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bunny-jpeg · 10 months ago

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｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ i like my men older - simon riley♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

you knew that your friends from school raised an eyebrow when you told them that you were dating a man almost double your age. you were in your twenties, while this 'simon' guy was close to fifty. you told them that he was an army man who had a gooey center for you.

your friends could see the upgrade in your laptop and the new knapsack with a logo that proclaimed it was expensive. the small chain around your neck with a 's' on it that you toyed with when they asked questions about him.

you looked happy, healthier even! you weren't eating minute meals and surviving off of black coffee. there was a little roundness to your cheeks now and you looked more alive. a glow to you that wasn't that while you trudged through your graduate program. so honestly, how could they complain?

if you had a glow to you, it was because you were often fucked out. most women your age through that dating an older man would mean having to go slow. be patient about technical difficulties regarding their cocks. that was what you expected from a man that old. especially one with aches and pains like simon. your poor si, he had been in the military his entire life. barely had the touch of a woman during that time! poor guy! of course you'll teach him all the ways a woman should please a man. the first time you ran your tongue on the underside of his cock he cam all over your head, and while you whined. it made you crazy hot. fucking simon was like fucking a live wire. he hadn't slowed down with age. he fucked like a stallion in breeding season. and he loved when he pulled his heavy cock into you. you once told him that he could be a cervix breaker. and he simply said, "well, if i break it... i can't breed it." which made you go slack jaw for a moment before he continued to rut up against you. you didn't expect a man of his age to have a breeding kink.

you practically begged your doctor to give you birth control, because he was not buying condoms. "don't fit in 'em, lovie." he said as he patted his clothed cock when you started dating. you knew that was impossible, condoms could fit a lot of things and while simon was fairly big. he could fit in a condom. but, no. when you tried to put them on yourself, he simply took it off, tossed it to the side and pinned you under his heavy weight. legs in the air as he rutted against you like a hungry animal.

he was so much bigger than you. wide shoulders, strong thighs and a bit of a gut to keep you folded under him. there was a masculine heft to him. he was strong, picking you up was easy to him even when you tried to tell him your weight. one time he gripped you by the waist with one arm and moved you out of the way. you kicked and squeaked as you were moved. but to simon it was easy as lifting heavy equipment. but that softness to some of his muscles really got you hot all over. it didn't help that part of your role as his girlfriend was to make sure that your man was fed. you cooked him meals and he over devoured in your sweet dessert. he loved you in an apron. all domestic and sweet for him. you were real wifey material. could easily be cooking meals for him and the kids in a few years. you can have a graduate degree and a few riley babies. "look good cookin' for me, darlin'. know how to make a proper meal for your man." you wouldn't admit but his words excited you.

simon can be a little... chauvinistic. it was just his age. while he respected female colleagues in the military and was beyond happy that you were getting your degree. he'd do things for you that you could clearly do on your own. like when you tried to fix the leaky tap in your flat. or when you try to carry all the groceries inside. yes, darling, you're a strong woman. but let him take over. take care of you. that was what a man did right? he'll cut the onions for you and try to fix your buggy wi-fi connection. he's pay for dinner every time and even get you dessert after. he'd wipe your face clear of the sweet treat you'd have. "don't ask her anything too difficult, johnny. she doesn't need to be thinkin' too hard." he once said with his hands over your ears and glared at his teammate. which only made the scotsman laugh. simon didn't mind if he had to take over. he'd never pull the rug out from under you, even when you were under him. you looked prettier under him, letting him take charge of your fucking. he took care of his girl, even when you whined and told him you were capable. there was no need to whine. simon needed to take care of his much smaller, much weaker baby girl. no need to break a nail trying to do stuff that simon could easily do for you.

even with the grey in his blond hair, he still kept up to you. there were times that you were too exhausted from day-to-day that you let simon rut between your thighs until he covered your round ass with his hot cum. you'd whimper which would turn into a yelp when he easily slipped his heavy cock into your sweet pussy. where it belonged. he fucked you heavily as his cum coated your behind, even trailing down your sloped back as you had your head in the covers.

"don't spill a drop off that pretty ass, baby girl. or else i'd might have to mark you again." thank god you liked your men older. <3

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blank-potato · 1 month ago

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that's what i like

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

It's impossible to teach when you’re hopelessly, irreversibly, maddeningly in love with the one you’re training. “So what now?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves. Big mistake. Huge mistake. Because now you’re at serious risk of going into full cardiac arrest. You didn’t even know you had a thing for forearms until Bob Reynolds. And his? They’re absurd. Or You love everything Bob does, and he doesn't seem to notice.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, love confessions, friends to lovers, Bob and reader being cute, thirsting over the void a little

WC: 3.1k

A/N: Thank you again to @fire-joestar for the request/idea. Wrote something with the same kind of concept for John Walker, linked here. Enjoy!

***

Bob Reynolds is ruining your life.

Not in the dramatic, villain-of-your-story kind of way, but in the slow, quiet unravelling of your sanity. It’s too hard to be around him with all the smiling and casual charm and accidental intimacy that he does without even realising it.

And it’s always the little things which somehow make it worse.

His voice, for one. You were obsessed with his voice. He could be reading the back of a cereal box or listing off the ingredients in engine coolant, and it would still sound like poetry. Sometimes he’d actually read to you. You and Bob were the only members of the unofficial Avengers book club.

You’d often talk about books you’d read, trading recommendations like secrets, excitedly dissecting plot twists and favourite characters. It became a quiet ritual between you and Bob.

