it lasts a good while but eventually helps him fully come back to his senses.

His eyelids prickle with the weight of everything that has come crashing down, a beaming smile over his face as he looks over at you when you lie down next to him. He's never felt so lighter before, has never felt like an empty shell in the good sense of it.

“You broke the lightbulb” you murmur, pushing back the strands of damp hair sticking to his face. He usually easily gets sweaty, but it has never been that bad before. 

He grimaces guiltily, watching to the side, seeing the chunks of glass scattered over the bedside table. “Sorry… Did you– did you get hurt?”

“No” you shake your head reassuringly, watching the worry fade from his face. “But we’re gonna have to invest in candles” you tease. “Unless you turn them into flamethrowers”

He huffs out a laugh, face beaming in guilty amusement. “I’ll try not to”

He blinks, slow and heavy as his hand holds yours over his chest rubbing back and forth, and it’s obvious he’s exhausted and probably won’t hold on too long before he gives up on remaining awake and sleeps like a log. “Don’t fight it,” you smile softly. “I’ll clean you up”

“Thank you” he murmurs, chest heavy with what remains of it all. “You were right. It was great”

“You were great” you whisper, kissing his cheek. “You weren’t that bad on the patience matter.”

He smiles, somewhat proud of himself for it.

At least, he will know he has it in him the next time Valentina ambushes him into an excruciatingly long mission meeting.

—

every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated♡

ko-fi ♡

thunderbolts taglist:

@majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon @sillymilly17 @yyiikes @snazzynacho

@harebrained-0 @daisydark @baruque-ya @sleepysongbirdsings @alexxavicry

@earsthemagpie @lifeisafreakshow @nomajdetective @minminswag04 @mrcspectr

@nogoandbees @mayal0pez @frostyfoxx1 @starry-swan @dixondystopia 

@lilmisslexapro 

[rosieriesz]

𝐠𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐞 .ᐟ

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, explicit sexual content — MDNI , graphic descriptions , excessive cum , kinda gentle to rough sex, oral sex (f receiving), overstimulation , creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), porn with little plot, needy peter parker , love confessions , touch starvation , college au , post nwh , smut , fem!reader , pussy drunk peter , first time together , confessions , the L word !!

𝐰𝐜: 4.9k (i think. might be more, might be less. idk.)

𝐚/𝐧: i may have gone overboard with this but it’s my first smut fic. LOL! no spoilers for brand new day! this is semi proofread, so sorry in advance for mistakes. enjoy!!

the thing about Peter Parker is that he doesn't realize how tactile he is.

or maybe he does now, after four years of forcing himself not to be.

you’re sprawled across his dorm room floor, textbooks and notes scattered around you like academic shrapnel. your Organic Chemistry problem set is due tomorrow, and Peter's trying to explain electron orbital hybridization for the third time while you're trying not to notice the way his hands move when he talks.

"okay, so—wait, are you even listening?" he glances up from the molecular model he's been gesturing at, catching you staring.

"yes," you lie. "orbitals. hybridization. very sexy stuff."

Peter's ears go pink. they always do. "it’s actually kind of cool if you think about it. like, the atoms are literally reshaping themselves to form stronger bonds—"

"Peter."

"—which is sort of romantic in a way? no? okay, yeah, I hear how that sounds."

you grin, nudging his knee with your foot. "you’re such a nerd."

the contact makes him freeze for just a second—so brief you almost miss it. but you've been Peter's best friend since freshman orientation, when you found him eating lunch alone in the dining hall, and you've gotten good at reading him. the way his breath catches. how his eyes track the movement of your leg as you pull it back.

"takes one to know one," he manages, but his voice is slightly rough.

you’ve been noticing things like this more lately. the way he leans into your touch when you grab his arm. how he finds excuses to be close—sitting next to you even when there's a whole empty couch, walking you home when your dorm is barely three buildings away. the looks that last a fraction too long.

at first, you thought you were imagining it. Peter Parker, who spent freshman year obviously pining after someone he wouldn't talk about, who kept a careful distance from everyone like he was afraid of breaking something. but somewhere between late-night study sessions and 2 AM bodega runs and him falling asleep on your shoulder during movie nights, something shifted.

now he's watching you chew on your pen cap, and there's heat in his gaze that makes your stomach flip.

"we should take a break," you suggest. "my brain is melting."

"yeah, okay." Peter runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up adorably. "i’ve got—uh, i think there's some leftover pizza? and definitely Red Bull, which is probably not great to mix with the coffee we already had, but—"

"Peter."

"hmm?"

you’re not sure what you were going to say. something about how he's rambling, maybe, or how cute he looks when he's nervous. but you're sitting close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, and the words dissolve on your tongue.

he swallows hard. "you’re looking at me weird."

"weird how?"

"i don't know! like..." he trails off, and you watch his gaze drop to your mouth before snapping back up. "never mind."

the air feels thick suddenly, charged with something that's been building for months. you think about all the almost-moments—hands brushing when passing coffee cups, the time he caught you when you slipped on ice and held on longer than necessary, the way he said your name last week, soft and wondering, like he was testing how it felt.

"Peter," you say again, and this time his name sounds different. heavier.

"yes?" it comes out barely above a whisper.

you lean in slowly, giving him time to pull away. he doesn't. instead, he tilts forward like you're gravity and he's been in orbit too long, and when your lips finally meet, the small sound he makes goes straight through you.

the kiss is soft for maybe two seconds before Peter's hand comes up to cup your face and it turns desperate. he kisses like he's starving, like you're air and he's been underwater for years. his other hand finds your waist, gripping tight enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers.

"sorry," he gasps against your mouth. "sorry, i just—"

"don’t apologize." you thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently. the noise he makes is almost pained.

"i’ve wanted—" he breaks off, kissing you again, harder. "god, i’ve wanted this for so long."

you end up in his lap somehow, textbooks scattering as he pulls you closer. Peter's hands are everywhere—your hips, your back, sliding under the hem of your shirt to touch bare skin. when you roll your hips experimentally, he actually whimpers.

"fuck," he breathes. "fuck, you can't—i’m trying to—"

"trying to what?" you do it again, feeling him harden beneath you.

his head falls back against the bed frame. "be good. go slow. not just—" his hips buck up involuntarily. "not just maul you like some kind of—oh fuck, are you taking off your shirt?"

you are, in fact, pulling your shirt over your head. "is that okay?"

Peter's eyes go wide and dark. "is that—are you seriously asking if—yeah. yeah, it’s okay. are you kidding?" he reaches for you with shaking hands, then stops himself. "i need you to tell me this is real."

"it’s real." you guide his hands to your waist. "i’m real. touch me, Peter."

he surges up to kiss you, lifting you and gently laying you back against the bed, he follows you down—his weight pressing you into the mattress. he’s kissing your the spot behind your ear now, your neck, your jawline, your collarbone, working his way down with single-minded focus. you, you you you you.

"you’re so soft," he murmurs against your skin. "so fucking soft, i can't get enough. so soft, and smooth.”

his hands shake as he reaches for your bra clasp. it takes him two tries, and he laughs breathlessly against your shoulder. "sorry, i’m—it's been a while.”

your heart clenches. you know Peter has secrets—everyone does—but sometimes he lets things slip that make you wonder what he's been through. "we can slow down if you want."

"no." it comes out fierce. "no, i don't want slow. i want—" he drags his hands down your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "i want to touch every part of you. want to taste you. want to—fuck, i want so many things."

he gets your bra off and just stares for a moment, reverent. when’s the last time he’s seen tits up close? then he's ducking his head to take your nipple in his mouth, and the feeling shoots straight between your legs. his tongue works in circles while his hand palms your other breast, and you arch into him with a gasp.

"Peter—"

he’s grinding against your thigh now, seemingly unconscious of it, completely focused on mapping your body with his mouth. when he kisses down your stomach, just above your navel, your muscles jump under his lips.

"can i?" his fingers are on the button of your shorts. "please. pleasepleaseplease."

"yes." you lift your hips to help him, and he drags your shorts and underwear down in one motion like he can't wait another second.

Peter sits back on his heels, just looking, and the expression on his face makes you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world. "holy shit," he breathes. "you’re so—i can't believe you're letting me—fuck.”

"Peter." you reach for him. "come here."

but he shakes his head, lowering himself between your thighs instead. "i need to taste you first. i’ve been thinking about this for months—i felt like a pervert but.. i just couldn’t stop thinking about you. shit, baby.”

the first broad lick of his tongue through your folds makes you both moan. Peter grips your thighs hard enough to bruise, spreading you open obscenely as he buries his face between your legs like a man starving. there’s no technique to it at first, just raw desperate hunger—he's licking and sucking messily, his tongue exploring every fold, every inch of you like he needs to memorize the taste.

"oh my god," you manage, watching him devour you. watching his messy curls between your legs. “Peter, that's—fuuuuck!”

he moans against your cunt, the vibration making your legs shake. his tongue finds your clit and circles it sloppily before dipping lower, the tip of his tongue pushing into your entrance. "fuck," he gasps, pulling back just enough to speak, his chin already shiny with your arousal. "jesus, you're so wet. you’re dripping—all for me?” he dives back in, licking into you deeper, his nose pressed against your clit as he tries to fuck you with his tongue.

you can feel how soaked you are, can hear the obscene wet sounds as he works you over. Peter's completely lost in it, grinding his hard cock against the mattress as he eats you out like it's the best thing he's ever tasted. because you are. if he knew, he would’ve confessed long ago.

"you taste so fucking good," he mumbles against your pussy, words muffled and desperate. "could do this forever. could just live between your legs—fuck, you're getting wetter. fuck, honey."

he slides two fingers into you without warning, and you cry out at the stretch. your walls clench around the intrusion, and Peter whimpers at the feeling. "oh god, you're so tight. so fucking tight and warm. holy fuck.” he curls his fingers, searching, and when he finds that spot inside you, your back arches off the bed.

“there!" you gasp. "right there, Peter, don't stop—"

"here?" he does it again, his fingers pumping in and out while his mouth seals around your clit. he sucks hard, tongue flicking rapidly, and the dual sensation has you climbing fast. you can see him grinding desperately against the mattress, seeking friction, his hips rolling in time with his fingers fucking into you.

"Peter, i’m gonna—"

"please," he begs against your clit, the word vibrating through you. "please cum for me, wanna feel your pussy squeeze my fingers, wanna taste you cumming on my tongue. please? will you cum for me, baby? please, i need it. i need you.”

his encouragements and the fullness combined with his mouth on your clit sends you over the edge. your orgasm crashes through you, and Peter moans like he's the one cumming as your walls clench rhythmically around his fingers. he works you through it, fingers still pumping, tongue still lapping at your clit until you're shaking and oversensitive and have to physically push his head away.

when he lifts his head, his face is a mess—lips swollen and shiny, chin glistening with your arousal, eyes absolutely blown black with lust. he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. “that was the hottest thing i’ve ever done," he says, voice completely wrecked. he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. "you’re the hottest thing i’ve ever seen. i can’t—i need to be inside you right now or i’m gonna lose my mind."

you reach for his shirt with shaking hands. "off. please."

he strips so fast he nearly falls over, hopping on one foot as he shoves his jeans and boxers down. it’s almost comical, if you weren’t so desperate right now. when he's finally naked, you take a moment to appreciate him—lean muscle, the cut of his hipbones, his cock hard and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. the head is already leaking precum, and as you watch, another bead forms at the tip.

"come here," you say, and he practically lunges back onto the bed.

the first touch of skin on skin makes him shudder violently. "oh shit," he breathes, his cock sliding against your wet pussy. "ah fuck, you feel so good. jesus. your skin. fuckfuckfuck.”

your wrap your hand around him, and his hips jerk forward involuntarily, fucking into your fist. he’s hot and hard and silky in your palm, and when you stroke him once, experimentally, precum leaks over your fingers. the sound he makes is almost pained. he bites his lip so hard, you’re afraid he’ll break skin.

"i’m not gonna last," he warns, voice breaking. "i’m already so close, i’ve been so close just from tasting you, from feeling you cum on my face.”

"it’s okay." you guide him to your entrance, notching the head of his cock against your opening. you’re so wet that he slides through your folds easily. "i want you inside me. want to feel you cum inside me.”

Peter’s hand shakes as he reaches between you, gripping his cock to line himself up properly. "i don't—do you have a—"

"pill," you manage. "i’m on the pill. clean. are you—

"of course i am. i—i mean. yes.”

you’d normally never do this raw. but right now, all you care about is the way he's looking at you like you're everything, as he slowly pushes inside.

the stretch is intense—he's thick and the angle is deep and you're so sensitive from your first orgasm that every inch feels like too much and not enough all at once. you both groan as he sinks in, and you can feel your walls fluttering around him, trying to accommodate the intrusion.

"oh my god," Peter gasps, his whole body trembling. "oh my god, you're so tight, i can feel—fuck, i can feel everything—" his arms are shaking with the effort of going slow, his face buried in your neck. "you’re squeezing me so tight, oh, fuuuuck.”

when he's fully seated, buried to the hilt inside you, he stops, breathing hard against your skin. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel how close he already is. "need a second," he pants. "just need a second or i’m gonna cum right now.”

you run your hands down his back, feeling the tension in his muscles, the way he's holding himself perfectly still. "it’s okay. take your time."

"don’t want it to be over." he lifts his head to look at you, and his eyes are almost desperate, pupils blown so wide there's barely any brown left. "feels too good. you feel too good. like—like you were made for me, like your pussy was made to take my cock.”

you rock your hips slightly, and his eyes nearly roll back. "Peter, you can move. please move. i need you to fuck me."

he does, pulling out slowly—agonizingly slowly—and you can feel everything. every ridge, every vein, the way his cock drags against your walls, the way you're stretched around him. the sensation is so intense it makes your toes curl, makes you whimper at the loss of fullness.

"oh, fuck," Peter breathes, watching where you're joined, watching himself slide out of you. "you look so good taking my cock. so fucking good.”

then he slides back in, just as slowly, and you both moan at the same time. the sound he makes is broken, almost pained, like it feels too good to bear. his whole body shudders as he bottoms out again, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he does it again, pulling out painfully slow—before sliding back in. the feeling is so perfect. yet, your body craves more. he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, but you can feel him holding back, trying to maintain control, his jaw clenched with the effort.

"can’t—" he gasps. "can’t believe how good you feel. so tight and wet and warm. how are you so tight, baby? god.”

he sets a rhythm that's deep and steady, his cock plunging deep inside of your pussy, over and over. each thrust is deliberate, controlled, like he's trying to memorize every sensation. but you can see the effort it's taking him—his jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping, his arms trembling where they're braced on either side of you, sweat already beading on his forehead.

"ah—yes!" you encourage, running your hands up his back. "you feel so good inside me."

his hips stutter slightly at your words, the rhythm faltering for just a second before he regains control. "yeah? you like feeling me fuck you?"

"yes, pete! love it! love feeling you stretch me open—!”

"fuck—" his next thrust is slightly harder, slightly faster, and he immediately tries to slow down again. "sorry, sorry, i’m trying to—trying to go slow but you feel so fucking good.”

"let go," you tell him, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want to feel you lose control. want you to fuck me like you've been dreaming about."

he groans as he feels your walls clench around him. “i’m sorry, honey. m’sorry. i’m too rough, aren’t i? m’so sorry.”

"don’t apologize." you roll your hips to meet his next thrust, and the angle makes him hit deeper. "want to feel you."

the pleasure is building steadily, a warm coil tightening in your belly with each stroke. Peter's breathing is getting heavier, his control visibly slipping. his thrusts are getting incrementally faster, harder, like his body is moving on instinct despite his attempts to hold back.

"you’re so—ah!—perfect," he pants against your neck, his hips snapping forward a little harder. "so fucking perfect, taking my cock so well—" another thrust, faster this time. "been dreaming about this, about being inside you, about feeling you on my cock.”

his rhythm is getting less controlled now, more erratic. you can feel him starting to lose it, his careful restraint crumbling with each thrust. he’s sweating more, his skin slick against yours, his breathing ragged and desperate.

"Peter—" you dig your nails into his back. "more. need more."

he shakes his head. “can’t—if i go harder i won't be able to stop—" but even as he says it, his hips are moving faster, driving into you with more force. "what are you doing to me? fuuuck, i can't—i’m trying to be gentle but you feel too good.”

