I saw you’ve written for Lester during the Dark Reign era and that you’ve read Dark Avengers. I was wondering if you could write a jealous sex fanfic? (Reader being the jealous one.)
Basically, reader being jealous of Karla when she sees her and Lester near each other on TV and her being anxious and worried that he’ll think Karla’s better than her and leave her. (For the sake of sanity let’s pretend he and Karla didn’t have sex or anything and it’s just random jealousy)
But of course he wouldn’t! Why would he do that to his pretty girl? And so they have sex
omg- YES! Any excuse to put on Lana Del Rey and write about insecurity 🥹Kinda proud of this one ngl
Also on AO3 💜
Now?
Length: 3.6k
Tags/CW: SMUT (+18), insecurity, jealousy, body image issues, creampie, choking, fingering, just the usual stuff.
The TV flashes bright, the images flicking by quickly as your mind races. The soft plush of the couch beneath your shaking legs provides no comfort as you watch Hawkeye- Lester parade around on the screen with Ms Marvel. Lester’s hand is gently resting on her hip, contorting perfectly with her flaunted curves. The light of the television practically burns your unblinking eyes as you focus on his cheeky grin and her salacious smile. Your teeth gnaw at your already raw lip, the heat of jealousy making you feel feverish. It must be part of Norman’s plan. That’s what you tell the sick voices screaming in your head as you fight back the urge to throw the damned screen out of your apartment window. It’s not as if you and Lester had any verbal agreement not to sleep with other people, but you’d thought it was more of an unspoken thing. Especially considering the way he’d fucked you the last time you’d seen him.
His hand gripped tightly around your throat as he pounded you into your mattress, that gravelly voice hanging in the shell of your ear. “This pussy is mine. Isn’t that right, my pretty girl?” At the time, you could only mewl out some incoherent agreement, distracted by the way his cock managed to slide just right over every inch of your pussy. The wet sound of each thrust had nearly swallowed his voice, the reverb barely making it to your eardrum over the sinful noise.
Now?
Maybe that all meant nothing. Just pillow talk to get him closer to his own release. Not indicative of the cruel reality of sleeping with someone like Lester. Your chest feels tight as Karla places her hand on Lester's pec, posing for another stupid photo. The crowd behind the cameras cheers and hoots and hollers as your nails draw blood from your palm. Lingering just below the envy is a deep sense of sadness, tears welling in your eyes as you finally blink. The relief of wetting your strained eyes pales in comparison to the sickness twisting in your guts. It’s not that you thought an assassin would have morals or even a sense of empathy, but you’d hoped he’d at least have the decency to break it off with you before sleeping with someone who is so obviously more beautiful than you. Her long, blond hair falls effortlessly. Somehow, it lands perfectly each time she moves her elegant face. Just looking at Karla’s defined and shapely body makes you never want to eat again, so different from your own, more homely frame. If you were Lester, you’d leave the lame, civilian girl for this impeccable woman as well.
The thought stings more than you’d like, eyes finally falling from the smiling faces on TV to look at yourself. All fat and skin, no muscle. Disgust overtakes everything else as you hyper-analyse every blemish on your skin. Small scars from crappy jobs with no safety codes, bumps, pimples and bruises. Chipped nail polish, because when was the last time you had the time to make yourself look pretty? Not that you could ever make yourself look even half as good as Karla. How could you? Hot, salty tears slide down your face, pooling in the crevices your distraught features are making. Your hand reaches for the remote as you sloppily wipe the shameful droplets with your t-shirt, fingers gripping the controller with unnecessary force, causing the plastic to groan. The power button is pressed with frustration, a primal reaction to the distressing content that still lingers in your mind.
You don’t get much sleep that night. Dreams blur with nightmares of Karla’s perfect lips slotted against Lester’s, the soft sound of a creaking bedframe haunting the foreground.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s raining today.
You snort, humoured by the weather matching your own downtrodden mood. The kitchen island is cold against your back, but you don’t dare to sit on your couch. Your TV hasn’t been turned on in days, abandoned. Not dissimilar to yourself. Just another empty vessel. The coffee in your hand has long since gone cold, forgotten as you stare at the piece of furniture, lost in the memories of what was. So lost, you nearly miss the sound of the slightly rusted doorknob turning. You look towards the door just a bit too slowly, still drowsy from another night of tossing restlessly. Before you can even comprehend that there’s someone else in your apartment, cold, wet lips are being hastily pressed against your own. You let out a gasp into their mouth as the familiar man throws your mug into the sink with perfect accuracy, hands grabbing at your hips with urgency. Your fingers twist into Lester’s shirt as he paws at you, practically growling into you as his hands find your ass, hoisting you onto the counter.