“There’s no audiobook,” you groaned one night, holding up the newest paperback in your stack. “I was hoping to listen to one so I could fall asleep.”

Bob, ever the calm in your chaos, looked over at you with that soft little smile he always wore when he was about to offer something way too generous.

“I can read it to you,” he said, casual like it wasn’t the most heart-stoppingly sweet thing you’d ever heard.

You blinked. “You sure you don’t mind?” you asked, voice tinged with both hope and hesitation.

But he just shook his head, already pulling a chair up beside your bed, brushing off any notion of it being a burden. “Not at all.”

His voice was too much. It filled the space in your room like a blanket. He didn’t touch you, not once, just sat a few feet away reading by the soft light of your bedside lamp. But somehow it still felt intimate, like his voice alone was petting you gently, like fingertips tracing down your spine, calming every frayed nerve.

But his voice wasn’t just soothing, it was sexy. You’d never tell him or the other Avengers this because of the whole traumatic experience and whatnot, but even when he became the void, his voice was something else.

It was dark and mocking, and it had you feeling some kind of way, only a little, because people were literally being turned into shadows and living out their trauma. But still, it pulled at something deep inside you and maybe made you discover a few things about yourself. Maybe something you should be concerned about, but nevertheless...

Although his voice isn’t the only thing that’s contributing to your downfall.

Just this morning, you’re barely awake and walk in to be greeted by the sight of Bob making breakfast, one of your favourite sights.

“Morning,” you mumble, suppressing a yawn.

“Morning…” he replies with an easy smile, going about his routine, setting up to make breakfast.

“Thank you, Bob,” you say, turning to him, feeling completely in control, your head still firmly attached to the rest of you.

But then you catch something, he’s cracking eggs one-handed. Now, you don’t know why that’s so captivating. Maybe it’s how strong and big his hands look, maybe it’s the effortless confidence in the motion. Or maybe it’s just because you’re so hopelessly in love with him that everything he does feels like it’s dipped in gold.

Either way, you liked it. A lot more than you probably should’ve.

“You could crack me like an egg,” you mumble quietly to yourself.

“Did you say something?” Bob asks, not hearing what you said, thank goodness.

“No, nothing at all. You’re looking good, the... the breakfast is looking good, I mean…” You stumble over your words, cheeks warming as you try to play it cool.

This crush you had on him certainly didn’t help when you had to help him train. He was like a baby cow, clumsy, unsure, and somehow always one step away from falling over his own feet. And everything he did just made him that much more endearing. The way he bit his lip when he was concentrating, the little apologetic smiles when he missed a step or fumbled a move, the way he always tried again without complaint. It was everything.

“You have to…um you have to…” You start, but your voice trails off as you catch the way he’s looking at you.

Another one of Bob’s quirks that has you going feral… the eye contact. He’s always so focused, so intent, like he’s really watching you, really seeing you. His eyes hold this sharp, unwavering attention that’s equal parts intense and disarming. It totally throws you off your game.

You’re brought back to your senses by him saying your name repeatedly.

“Where’d you go?” he says, putting his hand on your shoulder. You shake off the Bob-induced daze and look at him with full attention.

“I’m too hopeless a student?” He asks.

“Rather, I’m too hopeless of a teacher,” You reply with a chuckle, and it was true. It's impossible to teach when you’re hopelessly, irreversibly, maddeningly in love with the one you’re training.

“So what now?” he asks, rolling up his sleeves.

Big mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because now you’re at serious risk of going into full cardiac arrest.

You didn’t even know you had a thing for forearms until Bob Reynolds. And his? They’re absurd. The veins, the muscle, the smooth strength of his arms just disappearing under the fabric of his shirt. You can only imagine what his biceps look like. Or his shoulders. Or—

You shake your head quickly, trying to banish the rapidly spiralling thoughts. You know Bob is probably confused, waiting for an answer, but your eyes? Yeah, they’re glued to his damn forearms.

Damn his forearms.

“Break,” you blurt. “Ten-minute break. Minimum.”

Before he can respond, you practically launch yourself toward the water fountain, needing a distraction, a cooldown, and maybe divine intervention.

You take a long drink, trying not to think about veins. Or rolled-up sleeves. Or Bob at all.

But Bob lived in your mind; he had taken up residence there as soon as you met, and he wasn’t moving out anytime soon. It wasn’t fair that he was cute but also kind and helpful? It made you want to crash into a wall.

You were struggling with a particularly stubborn jar, the kind that mocks you with every twist. You could fight ten people with one hand tied behind your back, balance complex equations in your head, but you couldn’t defeat this jar of pickles.

Bob appears, quiet as ever, and silently offers to take it from your hands. You hesitate, then sigh and surrender.

He reaches over, his hand brushing yours, and takes it. In one fluid motion, he opens it like it's nothing. Like it hadn't just reduced you to near madness. Like your struggle had never even happened.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely making it past your lips.

He smiles softly, unbothered, warm. “What are friends for?” he says, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. It’s a brief touch that somehow says more than the words. And then he disappears down the hall, like it was nothing.

Right… friends.

***

You’re wandering the tower again. When you have nothing to do, your feet always seem to lead you to Bob.

You knock on his door, and after a muffled "Come in," you step inside.

You look around and there he is, shaving in front of a small mirror propped up on the windowsill.

“Hope I’m not intruding…” You say hesitantly.

He glances at you through the mirror, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair is slightly damp and tousled, a few strands falling stubbornly into his eyes. He’s probably just stepped out of the shower a few minutes prior, the smell of his shampoo and lotion filling the air.