“then don't be gentle." you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "want you to fuck me harder."

he makes a sound that's almost a whimper, his hips stuttering before he slams into you harder than before. "like that? you want it like that?"

"yes!—fuck, yes—"

his control is slipping faster now. each thrust is harder, faster, more desperate. he tries to slow down, you can feel him trying, but his body won't listen. his hips keep moving, keep driving into you with increasing intensity.

"can’t stop," he gasps, his voice breaking. "can’t fucking stop, you feel too good, your pussy is so tight—" he’s babbling now, his face pressed into the curve of your neck. "want to fuck you so hard, want to make you feel so good, want to hear you scream my name.”

"m’trying to—trying to hold back—" but his hips are moving faster, pounding into you with a force that makes the bed shake. "don’t want to hurt you—"

"you won't. please, Peter, i need it.”

his next thrust makes you both cry out. he’s completely losing it now, his rhythm getting faster and more erratic, his body taking over despite his attempts at control. you can feel him shaking, trembling with the effort of holding himself back even as his hips betray him.

"i’ll hurt you—i’m stronger than i look—“

"shut up, Peter." you pull him deeper with your legs, and the angle makes you both gasp. "stop—fucking—ah!, stop apologizing. i want all of you. want you to use me, fuck me as hard as you need.”

his eyes roll back at the depth and his fragile restraint snaps. he eyes go dark and feral, and suddenly he's pounding into you, his hips snapping against yours with force that would probably hurt if you weren't so turned on. the bed frame slams against the wall with each thrust, and Peter's completely gone, his filter destroyed.

"fuckfuck, shit, your pussy feels so good," he babbles against your neck, his voice broken and desperate. he reaches up, his hand palming your breast, squeezing the weight in his hand. his thumb circling over your nipple as he moans into your neck. "so tight and wet and perfect—can't believe i get to have this, have you. been wanting to fuck you for so long..” he changes the angle slightly and hits that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "there? can you feel me there? can you feel how deep i am?"

"yes!" you’re clinging to him, nails digging into his back. "Peter, oh my god!”

"shit—! wanted to bend you over the library table," he confesses, words tumbling out in a rush as he fucks into you relentlessly. "wanted to pull you into the bathroom at that party last month and fuck you against the sink. wanted to wake up with my face between your legs, wanted to fall asleep with my cock still inside you—" he’s rambling now, completely unfiltered, telling you every desperate fantasy as his hips piston. "used to jerk off thinking about this, about how you'd feel, how you'd sound, what your pussy would look like stretched around my cock.”

the world outside his dorm room falls away, all you can feel is his cock pumping in and out of you. you can barely think, he’s barely giving you time to think. all you can hear is his moans, your own desperate cries and the wet slap! of his skin against yours.

you can feel another orgasm building, the angle hitting perfectly with every brutal thrust. your walls are fluttering around him, and you know he can feel it because he moans and somehow speeds up even more. like he’s superhuman.

"Peter, i’m close—"

"i know, sweet girl. i can feel it." he reaches between you, his thumb finding your swollen clit. the touch is almost too much on your oversensitive flesh, but then he's rubbing tight circles and you're flying. "cum on my cock. please baby, need to feel it, need to feel your pussy cumming on my cock. just like you did on my fingers.”

tne combination of his thumb and the relentless thrust of his hips and his desperate words sends you over the edge. your second orgasm hits even harder than the first, your whole body seizing as pleasure whites out your vision. you clench around him rhythmically, and Peter makes a sound like he's been punched, his rhythm faltering.

“oh shit, shitshitshit, you're squeezing me so tight, i can't—i’m gonna cum—where? tell me where. please.”

"inside," you gasp, still riding the waves. "cum inside me, Peter, want to feel it.”

he buries himself as deep as possible and comes with a broken moan of your name.

you can feel it immediately—the first hot pulse of cum flooding into you, but it doesn't stop. it keeps coming, wave after wave, his cock jerking violently inside you as he empties himself. there’s so much—more than should be possible—each pulse filling you fuller, the warmth spreading deep inside as he shakes apart above you.

"oh god, oh god.” his voice is completely destroyed, words slurring together as another massive wave hits him. "i’m sorry, baby. i know it’s a lot—fuuuuck. imsorryimsorryimsorry.”

another pulse, his hips jerking involuntarily, grinding deeper like he's trying to fuck his cum even further inside you.

his arms are shaking so badly he can barely hold himself up. you can see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes from the overwhelming intensity, his face twisted in almost painful pleasure.

when his orgasm finally, finally starts to subside, he collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress because he literally cannot hold himself up anymore. he’s shaking like a leaf, gasping against your neck, and you can feel the obscene amount of cum leaking out of you.

"holy shit," he finally says, voice absolutely destroyed. "that was—i mean, i knew it would be good, but that was—i think i saw the heavens. god, i feel like i’m gonna pass out.”

"that was so hot," you manage, because words are hard right now and your limbs feel like jelly.

he lifts his head to look at you, and his expression is soft and wondering and a little hungry. "i love you," he says. "i know that's probably too soon to say, and we should probably talk about what this means, but i love you. i’ve been in love with you for months, maybe longer, and i thought i’d never get over—someone else—but then you smiled at me in the dining hall freshman year and i just.. i don’t know. you definitely don’t have to say it back, because i sound insane, but i just want you to know that—“

you kiss him, cutting off the ramble. "i know. i think i love you too.”

his answering smile is bright enough to power the sun. "yeah?"

"yeah.”

he kisses you again, soft and sweet this time, and you can feel him starting to harden inside you again, his cock thickening and lengthening where it's still buried in your pussy.

"Peter," you say, mock-stern even as your body responds.

he grins, sheepish and hungry all at once, and rolls his hips experimentally. the slide is easy, slick with cum and arousal. "i have months to make up for. hope you didn't have plans tomorrow."

you definitely don't have plans. and when he starts moving again—slow and deep and perfect, his cum making obscene wet sounds as he fucks it back into you—you can't think of anywhere else you'd rather be than here, in his messy dorm room, with the boy who's been touch-starved for too long finally letting himself feel everything.

the Organic Chemistry homework can wait.

authors note: whewww.. hi guys… yes.. yes.. i’ve been gone for a few weeks but IM HERE NOW! and here with a smut.. wooo!! baby’s first smutfic yum yum. i saw bnd on the 29th and holy fan service.. any who i have a love hate relationship with this. i’m SCARED to post this and i will delete if it doesn’t do well (kidding). i just get embarrassed writing smut so.. hope you love it.. and if you do, i might make more !! bye loves <3

[eyelessfaces]

wet and dry

bob reynolds x reader

pic is not representative of reader’s race or body type

summary: “You can’t just get this off like that, can you?” you ask, already convinced of the answer when you look at his suit, fingers brushing along the lines of it. The attire makes him look slick and chiseled, in addition to making you aroused and incapable of appropriate thoughts. Bob looks down on himself, taking a deep breath like he’s considering the question and hoping for a different answer, but he gives you a disappointed shake of his head when he glances back up at you. “I’m sure we can make it work though” he nods, a glint of mischief shining through the deep blue of his eye, a grin tugging at his lips.

cw: f!reader, smut, dry humping, thigh riding, coming in pants, reader wears lace underwear

a/n: here’s a lil something to make up for the time I’m taking trying to crank out another monstrosity of a fic. I realized I’ve never really written about the sentry suit and never really written dryhumping either so.. boom. that’s what you get.

word count: 1.2k

masterlist ⋆ taglist ⋆ ao3 ⋆ @eyelessupdates ⋆ ko-fi ♡

You carefully close the door behind you, cautious about it despite the way your blood pumps hot, trying not to make a sound not to bring suspicions to your whereabouts – you don’t have much time before someone notices that you are curiously both gone, you don’t have much security on privacy either, and you certainly don’t need anyone to interrupt. “This thing doesn’t even have a lock on it” you grumble, hand over the handle twisting it antsily, trying to lock it again in case you just happened to miss it.

Bob simply holds out his hand inches away from the handle, and the thing trembles under your hold – it doesn't budge when you try putting pressure on it again, frozen in place completely, and Bob is lifting a contented eyebrow when you glance back to him.

“Thank you,” you sigh as you finally turn to him now that you can have him freely, barely taking the time to assess the room around you – your arms lock around Bob’s neck, his hands settling at your waist when his mouth is on yours, walked backwards by the force of your shared hastiness, only stopped when the edge of the table hits the back of his thighs, a quiet, surprised sound vibrating from his throat. Your hands shift from around his neck to slide down to his chest, palms feeling the quick rise and fall of his chest, his heart beating rapidly beneath your hand. “You can’t just get this off like that, can you?” you ask, already convinced of the answer when you look at his suit, fingers brushing along the lines of it. The attire makes him look slick and chiseled, in addition to making you aroused and incapable of appropriate thoughts.

Bob looks down on himself, taking a deep breath like he’s considering the question and hoping for a different answer, but he gives you a disappointed shake of his head when he glances back up at you. “I’m sure we can make it work though” he nods, a glint of mischief shining through the deep blue of his eye, a grin tugging at his lips.

“Yeah?”

He hums, quiet and approving, handling you closer to him before he kisses you again, getting hungrier with it, messier, patience wearing thin – he isn’t so bad at waiting, but you’re not, and when you’re not, he isn’t either.

You feel his fingers search and fiddle with the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the piece of clothing down the curve of your ass. His hands cop a feel at the same time and squeeze lightly – that’s when the palm of your hand presses against his bulge through the thick fabric of his suit, getting him to groan inside your mouth. 

Your other hand only makes work of getting your pants off faster, stepping out of them once they have fully been shed off your legs, almost tripping if it wasn’t for his hands steadying you, leaving you in your thin lace panties. Bob’s lips part from yours to take a look, and he uncomfortably shifts where he’s half sat over the table to readjust his position, dick unfairly straining against the tight confines of the Sentry suit. “I would have gotten you in a room sooner if I had known you were wearing these” he breathes out, twitching beneath the press of your hand.

You don’t have the time to speak back – a whimper is forced out of your mouth when his thigh wedges between your legs, right into where you ache for his touch, his broad hands planted at your sides, holding your waist. He moves you closer to him and your breath hitches again, clit rubbing through the thin layer of your underwear against the reinforced fabric of his suit, your head spinning with it when you look down to where you’re straddling his muscled thigh, and you start replicating the movement of friction to soothe the ache.

“Here you go,” Bob whispers, a grin plastered over his face as he stares to the rolling of your hips he’s half controlling. His heart rate picks up with the small noises you let out as you languidly grind against him, palming his throbbing cock at the same time, forehead pressed against his.

The fabric of your panties only gets slicker as you go, only makes the friction easier against him, so much that your hand leaves his crotch to grip at his shoulder to anchor yourself. The lack of direct contact against his dick isn’t so much of a loss – seeing you get off like this on him is just as intoxicating to him, getting more and more wound tight with every of your back and forth against his thigh, lightly rubbing against his crotch where he feels like he might actually tear and burst.

“You're so pretty like this” Bob murmurs, gaze stuck in a cycle of incessant back and forth between your face and your lap, his hands steady and firm over your lower back as they hold and guide you. A quiet groan tears from his throat when in response, you grind more forcefully against him, brow furrowed in focus, intent on getting what you both want out of this. 

“Shit” you curse through your teeth in a strangled noise when you start to feel yourself tense as you roll against the bump of a line on his suit. His breathing gets thicker with it, desperate to see you break, seemingly only getting harder inside the tight entrapment of his attire. “Oh god, Bob– I’m–”

“Come on,” he purrs, breathing hot against your lips, spurring you on as his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips. You close the gap and press your mouth against his again, teeth almost clashing with the strength of it, your hand sinking into his hair, pulling him even closer if possible, driven by the unabated need to crawl into his skin. His eyelids grow heavier with the weight of his need, blood pulsing with want and desperate hunger that only gets worse with the sounds he swallows from you – he eventually whimpers, fingers digging tighter into the softness of your skin, thrusting you further into him as his own hips buck, shattered gasps poured into your mouth when he reaches his own relief and you start trembling in his hold.

His lips part from yours, shifting to meet the skin between your neck and shoulder, pressing gently when you fuck yourself against the muscle of his thigh a last few times, collapsing into a series of shudders when you come. His arms fully wrap around you to have you close, your body pressed against his chest, feeling every rise and fall of your ragged breathing, your motions easing progressively, heartbeat steadying a little as you come down. 

Neither of you move for a moment, sitting with the aftermath of what you just did, and your hand eventually snakes in between your bodies, settling at Bob’s middle again to do your part before he grabs at your shoulder. “You don’t need to” he admits, voice low and a little embarrassed, face flushing.

It’s the matter of just a millisecond of confusion before your expression shifts, an irrepressible, awestruck grin growing over your face. “Did you…?”

Bob’s eyes flutter and close, his lips pinching in admission of defeat. “...Yeah”

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated, I can't stress this enough♡

ko-fi ♡

thunderbolts taglist:

@majestic-jazmin @eternallymaroon @sillymilly17 @yyiikes @snazzynacho

@harebrained-0 @daisydark @baruque-ya @sleepysongbirdsings @alexxavicry

@earsthemagpie @lifeisafreakshow @nomajdetective @minminswag04 @mrcspectr

@nogoandbees @mayal0pez @frostyfoxx1 @starry-swan @dixondystopia 

@lilmisslexapro @no1bobreynoldsfan @dejectedcherry @wholerottentree @las-galletas 

@awkwardfish300 

[cherrywineisawaltz]

MINORS DNI

warnings: p in v sex. ex!reader. dirty talk. flirting. was initially wrote with bnd!peter in mind but fits insomniac better.

“Well this is,” the cluttered disarray of the dingy small apartment filled your sight beyond the door, hinges screeching to a close as you stepped inside on the uneven floorboards. “Cozy.” 

You had never known Peter to be particularly neat, when you had dated his work spaces always including a wide variety of unimaginably small delicate tools and scrawled notes tossed haphazardly around a vacant bin, this particular space being no different. It had been a few months of moving into his new apartment—out of yours—a space he rented with little to no cost, a storage unit more likely of a word to use for the top cropping of an old rundown building with dwindling residents.

“Well, you know, busy mind busy—uh—station,” Peter's lips curled anxiously as he gathered up loose trash, old takeout boxes he meekly shoved into a waste basket tucked into his arm, gaze drifting along the ruined nature of his work desk, technology whirring. “A bit too busy, maybe.” 

“Old habits,” you grinned, an inside joke to the old work station he kept at Otto's lab. A strand of hair swept over Peter's forehead as he leaned down to set the bin under his desk, a sheepish chuckle spilling from his mouth at the sudden memory. 

“I’m not that much of a mess, am I?” your hands clung to your sides as he gestured vaguely to the space surrounding you both, “There’s a sort of…organized chaos thing I have going on.”

“Yeah, sure, if it was lacking the organized part,” your boots made the floorboards uneasy with your weight, coming to stand at the highly technical desk that whirred and moved its wired parts mechanically all on their own. Old bandaged parts and more high profile bits that you wouldn’t ask where he found. You recalled the scraps of old computers you had helped him find in dumpsters and second hand stores back in highschool, when he could hardly scrounge up enough pennies for a CD. Even after all these years Peter's own genius never ceased to impress you. 

“Well, I mostly cleaned up when we were dating so I wouldn’t gross you out,” he admitted, arms crossing smoothly across his board chest. You did your part in ignoring the taut stretch of his t-shirt creating a cusp around the swell of his stalky bicep.

“Yeah, I was undoubtedly hot for your ability to keep a clean work space,” you joked, watching the way he picks himself up at the thought, table rumbling as his foot kicked the humble leg. 

“Wait, seriously?” he cleared his throat, deflating at the curl of your girlish grin. Attempting to look unphased he spared a glance to the opposite wall, “No, right, joke, obviously. Totally not regretting not cleaning up before having you over.” 

“Peter,” you called, his head whipping back to stare at you the moment you uttered his name. “The flash drive?” 

“Yes, right, the whole reason you’re here,” his brows pinch, faux seriousness as turns toward the desk, “Look at me, putting pleasure before business—not like that! I mean, I know we’re not—I wasn’t planning on,” he swallows thickly as he tucks his hand under a hardly secured mint tin, “It’s, uh, over here.” 

