𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖉'𝖘 𝖌𝖋

⋆˚꩜｡ mature audiences (18+) only !! ⋆˚꩜｡

[voidsgf]

MASTERLIST 18+

TW: graphic descriptions of m/f sex, dubcon, somno, rough/kink, toxic relationships, past abuse/trauma, mental health issues/disorders, angst, including graphic descriptions of injuries, compulsive and intrusive thoughts, specified/references to size and age differences, etc.

read all: 🖇️

bob reynolds x reader 𝜗𝜚 sentry x reader 𝜗𝜚 void x reader 𝜗𝜚 bob reynolds x reader x sentry 𝜗𝜚 bob reynolds x reader x void (thunderbolts 2025)

show me the light (sentry!bob x reader) ♡ you always wanted to make bob feel confident in himself, but when he sees the new piece of lingerie you've bought for him, he gets carried away (rightfully so) what belongs to the shadows (void x reader x bob) ♡ bob starts having a nightmare and accidentally wakes you up. without hesitating, you grab him, but find yourself sucked into the void, something he's long tried protecting you from, because what belongs to the shadows, hungers with sweet cruelty--and it's been waiting to claim you diet cherry cola (bob x reader) ♡ bob notices patterns. used to taking the backseat, even more used to the thunderbolts* rather eclectic way of dealing with the stress of heroism, when he notices you searching for control, he decides to take it upon himself to give you a new outlet dirty little secret (sentry!bob x reader) ♡ valentina takes you to a costume reveal of Sentry's new look, and he steals an impulsive moment with you once she steps away to take an important call teaser (bob x reader) (blurb)

𝜗𝜚 bob mears x reader (salem's lot 2024)

till the end of the world (miniseries) ♡ an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time.

[voidsgf]

Heyy, I love your Bob/ Void fics, are you planning on releasing any others? ♡

God I would love to!!!!!

[cryingmyeyesviolet]

Can’t explain how much I love seeing him in his sentry suit with his brown hair

[voidsgf]

attention sluts

bob x reader smut after she blacks out and accidentally kisses walker

void x reader smut where he degrades/humiliates her for wanting bob (him)

unslutty sicko freak button 😔

Voting ended onMay 29, 2025

[voidsgf]

[voidsgf]

attention sluts

bob x reader smut after she blacks out and accidentally kisses walker

void x reader smut where he degrades/humiliates her for wanting bob (him)

unslutty sicko freak button 😔

Voting ended onMay 29, 2025

[voidsgf]

teaser (nsfw 18+) ♡ bob reynolds x reader

"You're so pretty," you couldn't help but say, breathless and reaching for him.

Bob was between your thighs, his hands kneading the soft flesh and pushing your knees further apart. Seated back on his heels, his thighs spread, you could see the streaked red of an agitated erection. Your words caused him to hiss, the curved length bobbing upward as he shivered. "Don't say that..." he responded, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

His broad shoulders rising and falling with heavy, unsteady exhales, his ribs flaring, he cleared his throat, gnawing on his bottom lip. He was thinking too much about it, his gaze dark with hunger and his thoughts a thick haze. You tilted your hips and arched your back, squirming to find more contact with him, but he was still too far. Your nipples had hardened since his mouth left them, and the hair stood on your arms, goosebumps following the weaving of a tightly knotted shudder. Your hips were aching from him pushing them apart, but not as bad as the beating of your clit, the spasm of your walls around nothing. He'd gotten you so worked up, his hands moving from squeezing your breasts as he moaned into your mouth to groping your ass. Yet as soon as he'd gotten your clothes off, not just making out anymore, he seemed to freeze in his tracks, knowing he couldn't turn back--not wanting to, but also not knowing where the hell to start. He could have swallowed you whole.

You panted, "No, you're so, so beautiful--" soft and gentle, beckoning him closer, "I need you, need you inside me," while his head hung forward and his hair fell in front of his forehead.

Bob's face was flushed, a sheen of sweat visible as beads glossed his sternum. He accepted your touch with a groan, and you whimpered against the feeling of the tip of his erection finally pressing to your middle. He was already slick with precum, warm between your parted folds, which were already plush and damp with the wetness leaking from you. Kissing you, deep, he interrupted it only to whisper, "I-I want it to be good, for you-and, I don't know... uh, how long I can last, so, if you wanted to just skip that I can... get you off and then take care of myself later? So you don't have to-" he was giving you an out, even though he nearly recoiled from the thought of you doing as much as trying to wriggle free from under him.

Although with your fingers in his hair, you tightened your hold and simply yanked him into another desperate kiss, retracting at the same time as your hand to whisper, "listen to me, I don't want anything else-but for you to fuck me. I want you to fuck me. Okay? Can you do that? Do you still want to?"

"Yes, yes-please-yes, of course I still-" Grazing down the front of your figure, fitting your fingers in between your naked bodies, you found his pulsing girth and held it firm enough you could roll your hips and slip your entrance over him.

"Oh, fuck-" he buried his face in the crook of your neck and sobbed. Your hand pinching the back of his neck and hugging him to you with your opposite arm, as soon as he lowered his hips and pushed forward, he sheathed himself inside you to the hilt, and stilled himself there. "Shit, y-ah-y-feel so good."

You whined his name and arched your back again, widening your hips until they pinched. His hands were then on you, frantically feeling for new ways to hold you, to pull you against him. He wanted you as close as possible, keeping himself to the hilt and only rutting an inch or so. He was already close, the anticipation and friction of merely wanting to fuck you making his balls grow heavy and the rope coiling in his pelvis tightening. The only warning before he came was his thrusts' sudden, frenzied, sloppy, and forceful pace. Bursting inside you only a few strokes later, not even having time to put to words the sensation, the release flooded him hot and wet, and he collapsed into you. Just as suddenly, gritting his teeth and holding himself as still as a statue until all of the strength left him to slump over and apologize, all the while you stroked his hair and braced through the impact of his orgasm with only a few muffled whimpers lost beneath his tattered noises.

"S-sorry-I'm sorry-" he stuttered, "god I'm so-pathetic-you make me crazy-you feel too good-"

"Bob? Bob-" You held his face in your hands and kissed him until your lungs ached. You were buzzing with energy, trembling under him. The more you had him, the more it seemed you needed him. You were intoxicated. Your gaze locked on his, when you huffed, "I love you. Please just... shut up..."

His eyes searched yours for a second more, then he smirked. "You're adorable when you're frustrated, y'know that? Gettin' all worked up."

"And you're kind of an asshole after you've cum..." you teased.

"Oh yeah?" Bob scoffed, a small purr following. Something else was burning in his eyes, and after another deep inhale, you felt him begin to harden again, still inside you--stretching your walls open further with each dull throb. Opening your mouth and having nothing leave it except a choked noise that was somewhere near a gasp and closer to a grunt, you realized then you were in for a longer night than you could have prepared for.

[voidsgf]

𝒹𝒾𝓇𝓉𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁ℯ 𝓈ℯ𝒸𝓇ℯ𝓉

✩ sentry!bob x reader ✩ nsfw 18+ for explicit and mature language, smut descriptions ✩ synposis: valentina takes you to a costume reveal of Sentry's new look, and he steals an impulsive moment with you once she steps away to take an important call

"I think I'd like just one more opinion on this." Valentina tilted her head and crossed her arms, looking over the Sentry with an inquisitive eye that only let up once the elevator dinged. She didn't know about you and Bob. She just thought you were a good enough assistant to get her a decent cup of Joe and handle everything she didn't want to think twice about. Or maybe she did, noticing the sudden absences, the lapses in your judgment, the hesitation when she mentioned anything related to the Sentry project, especially when it had to do with putting Bob into situations you knew you'd have to talk him off the ledge from. She wanted something from him that you weren't sure either of you wanted her to have. If you knew what was good for you, you would have realized that was emotional leverage over him. Nevertheless, she kept her mouth shut, and you emerged behind her. Holding your signature clipboard, dressed in a tailored suit, your eyes immediately found Sentry.

He stood by the windows, his hands out in front of him, fingers wringing out the sweat slick on his palms with nervousness. The boxed blonde dye of his hair failing to cover his roots, darker strands of chocolate were still visible, streaked through, brushed behind his ears. He was Sentry, now, his body no longer protected from the environment with soft fabrics and loose clothing, instead clad in tight latex. When he turned toward you, the cape draping from his broad shoulders flowed behind heavy boots, and you blinked dumbly. You and Bob had known he'd be different--he explained it as some high, this warped perception of invisibility that now had powers to validate them, just as the project had unleashed the darkness in him, too. This was his light- the gold shimmer, the blinding rays, the warmth. This was the U.S's new shiny toy superhero to be marketed and advertised as holy and pure, but he was still your Robert, and you were still the girl who managed to make even the Sentry nervous, timid. His dirty little secret.

"What do you think?" Valentina asked after you failed to comment.

"I... I think... it's..." your eyes fell lower than you intended them to, Bob's face first pulling and going pale, then flushing red. "It's good." When you looked back at Bob's--Sentry's--face, he cleared his throat and clenched his fists by his sides. "You dyed his hair?"

"Needed the aesthetics to match, the dark hair clashed."

"Hm."

"You don't like it?" Sentry asked, taking a step closer.

"I didn't say that."

He had locked on you, now, advancing slowly enough that it made your chest hurt from how hard your heart was pounding. As he crossed the boundary between the barrier of Valentina and you, you squeezed your jaw and took one, then two steps back, tearing your attention from him just in time for Valentina to turn around. The second she did, her phone began ringing, cutting through the silence.

"Fuck, I need to take this." She was already walking away when she started snapping at you to follow, disappearing behind one of the tarps.

As soon as she was out of sight, the clatter of your clipboard across the floor made you flinch before he grabbed you, his hands squeezing the sides of your torso and hoisting your front against his so your heels lifted and your back arched. One hand pushing at is chest, the other pulling at his neck, your mouths clashed impulsively before you turned your face and tried convincing him to let you go.

"B-bob-c'mon,"

"It's Sentry-"

"Fuck o-" you muttered before he kissed you again, catching your cheek with his hand before his arm locked around your waist, and he forced another kiss. A low groan escaped him, and pressed to your belly, you felt the stiffening bulge of his length, pushing against the suit barely fitted around its outline already like a second skin. You gasped, hardly stepping back, instead your feet floating above the floor as he rushed you to the wall and deepened the kiss. Your breath knocked for your lungs from his forcefulness, you winced slightly as you grabbed his hips and felt him rolling them into you, his lower spine flexing as he ground his hardness into your front, his mouth opening with heavy pants that misted your jaw, then the crook of your neck. "You-shit, you're hard."

"Yeah-all cause of you..." he whimpered when he rubbed himself against you again, "how fast do you think I could fuck you? Hm? Before she comes back--shit, if we figured o-out how to get me out of this stupid-thing-"

He was ruining your composure, your hair messed, lips bitten numb, cheeks hot, your clothing tugged from its place. Trying to hear the muffled chatter of Valentina's stern phone call, although you were certainly no match for Bob, regardless of his superpowers, especially not now--knowing he was handling you as light as he possibly could, and even then it was crude, extreme, bruising, you tried shoving at him, cowering beneath him. Any and all effect you had on him was because he allowed you to.

"We can't-"

You felt him smile against you, purring, "part of me wants her to see, to spot us--to see me-claiming you, using you, all mine."

However, when you began whimpering, "Robert, she's gonna catch us-she's gonna see-if she sees-if-she-Robert, please, stop, stop, stop-" Just as quickly as he grabbed you, he dropped your body and allowed you to slip out from between him and the wall.