He’s holding a razor, face half-lathered, brow furrowed in concentration. You liked him like this, all cute and focused. There was something about the way he moved with such care, guiding the blade with precise, practised strokes. It was intimate in a way you couldn’t explain.

“You don’t have to, but can you help me?” Bob asks, voice gentle but sure.

“Sure,” you reply, stepping closer.

And again, you’re hit with that electricity that crackles between you when your eyes meet. He watches you, patient and open, and you always wonder if he realises just how much that look affects you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” you whisper, picking up the towel and dabbing away some stray foam. Your hand is steady now, more confident, and with it comes a strange kind of comfort. The scent of him surrounds you, clean, warm, a little woodsy. It was comforting and something else, too. You wanted to dive into it. To stay wrapped up in that scent, in him. You could only imagine waking up to your sheets smelling like him.

How the hell was the way he smelled even sexy?

“You smell good,” you say, without thinking.

You both go extremely still, equally flustered.

“So do you,” he finally replies, and there's another little pause. You stare at each other, your heart performing an Olympic-level gymnastics routine inside your chest.

“W–where’s your aftershave?” you ask, trying to find something to focus on that isn’t the intensity of his gaze.

“Bathroom,” he says, voice lower now.

You nod, quickly turning away. A second later, you’re back with the bottle in hand. You open it, the scent hitting you all over again, it’s undeniably him.

Without asking, you step closer and start applying it for him, your fingers brushing gently against his jaw, his cheek, his neck. Every feature, each line of his face, every angle was something you could get addicted to. A slow study of a man who somehow never felt like too much.

You glance up.

He’s standing still, letting you do it, but he’s no longer meeting your eyes.

Now he’s the one who can’t make eye contact.

And it’s… adorable.

He’s quiet under your touch, eyes lowered, breath just a little more shallow than before. You can tell he’s holding back. Holding himself still, as if afraid that leaning into your hand might unravel something he’s worked hard to keep together.

The way his lashes flutter when your fingers graze the curve of his jaw. The way his shoulders tense, then ease, like he’s trying not to sink into the warmth of being seen.

He’s touch-starved. You can feel it, not in desperation, but in the aching restraint. The way his fists clenched and unclenched as if to distract himself.

And you’re not much better off. Your hand lingers, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone, and you’re forced to get a hold of yourself.

“I’m, uh… all done,” you say, pulling your hands away from his face. You see the way his shoulders drop just slightly as he deflates, but you don’t read into it.

Bob nods, almost like he’s coming out of a trance. Like he can finally breathe again. “Well… thanks,” he says, voice soft.

You offer a quick, awkward smile, and then you’re scurrying your way out of his room like you’ve just committed a felony.

Because, honestly? Being that close to Bob felt like grounds for something dangerous. Emotional trespassing, maybe. Or reckless heart behaviour.

He was too fine for his own good.

And way, way too fine for your good.

***

Bob was always there for you, the most supportive presence anyone could wish for. So when you crashed into his room late at night, just as he’d finally started to fall asleep, he wasn’t mad. Not even close.

“There’s a spider in my room!” you declared, breathless and dramatic.

“It’s midnight…” Bob mumbled, mid-yawn, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Exactly! Imagine my surprise when it came lunging at me from inside my wardrobe. I tried to catch it, but the stubborn fucker escaped and crawled up my wall like it owned the place.”

He blinked at you, then sighed and swung his legs out of bed, already standing. His hair was messy, and his t-shirt clung a little unevenly from sleep. His steady steps led toward your door.

“It’s fine. You can hide behind me,” he said with a soft smile.

Then he casually and instinctively took your hand.

And just like that, something settled in your chest. His hand was warm, steady, and strong. His fingers laced through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You could’ve let him hold it for hours.

You followed closely behind, using him shamelessly as a human shield. “Where is it?” he asked, already scanning your room like a man on a mission.

“There,” you pointed, spotting the tiny monster halfway up the far wall. “That’s him. The bold bastard.”

Bob narrowed his eyes and, without hesitation, lifted gently off the floor. You blinked. It still caught you off guard, seeing him use his powers. You hadn’t seen him even float since that day. And now here he was, levitating to defeat a spider for you.

It was more than just endearing.

It was… kind of ridiculously attractive.

He could’ve pulverised it. Turned it to dust without blinking. But instead, he hovered close, cupped it carefully in his hands like it was something fragile, and opened the window to let it go.

Why the fuck was that so hot?

“Thanks…” you said softly, watching him touch back down, the faintest smile still on his lips.

He looked at you, all sleepy eyes and soft concern. “It’s no problem,” he said, his voice low. “Plus, I kind of liked saving you.”

Your heart did a little twist. You swallowed.

“This is… and you are completely within your right to say no, but…”

He tilted his head slightly, curious.

“Would you stay the night?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “You know. Just to protect me from any future spider insurgencies.”

His smile widened, just a little. “Well,” he said, moving closer, “can’t leave you defenceless now, can I?”

You smile and shift slightly, making enough space for him in the bed. He hesitates for only a moment before settling beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight.

You stare at him, his face softly illuminated by the distant glow of streetlights and the scattered lights of other buildings outside the window. His messy hair is fanned out against your pillow, and you can feel his body heat slowly merging with yours, a quiet warmth that pulls you in like gravity.

“Why’d you come and get me? Why not someone else?” Bob asks, his voice gentle as he turns toward you, rolling a little closer.