You stall at his side as he places a simple black hard drive into his computer, the machine buzzing to life with a bypassed encryption Peter had surely gotten past before he had called you over, knowing you had been reporting on a case linked to the information detailed in the onslaught of files. A heavy stacked list of file names and hidden agendas and data breach plans filled the screen under the guise of a business mock up. Big names and their small attributes contribute to a long list of crimes circulating through the city for weeks. 

“These are all the files you found?” you asked, hips jutting back as you leaned down to look at the screen, propped on your left leg to keep yourself steady against the desk as you leant over. 

Peter’s body shuffled sideways to allow you more room, never truly taking that step back to allow any real sort of personal space, but enough to let you close in on the computer to scroll and search yourself, much more familiar to the aliases used in the files than he had been. 

“Yeah. Some of them were scrubbed but I figured they didn’t have enough time to dump everything,” he murmured, short of breath as his gaze trailed down the soft arch of your spine, the glow of the computer screen shadowing the dip of your blouse between your breasts, “Did I…do good?” 

“They’re definitely incriminating," you murmured, eyes flitting across the plans, some expunged but most still containing most of their set details and workarounds.

“Did you switch shampoos?” 

The question is so sudden and out of the blue it completely removes you from the task at hand, head turning off to the side where he stood far too close. His long fingers stretched across the edge of the desk, forearm tensed under his weight as he leaned to look at you better, head tilted down to look at the tufts of hair that furled behind your ear. 

“You’re hovering,” you told him, watching the glint in his eye as his eyes flickered to the soft hinted smile at the corner of your mouth. 

“Yeah, right, sorry.” 

“Peter,” you scold when his demeanor remains unchanged, statuesque body still looming over yours. 

“It’s eucalyptus, isn’t it? Smells fresh, nice, you smell,” his lips curl up when you turn to face him completely. “Good.” 

The white computer light casts a soft halo over your profile, his eyes shamelessly surveying your curling smile, all too used to this familiar game to pretend it was anything else. 

“We said last time was the last time,” you voice with no real conviction. 

“It’s always the last time,” he argued, snuffing out the weak excuse with a boyish shrug. “Atleast, you know, until the next time.”

Your laugh is airy as you step back.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of saying ‘last time’?”

“Maybe just a little bit,” he says, stepping forward to close the brief distance. “I guess I should really stop inviting you over then, huh?” 

It’s dangerous how easily he can reel you back in, open mouth pants passed over a swiped clear desk, conveniently worn dress bunched up around your hips to accommodate the thickness of his body settled between your parted legs as his cock drags in and out of your eager cunt. His broad hands yank your hips to the edge of the desk, ricketing legs trembling under the weight of your bodies meeting with each sharp thrust of his hips—cock ramming into you as sheathes to the hilt before pulling back, a relentless pace that has you lurching forward to grasp onto him. 

“Oh—fuck—Peter, feels so good—oh my god,” you mewl, pitchy and loud. If neighbors were an issue in this apartment like they had been in yours, it didn’t cross your mind. Your fingers dragged against the bare muscle of his shoulders, thighs hiked up high on his hips, face hot and flushed as you panted and mewled into his open mouth, desperate pleas and chants of his name to spur him on. There’s a distant silence that follows your begging and moaning, the brief space where an ‘I love you’ had been in the months prior. You and Peter make no mention of it, enraptured by the feelings of pleasure you so easily bring one another.

“Look at you—god. Take me so good, always take me so good,” he groans, eyes darting down to where your raw sexes meet, the rhythmic slapping of skin and the soft plaps of your cunt sucking him in with each drive of his hips making him shudder under your clawing hands. “You really missed me, huh? Hardly had to work for it—came over just for this too, didn’t you?” he inquired huskily, voice rasping as he felt you clench around his aching cock, “Just had to tease me for it first. Make me work for it?”

Your lips curled up, guilty in his own conscience of using a case for a good fuck. Inviting your ex over for sex is too easy for a guy like Peter, “Don’t—mm—tell me Spider-Man’s afraid of a little effort?”

“S’ that what I look like to you? Afraid?” he smirks, a squeal echoing in the apartment as Peter hoisted you up off the desk entirely, cock still buried deep inside your cunt as he held you up with both hands on the swell of your ass. Your own hands clutched the muscle of his thick frame, a sharp moan leaving your throat as he brought you down flush against him, cock pushed to the hilt, a lump in your throat as he kept you up in the air, completely at his mercy, “Remember how this left you the last time we tried it?” he hummed, brute strength unwavering as he stood at the middle of the room with you in his arms, “Gotten stronger since then. Could probably get you to say you love me again by the time I’m done with you.”

[em1i2a3]

Only The Good I Keep

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Sentry x Fem!Reader! Word Count: 8,184 Smuttiness below the cut! 18+ Minors DNI! (Fingering, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Sentry makes an appearance, Dirty Talk, Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up), Hyperspermia, probably more but I don’t remember) Author’s Note: This is from the smut prompts you guys sent me and it went off the rails evidently, so I hope y’all enjoy :) This is just pure smut with no plot which is shocking but yeah, I was in a mood lol.

You had found yourself in Bob’s bedroom for the fourth time that week, intertwined with him while the two of you were in another one of your breathless battles that neither of you ever surrendered to. 

There was no gentle beginning to it. No lingering conversation or careful negation of who would lead and who would follow. The question was always answered through your touches–through the impatient gripping of hands on hips, fingers clawing and scratching the skin beneath your clothes, with mouths colliding hard enough to leave your lips tender, raw and wet afterward. It was decided in every shove and answering pull, in the gasps and quick breaths when one of you managed to gain an advantage–no matter how temporary it may have been.

Tonight, Bob had swung open the door before you even managed to knock with an expression that was almost deceptively mild, even though his heart had been galloping for the past hour as he paced his bedroom and listened for your specific soft footsteps that would pad down the hall when things in the Watchtower got quiet enough. 

His hair had still been damp from the shower he took after training, his light-brown strands falling in loose waves around his face and curling slightly against the back of his neck where they were still drying–distinctly darker from the water that still remained there. He wore a faded navy t-shirt that was spotted with barely noticeable droplets, and a pair of thin plaid pyjama pants to compensate for his temperature. It made him look casual–domestic even–so much so that anyone else might have mistaken him for a harmless man who didn’t harness any power apart from being a nice, down to Earth person.

But you had known better–everyone did.

The door had barely clicked shut behind you before his hands were on your waist, pulling you towards him and digging firmly into your hips, making sure your body was flush against him. His mouth descended on yours just as you opened it to speak, and the kiss he gave you contradicted every meek glance he had given you throughout the evening–every moment he had looked away too quickly whenever your eyes met across the common room. 

His teeth caught your lower lip, biting down just hard enough to make your breath hitch, and he swallowed that sound as his head tilted to deepen the kiss before either of you could steal enough air to form clear thoughts. Your arms weaved around his neck and your fingers found the damp strands of hair at the nape, feeling the wetness sinking into the pads of them as you tugged, earning a small groan from Bob. His grip contracted around your hips, gathering the fabric of your shirt in his fists, pressing harder against you, and the thin cotton of his pyjama pants did little to hide how thoroughly the simple tug had affected him–feeling the semi-hardness of his length pressing into your belly. 

He began moving you backward through the room, guiding you toward his bed without ever fully lifting his mouth from yours. Every step he took forward forced one from you in return, and he kept you steady whenever you stumbled, making sure your movements never faltered. You opened your mouth to him when his tongue traced the seam of your lips, letting the kiss turn wet and uncoordinated as your tongues met sloppily. His breath grew uneven, spilling hot across your skin whenever an awkward angle forced your mouths apart, but neither of you seemed capable of tolerating the separation. Because each time you broke away, Bob followed.

His nose brushed yours, his mouth finding the corner of your lips, then your jaw, giving you a moment to catch your breath, before returning to your mouth with renewed insistence. He kissed you with the hunger of someone who had spent lifetimes denying himself of even the smallest touch, despite the fact that it had been less than twenty-four hours since he had last held you in this exact room, and you relished in the fact that he wanted you so badly that he could barely control himself.

When the backs of your knees struck the soft edge of the mattress you fell down onto it and Bob followed you without hesitation–not wanting the kiss to break–his body hunching as he put his knee between yours so your legs could come up to frame his hips, feeling your ankles locking behind his lower back, urging him to climb on with you. He pushed your body up the mattress by your hips, messing up the uniformity of his duvet in the process, and when he was satisfied with the space he created, he joined you.

The bed dipped beneath your combined weight, its springs giving a quiet protest as he settled between your thighs and moved one of his hands from your hip to brace beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you completely beneath him. It was a thoughtful gesture, something that he never failed to miss because he knew that while he looked meek, beneath all his clothes he had the body of a god–and the power of one to boot. 

He didn’t want to risk hurting you in any way, especially when there was always the fragile line the two of you toed when it came to these fleeting moments of intimacy. He thankfully never lost control, but it didn’t mean that he never felt Sentry trying to break through the surface any time you touched him, or kissed him, or moaned quietly in his ear when he was inside you–when you were trying to keep the rest of the Watchtower from hearing the desperate noises that escaped either of you–or when he would cum inside you and bite your shoulder to muffle his grunts and the wave of power that coursed through his veins like an inferno that couldn’t be put out. Even through the struggle though, he still managed to push Sentry down, just so he could keep these moments exclusively between the two of you.

His hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, palm gliding over the soft bare skin of your waist. The heat of him was searing against yours as he ran his thumb slowly along the curve of your stomach before finding the lace trim of your underwear–tracing it without dipping beneath the material. The denial of his touch felt deliberate, and just as you raised your hips to attempt to seek some sort of friction Bob pressed his hips firmly between your thighs to hold you still–pinning you down on the mattress to keep you from squirming. His rough thumb skimmed the lace again, hearing you whine against his mouth at the teasing, as your stomach clenched at the burning urge to fight against the weight he had on your body.

You pulled the hair at the nape of his neck again, dragging your nails along his scalp in an attempt to even out the score, hearing a strained, involuntary moan breaking his throat and vibrating through your mouth, as his body tensed above you, and his hand tightened hard enough on your hip to promise faint bruises along your skin by the morning. It was a fracture in his composure, and you smiled into the kiss, satisfied that you had such control over him.

When his grip loosened, you took advantage of the opening by lifting your hips towards his, dragging the damp heat of your clothed core along the hard length of his erection that was trapped behind the thin fabric his pyjama pants, feeling the way it twitched at the contact–at the grind that made everything in his mind jumble into one conjoined thought. 

Bob tore his mouth away from the kiss quickly, cinching his eyes shut as his jaw locked so abruptly that the muscles jumped beneath the skin. You did it again, slower this time, letting the pressure build, feeling his fingers flexing and digging into your flesh, trying to keep you from moving, but there was no use, you already seized what little power you had, and you were going to ride it out until he forced you to stop.

“Do-Don’t,” He warned, though the word lacked any authority when his body pushed down to meet you–like he was magnetized to the warmth that was seeping through the barriers between your pelvis’. You gave him another kiss, smiling against his mouth.

“Don’t what?” You asked innocently, conjuring him to open his eyes. His pupils had nearly consumed the blue of his irises whole, but something warmer, shimmered at their edges–a diffused haze of gold that surfaced and disappeared with each uneven breath he took. Unfocused, and completely consumed with lust.

“You know what.” He shot back, feeling your fingers sliding deeper into his hair to give another lazy pull to the strands. His shoulders trembled, and his breathing turned shallow before another sound escaped him. A small crease between his eyebrows began to form–the same one that appeared when the pleasure became too overwhelming for him to conceal. The tilt of his head gave you easy access to the line of his throat, and you leaned up and pressed your open mouth against the warm skin beneath his jaw, tasting the clean saltiness of his sweat, and the faint residual soap from the shower. He let out a shaky sigh, a helpless one, almost like he was slowly giving into you and turning pliant beneath your lips

“You’re making me lo-lose it, Y/N…” He confessed, as your tongue dragged along the stubble, leaving a trail of saliva that sank into his flesh. You loosened your fingers from his hair bringing your free hand up to push the damp strands away from his face, noticing his lashes fluttering at the tenderness of your touch.

“I don’t have to make you do anything…You were already losing it when you were pacing around this room waiting for me.” You whispered, your breath cooling the trail of saliva you left, feeling him shudder again while you pulled back to look up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes, tempting him to take the bait you had laid out–hoping that he would fall for it. 

He stared at you for half a breath, and before he could even think he kissed you hard enough to force your head deeper into the duvet, devouring the words right out of your mouth. His breathing had gone ragged, and finally, the hand that had been tracing the lace of your underwear slipped beneath the material.

His fingers met the slick heat of you and a broken moan tore from your throat, as he drank it down and relished in the way he was able to turn the tables so efficiently. A smug curve touched the corner of his mouth, sliding two fingertips through your folds to gather your arousal on them before circling your entrance, feeling the pulsing heat that begged to be filled by him. You wanted to press down towards his touch–to force his fingers into you because you were so desperate to feel something–but just as you were about to, he trailed his soaked fingers up to your clit and pressed firmly on the swollen bundle of nerves. 

The sparks that ignited up your spine was immediate–like you had been touched by something electric–and your hips jerked up into his hand, craving the friction that it provided. He held you down with the weight of his body, keeping you locked in place, as he found a steady circular rhythm–making sure his touch was firm enough to keep you in this desperate state, and patient enough to make you want more.

He pulled away from the kiss and tallied your reactions through his half-lidded eyes, watching as your lashes fluttered, and how your swollen lips parted on laboured breaths, and the way your brows pinched when he angled his fingers just right to rub a tighter circle along the uncovered nerves. He could hear the way your heart was practically beating out of your chest, and how the heat of your body had raised just enough to start forming a line of sweat along your hairline–and instantly he knew he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Your hands dragged down the front of his shirt–scratching against the cotton in a silent plea to feel him, to bask in the warmth of his skin, to relish in his body. He knew the natural progression of your desperation–how you would squirm and pull and tug at him until he gave you what you needed–and instantly he sat back just enough to remove his hand from your underwear to yank the shirt over his head and toss it aside, exposing the broad, powerful lines of his chest and abs to you, showing off the uneven flush that had crept across his body.

Your eyes moved over him freely, cataloguing every shift of muscle beneath his skin, watching the way his abdomen tightened with each uneven breath, and the faint sheen of sweat that was beading and gathering in the defined grooves of his chest. Usually Bob would have found a way to fold himself back against you, to hide from your silent, praiseful gaze, but seeing the pure want in your expression seemed to have froze him in his spot above you. 

Your hands came up to settle on his waist, as your fingertips traced the scattered freckles there, before sliding higher to let your nails lightly score the warm flank of his back, feeling goosebumps raising under the touch. A mischievous smile pulled at your mouth, your teeth catching your lower lip as you brought one hand across the hard plane of his stomach, taking in every subtle twitch the muscles elicited while you followed the natural ridges of them, pulling a low sound from his throat. 

Bob pushed your shirt upward, his palms spreading hot against your belly until they settled just beneath your breasts.

“Should ta-take this off,” He murmured, as a shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You sat up just enough to strip the shirt over your head quickly, sending it to the floor to join his with a careless throw, and just as your skin met the warmth of the bedroom you hooked your arms under his and pulled him down towards you, needing to be crushed by the full weight of him, and to feel the solid heat of his chest against your breasts. He gave a breathless, startled laugh as he settled over you, blanketing your body completely with his while he adjusted to make sure he could hold himself up just enough so you could breathe–putting more weight on his lower half to compensate for the position.

His mouth found the side of your throat immediately, parting wide so he could place wet kisses over the skin before licking your pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter beneath his tongue. It was a joy to realize how worked up he made you just through simple little touches–and how easy it was to shut off the part of you that always wanted to be in control. A thought crossed his mind about how it would be if he ever did the same–how the entire room would probably be left in a state of disaster by the time he was done–and he couldn’t help but shiver in fear. He was already playing with fire by giving Sentry just a hint of the experience he got with you–by allowing him to look through his eyes, and locking him in as an observer. The temptation to just let it all go was hanging in the midst of the sounds you were making–those breathy little whimpers that always seemed to escape you no matter how much you tried to suppress them–though he pushed it all down to focus on you.

