lissdain

[lissdain]

[lissdain]

[lissdain]

thinking about kissing BOB REYNOLDS. like a thunderstorm at the very edge of summer—warm and and strange and humming with anticipation. electric might be the word for it, a kind of tension that raises goosebumps before it ever touches skin.

even when your hand’s already on his chest, feeling the off-rhythm stutter of his heart like it might leap straight into your palm, he stares at you with those wide, owlish eyes, not quite believing he’s allowed to be wanted by someone like you.

kissing bob, who overthinks everything. but only because he wants so badly to get it right—to make it good for you, better than good. his eagerness tips toward clumsy; his nose bumps yours, and his mouth misses by a fraction. there’s an awkward dry clash of teeth between you followed by a breathless chuckle as he murmurs, “sorry,” without pulling too far away.

still bashful but fairly undaunted, he tilts his face forward and your lips meet again. his are warm (a bit chapped) and oh so careful... moving with exploratory curiosity, shaping itself in sync to yours, exhaling into the spaces where you part for breath. he listens to every small sign of pleasure from you with his entire body. learning you by heart.

when your fingers close around his wrist, he makes this small, involuntary sound of contentment in the back of his throat. he kisses you with an aching sincerity, and there’s something devastating about someone who just wants you, so uncomplicated and wholly.

you think you could drown in that kind of earnest. and maybe you already are.

[lissdain]

Bob reynolds x f!reader

SECRET DIARY

Summary: You stumbled upon Bob's diary. You had no idea how much reading it would change everything, or how much it would reveal about him… and yourself.

Warnings: MDNI 18+, strong language, alcohol consumption, invasion of privacy, unprotected sex (p i v), oral sex (f receiving), breast play, multiple orgasms, mutual orgasm, sexual tension, Bob being emotionally guarded, aftecare (cuddling), smut mixed with fluff, slight obssesion

A/n: Hi there! I had so fun writting this and I am so happy how it turned out! Again, it's a bit long but that's completěy normal for me right :p Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Mastelist

“It’s really okay, I promise,” you kept reassuring Bucky, though his expression remained unconvinced.

“You sure?” That was the fifth time he’d asked, and your answer hadn’t changed.

Even if Bucky didn’t believe it, it was true — you honestly didn’t mind staying at Stark Tower while the others went on the mission. Not only would there've been more people than necessary, but you’d had a headache since morning, and you knew you’d be nothing but a burden in your current state.

“Alright, if you say so. I tried,” Bucky said in defeat, raising his hands with a sly grin that sometimes worked, but not this time.

“Just come back alive,” you joked with a soft smile. He chuckled as he slipped his gun into the holster on his belt.

Before they left, you said a quick goodbye to everyone and waved them off. They all looked fairly confident, maybe even excited, except Bob. But he always looked stressed, so it didn’t really surprise you.

The moment the doors closed and silence washed over you, you took a deep breath. Alone. Finally alone.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you had the entire tower to yourself, and though it came with a certain responsibility, it was an amazing feeling.

No more of Walker’s annoying educational lectures. No more of Yelena’s frustration radiating through the walls. No more of Alexei’s disgusting smelly socks. No more of Ava's constant eye-rolls when something didn’t go her way. And no more of Bucky’s mysterious expressions that always made you wonder if he was angry, deep in thought, or just hungry.

When it came to Bob though — strangely, nothing about him annoyed you. Quite the opposite. Ever since he moved in, he had become the most wonderful company, and the others often said you’d been smiling a lot more since then.

The first time you saw Bob, you were immediately drawn to him, not just his looks, but also his silly, lovable personality. Sure, he could be a bit of a goof who missed obvious things, and yeah, maybe he’d almost destroyed an entire city because of his trauma, but that didn’t change how much he meant to you. You’d do anything if he were in trouble, because you knew he’d do the same for you.

It took him a while to open up to you, to let you into his comfort zone. But when he finally did, Bob didn’t regret it. He had learned what it meant not to be alone anymore. To have someone to share stories with, to play PlayStation with, or just sit and watch a movie beside.

And that someone was you. You were a team. Inseparable. Well until now. But you believed he’d be okay out there.

While the others were out risking their lives, you decided to enjoy yourself as much as possible. You made yourself a summery mojito with ice, turned on your favorite show, and sank into the armchair. Strangely, your headache vanished. How odd…

Time passed slowly, and after a while, just sitting and staring at the screen got boring. So you decided to be a little productive.