You smoothed out your hair and lunged toward your clipboard, swiping it up and managing to keep the wet spot that had soaked the front of your collared shirt from the mess Bob had made of himself, while clacking your heels hurriedly across the room and toward the elevator, hidden. You were hardly recovered when she emerged again, looking to you to push the button with a tug of her brows. You were lucky for whatever had happened, she barely paid a second glance toward where the impenetrable Sentry leaned his forehead against the wall, his fingers cracking the stone, staring down at the pulsing hard on still fighting against his suit. It was suffocating, squeezing, and pinching every inch of his body, applying pressure to the leaking tip. He could have kept rutting himself into it and gotten off, but he stood there, quivering, unable to look at you without losing control. He wanted so badly to take you by the arm and fly you somewhere so he could have his way with you. He didn't doubt he could have fucked you in the air if he wanted to, he'd gotten so good at controlling his powers, using his abilities. He'd wrap your legs around his waist and hug you to him, the fear of him dropping you making your whole body tighter. Now that he was Sentry, there were so many things--

"Uh, Robert, we need to go, okay? I'll be right back, though. Don't go anywhere!" Valentina shouted, waving her hand. Your stomach turned at how she tried to reassure him that she would be right back. Despite everything in you wanting to look back at him and slip from the elevator the second before it closed, you readjusted your grip on the clipboard and blinked toward the floor, granting Valentina a single breathy, fake chuckle when she sighed, "strange guy, isn't he? Huh."

[voidsgf]

♰ synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. ♰ 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism ♰ total word count: 9.3k+

part one part two part three part four

[voidsgf]

𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 ♰ ben mears x reader ♰ part 4/4

synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism words: 2.3k+ masterlist

Ben looked up at the Marsten house from the bottom of the hill with disdain. Deteriorated, winding steps leading up to the multi-storied house that had long become infamous for its metallic, sweet lingering scent of rotten blood and squelching carpets, once more, the horrors seemed to leak from the cracks of the structure. He wondered why they hadn’t just gotten rid of it, demolished the property. His chest tight, he tried to breathe air into his lungs but ended up coughing, clearing his throat as his stomach wrestled queasily with the thought of walking up those steps to the front door, the entrance. His stomach turned even worse with the idea of you having been swallowed by its interior, making him nearly gag. He tried to press his lips together, his jaw trembling until he ran his tongue across from the corner of his mouth, quickly wetting his mouth and swallowing down the cotton webbing of his throat. His eyes were rimmed red from crying, his face sore from the hyperventilating. His arms and legs hung heavy as his back spasmed in protest when he forced himself forward. 

He just got you back. He wasn’t going to lose you again. Ever again. 

A rough stake at his hip, blocky cross clutched in his opposite hand, he wielded symbols of ancient folklore with his entire being, taking two steps at a time until his knuckles brushed the front of the door and caused it to swing open more forcibly than the weight of his hand could have caused. 

“Ben? Ben! Is that you?” Your sweet voice shot through the air, scared. “Ben!” You cried out his name, over and over. “Help me! Get me out of here!”

“I’m coming! Fuck, baby where are you? Tell me where you are! Can you see anything?” He was lurching forward, his feet propelling after one another before he could think twice about it. “Call out again!”

“Here!” 

His head whipped to the left.

“Ben, I’m over here!” 

His head whipped to the right.

“Ben?” It now sounded as though you were in the same room as him, the fear gone from your voice, replaced with endearment, softness. Ben’s feet skidded across the floors, and with his jaw dropped, eyes wide, he spotted you down the hall—crouched over the body of an unknown figure, its mishapenness already telling him it was a corpse even before you unlatched from its throat and smiled at him, blood stringing gummy from your chin. 

“Ben!” You exclaimed with a sigh, “You found me.”

He didn’t run. Despite every instinct inside him telling him to do so, his body stayed planted where it was, his face growing warmer. His eyes clouding over with your newfound vampiric powers, a hand-me-down from your master, you stood from your late morning snack, and moaned softly, gliding closer to where he then dropped his cross to clatter by his feet alongside his stake. “You-”

“Shh… It’s all okay now. We’re together again.” 

“I thought I lost you…” 

“No… Oh, Ben…” Your fingers lifted to graze his jaw before he melted his face into your palm. “We can be together, forever now.” His eyes closed. You brought his opposite hand to your waist and pressed yourself to his figure. “We have all the time in the world now.” 

When he looked back down at you, you looked like you did when he left. Doe-eyed, full of love and trust, blooming under his touch with youth and innocence. The image seemingly superimposed itself over the current state of you, pale with sunken, dark eyes, blood coating your cheeks and mixing with the drool from your mouth, which was filled with jagged canines, the fangs of a new vampire. Ben wetted his lips again and took hold of your cheeks between his warm hands, pulling you up to your toes to kiss you. His tongue thrashed with yours and blood smeared over his face, its coppery, silver twinge mixing with your whimpers and making a shiver weave itself through his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The urge to flee didn’t diminish, his heart skipping a beat when you shoved him against the nearest wall and turned your face to the side, kissing him impatiently, open-mouthed sighs and loud moans leading your tongue to his throat. Locks of damp hair falling over his bloodied face, Ben yanked your shirt from your arms, further ignoring the purplish red soaking its fabric, and after pulling the button loose of your jeans, tugging the denim down the length of your legs, hoisted you up. 

You wrapped your legs around his middle with glee, giggling once he took his turn to smack you against the wall, using it to support your weight while he unbuckled his trousers and freed his already throbbing erection. The next time you spoke, your voice had lost all of its gentleness, rumbling deep from your chest in a growl. “Fuck me, show him who I really belong to.” 

You grabbed the back of his neck and licked up his mouth, tasting the blood and pressing your forehead against his while he pushed his tip between your folds, grunting once you tilted your hips, and he felt himself sink into the tightness of your entrance. His head fell to your shoulder, then, and he began rutting his hips, wet, heavy, strained noises spilling from him and betraying the tough-guy persona he tried so hard to front. His brows pulled up, each thrust delivered a subsequent whimper, the quickening of his sloppy movements knocking you back against the wall while his nails dug beneath your thighs and into the meat of your ass, spreading you open further. 

The feeling of him filling you up, stretching you open and splitting you from the base of your spine up to your sternum making your entire body buzz, it was even more intoxicating than your recent vampiric sensations—it all was so heightened, so much, your insides twisted around his girth and contracted needily until they fluttered and released. Feeling this, Ben kissed you again and nicked his lip on your teeth. Your fingers pinched his jaw, and you suckled the sweetness of his blood, your eyes glowing with hunger. “I w-won’t lose you-again-” you mewled, pulling at him as another climax threatened to further undo the seams of your composure. “I can’t-I can’t I’d r-rather die-I’d ra-” Taking his lip between your lips again, you tasted his blood, sweat, tears, and saliva again, groaning. 

When you finally sunk your teeth into Ben’s throat, he was sheathed to the hilt inside you, gasping for air and jerking his pelvis, rolling his hips in choppy, shortened movements as his balls yanked up and his belly tensed, shoulders curving and shuddering forward at the same time cum began dripping from your slick folds. A fistful of his hair between your knuckles, your claws scratched his scalp, and your tongue met his skin before your teeth melted into his pulse as if it were soft butter. His saccharine blood flooded your mouth shortly after, and Ben seemed to unload more cum just because of that, spasming and holding his breath from the searing pain. 

“I love you, I love you-” he whimpered, tugging at your hips and continuing to fuck himself into you despite the overstimulation, his limbs growing numb as you suckled his life from him and replaced it with your devotion, affection, your own love. 

“I’m sorry-I love you-so much, I love you,” he shot out. From the pocket of his jacket, he then pulled out a syringe filled with anti-rabies medication. The needle glinted from under the dim lighting. Dust swirling in the air, he swung it up and embedded it into your neck, injecting all of it into your thickened, dead bloodstream, causing you to crumble beneath him and unlatch. Ben soon followed, reciting one of the Lord’s prayers beneath his breath as he held your face and, in between, panicked repitions of, “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” When you stopped twitching and convulsing, after tucking himself tenderly back into his trousers, he grabbed the cross he’d dropped and held its glowing face close to your chest until the light went out and you closed your eyes. He didn’t have time to panic, clarity returning to his gaze as he looked toward the door to the basement and knew what he had to do next. 

Many vampire legends told and retold the tale of the vampire hive mind, the sharing of powers—you kill the queen, the leader, the master, and the rest lose their powers. Quickly recomposing you just in case you came back to yourself amidst his absence, Ben hastily placed a few kisses to your forehead and cheek before scrambling back up, wincing with the graze of his touch to reveal blood against the pads of his fingertips from the bite mark while making his way either to both of your freedoms, your future together, or his equal demise. In either case, he tightened his hold around the cross and swung the door open, peering into the darkness, and accepted his fate. 

Your first time together was at the drive-in theatre. An old monster classic, a creature feature playing on the large screen a few rows ahead of you, you and Ben had stopped paying attention a good fifteen minutes ago, ditching the popcorn and crisp bubbling soda for the equally salty and sticky syrup of deep kisses and the taste of your skin. You'd made out countless times before this, but as he draped your leg over his lower back and ground himself down into your core, panting, you wriggled your hips and whimpered for him--not just for him, not just to be as closer as you were right now, but closer. You wanted him inside you. You were ready. For him to take you. "Are you sure?" He asked, to which you merely nodded, reaching down to peel your panties from your sex beneath the skirt of the dress that had already begun dragging up from your shifting and squirming. "I love you, Benjamin..." You whispered. Ben cracked shortly after staring down at you with a borderline pained expression for another few seconds. Your fingers in his hair, they dropped to his chest, then clenched on top of your hollowed belly that hitched with each of your breaths while he undressed himself, seated back against his heels, remaining between your legs. His hands squeezed your thighs reassuringly before he lowered himself back down, and it was never as painful as you'd been led to believe your first time would be. You didn't know if it was because he fit you so well, he was just that good, or because it was so right, but all the pain that was caused by him filling you only felt like pure pleasure.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were in the back of his car, green trees passing by in a blur, their pine soaked in the blue of night. You didn't know how many nights had passed, though. Your memories were fuzzy, but there, and your stomach lurched. You instinctively wiped a hand across your mouth. Finding no blood, you looked down to see yourself dressed in one of Ben's shirts and a pair of boxers.

Driving, Ben didn't notice that you were awake until he heard your meek voice crack under the pressure of your consciousness. You thought you were dreaming, right up until he heard you whispering his name and shot the car off the road and slammed on the brakes, not bothering to put his hazards on before flinging himself from behind the wheel and throwing the back door open, nearly crawling into the seat on top of you just to pull you up and check your body for further damage. "You're awake, holy shit you're actually awake," he wiped his hands over your face. "It worked."

Goosebumps covered your skin from the chilled breeze. You could hear it whistling through the trees, minty pine filling your lungs, crisp. Clean. Somewhere deep in the woods, though, flesh rotted. You could smell its decay, beneath the surface of damp soil.

"Did you actually think you were hauling my dead body in the back seat of your car?"

"To be honest, yeah."

You couldn't help but laugh, although the tears and blubbering soon overcame any bittersweet ounce of joy and relief you felt. Your whole body then stiffened with the remembrance of biting him--transforming him. "I bit you," you gasped. He shook his head and swiped his thumbs across your cheeks to smear your tears.

"Yeah,"

"How-"

"I killed him... and that, I suppose, broke something-it released... the curse. Or something."

"Fuck... Ben, I'm so so--"

"Stop," he shook his head, kissing you hastily. "I love you. That's all that matters." You melted into it, your body arching against his and trying to pull him further into the back over you. Even when faced with the end of the world, you felt like a teenager again, including all the impatience and impulsivity of one. When Ben's tongue swiped across your gums, they began to ache, and when you opened your eyes again, you caught the glint of something animal in Ben's own gaze, the fire of an ancient appetite, a darkness that matched the sharpened edge of his teeth. "And we're together. And we'll never lose each other again."

You knew then that you two had a lot more time, now, to love one another, and you were completely fine with that. Despite all the mess, the lives lost, you found yourself thankful--and starved.