“You’re the one I want protecting me from evil spiders,” you answer honestly. No one else even came to mind. The moment you were scared or the least bit unsure, you could always turn to Bob. It was like instinct.

“Why?” he presses, softer this time. He’s not looking at you now, his gaze shifted to the ceiling. You take a moment to just look at him—his side profile, the way his jaw tenses like he’s bracing for something, the small crease between his brows.

“Because…” you begin, the words slow. You pause, focusing on all the little things you like about him. His kindness, his dry humour, his quiet strength, and the way he always seems to make you feel calm.

Maybe it’s because it’s too late at night. Maybe it’s the safety of the dark. Maybe it’s the way your brain feels hazy and open and ready.

But the next words out of your mouth are:

“I like you.”

Bob freezes for a second, then jumps just a little, like the words caught him off guard. He slowly turns his head to look at you, his expression unreadable at first.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just stares.

And you wait. Heart in your throat. Every second, stretching. Either he was about to tell you he felt the same… or this was the moment your friendship shattered.

“I like you too,” he says.

His voice is soft and low, like he’s afraid saying it too loud might wake him from a dream. But his eyes are steady. And you can tell that he’s telling the truth.

You scoot closer, close enough to feel the way your breath mingles.

“So…” you murmur, lips twitching into the ghost of a smile, “what should we do about this little situation we’ve got ourselves in?”

Your heart is pounding so loudly, you’re sure he can hear it.

He leans in just a little, voice almost a whisper.

“I think we know.”

Tentatively, he reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek with a touch so careful it makes your breath catch. He looks at you like really looks at you as if trying to memorise the moment, commit it to something deeper than memory.

You exhale, slow and steady, and let yourself give in. You lean forward until your lips finally meet.

It’s soft at first, the kind of kiss that makes your heart soar and your whole body ache with relief. Bit by bit, it becomes more passionate as you melt into one another. He deepens it, cupping your face fully in his hands, pulling you closer like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

And before you know it, you’re climbing into his lap, your arms around his shoulders, his hands steady at your waist. Everything feels like too much and just enough all at once.

He pauses, just barely pulling back, breath ghosting against your lips.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice husky, careful, but laced with something vulnerable.

You meet his gaze, no hesitation. You were in this for the long haul.

“More than anything.”

The next day, upon seeing Bob’s door wide open and no Bob anywhere to be seen, the team went into immediate panic mode. They searched high and low, worried he’d disappeared on them in the middle of the night.

“Have you seen—?” Yelena begins, swinging open your door mid-sentence, only to stop dead in her tracks at the sight of you and Bob fast asleep, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

The rest of the team crowds in behind her, eyes wide, jaws dropping.

You jolt awake at the sound, blinking in confusion as you realise the entirety of the Avengers are now in your doorway.

You shriek, diving under the covers and yanking them up to your chin to salvage whatever dignity you have left. “Privacy! Ever heard of it?!”

“Called it,” Ava and John say in perfect sync, like they just won a bet.

You groan, your entire face heating as you sink lower into the sheets, mortified.

Meanwhile, Bob? Still fast asleep, completely unbothered by the intrusion, his arm still draped across your waist like nothing’s changed. How is he sleeping through this?

You glance at him in disbelief, then back at the group.

“Can everyone get out now?!”

Yelena smiles. “We’re so happy for you two.”

“Out!”

Masterlist

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #x reader #fluff #gender neutral reader #bob reynolds fanfic #friends to lovers #love confessions #bob thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #thunderbolts fanfic #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader

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myespresso · 6 months ago

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attractive things they do while you're dating

pairing: batboys (plus clark lol) & reader ❀ׄ ꥈ

𓍢ִ໋☕ cassidy's note: for funsies. not edited. i love reading variations of these. i haven't written since 2020. if you can like this, reblog too.

bruce 🦇ᡣ𐭩˚.

navigating paparazzi: the careful way he guides you to block the flaring flashes from cameras with his broad shoulders.

bruce wraps his fingers to pull on your waist, tugging you further behind him, ensuring no shots of you are taken on what was meant to be a private night out.

despite the urgency of the situation--his face still stays controlled and imperturbable, but his grip is firm to reassure you, as he leans down and mumbles in your ear, "just a bit farther, the car's close," before his voice cuts through the cries and shutters lowly: "we're done here."

listens intently, and remembers every single detail about you, despite whether you think it's significant or not for him to know.

bruce stores your favorite shampoo and conditioner in his bathroom when you stay the night over.

and when you're sitting on the edge of his sink, removing his makeup from under his eyes, you notice it sitting amongst his own body-wash and pine scented soap.

but when you ask him about it, he simply shrugs and waves it off.

dick 🏙ɞ♥️*

teaches you self defense: his hands gently curl over yours to demonstrate how they should look before you throw a punch.

his touch is light, "keep your thumb on the outside", dick's finger taps the inside of your palm, "if you keep it inside, you'll break it--not fun."

he whistles when you hit him solidly in the side with a wide grin, despite the force of your blow, "better."

insists on helping you put on all your jewellery and shoes.

he turns you around, and pulls your hair to one side of your neck, before fiddling with the clasp. he's clumsy at first, but eventually gets the hang of it the more he does it. his hands linger on the slope of your neck for a moment longer than necessary.

later, as you reach for your shoes, he beats you to it, kneeling in front of you. dick's motions are all exaggerated as he does it.

your hand cards through his hair when he's looking up through his lashes after he's fastened the straps, and kissing the inside of your calf slowly.