His hand slipped back down between your legs, bypassing the waistband of your underwear once more, only this time two thick fingers pressed inside you in one smooth stroke. You were already so wet that your body took them in easily–fully prepared for the intrusion–but the stretch it provided was still enough to make your breath catch in your throat. Your back arched off the mattress, pulling him deeper, pressing your chest against his, and he breathed out a sigh as your walls fluttered and clenched around him. His fingers curled, searching with careful strokes until they found the soft rigid spot that made your thighs lock around his hips and your ankles dig deeper into his back.

“Fuck–Bob–“ You choked out, as you tipped your head further back into the duvet, giving him more access to your throat, needing to feel his lips everywhere. He took the invitation, peppering kisses lower along the column of it, grazing his teeth over the thin skin at the base of your neck while his fingers set a steady rhythm–slow, thorough thrusts that filled you again and again without fail, while he continuously curled his fingers to add to the overwhelming pleasure that washed over you. His thumb found your clit, covering it completely, and he began to circle it in the same unhurried cadence he had done before, never quite giving you enough pressure to tip over the edge, only enough to keep the tension coiling tighter in your belly. You could feel your muscles tightening as your fingers dug into his shoulders, holding onto the only tangible thing that was keeping you tethered to your conscious state. 

You bit back a whine that was aching to tear itself from your throat, focusing on the wet slide of his fingers, the heat of his mouth that laid kisses on your skin, the way he shifted down your body with the ease of a man who had done this so many times before. He licked a trail along the slop of your breast, sucking on the plush flesh just enough to leave a faint mark, then closed his lips around one peaked nipple, letting out a soft moan at the way it filled his mouth. Your nails dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders as he flicked his tongue across the bud, and he couldn’t help but glance up at you through his half-lidded eyes–wanting to absorb every little reaction you gave.

You squirmed against him, hips lifting to follow every withdrawal of his fingers, wordlessly begging for him to go faster, to fill you again, to give everything to you. But Bob refused, keeping the measured pace, determined to unravel you completely before he satisfied himself. 

He released your nipple with a soft, wet sound, then blew a cool stream of air across the slick peak, watching goosebumps rise across the soft curve of your breast, prickling your skin and tightening it. He watched them form with a smile before trailing open-mouth kisses over your sternum until he reached your other breast, licking around the sensitive tissue and nipping at it–teasing you. 

When he closed his lips around the nipple he ground his hips hard into the mattress, emitting a low, muffled moan that vibrated against your skin as he sought a reprieve for the ache his erection was causing him, hoping the pressure could hold him off from cumming right then and there–knowing that his orgasm was hanging by a thread. 

He added a third finger then, determined to finish you, and the stretch burned–filling you to the brink of it almost being overwhelming to your senses–before it all melted into pure heat. Your nails dragged down the length of his back, digging far more deeper than the last time, leaving raised red lines across his pale flesh that would still be visible in the morning. He grunted against your breast, sucking hard as his breath grew rougher with every thrust of his hand.

The wet sounds emitting from his fingers working inside you filled the quiet room, and your hips moved freely now, meeting the thrusts to drive him deeper, wanting his touch to fill you completely, to hit every spot that made your mind turn to jelly. Bob lifted his head just enough for you to see the gold flaring brighter through his lashes, how it was almost overtaking the oceanic blue that you were so used to. His control was slipping, and you could feel it in the fine tremors that were running through the muscles of his arms and back, and in the way he kept grinding against the mattress, with helpless little sounds escaping his throat despite his best efforts to be quiet. He squeezed his eyes shut then, hollowing his cheeks around the hardened bud against his tongue, as he worked his fingers faster, curling them on every stroke so he could hear the symphony of whines that left your mouth.

You needed more–even though everything he was doing would normally have you toppling over the edge of orgasm within minutes–and you were desperate for it, just like he evidently was.

“Bob…Oh my god–“ You whimpered, the words coming out strained from your throat, as your head tipped to the side, feeling a dizzy spell coming over you which blurred your vision to the point of only being able to see the outlines of the objects that surrounded you. Your ankles that were locked behind his back shifted, pushing the waistband of his pyjama pants until they were halfway down his ass, attempting to free him, and he moaned, pulling off your nipple harshly. 

“Y/N…I’m trying to ge-get you off…I need to.” His voice was rough, almost pleading against your skin to let him focus because he knew that if he didn’t do this now you wouldn’t be prepared enough to take all of him–and that would only cause you discomfort. You ignored his words though, continuing to push the fabric lower while your hands slid into his hair, tangling through the strands. He opened his eyes, hearing how hard your heart was racing in your chest, becoming increasingly aware of the heat that was rising off your skin and intertwining with his, and how your body had grown slick with sweat. He had only seen you like this on a rare occasion, and evidently he had worked you up so much that there was nothing else he could do to put off this overwhelming drive you had for him. 

“I…I know…I just–Fuck, I just need you inside me. Please.” You begged, feeling your throat tightening as if you were on the brink of crying from how desperately you needed him–from the frustration that was beginning to crest above the surface. He could see your glistening eyes, how they were filling to the brim with tears, and he couldn’t help but feel the sight sinking into his bones, though he still hesitated.

“…Are you sure?” He asked with genuine concern in his voice, keeping his eyes on you so he could catch even a potential of a second thought coming up behind your gaze–though there wasn’t any indication of such things. Your hands became restless in his hair, tugging and twirling the soft strands around your fingers, toying with them just to feel him shiver against you.

“Bob…I can’t wait any longer.” He gave a small nod, whispering something incoherent under his breath, before pressing one last kiss to the underside of your breast, and pushing himself back onto his calves. Your hands fell away, dropping down to your sides as you glanced at the thin fabric of his pyjama pants–seeing the dark, damp spots where precum had soaked through, and the heavy strain of his cock that was barely being contained within the confines it was behind, feeling your breath catching in your throat at the sight. 

He withdrew his fingers from you slowly, dragging his soaked fingers over your clit before pulling them away completely, and the sudden emptiness made you wiggle your hips against the mattress. You felt insatiable–like Bob couldn’t do anything right until he slipped inside you–and your patience was almost nonexistent at this point. If your arms didn’t feel so weighed down you would’ve went for him right away, pulling at his pyjama bottoms like a sex crazed monster, just so you could feel him sooner, but you couldn’t conjure up the energy to do it, which meant you were at the helm of Bob’s mercy.

His large hands slid up your thighs until his fingers hooked beneath the waistband of your panties, drawing the soaked fabric down slowly as he lifted each of your legs in turn so he could free them completely from the confinements, before tossing the sodden cotton aside to join the abyss of discarded clothes that were scattered across the floor. 

When his gold-hazed eyes returned to you they moved without focus over every bare inch of skin that was exposed to him, taking in the fine sheen of sweat that coated your chest and stomach, the restless shifting of your hips, and the way you opened your thighs wider for him so he could see how wet you were. He watched the glistening trails of arousal spilling from you, noticing a small, saturated spot on the duvet from where it had absorbed into the fabric, and his mouth couldn’t help but water at the sight. 

If he hadn’t gotten you so worked up to this point he would’ve buried his face between your thighs until he wrung so many orgasms from you that you would pass out from exhaustion–just so he could soak his face in that beautiful, sweetness that you created, and bask in it with reckless abandon. But he knew if he did any of that, you would become even more flustered, and he wanted to give you everything you needed. He glanced at his fingers in those moments, noticing the slick shine that still coated his skin, and a small, private smile touched his mouth–that will just have to do. 

He brought them to his lips, shoving them into his mouth so he could taste you–relishing in the one thing that he wanted to be surrounded by for the rest of his living life, that sweetness that would drive anyone crazy if they were within a mile radius, the sweetness that was the all consuming bliss that killed all his defences the minute he tasted it. 

He licked your arousal off his skin slowly, letting it linger on his tongue before swiping along them again so he didn’t miss a spot, keeping his eyes on your while he did it to watch your lashes bat at him bashfully–like you were enjoying seeing how much of a hold your taste had on him. The way his cheeks had flushed under your gaze had made you smirk, seeing the colour raise in patches across his pale flesh. He was so focused, that he barely noticed your hands finding his hips to push the pyjama pants down the rest of the way, hearing him hiss when the fabric finally cleared and his cock sprang up from its confinements.

You glanced down, looking at the red, glistening tip, and the way it wept thick droplets of precum from the slit. He was so hard that you could see every vein standing out along the smooth flesh that covered the heavy length, and when you brought the tips of your fingers to the head to trace along the crown of it, you could feel the whole shaft flex against your touch, begging to be seated inside of you. He moaned around his fingers, pulling them out of his mouth quickly to grab your thigh as he looked down at your hand, watching while you rubbed the weeping slit, before bringing them to your lips to taste the bitter muskiness of him, feeling another wave of heat rushing through your body while your core clenched, drawing out another gush of arousal from you. 

“God, you taste so good.” You admitted, dragging your wet fingers across your lower lip so the taste would linger there, and he nodded sheepishly at the compliment.

“Likewise,” He replied, feeling your legs coming up to weave behind the backs of his thighs as he shifted forward, wrapping his hand around his cock to give it a few rough stroked before guiding the broad head to your wet heat, dragging the tip slowly through your folds, letting it nudge and press against your swollen clit to leave a trail of his precum behind. 

“You sure we can’t hold this off for a few minutes so we can ta-taste each other some more?” He asked, guiding the tip back down to rest against your entrance, feeling your arousal soaking it as you shook your head and squeezed his hips, trying to pull him forward.

“We’ve got time afterwards to do that…Now please…Stop teasing me, and just fuck me already.” You muttered, canting your hips up in an attempt to take him in, noticing him pulling back just enough to keep the head at your entrance and nothing more. Then he leaned down, covering your body with his again, while he pressed a soft kiss to your mouth before resting his forehead against yours. His hand hiked your leg higher on his waist as he continued the slow, maddening drag of his cock through your entrance, trying to prolong things as much as possible. “I’ve never seen you this impatient before,” He breathed against the corner of your mouth, “It’s extremely flattering.” You let out a sigh, sliding your arms under his so you could pull him closer.

“Well sometimes it’s impossible to wait when I have all day to think about the things you’ll do to me when I get on this bed of yours.” He hummed, tilted his head to pepper open-mouthed kissed along your jaw.

“It’s nice to know I’m always on yo-your mind.” A breathless huff of a laugh left you in those moments, one of pure disbelief.

“Don’t let it get to your head.” You remarked, feeing his lips turn up into a smile against your skin, as he lined himself up with your entrance again and settled his weight onto his knees.

“No promises.” He replied softly, before pushing his hips forward and slipping inside your tight wet heat, parting your walls with ease as he burrowed into you, feeling you stretch around him to take the full thickness of his heavy cock. The two of you let out an array of strained moans, your breaths catching with one another as he attempted to focus on keeping himself quiet while he continued to bring his hips to yours. 

You could feel every muscle in your body surrendering to him–turning to jelly beneath his body–relaxing into the relief that the fullness his cock brought you, and the way it stretched you to the point where it was abundantly clear that there was a chance that he may not fit entirely. 

When his hips finally met yours the two of you were absolutely breathless, as his arm came up to slide beneath your neck so he could hold you closer to him, feeling your chests rising and falling in sync with one another. He was shaking against you, taking in the way your walls spasmed around him, clenching and releasing with each breath you took, and he turned his head into your neck, pressing a kiss against your thundering pulse, hearing you let out a little grunt at the contact, and feeling your hips squirming towards him so the tip of his cock could rub against your cervix.

“Please move.” You whined, as his hot hand enveloped your shoulder and his eyes squeezed shut at the way your nails gently glided down the marks they had left on him already. He took a few moments to gather himself, trying his best not to focus on how good the warmth around his cock felt–because if he even paid it any attention he wouldn’t last long at all–and finally he shifted his hips back just an inch and thrusted in, earning a small gasp from you.

Your reaction only drove him, as he pulled back even further before sinking in again, finding a pace that satisfied the both of you and settling into it. Each time his hips met yours the impact sent a fresh pulse of heat through your core, another gush of arousal coating him as your body rose up off the duvet to take him deeper, feeling the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. His muscles tensed beneath your hands as you rubbed slow circles over his shoulders, resting your chin on the crook of his neck so you could bury your nose in his soft hair, listening to the rumbling whines that left his throat each time he pushed harder into you. 

His fingers dug into your thigh, as he raised your leg higher, changing the angle so subtly that you barely noticed it until he put more pressure into his thrusts, and the crown of his cock dragged against your g-spot. A breathy moan escaped you, vibrating into his skin as he continued chasing the relentless pace he set–rutting against you with such restraint that it felt like he was going to collapse. His hot breath stuck to your flesh as he bit down on the spot just below your earlobe, letting out a throaty grunt in an attempt to muffle the noises that were leaving him, trying to keep the one rule in mind that the two of you always had–don’t make any noise that’ll notify the team of your late night encounters. 

You gripped at his shoulders, clawing at the muscles, before finding his hair again and pulling him from the crevice of your neck so he could look at you. His jaw was locked tight, and even with his eyes closed you could see the gold blazing behind the lids, bright enough to show through the thin skin and showing off the small veins that were within them. He couldn’t bare to look at you, because he knew if he even made eye contact for more than a second he’d lose every ounce of control he had over himself. 

“Bob…Look at me…” You whispered, and he shook his head, continuing to thrust, not being able to find words to combat the request he couldn’t meet. You could feel the tension, the heat that was burning through his veins, how his grip on your thigh tightened to the point where it was almost painful, and you knew you had to intervene. His brows pinched together, as you slid your hands to his cheeks, framing his face while you dragged your thumbs over the subtle bags beneath his eyes.

“Ca-Can’t…” He stuttered, shaking his head between your palms, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to suppress another moan that threatened to escape his mouth. You leaned towards him, pressing a kiss to the furrow between his brows, hearing the lightest whimper bleed through from him.

“Please, baby, I need you to…” You cooed, nuzzling your nose against his before pulling back to look at him once more. 

“If…If I do, I won’t be able to ke-keep quiet.” He admitted through the short breaths he was taking, as you shook your head.

“Let them hear us…I don’t care. I want them to know you belong to me anyways.” You said, squeezing his waist between your thighs, pulling him in deeper so he hit your cervix again with a jagged thrust, “Do it for me, Bob…” You added, pleading with him one last time, and it was as if every dam in his mind broke in those moments, as he took in a breath and forced his eyes open to meet yours. 

From this close it felt as though you were looking into twin suns–gold and molten orange swallowing the blue until almost nothing of the calm, soothing colour remained–and you could feel and feel the fire inside him burning, threatening to break out at any moment.

“Fuck, Y/N…He…He’s…” He tried to warn you, but you knew what he was going to say, and all you could do was nod.

“I know…It’s okay, Bob…You can let him in.” You reassured, dragging your palms down his cheeks to caress his jaw, “He’s still you…And I…I love you for all that you are.” You choked out as his hips drove in harder at that, his body shaking above you.

“Mmph…God I love you too…I love you so mu-much.” He whimpered, closing the space between your mouths to press a rough wet kiss against your lips, pushing your leg higher until your knee was practically touching the side of your breast. You moaned at the angle, at the way it opened you up to him completely, and your fingers dug into his face to find some sort of purchase to keep your consciousness entangled with this moment. A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat–half groan, half snarl–and you could tell he no longer cared about being quiet, taking your words as gospel written by pure lust. 

His thrusts turned harder, pushing as deep as he could go to the point where they were almost punishing in their intensity, and you whined, lifting your hips to grind your clit against the soft pubic hair that was soaked with your arousal. His fingers dug into your shoulder, into your thigh, into anything he could grip as he pulled away from the sloppy kiss to look at you again.

“You’re heavenly.” He growled, “A fucking blessing from every God known to man.” You could feel your cheeks heat up at that, as your hands slid to the back of his neck, clawing at the smooth skin.

“A blessing only for me to take.” He added, leaning down to nip at your bottom lip, before grinding into you. Your core clenched around him, as your head tipped back and pressed deeply into the mattress.

“Fuck, Sen-Sentry?” You questioned, and he nodded, his arm beneath your neck flexing to bring you closer to him.

“Don’t be scared…Bob’s still here, he’s still enjoying the benefits of this perfect pussy…I’m just in the drivers seat.” He explained, as a small smirk touched the corners of his mouth, his eyes roaming over the twisted pleasure that drew across your face.