[voidsgf]

𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 ♰ ben mears x reader ♰ part 3/4

synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism words: 2.1k+ masterlist

That rest, however, was short-lived, abruptly snatched from both of you when it seemed the whole Town erupted into echoing screams. At first, they sounded like they were underwater, bubbling up from the surface of his dreams—dreams that were no longer about past mistakes, but glinted with the hope of a future he’d be proud to call his own. When the screaming started, it sounded like children, almost like laughter. It rang through his mind, but got louder and louder, till he felt your hands on his shoulders, shaking at him. 

“Ben! Ben, wake up, Ben?” 

“Huh-honey, what the h-” Ben’s eyes refused to open, even when his fingers lifted to lazily grasp your wrist, then rose further to cup the side of your ribs.

“You need to get up! Something-something’s happening-” you hissed. The panic in your voice finally clicked in his mind, and he grunted, all of his senses coming back to him at once. 

“Wh-what, what?”

“Something’s happening!” 

“What do you mean? Hey-you have a nightmare?” He started comforting you, sitting up with another aged, soft groan while keeping his hand on you. You sat back on your heel and glanced back at the window, where you’d seen eyes. Evil eyes, the same you’d find as a child under your bed or in the closet. This time, they came from the fog. You didn’t even need to say anything else. A loud crash came from downstairs, muffled by the thin walls and door, and the screams were inside. Ben exhaled, short, his body tensed. “Get dressed. Now. Hurry, go, go-” 

You lurched from the mattress and yanked up your jeans, for a split second looking around the floor for your panties before the crude memory of Ben tearing them off you flashed through your mind alongside the heat of what would have returned you to being cradled in his arms, if not for the nearing creak of someone, or something, coming up the stairs. You grabbed your shirt and hastily threw it on at the same time Ben finished redressing himself. You felt as though you were hyperventilating by the time Ben pressed you behind him, backstepping until you hit the wall with your shoes unlaced and the locked knob jiggled with determination. Whatever it was that was outside wanted in. It could smell you. 

“H-hey man, whoever you are, please just leave!” Ben shouted, his hand at your hip to cage you in while his other hand outstretched, holding a small blade that had been in his bag. “Just go!” 

Silence. Then, a deep rumbling voice that sounded more animal than human. It didn’t need the lock. It clicked open, and the door slowly creaked open. Each pop of the rusted hinge sent another jolt through you. You peered at the seeping darkness, the hungry shadows that flooded in from the hallway, while tugging at Ben’s arm. And hardly had any time to do anything but freeze when a pale face and wide mouth came rushing at you. Or have any time but to let your rag-like body be shoved to the side and to the floor by Ben to impulsively protect you from the smack of his shoulders against the wall and the creature who climbed over him. 

“Fuck!” He shot out, holding the snapping jaws away from him by the throat. The knife had been knocked from his hand. The heels of his boots squeaking against the floor, he kicked and thrashed in any attempt to get away from the thing, grinding his teeth, while you stumbled back up hesitantly. “GO! RUN!” You heard him shout, but it only rang in your ears. You looked at the knife, then back at the struggle, and only had another second before the thing looked your way, glowing red eyes and fangs bared at you. 

“The master has been so looking forward to getting a taste of you.” It purred, still holding Ben down before it let go and this time floated—floated toward you, like smoke. 

It didn’t make it three paces before Ben was back on it, this time ramming the four-inch blade into its jugular and swiping outward, bright blood spurted over both of you. It continued to gush, although you both knew it was only offering you a chance to run out of the room as the creature twitched and gurgled on the floor. 

Ben grabbed your arm and yanked you out without a second thought, practically dragging you down the stairs and out the door into the night, not giving you a chance to fully realize how blood-soaked the wallpaper had become, or the coagulating blood dripping thick like syrup from the mahogany wood of the front desk. 

You burst from the front door into the street, only to stagger upon the sight of more of them, crouching along the rooftops, hidden in the shadows, blinking, flickering eyes at you like nocturnal animals. Cause that’s what they were—the comic books and classic novels of your youth all came from your imagination. Vampires. The truth didn’t taste as bitter or as crazy as you would have thought previously. There was always something darker to Salem’s Lot, the shadows denser. As if made for this ‘master.’ Nonetheless, you didn’t have that much time to think about it. Ben was dragging you around, keeping you at his side despite the difference in your size and the tripping of your shoes. 

Finally, despite the burning of your lungs and the ache in your thighs, the exhaustion wearing you down even further, regardless of the adrenaline that pumped ice cold through your veins at the same time, you managed to stutter, “t-the c-church! Ben, the church, w-we need t-to get to the church!” 

“Fuck for! That’s farther!” 

“Vampires—they—they’re not human, Ben, you saw them! Vampires!” One was flying over you. You felt its breath on the back of your neck, a whisper of supernatural intent, like lukewarm air. “Get to the church!” You screamed right before long claws clutched at your waist, and your voice was lost to the breeze, your limbs ripped away from Ben. His legs tangled, and he nearly fell on the asphalt flat on his face. He screamed your name, again and again, catching himself from the ground by using the momentum of his stride to skid to a stop. Yet, looking back to see he was still being stalked, the night sky shielded you from his sight, and he found himself running again, this time as fast as he could, toward the church.

Once he got there, he threw open the large red doors, and threw himself inside, his knees slapping the floor at the same time his hands rose in front of his face and he curled over himself beneath the pointed, sharpened edges of makeshift stakes. “T-th-they got her! They got her, grabbed her into-fuck, into the sky-like-like it was-flying-fuck, fuck-I need to go back-I need to get her-” 

“Whoever it is you’re talkin’ about is lost now, if that’s what happened.” 

“We need to GET HER!” Shudders spasmed through Ben as he blinked wildly at the small group of survivors surrounding him. Once they saw he wasn’t bursting into flames, even smoking the slightest bit, or reacting aversely to the holy ground, they dropped their stakes and released Ben from his surrender. “Please, you got to help me. You have to-I need to get her back-”  

“Didn’t you hear me?” The oldest woman said louder, “if they’ve gotten her, she’s gone. If she got bit, it’d be too late to-”

“They just took her—What if she’s out there, what if they took her—wait—they-they said-the first one-it said, something about a master.” 

“Yeah. Those out there are just a hive, his workers. Vermin.” A small boy, no more than 12 years old, said. Cracked thick lenses hid beady eyes behind them, the frames almost too big for his face. There was blood splattered on his face and over his collared shirt, coming from two separate directions. 

“So-so what if, he-he was saying the master wanted to-” the word caught barbed and sharp in his throat at the thought of what the ‘master’ planned to do to do. “He, he wanted a taste. To taste her. It felt as though they’d… been looking for her, just wanted to get through me.” 

“Fucking hell.” The woman rolled her eyes and groaned, turning around. Ben nodded small and hurried at the boy, who nodded back. “You got any idea why?” 

“No, no…” Ben whimpered, his breath rapid and choppy despite all he did to calm it. 

When the woman turned back around, Ben’s face was contorted with the look of the truth seizing him. He began to sob, “what’s going on? What is this? Why would they… oh god why would they take her like that? What do they want?” 

But all she did was shake her head. “Who are you?” 

Your chin to your chest, shoulders hanging forward, when you came to, your shoulders were aching from the weight of your writs bound behind you being what kept you from falling out of the chair you were seated in. You sat back, straining against the burning of threaded old rope digging into your skin. As you began struggling more pointedly, cursing, “shit,” and twisting your hips to try and get a look at your restraints, a voice from the shadows interrupted your movements. 

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.” 

The silence that followed made you question whether or not you were hearing things now. “Is someone there? Where am I?”

“Why, you’re awaiting your new master, in his rightful home.”

“Who are you?”

“A simple servant. A protector. I’ll soon protect you, too, little one.” You still couldn’t see who was speaking to you, only felt the gross ghosting of fingers across the back of his neck. “He smelled you, you know. Your scent is what led him here.” 

“Let me go. Please.” 

“But his scent… is also what led you back here.” 

“Please-whatever this is, please, I don’t know you, I-I’ll just go, okay, and I won’t say…” your words trailed off when you eyes focused ahead of you, on the grand staircase covered in velvet carpet. White, twisted-knuckled claws slipped over the banister as reflective eyes shone down on you with hunger and what looked like lust. A heavy cloak draped behind it, while it slunk down the steps, the fading light of a candle held out in front of it revealing withered, ashen features—the features of a corpse. 

The last thing you remembered was the shriek ripping itself from your throat, before his claws bent your jaw back, his touch stiff and cold, leathery, and a pain burst through your jugular, followed by the gush of wet warmth trickling down your chest. 

Ben paced the front doors while the others tried to devise a plan to escape the church. Ripping through what was left of his nails and shoving his hands through his hair, sweat matted on the back of his neck and what used to be fear soon turned to anger vibrating through him. 

“We have to go right now—every fucking second we spend here,” 

“Listen, we don’t even know if your girl is still alive, alright? Why we gotta risk oru own lives to save someone we don’t know, for someone we don’t know, who damn well isn’t even alive anymore!”

“She’s got a point, I mean, all we know is that she’s probably at the Marsten house. And if she’s there…” The boy shrugged. Ben gawked at him. “We don’t have a good enough plan.” 

“Fine. Stay here. I’m going.” 

Ben began to turn toward the doors when the woman cleared her throat. “Without even a cross or a stake to defend yourself? You’d barely make it three steps. Besides, it’s going to be sunrise in…” she glanced at her watch, “45 minutes.”

“45 minutes I got to go get her.”

“45 minutes to get there from here, on foot. Twenty if you haul ass to where your car is, then speed up that road. So, thirty.”

“And?”

“If she’s still human by the morning, when the sun is out, the others will be hidden, sleeping, and we can get her out.”

“You’ve made it abundantly clear you have no interest in helping me.”

“So what you don’t want help no more?”

“I just want to fucking GET HER BACK.” Ben looked like a wild animal, almost as pale as the vampires surrounding and lurking the streets outside. His hand came back over his face, this time to cover his mouth and muffle a sob.

“Then take all the weapons you can get and wait a bit for the sun to shield you. There’s no other way but to remain here and take your chances in the light.”

[voidsgf]

𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 ♰ ben mears x reader ♰ part 2/4

synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism words: 2.7k+ masterlist

Clara left after dark, leaving you with the leftovers of a potluck her family had had that day, one you’d been invited to and declined the day prior. Locking the front door and turning off the porch light, you rested your forehead against the panel for a few breaths, then mustered the courage to walk up the stairs into your bedroom and open the closet. In the back was a box, the one you had made and taped shut before moving, with all of your previous possessions relating to your five years of dating Ben. From movie stubs, dinner receipts, handwritten notes, love letters, photographs, dried flower petals, and the promise ring he bought you in your second year of high school, it all felt and looked so juvenile now. But what was contained in the messages was all too real, too heavy, too meaningful. Today, you had seen those same feelings in his eyes—it was as if nothing had changed. You fell asleep with one of your photos pressed to your chest, one taken where neither of you were paying attention, lost in your own world, one of infinity and made of love and joy, albeit a small world. One that was taken before he’d gotten a job offer to write the kinds of stories nobody here in Salem’s Lot would have allowed him to write, much less given him money for. He had an agent who wanted him to move to Manhattan and live his dream—and who were you to stop him? 

His glasses were propped on his nose as he held the letter between his hands, far away from him, fearful of it. The look of near horror on his face was reason enough for you to stop what you were doing and go over to him. 

“What is it?” You asked, worried. “Is everything okay?” 

“I…” He swallowed, searching for the words. Once he seemed unable to do so, you tried to take the letter. Barely eighteen and he almost twenty, he was much bigger, stronger, and taller than you, making his movement swift in getting the paper out of your reach. 

“Ben! What is that?” 

“Listen, just give me-”

“What is it?” 