jason ❤️‍🩹⋆｡

reads on public transportation: jason pulls out a beat up paperback he picked up from a secondhand bookstore from his back pocket. it has dog eared pages and a weathered spine.

there's a baby crying on the train, but he doesn't seem to notice as he flicks a ringed finger to the page he last read.

he pulls a pencil from his jacket pocket, and traces a line in a passage--a part he thinks you'd like. when he leans forward, his shirt rides up a bit so a strip of his skin is visible to you.

doesn't wipe your lipgloss from his cheek.

the shimmer from it stains his cheek after you pressed a kiss to it. you go to wipe it with a laugh, reaching with your thumb, and jason catches it mid-air. "you've got glitter on your face jay, people are gonna-"

"next time, wear red."

tim 🪽❥˚

gnaws at his lip as he concentrates.

the hum of the keys click in the batcave and papers rustle. tim's focus is sharp as he attempts piecing together his newest case, and his teeth catch in his bottom lip. an unconscious habit.

you can't help but tease him about it, "that's a terrible habit to have, you know that?" you lean against his desk."it helps me think."

sure enough, he does it again. "you're gonna chew your lip off your face one day." his lips curve upwards at your observation, but your gaze was now intense as you observed his lip in his teeth, and before you can state another snarky remark, he shoots you a knowing look before pulling your belt loops, and kissing you.

wears your hair tie on his wrist. it was never really ever a big deal. one day you handed it to him while getting ready for bed one night as you pulled out your ponytail and he snapped it onto his wrist without much thought. now, it's routine. it doesn't matter where he is exactly, if tim's at a gala or in a meeting or out in gotham on patrol, the hair tie is around his wrist.

you heard him cursing from the other room when he misplaced it once.

clark 🌟.*☆

saves you a seat, always: whether it's evenings in or out, clark always makes you feel like you're the most important person there.

it's not something that's said but understood, as he pulls the chair next to him, letting it be out long enough for you to get comfortable, before gently scooting it inwards.

when you eat, and when he thinks you're not looking--clark will adjust your plate, and glace over at your water glass to make sure it is filled. and if you want extra bread, don't even worry because he kept an extra piece on his plate for you.

pushing his glasses up. there's something kinda charming about the way he does it that you wish you could explain it better. it's absentminded, he does it a lot!

when he's looking over articles or reading or just talking to you. in the elevator, he'll lean forward to look over the numbered floors, and they won't stay in place, sliding down the bridge of his nose. you don't say anything, but smile slightly, and he'll return it goofily and with more teeth, before he asks, "what?"

tags: @retvenkos

#holy gyatt this was fun #bruce wayne x reader #the batman #batman x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #redhood x reader #tim drake x reader #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #dc x reader #i need tim drake #cassidy writes #dc #x reader #im in love with clark too he's so sweetie

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delugyu · 4 months ago

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beomgyu teaching you how to jerk him off (pls i’m ovulating i need to be put down)

hey twin i’m ovulating too! can u tell by how depraved this is

(wc: 2k / warnings: virgin!reader, corruption kink, big dick!beomgyu, handjob)

beomgyu’s head might explode. quite possibly his dick too. you’re sitting in front of him on his bed, wide-eyed and innocent but so eager to help him with something so dirty. he has to calm down before he blows his load too fast and makes himself look like the virgin here.

“you sure you’re okay with this?” beomgyu asks, checking in one more time before he lets you put your hands on him. you nod with sparkling eyes and a cheerfulness that doesn’t match the situation at hand. he can’t deny how much your eagerness turns him on, though. beomgyu never thought he had a thing for virgins, but fuck, you’re doing something to him.

you sit cross-legged, hands held in your lap as you await instruction. it makes beomgyu’s cock throb, and his head is reeling with all the images of things he wants to do with you. he keeps himself grounded as best as he can, trying to remember that you’re here to learn, not to fulfill fantasies of his own.

“what do i do first?” you ask, looking at his pants. it makes him laugh. he grabs your chin to redirect your attention back to his face, smiling fondly when he sees a hint of embarrassment in your eyes.

“you should always start with kissing,” beomgyu says, tugging you towards him until you’re sitting in his lap. the surprise on your face is pretty cute. “it really sets the mood.”

“okay,” you say, but do nothing. beomgyu tries to hold back his laughter, but he just can’t. it’s so funny to watch you get so shy. you pout, then pull your face in to peck his cheek. he runs a hand up your thigh, endeared by your action.

“a real kiss,” he says. it really doesn’t seem like you’re going to make the move, so he decides to make it easier for you. he cups your face and brings you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that starts out much sweeter than what the moment would suggest.

your lips are soft and fit well against his own, and beomgyu finds himself feeling so lucky that you’d ask him of all people to help you with something like this. it makes him happy that you trust him this much. he bites your lip ever so slightly to get you gasping, letting his tongue slip between your parted lips to deepen the kiss.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you, so he holds himself back from getting too intense. he’ll settle with this slow, sensual kiss, at least until you get confident enough to take more. your little noises are admittedly very hot, and beomgyu knows you must feel his cock twitching beneath you.

you pull away to catch your breath, and your eyes fall on the string of saliva connecting your lips. beomgyu smiles and licks his lips as if he’ll catch any lingering tastes of you. you hesitantly bring your face back to his, and he closes his eyes and parts his lips expectantly, but your mouth meets his jaw instead. you don’t place a peck there like you did to his cheek—you suck on his skin like you would his lips, pulling away after a few seconds to blink up at him.

beomgyu’s stomach is doing cartwheels. he can’t help but find everything you do attractive, even when it’s done with such uncertainty and inexperience. your mouth continues latching onto his skin and sucking, trailing down his neck. he’s sure that you won’t leave any marks—you’re not really sucking that hard, but it’s enough to have him losing his mind. he groans when your hips involuntarily push forward. he wonders how wet you must be right now if you’re already having trouble controlling your body.