You started cleaning.

Even you couldn’t believe it. You had no idea where the motivation came from. Normally, when it was your turn to do the dishes, vacuum, or any kind of chore, you’d dodge it like the plague.

But now? You were doing it voluntarily. You even touched your forehead, wondering if you had a fever and were hallucinating, but apparently, you were fine.

You changed into more comfortable clothes, tied your hair into a ponytail, and got to work.

You scrubbed the entire kitchen until it sparkled, surprised by how much dirt had been hiding in various corners.

Then you vacuumed the floors, took out the trash, wiped down the bar, cleaned the bathroom, you even went into the gym and wiped down all the sweaty equipment. And just like that, it was done. You felt good about yourself.

But the crew still hadn’t returned, and you’d finished everything way too fast. You let out a loud sigh, thinking about what else you could possibly do. Then a lightbulb went off.

You grabbed all your cleaning gear and headed to the bedrooms. Was this a breach of privacy?

…Maybe.

But as long as you didn’t snoop or go digging through their stuff, maybe they’d even thank you for it. So you started cleaning each room, one by one.

You were careful to leave everything exactly where it had been, you didn’t want anyone biting your ass over a moved book or out-of-place trinket.

You dusted the shelves and dressers, polished the decorations, and occasionally found things you’d never be able to erase from your memory — but hey, at least now you had blackmail material. Silver lining.

As your little cleaning era went on, you realized how ridiculously messy everyone was.

Underwear on the floor, clean and dirty. Dishes left around with half-eaten food. Smells that hit you like a locker room full of sweaty hockey players. It was chaos. But you managed to clean it up. Now it looked less like a war zone and more like a smaller explosion.

When you walked into Bob’s room, it immediately felt different.

He didn’t have many things, barely any clothes, either, and the empty space gave it a sort of natural tidiness. There wasn’t much for you to clean, really. So instead, you snooped a little.

His books were arranged on the shelf by alphabetical order, by size, and even by color. His perfectionism was going to kill him one day.

The PlayStation controller sat exactly where it always did, right under the TV. His clothes were neatly folded in drawers or hanging on perfectly aligned hangers.

You never would’ve guessed Bob was this meticulous with cleaning. He was tidier than most women you knew. He never stopped surprising you. Still wanting to help a little, you decided to at least fluff up his bedding.

You grabbed the comforter first. It was the heaviest and took the longest. Once that was done, you returned, laid it carefully over the bed, and moved on to the pillows.

He had two, one on each side, like everyone else. You picked up the first. Then the second, and then you stopped. Beneath the second pillow, there was a book. A journal.

Your brows furrowed as you slowly set the pillows aside. You reached out and picked it up. Opening to the first page, you saw the title written neatly in Bob’s handwriting:

“The Diary of Robert Reynolds.”

You inhaled deeply and hesitated. This was his privacy. And you weren’t going to invade that. You placed the diary back, moved the pillows to their original position, and left the room.

But the second your foot hit the hallway, curiosity took over. With a quiet sigh, you turned around, stepped back in, tossed the pillows onto the bed, and stared at the diary.

Your mind was a storm of thoughts. Like you had an angel sitting on one shoulder telling you not to, and a devil on the other whispering, “Read it.”

You stood there with your arms crossed tightly, chewing the inside of your cheek. Your foot tapped nervously on the floor until finally, you made your decision.

“One page won’t hurt anybody,” you muttered, picking up the diary and flipping open the first page.

Just a simple entry about how much he liked the food Yelena had made. Nothing interesting. You flipped ahead.

An entry about how Walker pissed him off. Now that was more interesting. You laughed at the way Bob described him, he’d captured John’s annoying behavior perfectly.

And from there, it snowballed. You flipped through more pages, sat down on his bed, and slowly got lost in his writing.

Even when he was gossiping, even when he was clearly furious — he wrote with this poetic, strangely beautiful tone. He had real talent.

One page…

then two…

then five…

then eighteen.

You didn’t read the whole thing, just the juicy stuff. The gossip. The rants.

Your eyes eagerly scanned the words, a smile tugging at your lips. But then you flipped another page and froze. A chill ran down your spine as you read your name.

He had never mentioned you in the diary before, not even once. And now he had written several pages just about you. You shouldn’t read it. You really shouldn't. But you had to. You wanted to.