“I’m sorry.” You’d found he was saying that a lot.

“What did you do?” 

“I-” Ben’s free hand hovered at the side of your neck, then cupped your cheek. When he tried to kiss you, you pulled back and kept your hand out, motioning for him to give it to you. He conceded, letting you read it with his hand wrapping around your arm to keep you from pulling away. You lowered your chin to your chest and scanned over the text, from the congratulations to the proposed salary to the request that he fly out as soon as possible. It was a book deal. 

“We greatly enjoyed your sample writing.” You read off, your eyes already blurred with tears. 

“I don’t have to.”

“This is great, Ben…” 

“I’m not-”

“You are.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Like hell you can’t. This is your dream.” 

“I didn’t think anything would happen,”

“It’s okay.”

“Look at me.”

“It’s okay.” 

“Please—just look at me.” 

“It’s okay.” 

However, the memory twisted in on itself, and instead of soft hands holding you, Ben, now with long nails digging into and scratching your face, forced your head to the side and pushed your shoulder. When you looked up at him, his eyes burned like fire, glowing, and his lips peeled over grey gums filled with pointed canines, his mouth stringing with blood. 

Fresh tears smeared your cheeks. You buried your face in your pillow and sniffled, cursing under your breath. Putting away the box, you folded and tucked the bent photo in the back pocket of your jeans once you got dressed, first taking a shower and putting on a thin layer of makeup and pulling out your signature perfume you hadn’t used since your 19th birthday party. Before, the smell of it had drawn up memories that made you sick to your stomach. Now, it made you feel like there was a chance. 

Ben hadn’t slept well that first night. Getting a room at the bed and breakfast on the corner of Main Street, he’d almost fallen asleep behind the wheel one block over from your house, debating driving back or not once the sun went down, until choosing the latter. Regardless, he’d only lain on top of the sheets in his tank top and trousers and stared up at the ceiling, holding the framed photo of you against his sternum until the sun poured in from the half-open curtains. At which point, he got up and moved to the main floor, where breakfast was set out for the guests by 6 a.m., though he just poured himself a coffee and went back upstairs, waiting a little longer until 8 a.m., when the library would be opening. 

Word of the author Ben Mears back in town was already spreading, which helped you quickly find out from the local diner where he’d stayed the night. One of the waitresses remarked, “Oh, well, I heard he took up at the bed and breakfast cross the street.” Just a few seconds passing till she gave you a smile and a small ohhh, “hold on, aren’t you—?” Although you were already hurrying back through the front door, nearly getting yourself hit by a car on the way through the traffic, only to find that Ben had left early that morning. 

“Did he check out?”

“Oh, no, only left for the day.”

“Do you know where?”

“Sorry, he didn’t say anything.” Your shoulders dropped. “Should I tell him you dropped by?”

“Could you have him call me once he gets in?”

“If you give me your name, then sure thing.” 

You waited the entirety of the rest of the day in your house by the phone, slamming it down when it wasn’t him in case the line rang and it was busy. You waited, and waited, until the lavender and dusty blue hues of night began to paint the walls, and the phone finally rang one last time. 

“Ben?” You shot out for the fifth time.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Are you busy?” 

Ben paused. “Are you okay?” 

“Stay there.” You hung up, letting him hold the phone against his ear with a clawing dread raking up his back at the lack of your reassurance, the dullness of the empty line only making it worse. 

It took you under ten minutes to get into town and park. When you entered the house, the lady nodded up the stairs and told you his room number. “22, dear. Although I don’t like guests, he told me you might be in trouble.” 

“Thank you so much,” you sighed, taking two steps at a time. The door was practically already opening when you got to the top step, and Ben stood before you, looking you up and down to confirm you were in one piece. You were trembling, flustered, but looked alright other than that. “You were going to ask me something earlier.” You said, firm, “What was it?” 

Ben smirked, nodding downward with the press of his mouth into a fine line. “If you were doing anything tonight.” 

“Yes, I am.” You then pushed past him, grabbing his wrist on your way, so he swiftly shut the door and followed you to the bed. Ben cursed under his breath, tugging you back to him and pinching your waist with the curve of his spine while fitting his mouth against yours in an open, desperate, long overdue kiss. It was a partial make-up kiss, a partial greedy, territorial, and possessive one—perhaps they were the same. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and a moan escaped you when he lifted you up, carrying you to the mattress. Landing above you, he didn’t let the kiss break, stealing more of your breath as his large hands traveled over your body and maneuvered your limbs beneath him so he could get closer. His movements were rough, hurried, jerking you closer and pressing against you harder, all the while your own hands tugged through his hair and twisted in his shirt. You turned your face slightly and muttered in between kisses, “take it off-god, just fucking-take it all off,” instigating both of you frantically fumbling with your and each other’s clothes to remove any barriers as fast as you could. Your breath hitched in your throat at the sight of his body. Already hard, meeting again lips first, Ben moved you higher up the bed, muttering to himself, “I missed you so much, you have no idea, I missed you so bad-” about to press his knee beneath your thigh and fit himself between your hips when you pushed his chest and met him on his knees, kissing his face, throat, then chest and hollowing stomach. One hand fell to the mattress before his hip did, then his back.

You wasted no more time fitting your mouth around the sensitive, slick head of of his cock, whimpering into it like to have him on his back with his legs open, filling your mouth, was all you wanted. One hand on his thigh, the other on his hip closest to you, your walls contracted around nothing, and your clit throbbed painfully at the sensation of him prodding the back of your throat, then slipping inside it with a single swallow. You gulped him down and kept him there, strings of saliva pooling around his hilt and mixing wit the salt of his precum while Ben groaned and bared his teeth, seething, his hips nearly writhing under the stimulation and the way you bobbed your head up and donw, relaxing your tongue to fit around the underside, feeling the pulse of the spongey columnar tissue and fattened vein. 

Ben’s breathing deepened, and his hand fell out against the mattress. He groped the inside of your thigh, kneading it before brushing his fingers along the center of your soaked panties. You hadn’t taken them off. You wanted him to cross that line in reclaiming you. His hair sticking to his forehead, a pained whimper escaped him once his balls clenched, and he gasped for air, knowing he was already close. Shortly after, he began sitting back up and wrapped one hand around the front of your throat, hissing another curse at the way he could feel your esophagus bulging, while the other hand first tried to push your forehead, then snatched a fistful of your hair to yank you up. In the meantime, he panted, “s-stop, fucking stop, I nee-need you to sto-oh god, I’m gonna cum, no, no I don’t, I don’t want to cum yet, stop,” 

You pushed yourself onto his lap and kissed him again, letting him taste himself. You heard the tear before you felt his knuckles pressing into the meat of your hip and yanking at your panties. They ripped easily, and he discarded the fabric off the edge of the bed, lifting his knees at the same time. You pushed yourself up just enough that his curved length slipped between your swollen, damp folds and further smeared the slick of your desire. 

“I need you so bad, it hurts,” you squeaked, your eyes squeezed shut. Your hips involuntarily bucked, and Ben held you against him. 

“I know, baby, I know—fuck, I know—I’m here now,” Supporting your hips as you sat back down, your cheek pressed to his temple, and he stretched your walls with a delicious burn, sending ripples of pleasure up your tightened core until your body melted around him, the tension releasing from your pelvis and spine so you could arch your back and begin grinding down on him. “Taking me so well, even after all this time, h-holy shit,” he nearly laughed, his gasps getting choked up as his teeth grazed your pulse. “You smell… so-”

“It was your favorite,”

“I remember, I-I could e-eat you up, I swear to God-you’re insane,” 

You took hold of his face between your palms and tilted his face up, shortening your thrusts and increasing your pace. His broad, warm palms and long fingers found your breasts. When he massaged them, you pushed your chest further against his hold, and your head fell back. 

“Te-ll me, tell me I’m the only one, that you-ah-that you came back for me,”

“It’s all for you, everything, everything I am is yours—I did, shit, I came back for you and if-if you weren’t here I would ha-have searched for you, all over, till the end of the world, ghhhfff-shit-you drive me crazy-” 

He would have insisted on you finishing first, would have flipped you back beneath him and eaten you out with his cock leaking over the sheets and his wet moans vibrating up your clit till he came just from the sounds you were making, but you rode him with a determination and stubbornness that made him stop himself from getting in your way. Instead, he moved his touch from your tits to your ass and opened you up for him further, the sob that melted from you making his heart damn near break. Your body shivering and tensing, your walls clenched and fluttered around him so hard he could have counted down the seconds he had left, feeling that frayed coiled rope of pleasure snap in his core and his scrotum yank painfully upward, causing his hips to rut up into yours, his nails to dig into the softness of your hips to still you, and his face to bury in your neck as he came, violently, as if he’d been saving it up all these years for you. 

Afterward, his cock spent, red and soft, sticky against his thigh, Ben’s tongue swirled around both of your nipples. He took them in his mouth and suckled, his fingers rubbing small, gentle circles on your belly, moving downward until he touched you exactly how he remembered you liking it. Arching your back, he spend the next couple of minutes purposely teasing you, not giving you enough for you to finish, then slung one leg over his forearm and pressed your knee up so when he began making out with your pussy, all tongue, working jaw and teeth, deep growls vibrating up your core, you were already on the edge of such bliss you could have sworn yoru vision blotched white and the fire in your thighs and belly traveled up to your chest, a roaring sort of pleasure that consumed you from the inside out. 

“You always taste so damn good,” he whispered more to himself, taking some time to swallow the viscous globs of his own cum before nudging your clit with his nose and suctioning his lips around it. His fingers filling you, massaging your walls to give you something to clench around, you came four times before he let up, glossed with a fresh sheen of sweat with you drooling off his chin like a slobbering dog, despite which, you let him wrestle your tongue with his and kiss you as deep as he had before. “So perfect, so beautiful, so pretty when you’re cumming for me, when you’re doin’ anything, my girl, my woman-” 

“Your woman?” you giggled.

“Mhm, yes ma’am.” 

“You’re making me feel old…” 

“No, baby… no, I just serve you, whatever you need, I’m not leaving. Never again.” 

“You better not.” 

He didn’t need to respond. He hated hearing the remaining twinge of pain in your voice, and kissed your neck, his cock stiff again, but not fully. Despite the exhaustion dripping from him and slowing his movements and despite your weak protests, Ben returned his mouth to your pussy, lazily lapping you up. You’d fuck two more times that night, then make love, sweet and slow, legs slung over each other, on your sides, gasping into his mouth and nipping his shoulder as he held you to his chest, facing one another and on your sides. When your thrusts got sloppy, he’d angle his hips up and drive himself deeper into you, nudging your bruised and tender cervix. You’d fall asleep like that, in each other’s embrace, him inside of you, you still leaking by the time morning came, both of you too selfish and greedy to gather the strength to separate. 

“I love you… I always have. And I’m never losing another moment to be able to love you.” He whispered into your hairline, feeling your exhales deepen and muscles relax in the peacefulness of good rest, something he was finally able to achieve for what felt like the first time since he left.

[voidsgf]

𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 ♰ ben mears x reader ♰ part 1/4

synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism words: 2.1k+ masterlist

You tilted your head back and felt the sun melt across your face. It was spring, and on a cloudless day like today, its warmth brought everyone from inside their homes, breathing the clear air into their lungs and playing radio hits from the static of old radios. You could smell the smoke from a distant grill and pictured the bubbling searing of fat from the marbled yellow and cherry red steaks dripping their myoglobin from the rack, listening to the fading laughter of children who spun past your yard on their bikes. You didn’t have anyone to celebrate the beauty of the day with, but that didn’t stop you from sitting out in the brightening grass with a crisp beer touching your lips and the perspiration of its glass cooling your palm, leaning back in a creaking and dried-out plastic lawn chair.  