“can i touch you now?” you ask, fingers dipping into the hem of his pants. god, beomgyu’s head is spinning. you must be some kind of succubus sent to taint his soul. if you are, it’s fucking working. he’s obsessed and all he’s felt so far is your lips.

he nods and leans back a bit. “yeah, take those off.” you pull down his pants and boxers both in one go, and he watches with a grin when your eyes widen at his cock springing out.

“you’re really big,” you muse, still staring at his dick. beomgyu bites his lip as he watches you wrap a hand around his shaft, not able to close your hand all the way because of his girth. you look up at him, unsure what to do next. beomgyu has to reel himself in, remembering that he should be teaching you right now.

“you should spit in your hand to lube it up. dry handjobs don’t feel that good,” he advises. he holds his breath as he watches you bring your hand to your mouth, a glob of spit falling past your lips and into your palm. he shuts his eyes tight to keep himself together, trying not to cum from just the sight of you doing something so dirty.

your hand falls back to his cock and gives it a few jerks to lubricate it. beomgyu bites his tongue to hold back a moan, but he can’t stop his hips from bucking up into your fist. your eyes meet his again, curious and bright. he wants to kiss you again, but he has to remember that this isn’t about him.

“is this good?” you ask, working your saliva-slicked hand over his cock. if you only knew how hard beomgyu was holding back right now—even through your clumsy handjob, something about you is making beomgyu lose his mind.

“y-yeah. you can try squeezing a little tighter, maybe,” he says, and he cringes at how uncomposed he sounds. the moment you take his advice and wrap your fist tighter around him, he throws his head back and groans. it seems to encourage you, and you start moving a little faster.

fuck, he can’t cum yet. he’s trying to think of anything else, something to keep him from bursting at the seams, but the feeling of your hand wrapped around him is so overwhelming. you look so focused, like you’re taking notes of his reactions and repeating anything that makes him keen. you’re fucking ruining him, god.

“how do i make you cum?” you ask, and the question itself is nearly enough to do it. he’s catching his breath and looking at you through hooded eyes, taking in your eager little hand tugging at his cock and the way you look so determined to get him off. a part of him wants to lay you down and get you all worked up; it’s not fair for him to be suffering alone like this.

“you can—ah, fuck—twist your hand when you come up,” he suggests, and his eyes roll back when you try it out. your movements are getting more confident now, and beomgyu can’t contain his moans anymore. his mouth hangs open, panting pathetically as he feels his orgasm creeping up on him.

you surprise him when you lean your head down to spit onto his cock, lubricating it even more and allowing you to move faster. you really are a little demon. he wants to bend you over and fuck himself into your cunt, wants to have you leaking arousal and crying out for him. he wants you to be moaning and shaking and begging him for release, but instead it’s him on the receiving end of that. he’s going crazy.

“fuck! i’m gonna cum, keep doing that,” he urges as his hips fuck into your fist. you don’t stop him, letting him chase his orgasm until he’s spilling all over his cock and your hand. he’s groaning as he watches his seed spill onto you, imagining what it would be like to cum on your face or your tits instead. shit, what are you doing to him?

“was i good?” your eyes shine with hope as you wait for beomgyu’s answer, and he chooses to respond with a messy kiss to your lips. you’re not here to let him make you cum, but god, he wants to so bad. his brain is flooded with the image of you squirming beneath him, of defiling you and taking your virginity. he wants to dip his hand beneath your pants and feel how wet you are.

you push at his chest to separate from his kiss, eyes darting across his face curiously. this is killing him. he already feels his dick stirring back to life.

“i can show you something too, if you want,” beomgyu offers, still panting from his orgasm.

“like what? you already came.” he attaches his mouth to your neck and sucks desperately, so needy for you to stay here with him. he’s not done with you yet, you can’t leave him without giving him a taste of you. “gyu?” your voice is laced with confusion, your eyes are too when beomgyu looks up at you as he marks your chest. thank god you wore that slutty little low-cut top.

“maybe i could touch you?” he suggests, hand massaging your thigh.

“but that wouldn’t be teaching me anything,” you say, tilting your head. he kisses you again, so endeared and turned on by your innocence. he coaxes your mouth open and shoves his tongue inside, licking into your mouth and holding your face still. he wants to leave you dripping and needy, to tease you until you’re begging him for more.

he guides you down against the mattress, never disconnecting from your lips, eating up your moans and whines. his hands descend down your sides slowly, stopping when they reach your hips. he’s dying to take off your pants and dive into your cunt.

he pulls back to look at you. your lips are puffy and red, and your hair’s all disheveled around you. your eyes are glassy, and your chest heaves with how hard you’re breathing. he might cum again just from the sight.

“do you want me to touch you?” he asks, hoping you’ll say yes. if you even start to nod, beomgyu wouldn’t hesitate to tear your pants off. he needs this more than he’s ever needed anything else in his life.

you sit up suddenly, which makes beomgyu pull away in confusion. “i should go,” you say, picking up your phone from his nightstand.

“what? why?” did he do something wrong? he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he could have sworn you looked just as into it as he was.