“Sh-Shit…” You moaned, feeling your legs going numb at the way he kept moving his hips faster, adjusting to find the perfect angle that would hit every erogenous zone inside you just so he could feel you clench around him, and it only pushed him into a frenzy of unfiltered hunger–like your pleasure was the main goal for him while his own was pushed aside. He took in a deep breath, inhaling your scent into his lungs like it was an aphrodisiac, and sighed.

“You’re close, I can feel it in you.” He informed, as he released your leg gently, and let it drop to the side, before making space for his hand to slip between your bodies. He was searching, trailing his fingers along your belly, all the way down until he settled just above where he was driving into you, finding your clit easily with just a swipe of his thumb. When you let out a gasp, a grumbled laugh escaped his throat. “There it is…Is this what you need?” He asked, and immediately you nodded, sliding your hands down to grab at his shoulders again, “How about you tell me then, Sweetheart?” He teased, brushing the pad over the bud lightly, not putting enough pressure on it to make you crest over into your orgasm. You took in a shaky breath, putting all your focus onto your throat as you tried to form words.

“Pl-Please, Sentry…Ne-Need you to…” You babbled, unable to form a complete sentence, but he took that as a good attempt, gave what you needed –pressing down on the bundle of nerves and rubbing tight circles against it, matching the pace of his brutal thrusts. Your back arched up into him, a strangled moan tearing through your throat, and his smile became even wider.

“You’re so drunk on my cock you can’t even think…I see nothing going on inside your mind…I think you need to cum for me before you do any permanent damage.” He joked, peppering kisses along your face, smearing his saliva over your cheeks, “Think you can do that for me?” You nodded, cinching your eyes shut as the muscles in your thighs began to shake. There was something so primal about his approach that it had caught you off guard–and deep down you found yourself falling into a spiral of thoughts of how much more he could do apart from this. 

Your hips began to twitch involuntarily, canting up to meet his thrusts and grinding against his touch, and then a sudden wave of heat rushed through your entirety, pushing you over the edge into a cavernous abyss as your vision blurred and your body tensed up beneath his. He could feel your walls clench around him, almost halting his movements completely as your orgasm hijacked his rhythm. Your arousal gushed around him, soaking his cock and dripping down his balls until it seeped into the duvet beneath you. He kept circling your clit, riding out your high, letting you coast across the euphoria clouding your mind, up until you were scratching at his back and whining from the oversensitivity. 

“Too much?” He asked teasingly. 

“Yeah…Yeah, a little.” You replied, feeling his thumb easing off you, as he brought his hand back to your thigh, smoothing it up your damp skin.

“Sorry, I got carried away.” He commented, noticing the tension around his cock loosening, which allowed him to continue to thrust, taking it slow this time to not overwhelm you. 

“I liked it.” You whispered, and he kissed your cheek.

“I know you did.” His hips rolled harder into you, grinding his pelvis against yours, “You think you can handle a little bit more?” He questioned, feeling your hands travelling down his back.

“I want you to cum inside me…So yeah…I can take it.” He hummed at that, letting his gaze roam over your softened face, and your barely opened eyes.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He said, as he eased into the brutal pace he had laid out before, pushing your leg back up to your chest so he could get as deep as possible, watching your mouth fall open on a silent gasp, your walls contracting around him once more when his cock pressed right into your cervix. He let out a low grunt, and dug his fingers into your thigh, leaning down to enclose your mouth with his, sliding his tongue against yours to taste every essence of you. There was a ferality to these thrusts–a desperate ache to his movements–that made you realize he had been holding back before, and you couldn’t help but squirm beneath him, clinging to the strained muscles of his lower back, feeling them flex under your hands each time he drove into you. 

He tore his mouth from yours, feeling threads of saliva snapping against your lips as he tilted his head and kissed a wet path down your jaw, smearing moisture across your skin before finding the crook of your neck, burying his face into it to envelop himself in the salty sweetness of your scent, huffing you as he rutted harder and harder–hearing the wet slap of your bodies echoing through the room, and the squelching sound that tickled your ears every time he pulled back.

His teeth scratched against the sensitive skin, as his grunts grew louder, and his grip tightened on both your shoulder and the thigh he was holding up. The springs of the mattress began to squeak from the harsh motion of his hips meeting yours, and you could’ve sworn your body was imprinted in the duvet beneath you from the full weight of his form on yours, but you couldn’t think hard enough to care. You dug your nails into his lower back, and dragged them down to his ass, grabbing at the muscular flesh there, feeling the tension in every thrust, and suddenly he began to growl. 

The low rumble of it vibrated through your body, and even when you thought it was going to end, it just grew in volume. You could feel the sweat from his temples sliding down the side of your neck as he began to lose his rhythm, and it was the one sign he gave you to tell you he was close. 

“Fuck…Y/N…Jesus Christ.” He grunted, grinding into you to keep himself as deep as possible, until his teeth sank into the crook of your neck and he thrusted one last time, before spilling into you. His cum felt hotter than normal inside you as ropes of it filled you to the brim, mixing with your arousal as his cock twitched with each release. He tensed up above you like he was frozen in place, as your ears caught the sound of everything in the room grinding against the floor, including the bed which had moved a few inches. It was as if a seismic shift had flowed through the room, pushing everything out of place from the overwhelming loss of control that invaded Sentry’s mind. He wanted to try and stop it before it happened, but he was so focused on how you felt, on your warmth that wrapped around him and kept squeezing his cock, that he couldn’t hold it back even if he had attempted to.

He fucked his cum into you, feeling it gushing out around him and sticking to his skin and your thighs, yet he was still emptying himself into you with no end in sight. You were amazed by the amount that was leaving him, but you didn’t mind it one bit–you enjoyed the warmth it brought to you, how it invaded your body and dripped out of you because there wasn’t enough room for all of it. 

When his muscles finally relaxed beneath your hands, he eased his teeth off your shoulder and shakily pulled back to look at you, completely breathless and shivering. The molten gold in his eyes had settled into a deep caramel colour, interweaving beneath the oceanic blue that began to return, and he let out a huff of a laugh, as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

“I think you almost put me into cardiac arrest.” He commented, earning a choked out giggle from you while your hands ran up his back, soothing the remaining tension in the muscles there.

“And I think you almost put me through the mattress.” You teased, feeling him let out a hot breath against your skin, as he shook his head.

“Well, this is the first time I actually got to experience this with you…So you can’t judge me for losing control.” You kissed your teeth at that, shrugging your sore shoulder at his remark.

“Not judging…Just thought I’d point it out.” He smirked, pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth.

“Maybe next time I’ll levitate you, then you’ll really have something to talk about.” You let out a little laugh, tilting your head to nudge your nose against his.

“As long as you don’t throw me through a wall, I’d be open to anything.” He hummed, and just before he could respond an array of knocks at the door interrupted his train of thought.

“If you guys don’t mind, it would be much appreciated if you kept your nightly rendezvous confined to your rooms, I almost got crushed by my bed just now and I don’t want to die like that, thank you.” John’s voice boomed as both you and Sentry shared an embarrassed look with one another.

“Sorry.” The two of you said in unison, before he buried his face into your shoulder again, sighing while he listened to John’s heavy footsteps padding down the hall.

“That’s one way for them to find out about us.” You said, feeling him nod against the crook of your neck.

“You’re gonna have a long morning tomorrow…You better prepare yourself.”

[paging-dr-werewolf]

soft sleepy smut w Bob after either he or reader has a nightmare? <3

cw: sweet bob, sleepy vanilla smut, some light teasing and dirty talk, 18+

It started out as a dream, because you were there, but then you were drifting away from him, floating toward a dim night sky; when his legs locked and he couldn’t get to you, couldn’t follow, it twisted into a nightmare.

Cold. Dark. His own voice, dull and monotone, echoed like distant thunder.

You can’t save her. You could never save her. Pathetic.

The sky absorbed you, the stars blinked out, and Bob could just feel that you were gone. That he had failed you. Panic clawed up his throat. The shadows closed in, folding around him like a physical presence, burning ice.

That familiar, sick voice filled the nightmare sky; then, two white stars blinked open. Eyes.

Don’t worry, I’ve got her now. She’s mine.

Bob flailed onto his stomach, shouting himself awake. The bed was warm and the sheets rumpled, trapped under and around him, shoved down to his waist. Shallow breaths turned to gulping ones as he tried to orient himself—this was home, the nightmare was gone, and you were safe and sound, right there beside him, your sleepy mumbles just audible above the chug of the air conditioning through the vents.

You were so cute like that, soft, completely at ease, vulnerable in a way you only got with him.

“Bob?” Your eyes were still closed, but you reached for him, and he slid onto his side, meeting your hands halfway. He dove down toward your chest, scooping you into his arms and fastening his cheek to the tempting swell below your collarbone. “Is…is everything okay?”

“Just need to feel you is all.” His voice was muffled against your skin.

“Bad dream?” Your hands roamed up his back, firmer as you came awake, seeking along the pronounced ridges of his spine until you got to his neck, where you massaged out the tension hiding there. Bob groaned into you, only just then aware that he had been coiled so tight, so tight it hurt. His entire body ached from fear.

Maybe if he could get close enough, crawl inside you, live in the same skin, the fear would go away and stay away. It was a stupid thought, he knew that, but he held onto it the way he held onto you—with all the strength he had, what was his and what the serum gave him, what he was too afraid to tap into while the other guy lingered.

“Really bad, yeah, nightmare,” he said. He nosed up to your neck, smelling the way your soap mingled with your shampoo, muddled now, mixing with the comforting smell of your bedsheets and sweat. And he was in there, too, his scent, and it always amazed him that he couldn’t figure out anymore what was you and what was him. It was a wholly new thing, his sweat and yours, a perfect fit, just like your hand in his, just like…

“Can I feel you? Please. Need it. Need you r-right now.” Bob wasn’t above begging, but it wasn’t that, not yet. He didn’t know if you were ready or even if you wanted to, if you were awake enough, if this was too annoying and needy, to have him pawing at you in the middle of the night. And all because of a nightmare. His cheeks grew hot against you, shame keeping him from asking again.

But he didn’t have to. You pulled him closer, hitching up your thigh and draping it over his hip. God, you were so good to him. So sweet. The nightmare was lying, it always was. You weren’t going anywhere, but your warm body rubbing up against him was the proof he needed.

“Like this?” you asked, laughing as he grabbed the edges of your sleep shirt and tugged until it was over your head. “Guess so.”

“Sorry.” He puffed out a stuttering breath. “I’m being too much.”

You shook your head against the pillow, cheek squished as you scooted even closer. The cold dark of the room had been menacing before, but now it was nice, the cozy cocoon of the sheets and your bodies carving out a private space for this moment.

“I like when you’re too much,” you teased, sweeping all of your fingers down his bare chest to his stomach, flirting with his navel, then tracing the lines chiseled along his abdomen that swept down to his groin.

Bob smiled against your chest, then slid his face up to your neck, suckling the sensitive flesh there until you whined and arched. Too much. He could be too much if that was what you wanted, if that would make you feel good.

He gathered up your hands, then placed them on his chest. There was just enough room for that, a narrow strip of night between you. He’d close that distance soon, but not until you asked. He steadied you with one hand on your hip, the other wrapping around his hardening length, stroking it until it was curved back toward his belly and shining with leaking excitement. Your eyes went there, watching, lip caught in your teeth as your breath came harder and faster.

Bob knew he was big, long, you had moaned as much into his ear many, many times. You promised it didn’t hurt, that you enjoyed it, enjoyed the feeling of being so completely filled with him that it made your head fuzzy. He rubbed himself against the wet spot growing on the front of your cotton panties. The fabric was soft, the little drag against his dick from the dampness there making his toes flex. Shit, that felt nice. There was nothing better than knowing he could get his girl wet like that. You whimpered as he pushed harder, dragging the fabric up and down, teasing in firm, nudging strokes.

Your fingers curled on his chest, nails digging in, head falling back as the gentlest gasps puffed out of you every time he bumped your clit through your panties. Those delicate whimpers turned to whines as he kept going, gaze flicking between your face and your pussy, both sights too good to pass up.

“I thought you w-wanted to feel me,” you murmured, brow furrowing in frustration as your thigh tightened around his hip.

“I do, babe, but you’re getting so wet. Is it nice?”

“Mmhm.”

“Too much?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “N-No.”

“But you like when it’s too much.”

“Bob,” you sighed, lips clamping around a huff as you dodged forward to rub your cheek against his. Such a flirt. He let you steal a drive-by kiss, eyes heavy as you kept your forehead pressed to his, tiny muscles fluttering in your jaw as he rubbed himself up and down your slit again. Your panties were getting so wet they were clinging to him, cotton translucent from how bad you wanted it.

He took pity, gently hooking the crotch of your underwear aside, giving you skin to skin, moaning into your mouth as you did the same to him, hips stammering at the first blushing kiss of his velvety head across your clit. Then down. Then up. Your fingers twitched on his chest in time to his teasing, your butt wiggling forward, chasing contact.

“Too much, babe?” he whispered, nipping your lower lip.

You shook your head no.

“Not enough?”

“Mmhm.”

He was eating up your desperate little sounds, and he wanted more of them. That shitty dream felt a million years ago now. He knew you would fix it, loving on you always did.

“Is it too much sometimes?” he asked in a rasp, holding your hip harder when you tried to guide him where you wanted him. “Too much when I’m inside…”

“Yes.” You started pawing at him, no longer whining but groaning whenever he completed another teasing journey up and down your slit.

“Want it right now? Want it inside?”

You drilled your forehead into his, gasping. “Yes, p-please. Please, I want it. I need it. I need it.” Magic words. Perfect words. “N-No more bad dreams, just this. Just us. Please.”

Bob gave in, of course he did, you were thrashing, needy, and he had never felt you get this dripping before. He smoothed his palm down your hip to your thigh, then dipped lower, following the pooling slick to where your entrance waited for him, so fucking soaked he slipped right in. He met resistance eventually, just enough to slow his drive, letting you adjust, wrapping you up in his arms while your body fluttered around him, squeezing and releasing, the gentle stretch and the familiar fit stealing both of your words away.

There was nothing to say. He just wanted you. Wanted to feel you. Warm. Welcome. Home. Your hands danced up his chest to his hair, snaring there, your mouths meeting in half-formed, sloppy kisses as he rolled into you, slow and then fast, flipping you onto your back when he couldn’t restrain himself any longer. The need came over him out of that dream, and it was like he was escaping into you; maybe if he could just stay in your depths, the nightmare wouldn’t find him. You were armor and a shield, but the sweetest, softest kind.

And his. And urging your hips up to meet his thrusts, ankles hooked around his ass. And moaning his name like it was a protective incantation for both of you.

And Bob felt you let go, clenching around him like maybe you needed him that deep all the time, too. He followed after, releasing the fear, the strain, relaxing into your arms as he came back down.

-> Masterlist

[giltedbones]

That Thing You Like

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Female Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI) Warnings: Sexual content, oral sex, facial, praise kink, language Word Count: ~1.4k Summary: Bob wants a little something just for him... and hes been such a damn good boy lately

Authors Note: Sort of a follow up to Oscar Worthy, I wrote this and just... forgot about it.

She got him under the water before he could talk himself out of it.

That was the trick with Bob… He'd asked for this days ago… standing in the kitchen with his ears going red while she told him about the smut book she was reading.

Well… asking is a strong word… he more moaned when she described a facial scene in a way that made it clear that was a fantasy of his.

She'd said yes then. But yes in the kitchen and yes with her hands sliding up his wet chest were two very different animals, and she could already feel the second one getting away from him.

She kissed him. Walked him back a step until his shoulders met the tile. His hands landed on her waist, always gentle…always unsure.

"I can see your wheels turning," she said against his mouth.

"I didn't say anything."

He huffed a laugh that turned into a moan when she dragged her nails down his stomach. Water sheeted between them, warm, and he was already half-hard against her hip and a bit mortified about the speed of it.

"So the… the thing," he started.

"Yeahhhh," she murmured into his neck.

"It's kind of a lot to ask."

"You didn't ask. I offered." She pulled back just far enough to look at him, and there it was, that flinch he did when he wanted something too much. "Say it anyway."

His throat cleared, words stuck in it. His eyes went to the tile over her shoulder, to the water, to… anywhere else.

"I want to finish on your face…" he said, fast, like ripping off a bandage. Then, immediately, horrified at himself: "Which is.. okay… that's a selfish thing to want, I'm aware, it's completely one-sided, you get nothing out of it, it's just me being a…"

She kissed him quiet.