The whole thing feels surreal, and for a moment, you almost think this is some kind of sleep-deprived hallucination. Lester’s tongue sliding into your gaping mouth manages to shock you back into reality, hands pushing against his chest as you pull back. He tries to follow you, barely noticing the pathetic force of your shoves. It’s not until you kick at his leg that he gives you enough space to breathe, looking at you with a painfully cute, confused look. Lester’s hands don’t stop searching for the familiar breaks in your clothing as he blinks at you.
“What? You forget to brush your teeth this mornin’?” A grin stretches over his handsome features as his fingers find the hem of your shirt, “Come on now- you know I don’t mind your mornin’ breath.”
The urge to slap that smile off his face twangs in your head, “Fuck you.”
The words come out softer than you’d hoped, lacking the bite you’d imagined the countless times you’d pictured him walking through your door. Though they succeed in wiping the smile from Lester’s face, replacing it with a much darker look. It’s nearly unreadable.
“What’s up your ass? Thought you’d be happy to see me.” He has the audacity to put on a look of hurt, despite his wandering hands.
“‘What’s up my ass’?! Maybe the fact that you just burst into my home and threw my fucking coffee in the sink like a jackass!”
“Didn’t realise you were so attached to that slop you drink.” Lester’s voice drops an octave as he leans closer, “Besides, thought you liked it when I came in all hot and heavy.” His hips grind into yours, the heat of his erection practically burning you through your sleep shorts.
You bite back a moan, anger struggling to fight against the urge to lean into his body. “What? Your super-girlfriend not down to fuck today? Had to come to the backup pussy?!”
“I have no idea what you’re babbling about, but this is honestly getting me even harder... Are you trying to roleplay?” Lester’s hands slide up your shirt, fingers brushing underneath your breasts, “Am I supposed to pretend like I’m cheating on someone?”
The heat of his touch sends an unwanted shiver down your spine. Your traitorous body tries to lean more into him. “Fuck off! Go back to Ms Marvel! Since she’s obviously far better than me!”
“Karla?” Lester howls in laughter, throwing his head back as his chest shakes, “Why would I fuck that psycho? I got my pretty girl right here, and she’s not going to try and psychologically manipulate me.”
“I saw you two on TV! Hands all over each other, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the two of you were…” You pause, tongue not wishing to say the word.
“Yea, ‘cos nothing on TV is a lie.” Blue eyes roll back so far that you're staring into white, “Nothing happened- Was just trying to convince the public that we’re a team. Besides, practically drained my balls dry every morning, noon and night, imagining finally getting you back in bed. I mean, probably wouldn’t have even been able to get it up for Karla even if she wanted it.”
“Didn’t look like that to me.” You try, and ignore the vivid mental image of Lester, panting and sweaty as he fucks his fist, the murmur of your name on his lips.
“Oh yea?” Lester’s fingers are tracing the waistband of your shorts, teasing the line between fabric and skin as he stares into your eyes, calculating.
“Yeah.”
Silence hangs between the two of you as Lester, for once, doesn’t say anything in return. His gaze makes you squirm far more than the digit slipping into your shorts, making its way to your soaked panties. The second Lester makes contact with the wet material, his eyebrow quirks, and that same, devilish grin returns to his face.
He leans ever closer, lips brushing your ear as his finger rubs slow circles over your neglected sex. “If you’re so mad at me- why are you dripping all over your countertop?”
You swallow hard as gentle waves of pleasure roll over your body, fatigue not helping to fight the feeling in the slightest. A single huff leaves your lips in response, and Lester’s tongue darts out to lick a thin line up your neck. The second the taste of your skin hits his taste buds, Lester feels some of his patience leave his body. He wasn’t lying when he said that he’d spent the last few weeks ripping pillows apart with his teeth as he desperately chased the high that was so easy to achieve with you. Norman had practically begged him to ‘Get the hell out’ before he ‘Destroyed another $500 worth of bedsheets’. It had been nearly impossible to get any work done with that mess of a team while Lester’s mind had been entirely consumed with the memory of you. Legs wrapped tight around his waist while you cried and screamed for more, and the feeling of your pussy trembling under his tongue as he made you cum.
Now?
Lester finally had you in his grasp once more, but you didn’t seem as happy to see him as he’d hoped. Well, part of you was obviously keen that he was back. An unfamiliar feeling of hurt lingers in the back of his mind as he watches your eyes dart away from him.