“i have to see taehyun tonight,” you say meekly.

“oh. right.” you’re seeing taehyun. that’s why you had him teach you any of this, after all. he got too caught up in the moment.

you stand up and stare at him, swaying awkwardly in place. beomgyu thinks briefly about convincing you to stay.

“thank you,” you say, not even looking him in the eye. beomgyu’s hands itch to pull you back onto the bed. he wants to hold you down and keep you from leaving. he’d kiss you speechless until taehyun’s not even a thought in your mind anymore.

“yeah,” he says, feigning nonchalance with a simple nod. you’re walking out now, and he has to ignore the voice in his head telling him to run after you.

he collapses against his bed when he hears his door close. taehyun’s his friend, but beomgyu really hates him right now. he can’t think about you and taehyun together without seething. beomgyu doesn’t know where this is coming from—sure, he had a little crush on you some time ago, but he thought that left as soon as you two started hanging out more.

he just hopes that whatever you’re doing with taehyun isn’t better than what you did with him. he’ll be damned if he finds out that taehyun laid his hands on you tonight. he prays and prays that you miraculously stop finding interest in taehyun and leave him before anything happens between you.

what does he want then? for you to come back to him, crying about how bad you need him?

…yeah, that kind of is what he wants, honestly.

#txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #delugyu drabbles

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kxsagi · 1 month ago

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hello (≧▽≦), can i make a small request abt sae, rin or karasu where reader has big boobs and sometimes and they somehow ended up looking at her boobs? like, they could be talking abt a something random with reader and it just happens. ( srry if my request it’s not well written or understandable, english is not my native language ╥_╥ )

“𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫”

a/n: i remember i helped babysit a preschool for community service and my boob size is like… normal ig? and this little boy pointed at my chest and said “boobies!” LIKE WHO ARE YOUR PARENTS AND WHAT ARE THEY TEACHING YOU???

and shidou would totally own that zumiez merch with their "i ❤️ boobies" design and wear it shamelessly 😭

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei

itoshi sae

the two of you were casually walking through the grocery store, chatting about what to cook for dinner.

“i think we should do pasta,” you said. “with garlic bread. and salad. ooh, and those tiny mozzarella balls–”

you turned to look at him and found him staring. not at your face.

his eyes were so intensely focused on your chest you’d think there was a crossword puzzle written across your boobs.

“sae.”

nothing.

“sae.”

“hm?” he said, finally blinking like you pulled him out of a VR headset.

“what the hell are you looking at?”

“i thought i saw a stain on your shirt,” he muttered, expression flat like he wasn’t just mentally composing a sonnet to your cleavage.

“a stain?”

“yup.”

“what kind of stain?”

“existential.”

you stood there flabbergasted while he just pushed the cart and kept walking like nothing happened.

later, as you cooked, he came up behind you and whispered, “boobzilla strikes again.”

you smacked him with a spatula. he dodged it. barely.

itoshi rin

you were sitting on the floor with him in your living room, showing him a childhood photo album because you were bonding, okay?

“this is me in kindergarten,” you said, flipping the page. “and this is me in third grade. i was obsessed with dolphins.”

“huh,” he grunted, eyes scanning the photos… until they weren't.

his gaze dipped for half a second, just a flicker. a brief, tragic lapse in self-control. and you saw it.

“rin.”

he looked up so fast his neck cracked. “yeah?”

“you looked.”

“i didn’t.”

“you blinked directly at my boobs.”

“i blinked past them.”

“there’s no past them. they’re in front of me.”

rin turned into a brick wall. stopped speaking. went so still you could’ve mistaken him for a wax statue.

for the next ten minutes, he avoided looking below your chin like your boobs were medusa.

you turned to him and said, “they’re not going to bite you.”

“yet,” he whispered, completely serious.

karasu tabito

you were having a serious convo about rent prices and gentrification. serious.

“they turned that ramen shop into a vape store. a vape store, tabi. do you know what this means?”

“yes,” he said slowly, clearly not listening.

you leaned in, waiting for a deep, insightful comment. instead, his eyes drifted down like they were physically pulled by gravity.

“karasu.”

“y’know,” he said, blinking like he just woke up and ignoring how he used his last name instead. “i could fit a whole bowl of ramen on your boobs.”

“i was talking about capitalism.”

“and i’m talking about your assets, baby.”

you smacked him with a throw pillow.

“what?! don’t act like you didn’t bless me with the view. god gave you those like a cheat code.”

he winked and then dramatically fake-fainted onto the couch like he was dying of thirst.

every time you wear a low-cut top, he salutes you like you just did a public service.

isagi yoichi

you were watching a documentary together, fully invested in the plot. meanwhile, isagi was trying his best to be a respectful man of society.

you were explaining something on screen, leaning forward a little, and your top shifted just slightly.

and his brain just… froze. like, buffering.

you noticed immediately. “yoichi?”

“huh?”

“what did i just say?”

“uhhh... the environment?”

“we’re watching a documentary on japanese vending machines.”

“right. yep. vending machines are... bad for the climate?”

you narrowed your eyes, arms crossed (which only made things worse), and he panicked.

“i wasn’t–! it was–! i didn’t mean to!!”

now he’s waving his hands like he’s trying to swat guilt away.

“my eyes were just following the light source!”

“what light source?”

“you. you’re the light of my life.”

man really tried to romance his way out of being caught.

it worked. barely.

kaiser michael

you were arguing about something stupid, like which fast food fries were superior.

“waffle fries are elite,” you insisted.