Back now permanently for nearly a month, you’d managed pretty well so far, having secured a flexible position at the small press in the center of town once you realized you would be staying. You’d just finished dropping off the last of your mom’s stuff at the donation center yesterday, which gave you the rest of the weekend to spend at your leisure till Monday, when you returned to work. You took another gulp of your drink and rolled your neck, stretching the tension from your shoulders. The only hang-up was that, before your mom passed, you had promised her you would finish writing the book, and you also promised your publishers would put you back on the list, any list. It was your last shot at any chance to be able to leave the town again, and as you sat in the sun, nursing yourself with hop and mead, the fuzziness in your mind hardly helped exercise any creativity. Maybe you just weren’t meant to be a writer, not like… 

 Ben sat in his car and stared at the welcome sign, white knuckles twisting around the steering wheel until a clammy palm swiped back a loose strand of hair behind his ear. A deep exhale collapsing his lungs, he glanced down at his lap, then to the right, where a box of his things remained in the passenger seat. Amongst his books and newspapers, where his picture had ended up with most often less than positive reviews, was the small framed picture of you—it was the last picture he’d taken of you, after he already left to pursue the very dreams he was afraid had only led him back to where he had run away from. Only here for inspiration, he reminded himself, having told it to enough people, it was beginning to sound like the truth, before he picked up that photo of you and turned it over in his palms, knowing well enough the only inspiration he would be getting is if you were still here. Selfishly, he put the car back into drive and headed down the streets to where he also hoped he would prove himself wrong. 

Kids ran across the streets at their own will, scurrying through yards while their parents huddled in groups around porches and kept a loose eye on them. He couldn’t recall any day as clear as today as long as he’d spent in the Lot. Usually it was dreary sort of weather, large imposing storm clouds painting the scenery shades of grey and blue. His windows down, he tilted his head once he arrived in your neighborhood-or your old one, where countless times through high school and the summer after he’d cruised through with you by his side, lazily prolonging the moment he had to drop you off. Out of habit, he pulled up to the curb in front of your house where the two of you would sit in the night, entangled. It was where you’d first told him you liked him, although you guys were already dating, you saying those words, I think I… really like you, Ben, felt like everything to him then. But it had been ten years. So, when he pulled up and saw your car in the driveway, his brows pulled together to form a crease between them, and his heart fluttered, quickening. He felt dizzy from the rush of blood. 

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, contemplating twisting the ignition again and leaving before he could do anything to embarrass himself. Nevertheless, he stayed still, staring at your car. Then, another movement caught his eye, and his gaze flickered over to where you now stood at the corner of the lawn, dangling an empty beer bottle from your fingertips and looking like a deer caught in headlights. “Fuck!” Ben hissed and stumbled out from behind the wheel. 

“Ben?” You asked, taking a slow step forward. You were wearing shorts and a tank top that barely reached past the tops of your hipbones, your bare feet pressing into the grass. 

“H-hey, hey, sorry. Hi.” 

“Hi… what…” you looked him over wearily.

He caught himself interrupting you, “What are you doing here?” 

“I-” and you the same. You both stuttered and stumbled over yourselves, silence draping over you once the shock turned into paralysis. Ben’s Adam’s apple shot up as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and he wrung his hands in front of him with nervousness. You two hadn’t ever officially broken up, but ten years was a long time, especially from the time he graduated high school a year before you and the last time you saw him, which was after the summer following your graduation. Back then, it seemed so easy to try and make it work. “You want to come inside?” You finally asked. 

His mouth slightly open, all Ben could do was nod, releasing you to turn and head up the steps to the front door with him trailing close behind. 

Once inside, you hurried into the kitchen, your fingers tingling and a sudden sobering from your previous haze. Now, you were painfully aware of everything, where you were, where he was, and the stench of his cologne filling your nose—it was the same one you had gotten him, the first and only cologne he used. Jealousy turned over in your stomach at the thought of him as some hot-shot author in New York, with the smell, the one that made your whole body almost quiver, his hair grown past his ears, age having stripped the baby fat from his cheeks and leaned out his figure to the point of ropiness. He looked jaded, rougher than the boy you’d fallen in love with. In your kitchen was a man, who looked at you with the same glint in his eye that mixed curiosity with desperation, devotion. You wondered if there was anyone else he’d looked at that way, anyone else who had found the points wherein he sprayed that cologne. 

“I didn’t know you were back,” Ben spoke silently behind you, leaning a hip against the countertop with his hands shoved in his back pockets. 

“So what, you were checking up on my mom or something?” 

“No… no, I guess, I was hoping you’d be here. But also—”

“Disappointed I am? Yeah. Same here.” Ben cleared his throat. “But.. I did leave, you know,” you continued. The glasses of the two beers you grabbed clinked together. You set them down, twisting their caps off, then turned back around, handing him one. 

“What happened?”

“My mom got sick.” His fingertips brushed your knuckles as he took the bottle, lingering for long enough that your heart seemed to stop. Ben’s weight tipped forward at the same time you pulled back, and he adjusted himself. “I came back to take care of her, at least until-” 

“I’m really sorry.” He didn’t ask any further questions, he could hear—feel—the absence, see it in your face. “You could have called me.”

“Oh?” You scoffed lightly. “And what, have the phone be picked up by your wife, wondering who this girl is? Calling to be comforted by her ex-not-so-ex-boyfriend?” 

You could see Ben try not to laugh, shaking his head and saying, “I’m not married,” while taking a swig. “Also, ‘not so ex?”’

“We technically didn’t break up. Not officially.” 

“I see.” Ben’s left hand left his pocket, and he licked his lips, staring down at his beer. “That means you’re still mine, right?” His words seemed to punch a hole through you, and left his jaw clenched as if he’d been slapped. His face contorted with shame. When he accidentally made eye contact with you again, he whispered a small, “sorry,” gaining his voice back just enough to force out a breath and thank you, “for the beer, I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to see you again, make sure you were uh-alright, if you were here,” already turning around when you stopped him. He set his beer down, his shoulders slouched. If you could see his face, you would have seen his bottom lip quiver before he brought it between his teeth.

“You never told me what you were doing back here.” 

“I left something here to chase something that couldn’t exist without it.” Ben turned his chin toward his shoulder. “I came back hoping to find it again.” 

“Let me guess, you told everyone you came back looking for inspiration?” 

“Yeah. Like a true writer, I suppose.” 

“Before my mom… she… she told me to stay. Here. Not to go back to the city, because she said sometimes you don’t need to go looking for inspiration, that sometimes it comes looking for you.” 

When Ben turned his heel, he did so slowly, as if not to frighten you off. The two of you finally held eye contact, holding a thousand or so secrets, and he nodded. His brows furrowed when he asked, “You got a boyfriend somewhere?” 

You shook your head. “Like you said.” Still yours. Never broke up. Not officially. You’d had your fun, once the realization that you and Ben were on separate paths sank in, more so in retribution, trying to get over him, but you stopped looking for any sort of faux replacement. Over the past ten years, only two had come close to being anything more than a one-night stand, the longest one lasting two weeks. Neither of you asked about it, though. You didn’t care to know how many women he’d slept with, nor he with how many men had even gotten the chance to kiss you, or hold your hand. 

When he apologized again, you felt it wasn’t for what he said earlier, or for coming by unannounced, or for anything in the last five minutes. “Uh, would you… maybe want—I don’t know if you’re-” 

You were about to say yes, to whatever he was trying to ask, just the same as he was trying to get the words out, but then your whole body jolted when three loud knocks on the door sounded through the house. Both of you paused until three more thudded, this time more forcibly. You saw Ben stiffen with offense, turning to the door and beginning to ask who the hell is that? When you surged past him. He was hovering over your shoulder like he lived there with you when you opened the door to see one of your coworkers on your step. To your dismay, it was Clara, a chipper girl with a tendency for chatter. She held between her hands a stack of plates covered in tinfoil and shoved them forward, barely catching the sight of Ben as he slipped past you and hurried across you lawn, not wanting to fuel any rumors that might effect your reputation in being seen again with him, the kid whose parents had died in a brutal accident and that had abandoned his high school sweetheart to live the life of a city writer… he knew his image. He didn’t particularly like the thought of you being reflected in it, not knowing you had chosen to dive into the pool of authors in the city after him, hoping to find him out there, hoping the two of you would stumble upon one another at a signing or reading or amongst your circles. Nonetheless, it never happened, and you began to lose hope, the same feeling that dropped into the pit of your stomach now, thorny and sickening; watching him get into his car and speed away at the same time Clara turned back to you and tilted her head, “well, who was that handsome stranger?” She chirped. 

You opened the door wider for her to let herself in, and uttered, “Just an old friend.” 

[voidsgf]

♰ synopsis: an old flame is rekindled when you find yourself back in Salem's Lot alongside your ex-boyfriend, turned New York Times' (almost) bestselling author, Ben Mears. The only thing that stands in your guys' way is, well, a few undead vampires, and possibly worst of all, time. ♰ 18+ for horror themes, angst, explicit smut, graphic descriptions of violence, vampirism ♰ total word count: 9.3k+

part one part two part three part four

[voidsgf]

𝒹𝒾ℯ𝓉 𝒸𝒽ℯ𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒸ℴ𝓁𝒶

♡ bob reynolds x reader ♡ nsfw 18+ for references to and themes of mental illness/disorders, coping mechanisms, including with dieting/restriction, graphic description of sex ♡ synposis: bob notices patterns. used to taking the backseat, even more used to the thunderbolts* rather eclectic way of dealing with the stress of heroism, when he notices you searching for control, he decides to take it upon himself to give you a new outlet ♡ words: 4.5k+

Bob had woken up early to make you breakfast. Of course, that meant making enough for everyone, but he'd made your plate first and used all of your favorite ingredients. He wasn't necessarily good at the whole hero thing ever since the accident and side effects of the Sentry project, though he was good around the tower. He enjoyed the domesticity of it, of caring for you, specifically. And he'd learnt to make a pretty mean blueberry pancake. The sizzling crackle of thick-sliced bacon mixing with the searing background hiss of percolating coffee, he dodged another spray of grease with a small yelp, the sleeves of his crewneck pulled down over his palms. Thin plaid flannel bottoms hanging loose around his hips, his hair was still messed from bed--and your fingers--and his sweatshirt hardly hid the littered blotched pink raspberry hickies along his throat. It's not like he wanted to hide them, despite the embarrassment of the others pointing them out with a snicker--he felt loved, marked by you.

Everyone else woke before you, leading him to finish the dishes and hide a plate for you in the stove so the others could have their fill, then make his way back to your room, where he opened the door quietly to find you still curled on your side, nestled in the blankets pulled to your chin. His space empty, he sat back on the edge and slipped next to you, close enough to lean over and press his mouth to your soft cheek. You stirred, and he kissed you again, this time on the temple, so you hummed sleepily, "That better be you, Bobby."

He liked you calling him Bobby. Replacing memories that made him flinch and quiver automatically with the sweet coo of your voice, the safety you gave him. Bobby was soft, nice, gentle, warm, you loved Bobby, just as much as you loved Robert, and every other side of him, which made him at least... try and learn to love it, too. Some days were harder. Others he didn't think twice about it, unless it came out of Walker's mouth. He pressed his lips to yours when you turned your face upward, not necessarily needing an answer but smiling regardless when he whispered, "no, it's Alexei."

"Mmm...Took you long enough to get my hints," you wrapped your hands to cup his cheeks, having turned to your back.

"Shut up," Bob kissed you again, this time a little firmer, sucking in a lungful of your scent through his nose and squeezing the sheets between his fingers where he'd planted his palm on the opposite side of your hip. He would have given everything to stay there with you, hardly protested if you'd tugged at his collar and told him to take it off. You just fell back, and there was a pause between you. Bob swiped his long fingers across your forehead. "I made you breakfast. Pretty sure it's cold now."

"Oh." Your expression turned from admiration and longing, the curve of your lips faltering with hesitance, but he couldn't read the change exactly, "I'm sorry, I guess I needed the extra sleep."