“Come on- Let me show you how much I missed you.” It’s so hard not to crumple, to not beg Lester to fuck you like he loved you and pretend like you never saw that damn news broadcast.
So you do.
“...Pleas-” You can barely mutter out the humiliating plea before Lester’s on you again.
His lips feel just as good as they did last time, pressing sloppily against your own almost intimately. It’s like you were sculpted to go together, each curve and angle fitting together perfectly. That’s what always makes it so difficult. The way Lester plays your body like an instrument, as if he knows every inch of skin and every strand to pull. His hand cups your sex, sliding beneath your thin panties so he can feel just how much you need him. The firm flick of his thumb over your clit makes you cry into his mouth, the sound swallowed immediately by a groan of his own as he presses his index finger into your pussy. Your hands dive beneath the shirt he’s wearing, nails digging into his back with the same agonising pressure you pressed into your palms a few nights ago. Lester twitches before squeezing the hand on your tit almost punishingly. You don’t care. Despite succumbing to his seduction, you still want him to hurt. You want him to feel even a micron of the pain that still burns so hot in your chest. Even more than that, you want Karla to know that Lester is yours, to stake your own claim on his body. Your nail snags on the ridge of his spinal scar, and Lester’s teeth sink into your swollen bottom lip, a depraved moan escaping him as the sting goes straight to his cock.
The atmosphere building in the kitchen changes completely as Lester pulls his hands from you, grabbing your hips and practically slamming them into his own. His tongue slides over your bloody lip as he continues to lavish your mouth in desperate kisses. Your sex aches as Lester grinds against it, making sure you feel every inch of his want, his need. The fabric of his jeans bunches up the thinner material of your shorts, small rolls of clothing stimulating your clit with each rut of his hips. You’re sure that your face has turned an embarrassing shade as the heat in the small kitchen skyrockets, sweat dripping down your back as your slick soaks through another layer of clothing.
“Wa-” It’s nearly impossible to get a word out as Lester unceremoniously shoves his tongue into your mouth, rubbing over your own and letting the taste of coffee permeate his senses. You manage to slur out the word ‘bedroom’ around his eager muscle, and Lester- ever the gentleman- pulls you closer. Your entire body slots into his as he stumbles towards your room, keeping his erection pressed into your core with each step. He practically tosses you onto the bed, crawling over you like the moon eclipsing the sun. Beneath Lester, it’s easy to feel safe. His large and heavy frame creates the illusion that you’re protected, loved. But that’s all it is, right? An illusion, manifested by your pathetic brain that assumes that the dark look in his eye is love. You blink fast, begging tears not to pour as you guide Lester onto his back, reversing your positions.
Lester’s already stripped off his shirt by the time you’ve kicked off your shorts and underwear, straddling his narrow hips, just inches away from the erection straining his pants. He’s grinning so wide his lips look like they might split open, the soft pink sheen of saliva and blood coating them like lip-gloss. Impatient fingers yank at the hem of your shirt, demanding the removal of the covering. The image of Karla’s perfectly smooth stomach, wrapped in form-fitting spandex, flashes in the forefront of your mind, muddying the desire building in your hips. You slap Lester’s hands away, though they’re quick to return to your body, seeking the comfort of your plush thighs as you fumble with his jeans. You focus on the way his muscles brace, tightening in anticipation as your fingers successfully work the button loose. He’s staring at you, the weight of his gaze as heavy as ever. You can’t bear to look at his face, knowing that whatever you see in his eyes will only hurt tomorrow. Tomorrow, when he’ll leave in the early morning twilight to run back to his job, to Karla. Lester doesn’t help as you pull down his waistband, resting his hands behind his head as he watches you work. That’s how he likes it when you’re on top. He’d told you once, in the dark of your living room, that he loved to see you lose control while you rode him.
You wrap your hand around his leaking cock, breath stuttering for a moment. He’s just as big as you remember, thick and heavy and- god, it’s so hard it looks painful. The tip is flush, angry red in colour, though his shaft twitches in your grip, as if to show it’s missed your touch. You don’t waste any time lining the head of his cock up with your sex, too desperate and upset to want to mess around with any more foreplay. As the slick tip breaches your neglected pussy, Lester’s hands return to your shirt hem. This time, he’s actively pushing the fabric up your body, intent on removing the offending material once and for all. Each inch you sink down only brings his hands closer to achieving their goal, and a vile taste blossoms in the back of your throat. Looping your fingers around his wrists, you guide them away from your body, pinning them to the crinkled bedsheets beneath you. Lester’s jaw opens, and you force out an overly whorish moan to silence whatever he was going to say. You’re finally flush with his hips when you start to ride him. Short and fast bounces that create a nearly deafening orchestra of skin-on-skin contact with subtle notes of wetness. It drowns the voices screaming in your head, and you chase that high of silence. Lester is uncharacteristically quiet, not that you’re focusing on him at all, too busy enjoying the carnal pleasure overtaking your exhausted body.