“they’re pretentious,” he said. “pick a shape and commit.”

and somewhere in the middle of your passionate defense of curly fries, his eyes trailed southward like his pupils had minds of their own.

he didn’t even try to hide it.

“stop looking at my boobs.”

“i’m not,” he said, not even blinking.

“you are.”

“i’m admiring the passion in your voice,” he smirked. “it just happens to echo really well off your chest.”

“kaiser.”

“what? you’re giving boob TED talk energy right now. it’s inspiring.”

you hit him with a fry. he caught it in his mouth and winked.

“your arguments are strong,” he said. “but your boobs? stronger.”

he would definitely make up fake awards like “best visual presentation” and hand them to you while bowing dramatically.

shidou ryusei

you were showing him how to make pancakes. flour on your cheek, spatula in hand, adorable domestic energy.

he was pretending to help, mostly eating the batter and poking your sides.

“you’re not even paying attention,” you sighed.

“i am,” he said, leaning against the counter and watching you flip a pancake.

but then you leaned to grab a plate and… yeah. his brain went full caveman.

“BOOBS,” he said out loud. just. said it.

“excuse me?”

“uh– BOOP. i said boop.”

“you said boobs.”

“boop-boobs. it’s a pancake term. very official.”

you gave him a death glare.

he grinned, grabbed a strawberry, and placed it gently on your cleavage like it was a shrine.

“for the gods,” he whispered.

you whacked him with the spatula.

he licked the strawberry off.

he lives with zero shame and zero fear of death.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #karasu tabito x reader #tabito karasu x reader #kaiser michael x reader #michael kaiser x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #ryusei shidou x reader #eyes up here striker

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luvbabydoll · 2 months ago

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Idk if i should put requests here but could you please do inexperienced reader giving simon a blowjob for the first time and accidentally using too much teeth so now he has to teach her how to give bjs 😩😩

a/n: UGH!!! he’s so hot i need him !!!! this got me out of my cod writers block

you’re kneeling between simon’s legs, heart pounding, hands fumbling nervously as you look up at him. his mask is off, those sharp hazel eyes locked on you, a mix of patience and something darker flickering in them. your lips are still tingling from the clumsy attempt you just made, and the slight wince he let slip—barely audible, but enough to make you freeze and it has your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“too much teeth, love,” he says, voice low and rough with that thick mancunian drawl, a hint of amusement curling at the edges. he’s sprawled back on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other resting on his thigh, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to guide you himself. “gonna have to ease up a bit, yeah?”

you nod, swallowing hard, your throat tight with nerves. “sorry,” you mumble, barely meeting his gaze. your hands hover awkwardly, not sure where to start again.

“nowt to be sorry for,” he says, leaning forward slightly, his voice softening just a touch. “just need a bit of practice, that’s all. c’mere.” he crooks a finger, motioning you closer. you shuffle forward, and he reaches out, calloused thumb brushing your bottom lip, slow and deliberate. “open up. slow-like. let’s start there.”

you do as he says, parting your lips, and he guides you with that same steady hand, his touch firm but not forceful. “right, now mind your teeth. keep ‘em tucked back—use your lips, yeah? like you’re kissin’ it.” his voice is a low rumble, matter-of-fact but laced with something that makes your stomach flip.

he shifts, guiding your head down gently, his fingers threading through your hair. “start slow,” he instructs, eyes never leaving you. “just the tip first. tongue’s your mate here—swirl it, soft-like. don’t rush.”

you follow his lead, tentative at first, your tongue flicking out to trace him. his breath hitches, a faint “fuck” slipping out under his breath, and it spurs you on. you try to mimic what he’s described, keeping your teeth well out of the way, letting your lips glide over him. it’s awkward, uncoordinated, but you’re trying, and he notices.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thicker now, his grip in your hair tightening just a fraction. “good girl. now take a bit more—easy, don’t force it. breathe through your nose.”

you do your best, inching down slowly, your jaw straining as you focus on keeping it smooth. his low groan tells you you’re doing something right, but then your teeth graze him again—just a faint scrape—and he hisses, tugging your hair lightly to pull you back.

“oi, teeth again,” he says, but there’s no real bite to his tone, just a gruff chuckle. “you’re eager, i’ll give ya that. c’mon, let’s try it another way.” he shifts, sitting up straighter, and pats his thigh. “rest your hands here. keeps you steady.”

you place your palms on his thighs, the muscle solid under your touch, and he nods approvingly. “right. now focus on the rhythm. up and down, slow and steady. use your hand for what your mouth can’t reach—twist it a bit, like this.” he wraps his own hand over yours, guiding it in a slow, twisting motion that makes him curse softly again.

you try again, combining everything he’s told you—lips soft, tongue teasing, hand moving in time with your mouth. it’s still messy, your inexperience obvious, but simon’s not complaining. his head tips back slightly, jaw tight, and the low, gravelly “fuck, that’s better” he lets out feels like a victory.

“keep goin’,” he says, voice dropping an octave, his hand in your hair more guiding than controlling now. “you’ll get the hang of it. just listen to what i’m tellin’ ya, and you’ll have me beggin’ in no time.”

you glance up at him, catching the way his eyes are half-lidded, lips parted just enough to show a flash of teeth. it’s enough to make you double your efforts, determined to prove you can learn. and with simon’s low, steady instructions filling the air, you’re starting to think you just might.

#luvbabydoll ‧₊˚ ⋅#simon ghost x reader #cod smut #cod modern warfare #simon ghost smut #simon riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley x you

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