"I like that you want it," she said. Plain. Like a fact. "I like that it's for you."

He stared at her. The apology he'd been building died somewhere in his mouth. She felt him shiver.

"That's the hottest thing you do, Bob."

"That… that can't be true."

"It's extremely true."

"Okay," he said. "Okay, that's… you're really…"

She wrapped a hand around him and watched the rest of the sentence leave his body. His head tipped back against the tile, hand finding the wall.

She took her time. Unhurried strokes, water sheeting warm over both of them, and she kept her eyes on his face because… well that was the good part. She could watch him fall apart all night. The way his jaw worked. The way his stomach pulled tight every time she slid her tongue over the head of his cock. He was already flushed from his throat to his chest and she'd barely started.

"You're doing so good," she said.

The whine he made was…delicious…

"Just standing there. Letting me." She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his hip. Kissed the place where it creased. Felt him twitch under her hand.

"I don't… that's not…" His hand came off the wall, hovered over her hair, unsure. "I can't… when you're… with the…"

"You don't have to talk." She looked up. "You just have to stay right here and be good for me."

She took him in her mouth and his whole body went taut, a full-body shudder that ran from his shoulders down, and the noise he choked out bounced off the tile.

God, his face.

"Oh…" He was staring down at her now, glassy, like he couldn't have looked away if there was some sort of explosion. "That's… I'm gonna say a lot of dumb stuff in the next few minutes… and I need you to know none of it counts."

She hummed around him. He felt it.

"That's cheating," he gasped. If he wasn't…well a superhero his knees might have buckled.

She pulled back just enough to speak. Her hand kept working him slow. "You're allowed to want this, Bob."

"I do. God, I really… I do." It came out shaky and honest and …almost startled, like the wanting had caught him off guard. His thumb moved against her temple… aimless… tender. "I want… can I…"

"Say it."

His breath hitched. The water ran over his chest, trickling down his body. And for a second she watched him war with it, the old reflex to apologize for taking up space, but then he pushed through it.

"I want it," he said. Quieter this time. Not the act, not the bandage-rip. Just the wanting, plain. "I've wanted it for a stupid amount of time, honestly."

"Good boy." She said it like a reward, because it was.

She took him back in her mouth and stopped being gentle about it.

Deeper now, faster, her hand working the base in time with it, and Bob came apart above her in real time. His hips rocked forward before he could stop them, small helpless movements he kept trying to apologize for with his hand in her hair. The stammering had dissolved into sounds… babbling… moaning. Just breath and broken vowels and her name showing up in pieces.

There. Keep going.

"That's… okay that's, I'm not gonna last, I'm not gonna…" The words fell out of him fast and slurred.

She hummed, feeling his cock vibrate in her throat… and he lost it completely.

When she looked up his eyes were already on her, glassy and wide and helplessly fixed, like he'd forgotten there was anything else to look at.

"I'm close, I'm… you have to…" His voice cracked. "If you want the… you gotta…"

She pulled off him and smiled.

The sound he made at the loss was obscene. She kept her hand moving. Fast now. Tilted her chin up and looked at him.

"Go on," she said. "You've been so good. Give it to me…"

The panic didn't leave, not exactly, but his eyes went still. His hand slid from her hair to her jaw, cupped it, held her there. His breath was still wrecked, shallow and gasping. But when he looked at her now it wasn't asking.

"Yeah," he said. Not a question. "Yeah, okay… I'm… yeah."

He worked himself the last of the way with her hand clasped in his. She watched it hit him. Mouth open. No sound. His whole body locked. He finished on her face in hot stripes, across her cheek, her lips, the corner of her jaw. His thumb held her chin like he wanted her exactly where she was.

Good.

For a second neither of them moved. The water ran. His chest heaved.

Then she reached up. Swiped her thumb along her cheek, brought it to her lips. Licked it clean. Raised an eyebrow at him. Bob laughed. Oh wow

"C'mere." He pulled her up off the tile, hands careful at her elbows, and steadied her against him. Then he tipped her face into the spray and cleaned his slick off of her. His thumb moved over her cheek. Her jaw. Watching his own hands. A little pleased with them.

"You good?" she asked.

"Am I good…." He huffed. "You're the one who just… yeah. I'm great. I'm… having a great night."

"You seem it."

"I feel like I unlocked something." He tilted her chin, checked the corner of her mouth, wiped his thumb there too. "Is this what confidence is? People walk around like this?"

"Don't get a big head about it," she laughed.

"Too late. This is who I am now." He kissed her. Tasted himself on her. When he pulled back he was still wearing it, that ease. "I like when you say I'm good."

"You were."

"Say it again."

She laughed against his mouth. "Now who can't stop wanting things."

She felt him go still for a half-second. Then it passed.

"Yeah," he said. Easy. "Guess you're rubbing off on me."

He reached past her and adjusted the water warmer, and pulled her back in under it, and held her there with his chin on the top of her head like a man who had all the time in the world.

[giltedbones]

Whose a Good Boy?

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Female Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI) Warnings: Sexual content, edging, praise kink, language Word Count: ~1.8k Summary: She introduces Bob to edging. He handles it about as well as you'd expect.

Authors Note: I write better in 3rd person but idk if that reads better.

It had been her idea.

Not that Bob was complaining. He'd done a lot of things he didn't fully understand since they'd started dating, and most of them had turned out fine. Good, even. This was just… a lot.

"Okay," he gasped, his head tipping back against the pillows. "I need you to know. For the record. That I am dying."

She didn't look up. Her hand kept moving, slow and deliberate, and she had that look on her face. The one that meant she knew exactly what she was doing to him and had zero intention of stopping.

"You're not dying, Bob."

"I might be, though. Like, medically." His voice cracked on the last word. His hips jerked, chasing her grip, and she pulled back just enough to make him groan. "You're gonna have to explain to everyone why I just… combusted. Spontaneous. During sex. They'll put it in the report."

She laughed, low and warm against his neck, and the sound ran through him like a current.

He'd been skeptical when she first brought it up. Edging. He'd blinked at her, repeated the word like he was learning a foreign language, and then immediately spiraled into a string of questions that made her laugh hard enough to snort.

But she'd been so sure about it. So calm. And the way her voice dropped when she told him what she wanted to do to him… that had stuck in his head for days afterward. Showing up at inconvenient moments. Briefings. The shower. Trying to make a sandwich.

So he'd said yes. Because he trusted her. Because she asked like it mattered whether he wanted it too.

And now he was here. Forty-five minutes in, maybe, or maybe it had been three hours… hard to tell. His arms were shaking. His fingers were twisted in the sheets. His cock ached, flushed and desperate, twitching every time she so much as shifted her grip, and she still wouldn't let him have it.

She dragged her nails lightly over his inner thigh and his whole body jerked.

"You're doing so good," she murmured against his skin. Casual. Like she wasn't frying his nervous system.

Bob made a sound. It was not a dignified sound. He was well past dignity at this point, somewhere in the territory of openly whimpering, which was a thing he was apparently capable of now. Good to know.

"That's… that's not fair," he managed. "You can't just say that and then… with the… you know."

She did know. That was the problem.

She kissed the hinge of his jaw. Slow. Open-mouthed. Then lower, dragging her lips along his throat until she found the spot where his pulse hammered hardest… and she stayed there. Breathing him in.

Her hand stilled.

Bob's hips twitched forward, chasing friction that wasn't there anymore, and a sound left his throat that he would deny later under oath.

"You're so pretty like this," she said against his skin. Not teasing now. Softer. Like she meant it.

"I'm not… that's not…" He swallowed. His face was already burning but it found a way to get worse. "You can't just say things."

"I can, actually." She pressed her thumb to the underside of his cock, right at the base, and held it there. Not moving. Just pressure. His thighs tensed, knees drawing up, and she put her free hand flat on his stomach to hold him still. "I can say whatever I want. You're not going anywhere."

He wasn't. He really wasn't.

She started stroking again. Slow. Deliberate. Watching his face the whole time… reading every twitch, every clench in his jaw, every shaky exhale. She knew exactly when he was getting close because she'd spent the last hour learning the tells, cataloguing them, and now she played them like she'd always known.

"Tell me what you want," she murmured. Her teeth grazed his earlobe and his whole body shuddered.

"I want…" His hand found her wrist. Not to stop her. He didn't even have the coordination for that anymore. Just to hold on. "I want you to… keep… fuck." The thought broke apart before he could finish it. She'd twisted her grip and whatever sentence he'd been building was just… gone.

"Try again."

"I can't think when you… with the…"

"That's kind of the point, Bob."

A sound escaped him. Half laugh, half something more desperate. His fingers tightened around her wrist, his hips rocking into her hand in a rhythm he couldn't control anymore… messy and uneven and his.

"Please," he said. Just the one word. Barely a whisper.

She leaned in close enough that her lips brushed the shell of his ear. "Please what?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. His chest heaved. Everything in him was pulled taut, vibrating at a frequency he didn't know he could sustain, and she was right there… steady and sure and not letting him fall.

"Please don't stop." It came out cracked. Raw. "I'm yours, okay? Whatever you want. Just… don't stop."

She pressed a kiss to his temple. Tender. Completely at odds with what her hand was doing.

"Gooooood," she said quietly. "I've got you."

Her pace picked up. Not by much… just enough. She licked along his collarbone, nipped at the soft skin there, and Bob's back arched off the bed.

"Wanna see you make a mess," she told him, voice low and unhurried, like they had all the time in the world. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah." The word was barely there. "Yeah, I can… I can do that."

His free hand came up and tangled in her hair. Not pulling. Holding. Like she was the only real thing in the room and he needed proof she was still there.

Don't let go. Don't let go. Don't let go.

She didn't.

She could feel it in him. The trembling had changed… gone from something restless to something inevitable, his whole body pulled tight like a wire about to snap. His breathing was ragged, shallow, his fingers flexing in her hair without rhythm.

She pulled back just enough to look at him.

Flushed from his chest to his ears. Lips parted. Eyes glassy and unfocused. Wrecked. He looked absolutely wrecked, and he'd let her do it. Had asked her to.

Her hand kept its pace. Steady. Sure.

"There you go," she said softly. Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth. "Good boy. Cum for me."

Bob broke.

His back arched, his hand fisting in her hair, the other gripping her fingers so tight it almost hurt. The sound that tore out of him was raw, graceless… her name caught somewhere in the middle of it and not quite making it out whole. His hips stuttered into her grip, desperate and uncoordinated, and she worked him through it. Every pulse. Every aftershock. Until he collapsed back against the pillows like someone had cut his strings.

For a long moment the only sound in the room was his breathing. Harsh. Gasping…. Then slowing.

He blinked. Blinked again. Stared at the ceiling like he was trying to remember what planet he was on.

Then he turned his head and looked at her. Dazed. That lopsided smile already forming, because of course it was. Of course humor was the first thing to come back online.

"…Hi."

She laughed. She couldn't help it.

"Hi, Bob."

"That was…" He exhaled, long and shaky. His thumb moved against the back of her hand… slow and aimless, like his body was still running on autopilot. "I don't have a word for that. I had words earlier. They're gone now. You killed them."

She kissed him. Soft, unhurried… the kind of kiss that wasn't going anywhere. He melted into it, boneless, too spent to do anything but let her.

She reached for the towel she'd left on the nightstand and cleaned them both up while Bob lay there like a man who'd recently been deboned. His eyes tracked her… half-lidded and warm.

"That was so hot," she said, pressing her lips to his jaw. His cheek. The bridge of his nose. "You were incredible."

"Mm." He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth, kissed her knuckles. Missed one. Got it on the second try. "You're just saying that 'cause I made the sounds you like."

"The sounds were a highlight, yeah."

"Great. Cool. That's gonna haunt me."

She laughed and pushed him flat, settling her head on his chest. His arm came around her without thinking… pulling her in. And she felt the long slow breath that moved through him. Not a sigh. Something older than that. Something he'd been carrying.

She reached for the blanket and tugged it over them both. His fingers found her hair, threading through it… lazy and absent. Like he couldn't help it.

They were quiet for a while. The room settled around them. His heartbeat slowed under her ear, steady and solid, and his hand kept moving through her hair in that same aimless rhythm.

"Hey," he said eventually. Quiet.

"Hey."

A pause. His chest rose and fell.

"I don't… I don't really let people see me like that." He said it to the ceiling. "All… you know. Messy."

She didn't say anything. Just pressed closer.

"But with you it's…" He trailed off. His fingers stilled in her hair for a second, then started again. "I don't know. It's not scary. Which is kind of terrifying, actually, if you think about it. Don't think about it."

She tilted her head up to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling, jaw working… the way it did when he was deciding whether to say the real thing or make a joke instead.

He looked down at her. Held her gaze for a beat.

"You make me feel like just being Bob is enough," he said. Short. Precise. Then he stopped talking, like he'd used up everything he had on that one sentence.

She pressed her lips to the skin above his heart.

"It is," she said. "That's the whole point."

His arm tightened around her. He kissed the top of her head… stayed there, his mouth against her hair, breathing her in.

"Can we just…" He shifted, pulling her closer, tangling their legs together under the blanket. "Can we stay like this for a bit? Not ready to… you know."

"Wasn't planning on going anywhere."

"Good." A beat. "'Cause I can't feel my legs, so you'd have to carry me, and that would be embarrassing for both of us."

She laughed against his chest. He smiled into her hair.

They stayed.

[munsonstorm]

Childproof

my main masterlist

pairing: johnny storm x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k words

description: sue announces her pregnancy. johnny is elated for his big sister. but it makes you feel some type of way when you know he wants kids of his own. something you're not very sure you want.

warnings: 18+ content, MDNI, no spoilers for f4 really, no use of y/n, reader is 18+, established relationship, basically pwp, talks of use of birth control, reader is afraid of being pregnant, johnny is a menace, johnny the Dom, sub!reader, uses of "daddy" and "momma", heavy on the breeding kink, lots of dirty talk, unprotected sex, fingering, exhibitionism, creampie, no real aftercare lol

authors note: hey..... this came to me before i even watched the movie. i watched that one clip and was like yeah.... i'm horny. anyway. saw the movie, loved it and needed to write more for this doofus. also coming up with the title made me giggle. if you get it, lemme know. hope y'all enjoy!

how to help palestine ~ dividers by @saradika-graphics

Johnny knew how to get under your skin. He loved it. 

You and Ben had just completed dinner, working for over an hour on perfecting his famous red sauce. Johnny had been bothering you two the entire time, pestering you specifically on how much longer it would be.

“We have dinner at the same time every night, Johnny,” You bite as you butter the bread. He did not let up, asking you to elaborate. He loved seeing your face get red and your lips opening up to let out a long sigh. 

Once everything was plated and the table was set, you sat down at the table. You turn everyone’s forks and knives the right way as Ben sprinkles some more Italian seasoning over the pasta.

Johnny slams down in the chair next to you, a big box of Lucky Charms in his grip. Ben immediately takes note of it before you can even say anything.

“What are you doing?” He asks Johnny, his voice sort of small with a slight offense to it. 

Johnny takes a handful of the cereal and dumps it in his mouth. “What do you mean, what am I doing?”

You peer at him, annoyed, already on edge with him today. He had been extra irritating today after you rejected his morning advances. You swore the man needed you for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. 

“You are going to ruin your appetite,” You say, grabbing the box from him. His bright blue eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he dumped the rest of the handful he had into his mouth.

“‘M hungry, baby.”

You grit your teeth, ignoring the question Ben had posed about Sue and Reed being late to dinner. Everyone always arrived before the set time, and by the looks of it, they were about 5 minutes late. You check your small watch front, humming a response. You hear some footsteps from across the living room, and see the two of them looking like they just got caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

“You’re late,” Johnny shouts to them, dusting his hands off over his clean plate. You grit your teeth. Why was he like this?

Reed and Sue stop dead in their tracks. 

“What, uh, what do you mean?” Sue poses, slowly walking forward to her usual spot at the table. Johnny rolls his eyes again, and you silently plot how you could get away to stab him with your fork.

“What do you mean, what do I mean? You’re late for dinner,” Johnny explains, pulling his napkin into his lap, just like you taught him. Took him years to figure out how to prevent so many stains on his clothing until you came around and completely changed his entire world.