"It's okay, I saved you a plate."

"Oh," you repeated, then asked, "coffee?"

"Of course."

"I don't deserve you..." You reached back up for him, wanting another kiss, cutting Bob off when he was about to tell you to shut up again after scoffing. His words just turned to a sigh once he was within your hold.

He helped you get out of bed, leading you out of the room and into the kitchen, where you dodged by the stove and grabbed a mug, filling it with hot coffee, leaving it black before making your way over to the lounge area, where you had left your book. You chewed on your bottom lip and, from the corner of your peripheral vision, could see Bob lingering in the kitchen, looking over at you with a plate in his hand. You took another sip of your coffee, letting the hazelnut bitterness sting the back of your throat and shifting uncomfortably when he approached you and handed you the plate with a fork. "I'll grab mine and come over," he murmured, making another pang in your stomach knock against your ribs at the thought of him waiting to eat with you. You weren't hungry; that was half of the truth. You hadn't told anyone you were reverting back to diet foods and calorie restriction, didn't think it was that important, until Bob had made you pancakes smothered in butter, eggs cooked in the bacon fat next to three white-trimmed, crisped slices, and toast with sugary mixed berry jam. The food was piled on the plate you now held in your lap.

You couldn't deny your mouth watered from the sight of the way the gloss of maple syrup dripped sticky and warm down the fluffy pancakes and how the whites of the eggs were perfectly clouded while darker oranges and yellows swirled, scrambled just the way you liked it. With Bob walking back, you placed your coffee mug on the side table, adjusting your other hand to cradle the plate and took the fork, taking two bites of the eggs and smiling up at Bob, who sat next to you on the couch with his own plate and his most recent book, but you then placed the plate next to your coffee and cleared you throat, redirecting your focus on your book and hoping Bob wouldn't push you to eat any more. If he did, you would tell him you just weren't hungry, might be coming down with something. Still, other than glancing at the motion, he didn't do or say anything, and when you finally got up again, he simply took the plate and saved its contents in the fridge. You found yourself wishing he had mentioned something, offered it to you again, asked why--just so you could exert the willpower to say no, I'm good, thank you, though. And be proud of yourself--for something. You'd have to be content with the fact that there was still a full plate in the fridge, with only two small bites missing from where the eggs hadn't met the maple syrup.

The rest of the day passed as many others did. Some of the team had assignments as part of their contracts, while others, including you, had time off from both public and private eyes. You were less in the public eye than the others--regardless, it was impossible to avoid any attention these days, especially when residing in Stark's abandoned high tower. Still, it had been left up to you to handle things like groceries, so that's what you went and did. Bob asked to come with you--it was unusual for him not to, though you said you would go to the gym before stopping by the store, so he didn't need to trouble himself. "Just text me what you need, okay?" You asked before slipping out the door in a pair of tennis sneakers, black leggings, and one of his shirts, which fell just above your knees in length. You later realized you'd left him standing in the entryway by the elevator without his kiss, not even so much as a hand squeeze. He clenched his fists and stood with his shoulders slouched, a frown pulling at his mouth until he was distracted by Bucky commenting on the situation. He'd been lurking, watching the entire thing.

"She's just stressed, dude, it's fine."

"It's not just that. I mean-it is stress, but it's how she's dealing with it."

"We all have our things. What, did she go on a killing spree or something?"

You'd been sipping on a large, iced diet cherry cola from the gas station when you returned, two bags of groceries hanging from your arm, one full of things the team needed to survive the weekend, and the other filled with your replacements for what they had. You'd slipped them into the fridge and continued drinking your drink, feeling the damp sweat on the back of your neck dry from the exertion you'd pushed yourself to in the gym until you stripped off your workout clothes and hopped in the shower. You didn't know where Bob had gone as nobody was in the shared space, nor was he in your guys' room. You just assumed he was on another floor with one or two of the others, perhaps in the entertainment area playing his games. You thought about it, then resolved the slight yank of worry in your heart with the idea of him leaning forward from the edge of the couch and turning the controller in front of him, cursing and tugging at his hair when he got killed again by some teenager. You'd go and check on him once you got out.

Nevertheless, with the steam billowing over the bathroom ceiling, Bob hovered in the bedroom before you could, having heard you come back. He'd been in his old room, looking through some things. Aimlessly, tirelessly waiting for your return. He'd already looked through the fridge and found the sugar free, gluten free, keto-friendly and atkins, low calorie, low carb, and so on, versions of the foods you'd gotten, and now his hand wrapped around the cup of your soda, sucking down a mouthful of it and tasting the thin, coppery syrup of the diet cola, cherry flavored.

He hesitated outside the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. His hair chopped shorter, the tangled curls unbrushed, and his jaw softer, he couldn't help wonder what you thought of his... relaxed figure, once he joined the Avenger(z) and was able to consistently eat full meals, which you had frequently prepared for him. Wasn't he supposed to take care of you, too? He wiped a hand under the scruff of his chin and let out a long exhale, then lay on the bed with one hand clasped behind his head, propping it up slightly, while the other rested over his torso. There was that, but he didn't see that you had gained any noticeable weight. He pressed his mouth into a fine line. This wasn't about your weight. It never was--each time you did this, it was because you needed to exert some control over your environment to compensate for the chaos inside. Restriction and hunger were your drugs, control your high, fatigue your power. He recognized the cycle as quickly as it started, the excitement and motivation you had to go to the gym for two hours and go to the store to get all this food that wouldn't truly satiate you, only the beginning.

He was still lying there when you exited the bathroom, hidden beneath a pair of sweats and another one of his shirts, this time a sweatshirt. Seeing that he was on the bed, you gasped in shock, then let out a giggle. "I couldn't find you when I got in," you admitted, scrunching your brows when he didn't respond. Your hand planted on his sternum just above his splayed fingers, so you could sit on the edge of the mattress next to him. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He said, short, not meaning to revert to his own passive habits. His brows then lifted. "Are you?"

You tried to retract your hand. Bob caught it and locked eyes with you. "I'm okay," you nodded softly.

"I don't know if I believe you."

"What does that mean?"

You braced for the outburst, for the accusation. Bob only sat up and at first, let his forehead fall to your shoulder, then swept his palm over your opposite cheek and turned your face toward his, leaning into and kissing you. You hesitated for a moment, then kissed him back, until a string of saliva caught your lip before you licked it off, and Bob pulled back just enough to whisper, "It means I can see you... And I'm telling you, you don't need to do that. Any of it."

You tried to pull away further, puffing when he prevented you from doing so. "I'm not doing anything, Bob." What followed was a half-assed attempt at a laugh, before you repeated yourself. "What? I'm-I'm not doing anything."

Your eyes weren't the ones with tears in them, though. Bob frowned at you, his expression of deep hurt making you try to recoil again. He grabbed your hands this time and brought them to his face. The thing was with Bob's powers that you didn't actually need to say anything. All you heard was him mutter an apology before you were watching yourself throughout different moments in your life--losing more and more control here and there, gaining some of it back wherever you could. Just like everybody else in the Thunderbolts slash/aka Avengers. But Bob didn't care for the others like he cared for you. When he pulled his hands back into his own lap, wringing them out nervously and leaving for you to reorient yourself in the bedroom, he kept his eyes on his twisting fingers, waiting for another few seconds before telling you, "I just want you... to let me help you."

Despite turning away from him, flustered, you didn't stand. Your heart was in your throat. "Bobby..."

"Just please, please tell me what to do."

"There's nothing-"

"No, let me-" he crawled closer to you, hesitating to touch you again, before he slipped off the bed and landed on his knees in front of you. "Tell me what to do, like, tell me what... or do whatever--to me, that you need. Take what you need."

"What?"

"I'm giving you control." Bob nodded. "Over me." Then, he swallowed nervously. "Unless that's not what you need, you know, sometimes--I read that sometimes, when you look for control, it really means you need to lose it, in a healthy, positive way, you know, so, if you need that from me. Like, for me to..." The thought made something flicker across his face. "Just tell me what you need from me." Let me be useful. When you still didn't say anything, Bob's hands rested over your thighs, squeezing gently, glancing down while you opened your knees further. "You want me to worship you? Show you what you do to me? Would that... make you feel better?" His mouth turned to meet the inside of your knee with the curve of his shoulders, exhaling, "shit, like it's any fucking secret..."

From over your sweats, he nuzzled his head closer and closer to where the pooling heat in your belly seeped through your fresh, clean panties. You could feel it, the tingling of arousal--the look in his face only furthered it, a mix of pride, the twinge of confidence to make you weak, the need to serve, the want to make you feel good. There was never just one side to him, your Robert. Just as there was never one thing you wanted from him, to give him--the mixture of feelings bundled and tangled in your chest and stole your breath until his nose pressed into your mons and his hands found your hips, pulling your pelvis forward so you planted your hands behind you for stability. Sitting back up and curling over Bob, your fingers melted through his hair, and you shook your head.

"You don't need to do anything for me, please—" lifting his chin to look up at you, you grabbed his jaw, neck, and shoulders and tried to lift him over you, beckoning him back on the bed and to hoist you further up with him.

"I want to. I want to make you feel good."

"You always do," you whined, protesting before taking your bottom lip between your teeth. You couldn't form words from your cloudy thoughts. "I promise. You don't... need to do anything, okay? It's not-"

Bob looked down at you with another tug of his brows and the set of his jaw. Your fingers grazing over his collar, you pushed and pulled at him, and he could see you wrestling with your own desire, wanting him at the same time as not wanting him to do anything for you. Poor thing, a darker pit opened up in him, allowing the voice to trickle through. Through the darkness of his eyes, the shadow across his look then burned, dimly at first, the brighter. His lip quivered from the heavy thud of his heart and the twisting of his stomach. "It's not what?"

Important was the word. You were sensible enough to stop yourself from saying it. He'd stood up in front of you, lingering between your legs as you clung to his sleeves. His hands remaining at either side of your hips, you barely had time to register when his hands fitted under your arms and he lifted you as if you weighed no more than a stuffed animal he'd tossed onto the bed. Grunting upon your landing, you bounced against the springs, about to push yourself back up when he climbed over you and pinched your jaw between your fingers, pinning you under a weight you knew was only a percentage. "I think you need me to make the decisions for you from now on." He stated, his tone flat. "And I think... You need to be shown--just how wrong you are to think you need to--minimize yourself? You really thought you could just... take from me? And for me not to notice?"

His other hand was already traveling down to the waistband of your sweats, and he tugged up the bottom of your sweatshirt to reveal your stomach, then redirected his attention back to you. "Take off your pants," he exhaled the words against your cheek, swallowing the lump in his throat as you hurriedly shimmied your hips from the fabric, then kicked the legs from your ankles alongside your panties. Goosebumps rose on your skin as a shiver wove itself through your spine. Without him asking, you carefully tugged the top from your torso, tossing it to the side so his touch could travel down to your breasts after he rewarded you with a passive, "good girl," as if he'd said it to you thousands of times before, his mouth following his fingers, all the while, he uttered more praises that made your face and thighs burn hot. Once he reached your sex, Bob took your hips again, twisting you over to your belly, then laying himself beneath your legs without a word--tugging your swelling folds onto his wet tongue, which lapped up the middle like you were a piece of overripe fruit before nuzzling his nose and suctioning his cheeks around your clit, which spasmed and throbbed painfully from the abrupt stimulation. Despite his arms wrapping around your middle to keep you close, you tried to pull away just as you had done before, crying out and cursing under your breath with the squirming of your hips before he dug his nails into the meat of your ass and growled for you to sit down. "Fuck yourself on my tongue. I want you to use my mouth."