Lester props up a leg behind you, using the leverage to meet each of your frenzied bounces with an upward thrust of his own. You don’t have to fake noises anymore, moans freely flowing from your lips as his cock fills you just right. He’s always better. Better than anyone else you’d been with, better than the last time you’d slept with him, better than you. A choked-out sob ruins the symphony as another wave of insecurity hits you like a tsunami. You don’t stop moving, trying to focus on the feeling of pleasure rather than the disgusting sense of inferiority. Hone in on the physical, forget the mental. Or some other psychoanalysing bullshit, right?
“See? Told you that you missed me.” Lester’s snarky voice cuts through the haze of sorrow, and you finally look at him.
His cheeks are flush an adorable pink, eyes dark as he stares at you. The tears streaming down your face haven’t done anything to dissuade his pleasure, not that you thought they would. Anger burns hotter than your sopping sex as you realise he thinks you’re crying because it feels good. A new slap of skin on skin echoes across the room as your palm connects with his fucked-out face. The mixture of grief and pleasure has made you forget just who you’re currently on top of, and even as Lester lets out a moan at the pain, you know you’ve gone too far. It’s nearly too easy for him to switch your positions, easily breaking out of the hold you had on his wrist as he slams you onto your back. Fingers dig into your cheeks as he forces you to look him in the eye, still buried deep in your pussy and not bothering to stop the ruts of his hips.
“Mmmm, you’re so kinky today!” A manic look has brought some light back into his lust-filled gaze, “But, I think we should reverse this fem-dom dynamic.”
His free hand grips the t-shirt you’re wearing, physically tearing the fabric like tissue paper. With your breasts and stomach now on full display, you feel even more disgusting than you did earlier. Each thrust of Lester’s hips causes your tits to bounce violently, sending waves of movement across your untrained body. Before you can stop yourself, your arm goes to cover the obscene image, folding loosely over your stomach. The fingers crushing your face dig in tighter as Lester glares down at you, grabbing your wrist harshly and pinning it above your head.
“S’pretty,” He’s slurring now, hips stuttering their tempo as he watches his cock pump in and out of your pussy, a thin band of cream forming around the base, “My pretty girl.”
The words make you blush, despite all the horror in your own mind. The way Lester looks at you is intoxicating. He releases your face in favour of rolling small circles over your clit, watching as your sex twitches and grips him even tighter as you approach your climax. It feels too good, you really have missed him. Sleepless nights imagining him with someone else and shamefully playing with your cunt each time you remembered how his hands felt.
“...Are you mine?” You barely manage to mumble the words, the wet slaps making them nearly incoherent.
Lester doesn’t even pause, “You’re all that I want, pretty girl.” The statement lacks the usual snark and sarcasm that you’ve- up until now- just assumed was Lester’s normal voice. “So soft and warm and good. Ah- Always thinking about you, how you smell, *pant* how you taste. It drives me crazy.”
You mewl beneath him, legs wrapping around his hips as you finally tumble into your orgasm. The words of affection, pushing you over, rather than the quick circles flicking over your clit or the constant pounding against your g-spot. Lester isn’t far behind, face falling into the divot between your neck and shoulder as he lets out a moan which sounds like your name. His hand finally releases your wrist as the stench of sweat and pleasure permeates your senses. Tentatively, you run your fingers up and down his scarred spine as he shivers, curling around you even tighter.
“Do you have to leave in the morning?” You dread even asking, but you let yourself wish for a specific answer, just for once.
“Naw,” Lester props himself up on his elbow as he looks down at you, blue eyes locked on yours as he smiles, “Reckon I can hide out here for at least a few days. Let’s just say that Norman doesn’t really want me around the tower at the moment.”
He watches as your own face splits into a smile, the thing he’d wanted to see the second he’d walked through your janky front door (he really needs to fix that lock). “That make you happy, pretty girl?”
“Hmmm, only if you make sure to help clean up once you’ve got to go.” You give him a chaste kiss on the cheek as his eyebrow quirks.
Lester pulls out of your pussy, shuffling down your bed until his head is between your thighs, “How about I start right now?”
the more Dark Reign comics i reread, the more I think Doom, Namor, and Loki were all in some kind of polyamorous relationship, or at LEAST had a threesome situation going on.