Sue and Reed go into an elaborate explanation as to why they took so long, but you sensed a shift. Reed never had a good poker face, his big brown eyes giving him away immediately. 

Ben noticed, too, because he shot you a look.

“Why are you being weird?” Johnny asks, noticing their behavior to be rather off. 

They go into more word vomit, and you cannot help but let a smirk spread across your face. 

Ben quips up, “Are you pregnant?”

Sue’s face instantly shifts into a smile as she lets out some air from her nose, “Yeah, I’m pregnant.”

She and Ben stand up together, hugging one another in celebration. Reed gets up as well to join in on the embraces after he rattles off some weird and awkward gestures towards a flabbergasted Johnny. You shift out of your chair, grabbing him for a hug, whispering excited congratulations. 

Johnny is sitting there completely astonished. “What? Really?”

You all look to him, still seated at the table. Sue nods, giving him a confident ‘yeah’. And then the celebration gets even bigger, with Johnny slamming his hands on the table. You are still half hugging Reed, slowly pulling away, watching Johnny lift his sister in the air, and telling her how great of a mother she would be. When he grabs Reed, he tells him how he’s going to be out of his depth. He’s always one to pull something mean out of the depths of his mind to lay into Reed. You pat Reed’s shoulder, whispering to him to ignore his jab. 

You hug Sue and tell her congratulations. She gives you a squeeze, thanking you. Johnny grabs onto Ben as you pull away, “We are going to be the best uncles ever!”

You giggle, enjoying the excited look on Johnny’s face. He may be more thrilled than anyone else here. 

-

After Johnny got his powers, you two decided it was probably best not to have children. With every scientist you know telling you it would be fine to have a mutant’s baby, you were still unsure. Even Reed had brought up the possibility, and that’s why he and Sue had given up on it for a while.

You did not know that they never really wanted to give up trying. 

But you had done some semi-permanent things to ensure you would not get pregnant by your needy, insatiable boyfriend. Birth control. A small little pill you would take every morning with some orange juice and toast. 

It had worked for the year that you two had been together, and you were confident that you would not have to carry his child until you knew 100% what you wanted to do. 

But now a baby would be directly in your lives, and you had heard what baby fever can do to people. You were still sure you did not want a child, but the way Johnny is just blissful on the idea of having a nephew, you knew he would bring it up again. 

And you were right. Seeing his sister and brother-in-law beaming over the prospect of their future child made him envious. He always wanted a little Johnny, a little you, but he understood your hesitancy. He respected it, of course, but there was now a nagging voice in his head that said if he didn’t do it now, it would never happen. 

Dinner is finished in less than an hour, and you and Johnny take up the responsibility of cleaning up with H.E.R.B.I.E. Mainly, it was you cleaning off the table and stacking dishes while the robot did the rest. You still liked to busy yourself with tasks, making yourself seem useful to the team due to your lack of superhero abilities. You were essentially just their publicist and managed their daily lives at home while they went off to save the world. 

You begin to wipe up the dinner table. Johnny creeps behind you, his hands shifting over your waist. He loved seeing you doing domestic activities. You were so pretty in your blue half-sleeved top, tucked into some high-waisted black trousers.

“You do not need to be cleaning, beautiful,” He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to your pulse point. 

“Let me finish what I’m doing,” You demand, scrubbing off some sauce he had spilled off his plate. By the way his warm hands rested where your shirt rode up slightly, you knew what he was trying to do. 

He could sense some tension off of you, but refused to move away from you, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing,” You lie, your mind still settling with the exciting news, “I am just tired, is all.”

“I think you’re lying, sweet cheeks.” He pulls your hips closer to him, his back against your shoulder blades, “Tell me what’s on your mind, hm?”

You could not lie much longer, “I’m more worried about what’s on your mind.”

He halts any more movements, using his grip on your hips to turn you around. He was not expecting such a response. You knew he would never pressure you to do something you did not want to do. So you must be referring to something else. “What do you mean?”

You shrug, your eyes shifting towards the floor over his shoulder before reluctantly returning to his piercing gaze, “You seem excited about the baby.”

He furrows his brows. You always thought he was always so painfully clueless when it mattered most. But the truth was, he did not understand why your response would be so bitter about his excitement.

His head shifts down towards you, “Of course, I am. I know how much Sue wanted it.”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, I know.”

You were starting to feel a bit dumb and dramatic about the whole thing. At the end of the day, you are excited for them. You like children for the most part, and it will keep the public off you and Johnny’s ass for 9 months. They won’t bother you about the timeline of your future child. Truthfully, you just hated the questions. There is almost a demand to produce the next generation of the Fantastic Four.

“Then what’s the big deal, beautiful? Why are you being weird about it?” His hands press into your hips in a possessive and needy way. You brush those thoughts off, knowing Johnny is doing it without even thinking twice.

But then the look he gave you during dinner started to enter your mind.

The longing.

“'Cause it’s only a matter of time before you start asking again.”

His hands still, “Asking for what? A baby?”

You slap his shoulders in frustration, “Yes!”

H.E.R.B.I.E takes his leave, knowing this could get heated quickly. He beeps his goodbye, heading down the hallway to the charging port that is set up for him. You grit your teeth, looking at Johnny’s silly expression, watching the robot roll away. 

Johnny cannot help but play oblivious, now. After you clarified for him, his mind was now plotting the ways he could sidetrack the conversation. He knew exactly what you were saying, but it’s so much sweeter when you lay it all out for him, your bubbling frustration only gets him off. And you knew that, which only annoyed you more. You usually fought spelling it out for him, but with a conversation like this, you wanted to be explicitly clear.

He sighs, shaking his head dramatically. “Of course I want a family with you, baby.”

“Well, we can’t. Not right now.”

Johnny smiles knowingly, slowly slipping into that cheeky smirk he gives you when he lets you win an argument. “Well, yeah, I know that.”

“Okay, good.”

Hands slip down your hips, reaching back to your rear and palming the flesh, “I would never put that responsibility on you. You know that?”

He drags out his fondling, his fingers rubbing closer and closer to your crack. His hands are wandering to places he only touched you in private. You want to smack him away, but he feels so good, you refuse to bother to reprimand him.

“Yes, I know,” You squeak, your hands now wrapping around the nape of his neck to almost pull him closer. After rejecting him this morning, you spent most of the day regretting not lazing in bed with him until noon. That option was always on the table, but today you were adamant about getting work done. What an idiot you were.

“Good…”

His head dips down to trail kisses on your jaw, down to your pulse point on your neck. Your fingers rake through his blond locks, holding his face close to you. His hands do not stop moving, tracing the line where your ass meets the top of your thighs. 

“You know what, though?” He ponders, his lips cresting the edge of your ear. He returns you to your previous position with a quick pull of your hips. Your ass is now pressed against him as your front half is practically folded over the white countertop. “It’s not stoppin’ me from acting like I can put one in you.”

“Johnny,” you warn, eyes fluttering close at the thought.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss right below your ear on your already sensitive neck, “Come on, baby. We can do it in a hypothetical sense.”

You breathe out a long sigh, knowing this was a terrible idea. You give Johnny an inch and he runs a mile. Even pretending he could get you pregnant felt like manifesting it. “Why, though?”

“Cause it’s hot to imagine,” He states, his hands traveling slowly between your thighs. You can feel him growing in his pants with the way his hips are practically melted into your backside, “Just thinking about fucking you full until you are dripping and full of my seed.”

“Johnny, please.”

“Oh, now you’re begging for it?” His hands warm up, like a reflex to get the truth out of you. Fingers spreading over your lower tummy as he lifts your top. You cannot stop the moans that leave your lips. 

“No,” you try to say with an ounce of confidence. He just giggles, his teeth starting to toy with your earlobe.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart.” His hand dips under your pants, not even bothering with the button. “I’ll give you that baby I want so badly.”

His words are so filthy. They always were. But these ones held an odd amount of weight. 

“Oh my god,” you gasp, feeling his fingers go past your panties and seeking out your soaked slit. Once his fingers slide between your lips, a choked-out gasp leaves his lips. His words were enough to get you this wet. It fuels his ego every time.

Your body jolts, hands finding a spot on the counter to grip onto. There’s nothing to grab onto, so you let Johnny take control. 

“You would be so fucking beautiful pregnant, you know?” His fingers dip further into you, and you surrender, laying your upper body on the freezing marble. He fucks you slowly, dragging his fingers in and out of your wet center with precision, “God, I’m so fuckin’ hard imagining it. All round with my baby.”

His other hand pulls you upward, resting right where your womb is. You know how effective your birth control is, so you know his words are just words. But god, are those words making you a mess. 

“Shit,” You gasp, practically out of breath as he toys with your hole, “I can actually see the appeal of these hypotheticals.”

“Yeah?” His nose bumps the shell of your ear, “You like imagining making me a daddy?”

“Jesus, Johnny,” You sigh, as his fingers pull out of you, the wetness of your core dragging up to your tummy. He finally pops the button on your pants and shoves them down around your ankles. Your pants were quite tight, so you decided a seamless thong would suit the outfit. Johnny thanks his lucky stars for your usually-dragging-morning-brain for being so brilliant. 

“We are going to get caught-”

“Everyone is in bed,” He replies quickly, not letting you finish your thought. He’s already shoving his pants down with one hand still resting on your body. “Just let me do what you deprived me of this morning.”

“Deprived you?” you quip, turning to face him. He does not take kindly to your movement, grabbing your hips and pressing them into the edge of the counter again. 

You hated to admit that you loved it when he dominated you in this way. He was such a playful presence in day-to-day life, but when the switch flipped inside him, you were like sand between his fingers.

His palm comes down, slapping your ass. “Behave.”

You bite your lip and nod, smiling at his actions. 

“You would be such a good momma, you know?” He ponders, his right hand reaching down between you two. You feel his tip swipe against the skin of your asscheek, his precum trickling slowly down your flesh. His words send your brain into a tizzy. You wiggle in his grip, wanting him to sink into you already. “I’d get to see your tits even more than usual.”

You stop your movements, peering over your shoulder at him. The statement is almost so comically funny that you cannot take it seriously. “How does that even correlate?”

His face is deadly serious before that familiar grin creeps across his lips. He moves your thong out of his way, rubbing his cock between your sopping pussy lips, “Gotta feed the kid somehow.”

You close your eyes, letting out a depraved sigh. You can feel the smile on his face as he sinks into you, his length taking up every inch of your pussy. You squeeze him briefly, trying to adjust to his size.

“So tight. Relax a bit, honey.”

Johnny is always warm, so in turn, so are you. Especially when you fuck. The moment his hips shift inside you and he drags his cock in and out of you, you break a sweat. Even the coldness of the counter could not cool you down as his body hangs over you and completely overtakes your space. 

Johnny may be hot, but your cunt was even warmer. It was like his own personal drug. He would spend the rest of his days buried inside you, listening to your desperate whimpers as his hips snapped into you.

“Faster,” You urge, wanting to feel that familiar build-up in your tummy grow. He presses one hand into your waist, the other holding that spot that he’s now hyper-focused on. 

He speeds up his motions, his waist slapping against the fat of your ass, “Greedy momma, huh? You just want my babies so bad, huh?”

The pressure builds up only intensifies when the hand from your waist pushes your thong out of the way. His pointer and ring finger spread you wider as his middle finger swipes across your swollen clit. The mixture of meticulous work on your clit on top of the swiftness of his thrusts makes your ears ring. 

You are being loud, and you both know it. Usually, soundproof bedroom walls protect your pretty sounds from being exposed to the rest of the family, but you are in the middle of the condo, bent over the kitchen counter. 

Johnny takes the initiative to quiet you by slapping his hand over your mouth, leaving a warm spot on your tummy. His other hand does not let up on your clit, chasing that familiar feeling of you spasming around his sensitive cock. 

He jerks your head back, curling your back up into an arch, “I want you to cum for me, momma. I’m close, wanna feel you first. Then I’ll give you what we both want.”

Fingers speed up as his hips falter in speed a bit, but it’s still enough for you. Your eyes roll back the moment the burning spreads across your nerve endings. You moan into his hand, his name falling from your lips over and over. His hips go flush with your ass the moment his cock twitches, emptying every last drop deep inside you. His face is pressed into the side of yours, his words a jumble of “fuck” and “yes, take it all, baby”.

You stand there on wobbly legs as Johnny recovers and moves his hand away from your mouth. He kisses your cheek a couple of times before his hands go back to your lower tummy again.

“I’m in no rush,” He mumbles, drawing circles into your skin. You know exactly what he’s talking about, and hearing him reassure you again makes your heart grow a million sizes, “I'd rather have you all to myself anyway.”

The giggle that escapes your throat is clouded by some phlegm. You clear your throat, “I like that it’s just us. Especially right now.”

“I’m not ready to share you.”

He slips out of you as he says it, making it sound so casual. His cum literally drips down your thigh as he removes himself. “Sorry, honey.”

You run your fingers between your hips and thong to straighten it back out over your ass. When you slap it against your own skin, you hear Johnny chuckle at the obscenity. He bends down, grabbing the waistband of your pants, shimmying it up your leg, effectively wiping away the white liquid he left on your skin. To him, it’s a job well done. All clean!

To you, it means you have to ensure you run the pants through the laundry twice.

“Johnny-”

“Sorry,” He beams as you spin to scold him, “Again.”

There he is. Embedding himself so deep into your skin like a lovesick leech. You want to smack him for annoying you so quickly after getting you blissed out on his dick, but instead, you just grit your teeth and pinch his cheek.

“Daddy is going to sleep on the hard couch if he keeps it up.”

His eyes light up at your words, completely disregarding the latter half of the sentence. 

“So you did like that little fake scenario I mocked up, huh?”

You shake your head, buttoning your pants. He is a menace and he knows it. “Oh, you read me so well, honey. You’re on fire tonight!”

You don’t mean it to have a double meaning, but of course it does with Johnny. The expression he makes is so painful to your pride that you scrunch your nose in disgust. 

“I’m always on fire, Momma.”

-

[gr0und-zer00]

Blind Bush Lover

⋆˚꩜｡ Matthew "Matt" Murdock/Daredevil x reader (18+)

Drabble Matt Murdock can't see, but he definitely loves different textures

CW: sex and possible OOC, AFAB reader, not proofread, short

I'll start doing more drabbles soon

I should do more characters liking bush...

His hips pump up brutally into your soaked cunt, and as you moan, you pause it abruptly to look down as you sit reverse cowgirl on him, back to his chest and his hand sliding through your hair coating over your most intimate spot.

“Are you looking for something?” you partly joke, somewhat amazed by his ability to continue multitasking, quick hip movements yet slowly tracing his hands. 

Matt drags his fingers over the fuzzed surface, he feels the lines of your labia and the bud up of your clit. 

Usually they say ‘men are visual creatures’ but a man who doesn’t have sight, has touch and sound; in this case, your pussy and the desperate whimpering that rang from your throat. A man like Matt who can fight hoards of creatures if he wished, relished most in feeling his lover—clearly the different textures of them too.

Before he even indulged in your joke, he used his middle and ring finger, swirling it over your clit. He knew he had done something right when he heard a combination of your heart racing and your pussy squelching on his dick, clutching so hard he wasn’t sure you would ever let go!

“This is a sensory heaven. You know I love this feeling” The blind man groans before tilting his head back, his eyes void of focus on a specific area of the ceiling or on you. But his other hand pulls you down to lay back atop him.

He’s Luxuriating in the extra weight, and buries his face against your neck, panting as his vigorous movements continue with mild faltering. Meanwhile, your moans never ceased, the pitch hitching with every drag of his hips up and down, and he gave only an acknowledging kiss to the back of your neck as it tilted back.

His free hand, the one not resting in the coarse forest of messy curls, slid up your body, squeezing your breast, grinning into your shoulder with the continued plap-plap-plap ringing around the room, “So good..” he mutters.