"Bob-" you whimpered, wincing as he yanked you down again and made out with your cunt hungrier, more impatient. "It's-it's t-too muuhu-fuck, oh my god, oh-my fucking god." Your head falling forward and your hands twisted in the sheets, you couldn't help arching your spine and grinding down on his tongue, gasping and mewling as the increasing heaviness of the frayed coils of pleasure in your stomach threatened to snap. He knew how you liked to be touched, applying a consistent amount of pressure while allowing you to set the pace, all the while keeping your pussy engulfed by his working jaw. Therefore, it didn't take you long to feel that explosive gush and snap of your orgasm result in the pulsing contractions of your walls to release a thick slime of ecstasy over his chin, which he only licked clean.

"Again." He grunted.

"I-I ca-"

"C'mon, you can, I know you can."

The heat of his words made your hips flex and you chase the friction with your clit, choking on your next breath as soon as you sent the raw bundle of nerves back between his teeth for his tongue to flicker and swirl over. Immediately, your core tightened, and you folded forward, the top of your head resting downward as the blood seemingly rushed only to your clit. Bob continued encouraging you, muttering, "'tsit, c'mn, c'mn, th'ts it," the vibration of his voice only sending you tensing and quivering over again, gritting your teeth and riding out the second, slower climax with sweat beading at your brow and your spine arching and falling like a cat's.

Panting, you pushed yourself from where you had fallen to your eblows back to your hands, and sorely, carefully began climbing backward onto Bob, who eased your knees over his shoulders and supported your waist, then torso, gleaming up at you with a messy mouth, proud eyes and matted hair. His skin was flushed, and you needed him as bad as ever, worse than ever maybe. "Fuck me, please,"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Need you inside me, need to feel you," you moaned, kissing him frantically, tasting yourself on him. There was nothing like it, nor was there anything like the fumbling panic in his jerky movements to undress himself. "Please..." You whimpered again, and in one swift motion, he kissed you and muffled your pleas while turning you over to your back, sweeping his knee up to keep you spread open for him before yanking his shirt off and kicking his flannel pajama bottoms off.

"I got you, I got you," his glistening eyes gazing down on you as if to orient himself, you felt the gummy heat of his slick head press to the inside of your thigh as he aligned himself to your entrance, his fingers wrapped around the engorged hilt of his shaft before swiping down and shaving at the contact of his thumb to the slit, which oozed precum, and more, from the act of eating you out. You tilted your pelvis up and dug your heels into the mattress to help him, looking down with the tilt of your chin to your shoulder and mewling at the sight of ivory flesh bruising into cherry hues with need. He was so neglected, and all for you. "You ready?"

You nodded, repeating your pleas for him until his mouth met yours, open and puffy, at the same time he pushed inside your fluttering, aching walls. Both of you stilled, sipping on each other's air, before his teeth nipped your chin and began thrusting, slowly at first, then with the flex of the muscles of his lower back, rutting into your wet heat, each tug of his heavy scrotum making him groan. His left hand wrapped under your knee and brought your leg up higher around his waist, holding it there so you were almost folding in on yourself as he tried to get as deep as possible. The words spilled impulsively from there just before his seed.

"You have no idea how crazy you make me- how hot you are, how bad I need you, might have to just tie you up, keep you all to myself-fuck you all day, all night, not let you leave, just fucking-use you for myself. Yeah? You'd like that? You need that, baby? Need someone t-to tell you what to do--what to wear, what to eat, when to sleep, f-uh-ck I can 'magine you, so pretty for me, doing what I say... and you know what? you know? I wouldn't change a damn thing."

He stopped himself from finishing, quivering like a metal wire, breathless, and cleared his throat, wincing at the way his length visibly throbbed. You instinctively began tending to him, nestling, bringing him closer, and asking him if he was okay. He brushed your hands away, though, and shook his head. "You need to cum first. I just need a moment... you feel... too good. It's hard for me to focus." The way he said it was like it pained him to be inside you, which was exactly how it was. It was painful for him to touch, smell, or simply be around you for too long. It was agony to be so close. "You're beautiful."

You felt your expression twist, then melt again once his fingers reached your clit. He was gentle at first, brushing at your mons, stroking the erect musculature of the hood to your clit, before circling it slowly. When he began driving himself in and out again, the pressure of him filling you paired with his thumb nudging over the bundle of nerves, maintaining the contact rather than being concerned with speed, was enough to make you arch your back and push at his shoulders. Your toes curled, and your hips wriggled slightly with the squeeze of your thighs around him. Something snapped in you, like a thud, a release, and your climax was building.

'That's it, that's it, baby, let go, let me take care of you. Fuck, yeah, c'mon, cum for me." Bob's hair hanging around his face, damp and yanked further by your fingers, you felt hot, sticky, feverish beneath him, the wet smack of bare skin mixing with both of your strained exhales and short inhales, a melody of pure need. Your brows curved up as your jaw locked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, turning your face away. You could feel his eyes, and as soon as you looked away, Bob slammed his hips down harder, increasing his speed, and huffed, "n-no, you look at me when you cum, I want-need to see you, please, look at me." So you did. As soon as you locked eyes with his, your walls spasmed, and the thread of your composure tore, the contractions deep in your core clenching around him. Bob shuddered over you and grunted, "o-oh fuck," the tightness of you simultaneously trying to push him out and yank him deeper making his balls yank. You were barely done when his hand left your clit and he collapsed over you, rolling his hips and muffling his cries in the crook of your shoulder. You could have sworn he bit you, though the feeling of him bursting inside you and the tender ache of the end of your orgasm, the weight of his body on top of yours, was all so suffocating--you couldn't have told left from right, or up or down at that point. Your vision splotching with darkness, with a surge of ice through your veins, there was a moment you felt in the aftermath that you weren't alone--you ignored it, stroked Bob's hair back, and pressed your mouth to the top of his head in a firm kiss as the two of you came down from your highs.

Following more silence, the tempo set by the rhythmic flow of you catching your breath, Bob lifted his head enough to murmur, "I'm throwing away that fake food you got, then you're going to finish the breakfast I made you, and that's the end of it."

"That's so much money-"

"And that's the end of it. You need to fixate on something, an outlet? I get it, and I'm right here. If I ever say no to you, then Valentina swapped my body with some clone or something." Bob's mouth fitted over yours when you began protesting further, feeling bad--it's not fair to you, your needs--"just say okay."

You rolled your eyes--

"Don't roll your-"

While conceding. "Okay."

"We'll figure it out. Just talk to me."

[voidsgf]

when the writing gets too intense you have to type with your head turned away as if to shield yourself from the full power RAAAAHHHHHHHH 💥💥💥🦅🦅🦅💥🦅💥🦅💥🦅💥💥💥💥🦅🦅🦅

[voidsgf]

how it feels to be 3k words into a fic that's getting smutty but that's been all angst hurt/comfort so far

[voidsgf]

𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷ℯ𝓁ℴ𝓃ℊ𝓈 𝓉ℴ 𝓉𝒽ℯ 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹ℴ𝓌𝓈

꩜ void x reader x bob ꩜ nsfw 18+ for explicit descriptions of smut, dubcon, themes of sadomasochism, self-destructive behavior, and mention of mental illness ꩜ synposis: bob starts having a nightmare and accidentally wakes you up. without hesitating, you grab him, but find yourself sucked into the void, something he's long tried protecting you from, because what belongs to the shadows, hungers with sweet cruelty--and it's been waiting to claim you

You felt the mattress dip from his movement; little spasms and jerks turning to quite literal tossing and turning and drawing you over to your opposite side to face him, then to your knees. The next time he jerked, the dim lighting of the room, helped by the small night light by the door, revealed a slight shine of sweat on his forehead while his brows creased together and pulled upward. He was mumbling, ragged breaths turning to whimpers mid-exhale. You couldn't stop your hands from landing on his chest, your right fingertips brushing up his tensed throat to cup his jaw at the same time that the shadows of the room began to bleed together, seeping black along the seams and filling the empty spaces between.

Bob usually preferred to sleep alone, even if you offered, you'd see him hesitate, chewing on his lip and folding his hands into themselves as if to wring the dampness from them before responding, "I... don't know if that would be a good... idea." Even though he would reassure you with a tentative, sweet kiss. And sometimes, when he did let you stay, you would wake to find him folded sideways in the armchair by the closet, a blanket spilled across his lap. Now, he disappeared into the darkness. It coated him like hungry ink, and your hands fell through to the pillows. You gasped, more so choking on the air in your lungs. Already able to feel him making room for himself in your brain, exploring each dendritic synapse, threading each tangled branch between his fingers, using what he liked. The worst part was he--it--was Bob, used his voice and body, knew everything about him, grew up with him, dormant. Always lurking beneath the surface, a dream--a nightmare of Bob's making, in his own image. He wore what Bob wore, thought what he thought, used his favorite words, and therefore, knew everything Bob knew about you.

You couldn't spot him--he wouldn't be seen unless he wanted to, but that didn't stop you from searching the corners of the room and trying to peer into the thick black in front of you. A chill ran up your spine with the shift in the air, making you feel as though he was only inches away, whispering in your ear. However, when you reached out, you reached out into emptiness, and a much colder, deeper voice melted through your head, coming not from outside your own thoughts but a part of them.

"He's been keeping you from me."

"Stop." The single word trembled as badly as your fingers, clenching the sheets and trying to anchor you. "Stop it."

"I haven't even done anything yet." You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head, shying away, turning into yourself before you felt his chilled touch pinch your jaw a beat and he spoke again. "Look at me." When you let him pull your face back up, the sarcasm remained in his tone, and you opened your eyes to see the flicker of light where Bob's eyes used to be--the last bit of himself remaining in there, burning just a little brighter when you locked on them, while below, white teeth appeared in a mocking smirk. "Atta girl. Y'know, he finds it funny how much you like to please him. Thinks it's cute. I have to agree."

Your cheeks burned. "Let me go."

He snapped back, and you felt him shift closer to you, although unable to see just how much that meant. "I just got you. He gets you all the time, keeps you selfishly to himself. No. No--I think I'll keep you for quite a while, actually."

Your throat had gone doughy, sticky, but you still tried to swallow, trying not to make your flinching so apparent when Void took his other hand and placed it between your hip and rib. There was something so curious to his touches, the way his palm lingered against your belly, the way you felt his hair brush your face, and his nose nudge against your cheek as he smelled you, all primal. You didn't even have to ask why you hadn't been sent into a maze of your own psychological trauma, why you weren't locked in the room of your worst moment, reliving it until sent into another, reminded of all the darkness in your mind, the self-destructivity of it all almost alluring, comforting.

"He can see how desperate you are." His hand fell from your jaw to the front of your throat. "How badly you need to make him proud, as if his opinion matters... It's useless." You stiffened when he palmed the front of your breast, grazing your nipple with his thumb, pinching and pulling slightly. "You think it matters? Whether he looks your way? He's only using you, knowing you'll be there. He doesn't actually care for you."

"Th-then why would he protect me? From you?" Your question lingered in silence until interrupted by your own whimper when finally fit his hand between your thighs, pressing up into the soft cotton of your panties, hardly hidden under the shirt you'd stolen from him.

Void responded calmly, "knew I'd ruin his favorite toy, I suppose."

When his mouth pressed to yours, it was dry and firm. It wasn't warm, it was damp and soft like Bob's, even though it moved as his did. You recognized the roughness, the hardness of impatience. There was Void in everything Bob did, the shadow that crossed his gaze, the electricity in his fingertips, the sharpness of his tone at times, the way when he really let himself kiss you, he became demanding, greedy. Void was all his greed, all this hate, all the hatred he had for himself in wanting you. You let him push you down to your back and instinctively opened your legs for him to fit between, your body molding itself to him as it had almost every night for the past two months.

"Let me in." He growled when you turned your face away. "You think he's going to care where you are? I've done him a favor, taking you off his hands."

"No."

"No? He's been thinking of ways to let you down easy... because he pities you. He'll be relieved not to find you beside him when he wakes up."

Your squirming stilled, and that heaviness in your chest settled deeper, making your ribs cave in as tears brimmed in your eyes. You wanted to be able to respond, to find reasons to the contrary to believe him, but images flashed in your mind, drawn out by the Void to prove his point, twisted in exaggeration to highlight every moment Bob's smile had faltered, every moment he'd moved away from you, the times he hadn't responded right away, his back turned to you.

Suddenly, the thoughts went silent, too. You were doing exactly what he wanted, had lured you into--isolating yourself, your body becoming numbed as the Void enveloped you. And you let him in. Breathed him in and felt his tacky tongue wrangle yours into submission as he poured himself into your heat and sucked it up like a leech. It was painful, him rutting his hips into yours, never pulling out enough to offer any relief from the stretch and spasm of your walls. And soon, even if you'd wanted to make any noise, Void's hand had clasped back around your throat, this time squeezing so hard the sips of air you managed burned in your lungs.

Your tears now streaked down the sides of your face. Not thinking twice about it, you struggled back against the darkness, grabbing at the bedsheets and twisting yourself over to your belly, swatting his hands away as panic flushed through you at just how suffocating this was. While you panted and gulped down oxygen, he sat back against his heels and let you simply readjust your position. He grabbed you back against him with a chuckle at the futile display.

Your back flat against his front, the gummy, wet tip of his cock and curve of his length found your weeping entrance easily, one hand between your thighs again and his spine curving to continue thrusting upward into your cervix, bruising it and leaking pure black down your legs. He should have felt warm, soft, but now his ropey musculature and leanness only made it feel as though the stone arms of a statue had caged you in. His thumb pressed directly onto your clit and stayed there, letting the movements of him fucking himself up into you increase the friction and cause the erect bundle of nerves to twitch. Your hands gripping his forearm, your lips quivered, and his name painted your tongue.

"Bo-Bob, Bob-p-plea-"

Your mouth was filled with Void's fingers, keeping your head bent back against his chest while you stared up into the nothingness, and he laughed again. "Bob's not coming to save you, sweetheart. Nobody is. Not even your own mind--I know everything now. You're mine."

You couldn't tell when he ejaculated. He gushed from you as heavy and thick as when he remained inside you, constantly filling you, his shadows threatening to dribble from the seams of your ever deteriorating composure. All you could tell was that the pressure points of his body moved so teeth grazed the sensitive petals of your sex, and he latched hungrily onto your clit with his mouth--repeatedly bringing you to the edge of a pulsating climax, then releasing you with a crude wet pop and leaving you to dangle and fall back into the sweaty mess of a need clawing at you from so deep you began reaching for him and begging him to let you cum.

"You don't deserve to. You should be thankful enough I'm even touching you."

There it was, the shame again. The embarrassment. Your desire was filth, and filth consumed you now. You became lost in the spiral of his words, following them down into the black, sick pit in your stomach where hatred lay, so deep down you didn't even register that another pair of hands were on your face. Warm, gentle hands.

He'd shown Bob. With jealous pride, filling his head with your moans that didn't belong to him, weren't caused by him, not really. She doesn't care for you. I've seen in her mind. She never has. Nobody does. You're still alone--you'll always be alone. She'll leave you as soon as somebody better shows up, someone who can fuck her like a slut like her needs, craves to be fucked, like me--look at her, look at the way I'm taking care of her. You've never taken care of her. Not really. Hear that?

The noises had filled his head, thudding his temples. And the nightmares became less about his past, but the fear and anxiety he felt for the future--your future, with him. They became of you, clawing at the shadows, grabbing for them, leaving him behind. Leaving.

And now, he saw it, saw you twisted and tensed, your figure convulsing as the Void took from you. He couldn't see where he was going, but he knew the space, charging forward despite the Void's attempts to stop him. The shimmer of rage in the Void's gaze looked up from between your legs once he grabbed you, his teeth bared as saliva and the gloss of your juices dripping back into the dark. Shadows sheathed in you once more, and you cried out, not even reacting to his palms searching your face, the brush of his fingers against your forehead, not until he grabbed you more forcibly to still you and spoke sternly.

"I'm here, listen to me, it's Bob, please--I need you to hear me. I'm here, I heard you." When you didn't respond, he stuttered, "please just l-let her go, she... if she leaves then I can't stop her. You can have me."

"I don't fucking want you." The void hissed, growling as he slurped down on you, primal becoming animal. "She's not yours anymore. You couldn't keep her--you didn't ever really have her. And she's mine now."

Bob pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly, bending his broad shoulder and whispering against your forehead, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," while his lips pressed featherlight kisses to your damp skin. "I'm sorry," he continued down your cheeks, kissing your tears. His mouth met the corner of yours, where he hummed and kissed deeper once you opened your lips for him. He wouldn't kiss you as hard as he really wanted, not as rough as he knew you sometimes wanted, told through the grabbing of his neck and arch of your spine under his hands and your whining. He loved it when you needed him. Seeing, feeling you writhe in his absence, convinced that wasn't true, his heart shattered. He kissed you with this pain, continuing to apologize and stroke your face while your eyes opened slightly and you reached for his arm, your smaller hand twisting in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. "I'm here, I'll always be here, and I'm so sorry."

You winced when the Void nipped at your skin, the only tell that you were aware of Bob being the way you began to kiss him back, not wanting to break contact, wrapping your arms around his shoulders so he curled further over you.

Sunlight broke through the curtains of the room, and your hands found themselves buried in the gentle curl of Bob's hair. He grabbed your sides and helped you into a seated position, propping you up with one arm while the other hand remained at your hip. Gently stroking the hint of skin on the side of your thigh from where the shirt you'd taken from him rode up, twisted around your smaller frame, you nestled close to his warmth, until the pang of the Void's lingering shadow caused you to recoil. Bob was ready for you to do so, however, and was determined keep you were you were--right against him, safe, awake. "Hey, hey," he cupped the side of your face with his opposite hand again so he could redirect your eyes to his. "You're okay. It's over." You shook your head, still pulling back slightly. Bob's stomach turned over as he could only imagine the things the Void... he had said. "It's not true."

"You-"

"He's not me," he pleaded.

"But he knew everything, Bob... he... he used--"

"I know." When you looked back at him, you saw how awful he looked, circles under his red-rimmed eyes that were spilling with tears, his nose blushed and sniffling, neck spidering with veins as his shoulders lifted and fell with shaky breaths. He touched you as if to then reassure himself you were right there. "I heard. He showed me."

"Do you not want me?" The ask was small, meek. Afraid. "I mean, do you want space? If I'm too much you can just-you can-"

"Stop, stop, stop. He lied. He twisted, he distorted my fears for his own selfish gain. He wanted you, he used--whatever he could get. It's not that I have ever, ever wanted space from you or, or felt like... I needed to get away from you, you terrify me. How bad I need you, my own dependence terrifies the hell out of me, okay? And the fact you share those feelings... And he used that. He knew it would upset you. He knew it would get you to-to let him, in--or, whatever-he was doing to you--I don't want to lose you, I can't. I physically can't--that's what he was telling you. Every part of me can't exist without you, and that's not fucking good. I know that's not good. So I try and... I try and be fucking normal about it, so I don't consume you. So you don't feel like you need to get away from m-"

You cut him off with another kiss, this time grabbing his hand in yours and pulling it so he grabbed the nape of your neck, and you his, while climbing into his lap. Bob's face fit between your shoulder and your hands then slipped up his back, beneath his shirt. "This scares too. But not having you scares me more."

"He shouldn't have... done that to you, though. Any of it." You peeled his shirt further up and tugged it over his head, leaving him in his plaid flannel bottoms. "He did it because he..." the admission got stuck in your throat. "Because you... you're afraid, of hurting me, but--"

"But..."

"Sometimes..."

Bob yanked your shirt off and exhaled, short. "He didn't let you finish?"

Your core tightened, and that ache in your sex returned, the ache for contact, pressure, stimulation. Your clit was still throbbing, and your cheeks grew hot again. You shook your head, and before the embarrassment could trickle through your veins again, Bob pushed you beneath him, just firm enough that your next breath caught, his hold similar to the Void's, the dimensions, proportions, and movements all the same, except now his wide, stormy blue eyes met yours and he moaned softly, purring into your folds as his nose continued pressing into your clit even when he moved further downward, feeling your hips flex and your legs squeeze around him. He wasn't just punishing you, using your body against yourself, but savoring you, muttering to himself how pretty you were and how lucky he was to have you, that he would protect you, wouldn't let anyone hurt you again. It was a promise both of you knew it was impossible for him to realistically keep, but the sentiment stuck. You were the one to stop yourself from cumming that time, preventing him from returning with kitten licks to your clit with the yanking at his shoulders and shaking your head, sitting up and hurriedly saying, "n-need you, Bob, please, I wanna cum, with you inside me, please, please."

He really didn't need to be told twice, climbing over you and situating his pelvis against yours, only hesitating when he watched with the jolt of his Adam's apple, you hurriedly flip yourself to your belly. Pushing your ass upward with a curve of your spin and the widening of your thighs, Bob followed your lead with equal roughness, tugging your hips back and pushing himself inside with one stroke after shoving his bottoms down to his knees, causing him to stutter forward and groan painfully, "Fuck," after taking a moment to adjust, his chest rising and falling quickly, his fingertips reached around your hip and he found your clit again. You mewled, jutting forward into his palm and rolling back again onto his cock, your head hanging forward until your scalp burned with the sting of him having buried his fingers at the base of your skull and taken a fistful of your hair in his head. "C'mon, baby, I know you need to. Cum for me. Give it to me." He heaved, fighting back the moans. He wanted to throw his head back and cry out for you, but he squeezed his jaw and merely grunted so he could hear every little pretty noise you were making. "Give it to me, give me everything, I need everything. I need you to let go."

Let go. His voice rang through you, electrifying the coil of pleasure in the pit of your belly, lightening the darkness of your shame. "I want you, please, I want everything," he huffed, "that's it, that's it I can--holy f-fuck I can feel it, that's my girl."

You stiffened, quivering as the climax finally burst inside you, frayed and worn and exhausted. Your walls contracted heavily before your clit spasmed and warmth flooded from your insides, pulsing so rapidly around him Bob stopped thrusting and squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly riding out your orgasm with you. At the end of it, his balls squeezed tight, and he felt his whole body unthread with his own orgasm, his cock throbbing and softening as strings of semen leaked from his tip slow and painful. He knew he'd need another release sooner rather than later, but just picked you up and laid you on your side with his legs pushing up against the backs of your thighs so he curled around you. Neither of you said anything more, and stayed there until the noise outside in the tower became too loud, too awake to ignore.

At that point, Bob convinced you to shower with him--a small ritual the two of you had when either one of you needed a moment where nothing outside the pressure of steaming hot water mattered and the gentle massage of soap into tired muscles and sore scalps. On the way, he didn't let you look in the mirror. He didn't care for his complexion much at that moment either, but there was something in him now that wanted you clean, didn't want you to see the remnants of shadows smeared on your skin, the already yellow stain of fresh bruises. He knew he had some making up to do with you, but in good time, he would learn to allow himself to care for you the way you needed. The rest of today would be spent in loose-fitted, soft loungewear, long hugs and slow kisses, reassurances and check-ins, the dismissal of the others' plans in exchange for short naps and mental and physical pleasure found in the nooks of a book and of each other's bodies. If there was one thing both of you agreed on and were determined to do, it was not to let the void win. You could never let it--him--win.

And yet, while nuzzled against Bob's side, a blanket thrown over you, your ear to his heart, you couldn't help but watch the swimming, darker hues of where the shadows lurked in the room. Couldn't help but feel the ghost of his touch, feel held by him, even when the lights reduced him to a mere memory. And you couldn't help but wonder if there was a part of Bob, your charming, kind, caring, shy Robert, while awake and sober, carried that cruelty with him--and if you would ever taste its sour sweetness again.