Touchy-feely doesn't even begin to cover how Matt is...

dividers by @cursed-carmine

[scissorhvnds]

web slinger! 🕸️๋࣭ ⭑

peter parker x reader

peter parker who pushes your hands back against his bed, forcing your fingers to curl against his headboard. "press them flat for me, baby," his voice is a wet garble in your ear, heaving breaths, his tongue darting up to drink the perspiration dewing your hairline. his webs shoot out, white and sticky against the back of your hands. a soft thwip that flies by your ear and plasters your hands to the wood in front of your face. you tug, testing their strength, and your breath falters at the durability. 

not so tough now, are you? not after you had begged him soo prettily, like a beautiful, melodious course in peter's ear, "please, pete, want you to use them on me. tie me up." 

and how could peter say no? when you bat your eyes like that at him, and when your lips form into that gorgeous pout that has him wanting to suck them into his own mouth. 

no. no, nooo, no, peter would never deny you. 

but now peter's smug. he has you. you're his. your shoulders flex against his chest from the force of your tugging. and all he can do is press his smile against your jaw, nosing into your cheek from where your head is laying against the pillows. 

"ah, ah, no tugging, my love, you wanted this remember?" he coos softly, his hands sliding down your back and settling on the curve of your waist. peter pushes his chest back up, his weight shifting on your thighs. he rubs his tip through your slicked folds, tracing a line from your hole to your clit. he grinds himself there, a teasing pressure that leaves both of you breathless before sliding himself in entirely. 

the intrusion has you tensing and clenching down on him immediately. it's all too much, all too soon, but yet not enough. peter throws his head back, his fingers digging into the arch of your back. "fuuuck, yeah—" 

he's breathless, pushing his weight onto you and sliding his cock that much deeper. your head spins from how full you are, how he's everywhere. his hips slowly grind against your backside, forcing you to feel him inside you. 

your arms tug, shoulders jolting as you squirm from the stimulation. 

peter's webs stay strong. 

fuck, you hadn't thought of what it would be like to not able to touch him how you wanted.

"w-wait, pete, fuck, please—" your voice is a muffled whimper against his pillows. you bite down on the fabric, pushing your hips back to meet him fully. 

"ohhh, there she is, yeah, baby, look at that," peter groans in amazement. his eyes are glued to where he's disappeared inside your fluttering hole, hooking his thumbs into your cheeks and spreading them apart. "so fucking perfect for me," 

his hips stilled, simply watching. "gonna move for me? show me how much you do you want it? show me how good you are for me, baby, move those hips." 

your back tenses, muscles flexing as you roll your hips back. up and down. trying to find a satisfying rhythm, trying to get him deeper, get it harder, feel him hit that spot that would have you trembling in seconds. 

it was hard without your hands to support you, but it only fuelled your desperation. it was everything. you were everything to peter. your slick, wet heat that enveloped him. god, fuck, he could live inside you forever. 

the sight of you on your stomach, restricted by his webs, desperately pushing back against him, desperate for his cock — he's fucking ruined. 

you whimper softly, the pillow muffling the sound almost completely. but peter hears it, of course he does, he always hears you. his teeth dig into his bottom lip, stifling his own moan. 

"c-can't, wait, peter, i can't," you babble softly through another whine. it was too much, but not enough. you were so fucking full, and peter kept you on the edge. 

peter takes over all at once, through hard and deep thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs. one of his hands settles on top of your head, gripping your hair and pulling your head back. he leans forward again, his body enveloping yours and covering your mouth with his. his lips devour yours with a ravenous desperation, silencing your moans with his tongue sliding into your mouth. 

the smirk that spreads across peter's face presses into your teeth. all he can hear are the whines that escape through your ragged breaths and the wet slap of your fluttering pussy. 

"more, more, more, peter, please—" you beg into his mouth, your lips sinking into his bottom lip. peter groans at the sensation, his eyes shutting and his tongue laps at the corner of your mouth to catch the drool leaking from your lip. 

"so beautiful, so perfect, come for me, baby," he whispers, sliding his finger around your hip and meeting your clit. the action pushes your hips further back into him and your body jolts, overwhelmed from his hips ramming into yours. the force of your climax takes over your body suddenly. your vision whites, your nails dig into the headboard, and your body tenses as your shoulders yank painfully against the webs. 

and god, peter has never been more in love. your soft, high pitched whines as you bite down onto his pillow; your fluttering walls around his cock as he slides in alllll the way; how fucking perfect you always are for him. always. 

he could never let you go, could never be without you. not when you love him how you do, not when you beg him to tie you up with his webs. he would do anything you fucking asked him to. he really would. 

after all, he was your little web slinger! ;P

an: baby's first peter fic!

[theeraggedygirl]

Request: could you possibly do a mean dom armand x reader 👀👀

pairing: armand x reader

genre: smut

word count: 1599

warnings: rough sex, edging, squirting

a/n: Armand is slightly mean but not deeply mean, I hope you'll still like how it turned out!

---

You didn't mean for this to happen, but Armand had been ignoring you all day to keep tracks of Daniel's whereabouts, and you were getting pissed.

So you decided to leave the house without telling him, and went to the pub on your own to have a drink.

You were sitting on a stool at the bar, nursing your drink of choice of the night. You didn't know which one was it this time, you let the barman choose for you – as long as it was sweet anything would do.

"All alone?" A voice said next to you.

You turned to your right, a polite smile on your face. "Yes."

"Troubles in paradise?"

Weird question.

"You always come here with a man. Your boyfriend?"

The confusion must have been clear on your face.

"Yes. He's my companion."

You weren't in the mood for conversations with strangers. You came here to spend time with yourself in silence, with only the company of a glass.

"It's the first time I see you without company, and I thought this was my chance to shoot my shot."

He was closer now, his body sliding along the bar counter not so subtly trying to close the distance between you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but the sudden weight of a hand on the small of your back stopped you before you could utter a word.

Armand.

You didn't even need to look behind you to know. Your body recognized his touch immediately, the tension leaving your body in seconds.

"She's not alone," Armand said, voice colder than the ice in your drink. "I'm late. Something I'm not particularly fond of, considering how quickly cockroaches come out of their holes to get to her."

Armand was furious. Mainly at the man in front of you, but judgying by the pressing touch of his hand on your back you were not excempt from his anger.

Those words were a death sentence for that man who, defeated, left his spot at the bar before disappearing out in the streets.

Fleeing was not an option for you, yet you still decided not to turn around to look at Armand.

"Let's go home."

With the same hand in the same spot on your back, he pushed you down your stool and out of the pub.

Armand could have used his vampiric speed to make your journey back quicker, but opting to go to your standard human pace was part of your punishment.

You followed, always refusing to even glance at him, as your heartbeat started to increase in your chest and echoing in a specific place down below.

"Armand, I–," you started quietly.

"Spare your breath," Armand interrupted you immediately. "You left without informing me, and then you entertained another man in my absence. He was so close to your body that his smell is still lingering on you."

"I was not interested in him, I was trying to get him to leave from the beginning." Your voice was trembling, an untrained ear might have mistaken your shivering as fear.

The ever-present hand on your back moved to your side to grip your body more tightly against Armand's body.

"And yet he was still there when I arrived, breathing down your skin."

You didn't even try to say anything further. You were home.

The front door closed with a loud click behind you, immediately followed by the security lock. Armand didn’t switch on the lights, directing your body straight to the bedroom in complete silence.

You let him without putting up a fight. This side of Armand came out so rarely, you could not help but wait and see where it led each time. Yet, there was no place for fear inside you, because even in anger Armand would never hurt you.

He positioned you right in front of the full-length mirror before your bed before, for the first time since his arrival at the pub, releasing you from his touch.

You could feel Armand's body behind you, the corner of your eye catching his outline reflected in the mirror.

Slowly you moved your head to the side, your eyes finally meeting his. The stillness was overwhelming and the usually comforting amber of his ireses was now a colder shade.

"Take off your clothes and bend forward. Hands on both sides of the mirror."

You took a deep breath before following his order, your hands coming up to unbutton your shirt. You diverted your gaze as you focused on the movement of your fingers.

"Eyes on me."

You raised your head back up with a jerk, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Do you remember what to say, if you want this to stop?" Armand asked as a drop of his usual warmth filtered through his tone.

"Yes."

"Say it."

"Red."

"Good."

You waited a couple of seconds to see if he wanted to say anything further, then went back to your task.

Once you were fully naked, you bent your upper body forward just like Armand ordered you, keeping your balance by leaning with your hands against the mirror frame.

You were fully exposed to Armand's gaze in this position, and being forced to stare at yourself took away any possibility you had to hide.

When the feeling became too intense, you gave in to the instinct to lower your gaze, especially with Armand keeping still behind you.

You barely tipped your head forward before a hand in your hair pulled you back.

"I said eyes on me."

Your mind was swaying but you forced your head to stay put and look at Armand. You watched him undress, slowly, deliberately slowly, as if you weren't there. As if you could not feel the muscles in your legs begin to quiver, nor your wetness trail down your inner thighs.

When Armand took his position behind, you were positively out of breath, and trembling in anticipation. This was supposed to be a punishment, and yet it felt anything but.

"Only well-behaved girls get to be softly prepared before a good fuck." Armand's voice was cold and mocking as he rubbed his length against your entrance, purposefully avoiding your clit. "Do you know what happens to girls who step out of line?"

You didn't know if he was looking for an actual answer, but still you opened your mouth. That was the signal Armand was looking for, and at your intake of breath he pushed forward bottoming out in a single thrust.

The sudden sensation made you stumble, but you managed to hold your balance, your hands on the frame preventing you from falling.

Armand set a brutal pace from the start not giving you time to get used to the stretch, the burning feeling in your walls making you release high-pitched moans with each snap of his hips.

If pleasure wasn't the only element filling your brain in that moment, you would have congratulated yourself for your ability to maintain eye-contact throughout the whole ordeal. It was a bit pointless anyway since your sight was completely blurred with unshed tears.

Your climax was close, and you knew that Armand was not far behind as the hands gripping the flesh of your ass tightened their hold, the sting of his fingernails adding to the whole feeling.

You were about to top over the edge when Armand pulled out completely, and the scream you were about to unleash in pleasure turned into one of distress.

You were so close and now you felt your orgasm ebb away.

"That's not fair," you mumbled between breaths.

"Fair?" Armand pulled you up against his chest, a hand around your throat lightly squeezing. "Fair like your behaviour earlier tonight?"

He threw you back down in your previous position, not giving you time to even think of a reply before he entered you again, resuming his rough pounding.

He brought you closer to the edge twice more, always stopping mere seconds before you could reach your peak.

"Please," you sighed brokenly. "Let me come."

"Since you begged so nicely."

Armand changed the angle with the next thrust, hammering against your sweet spot over and over again. It took your breath away, and the intense pleasure you were already feeling increased tenfold.

It was overwhelming, your limbs were shaking as you tried to take all Armand was giving you, and then, it snapped.

Your orgasm hit like it never hit before, and all you could do was tremble and release small screams with each wave.

Armand pulled out in the middle of it, spilling his spent all over your ass and back. The last slide giving you an additional stimulation against your inner walls, making you squirt on the floor.

When the final wave completed its cycle, your body gave out, hands sliding down the mirror. Armand was there to catch you, as he slowly knelt down on the carpet behind him with you in his arms.

"Are you okay, my love?"

"I am." Your voice merely a whisper. "Just exhausted."

"I'll prepare a bath in a minute," Armand said, caressing your trembling legs. "I need to hold you for a little longer."

You rested your head on his chest, right below his chin. "I'm sorry for tonight, I didn't want to make you angry."

"I wasn't angry. I was scared." You felt his lips touch your forehead in a lingering kiss. "I'm always scared of losing you."

"You will never lose me. I can only be yours."

---

You didn't know how long the both of you stayed down on the floor, but it didn't matter.

Time had no relevance inside Armand's arms. You wished you could stay there forever.

Taglist: @park4parks @inejghafawifesblog

[theeraggedygirl]

Request: Could I request an armand about aftercare? just him looking after reader, being so attentive and gentle with her.

pairing: armand x reader

genre: smut, comfort

warnings: slightly rough sex, intense orgasm, aftercare

---

It was a nice night.

You and Armand went on a date, as you liked to do when both of you had a few days to spend fully together.

You intruded yourselves in the city Planetarium, talking about the stars and the mythology behind them. You had chosen to wear a short dress that reached the middle of your thighs, and Armand seemed very focused on the way it hugged your curves, his hands slipping below your waist every now and then.

You knew what awaited for you once you got home, a tingle of anticipation already forming in the pit of your stomach. Still, knowing your fate never prepared you for the way your nights were going to unfold every single time, Armand a master of the art of intimacy way beyond anything you had experienced before him.

And now, here you were.

Face down on the mattress, a pillow below your belly to position your hips in a slightly elevated prone bone position, and Armand caging you in above you with his arms on both sides of your head.

You were holding his wrists with your hands, trying to anchor yourself on the bed as Armand's powerful thrusts were threatening to push you up against the headboard every time his hips made contact with your ass.

Your mouth was open, but nothing was coming out of it besides moans, whines and stuttered versions of Armand's name.

"You feel so good, my love," Armand whispered next to your ear, his breath fanning softly against your hair. "Warm. Soft. And utterly at my mercy."

No spoken words were truer than those. You were at Armand's mercy, and there was no other place you'd have wanted to be right now. But it was getting intense, his thrusts metronomic and precise against your most sensitive spot.

You were feeling overwhelmed, though not enough to resort to use your safe word yet. You tried to squeeze Armand's wrists as a counter reflex but you realized in that moment that their positions were now reversed with Armand holding yours down and pinning you against the mattress.

You couldn't move, your body fully restrained under Armand's and, if with someone else you would have felt panic arise, with him all you were experiencing was a spike in your pleasure as your climax hit you out of nowhere.

No sound came out of your lips, body and soul succumbing to the feeling as tremors took hold of your limbs. You were lying there prisoner to your orgasm, tears streaming down your eyes at the intensity.

"Little one."

You heard Armand utter your name, but he sounded far away, almost muffled as if cotton had started growing in your eardrums.

You tried to take a deep breath to answer him, though only a broken whisper came out instead.

Armand was on you in a second, slowly turning you on your back so he could look at you clearly in your face. His eyes widened at the sight of tears still staining your cheeks. You must not have looked very pretty in that moment.

"My love, can you hear me?"

You nodded, the movement slow and limited by Armand's hands holding your face, his thumbs wiping your tears away with delicate touches.

"Have I hurt you?"

You frowned at him at the question. Was that what he thought had happened?

"I'm fine," you said, your voice still quiet but at least you were starting to fully function again. "I just got overwhelmed suddenly."

"You should have stopped me if it was getting too intense." Armand kissed your forehead, his shoulders finally relaxing once he realized you were unharmed.

"It wasn't a bad sensation, only unexpected. I enjoyed it."

Armand leaned back to look at you in your eyes, surely searching for any signs of discomfort he feared you were hiding from him. There were none, of course.

"What do you need, my love? A warm bath? Something to drink?"

"Can you hold me for a while, please? I need to feel you."

A warm smile started to grow on his face and, after leaving another small kiss on your face, he moved to lie down on the bed taking you with him.

You rested your head on his chest, your left leg coming up to circle his waist to fully press your body against his. His hands were moving on your skin, one slowly down your spine and the other on your thigh, as his nails tickled you in their passage.

"You're still shaking," Armand mumbled lowly against your hair. "I apologise for not realizing your situation sooner."

"You did nothing wrong. I didn't want you to stop."

Armand stayed quiet for a few seconds, his hands never stopping once in their movements. The soft feeling was making your eyelids heavier and you weren’t sure you'd be able to resist the pull of sleep if he continued, but there was something you wanted to say.

"I hope I didn’t disappoint you. I feel like I ruined the moment with the way I reacted."

Armand stilled immediately, and you mentally cursed yourself for making the situation even worse.

"Look at me." You didn't move. "Now."

You raised a little from your position on his chest, your eyes shy as they finally met his gaze. The way he was looking at you was firm, but you could still perceive the softness underneath.

"Never say anything of the sort again," Armand uttered, his hands cradling your face preventing you from even attempting to divert your gaze. "Every action you do, or any emotion you feel, is never wrong to me, and this is how it will always be."

Fuck.

You were going to cry.

The emotional turmoil of the last hour catching up to you with a final blow, and the new tears dripping down your face were its final release.

You hid in the crook of Armand's neck, your arms circling around him as much as you could.

"That's good, my love," Armand whispered, his hold tightening to provide all the comfort you needed. "Let go."

You didn't know how long you stayed in that position, with Armand taking care of you with light caresses and soft words.

It was the perfect ending to a splendid night as many were and many will be. And despite the emotional rollercoaster you went through, you wouldn't want to change a single second of it.

---

Taglist: @park4parks @inejghafawifesblog