God, I don’t even know where to begin. She is so unbelievably beautiful. I adore every single part of her body.

The way her hair dances in the wind when we’re driving to a mission and she’s looking out the window.

Her adorable nose, scrunching up anytime she sees or hears something awkward.

How she bites her lip whenever someone gives her a compliment and she doesn’t know how to respond.

You hadn’t even noticed it, but as you read those words, you were biting your lip. Your heart was pounding like crazy, and your face was as red as a tomato. Still, you kept reading.

She makes me think of things I never imagined before. She brings something into my body, my mind, that I’ve never felt.

It’s like she’s my salvation from the Void. My rescue. My reason to smile each day.

I always thought I needed medication to feel okay again. To feel like I was worth anything. But… all this time, I just needed her. And I still do.

There’s not a single day I don’t think about her. Not one hour. Not a single damn minute.

She’s stuck in my head and I don’t want her out. She’s like my blood, like my oxygen… I need her like I need food. Like I need air.

You couldn’t believe what you were reading. You had no idea Bob felt this way about you. And those words… they weren’t just words on paper. They meant something more. Because no one had ever written about you like this before. No one had ever seen you like this. It made your chest ache, in the sweetest, most terrifying way.

Bob wasn’t just a good man. He was soft, tender, full of things he kept hidden so deep… and now you were reading the most vulnerable part of him.

You couldn’t read any more. Not because you didn’t want to, but because if you did, you’d probably cry. Or get emotional diabetes from how absurdly sweet it all was.

So you flipped forward. Just casually, few pages. No big deal. But then one word stopped you. Then another. And another. Then an entire sentence. And suddenly, you couldn’t do anything else but read the page.

I feel like a stupid teenager when I see her, but I can’t help it. I don’t just need her emotionally, I need her physically.

My body craves her every single night. When I try to sleep, I close my eyes and I see her.

And in that moment, every unholy thought crashes into me, and I can’t fight it. I don’t want to.

I see her, in lingerie, wearing that breathtaking smile. The way her juicy ass bounces when she jumps, or simply walks. The way her breasts sit perfectly, and I just wonder what it would feel like to touch them. To feel her. Inside me. To feel her soft lips wrap around the head of my cock—

You gasped out loud, hand flying to your mouth as you slammed the diary shut with a loud thud. This can’t be real. Bob Reynolds, the most respectful, quiet, gentlemanly person you know, wrote this? Thought this?

You closed your eyes tightly, shaking your head as if trying to reboot your brain. You must be imagining this. You’ve been alone too long, lost deep in your feelings. But curiosity didn’t care and made you reopened the diary. And on the next page, it got worse…or better… well you didn’t even know anymore.

I want to feel her around me. I want to know what it’s like to have my dick buried inside her.

What her voice would sound like if I circled my finger around her clit.

I want to hear her scream my name so loud the whole building knows who’s fucking her.

I want to see her jaw drop, her eyebrows twitch, her eyes close as I make her cum so hard she forgets her own name.

God forgive me, but every night I can’t sleep, it’s her I see. And I have no choice but to touch myself to her. I can’t help it — she’s so damn beautiful. I don’t even understand what she’s done to me, but I let it happen.

That was it. That was the last straw. Your jaw literally dropped as you slowly closed the diary, your eyes wide, staring into the wall like it personally insulted your family. Every sentence replayed in your head like a broken record. You needed a minute, or two.

The real problem wasn't that it was creepy — which, yeah, maybe a little. But the real issue was it didn’t bother you. Not even a little. If anything, it turned you on. And that’s wrong.

Your hands slapped against your face as you let out a frustrated scream. This was getting way out of hand. Well, at least this is your lesson to mind your own business next time and not go snooping through people’s private stuff.

Because now, that diary and those words were glued into your brain. They kept playing on a loop, rewinding and pausing only to make you suffer more.

You sat in the armchair, staring blankly at the TV. Some random program was playing, you didn’t even know what it was about.

Then came the sound of the elevator.

They were back.

You didn’t even need to look over to know the mission had gone well. The cheers, the laughter, the happy chaos — yeah, that gave it away.

Still, you weren’t really present. Your mind was completely hijacked. The damn diary had hypnotized you. Your thoughts were a hurricane of ink, sex, and Bob.

You tried to fight it, but you couldn’t stop wondering what it would feel like to feel him inside you, stretching you out inch by inch, to hear Bob beg you to make him cum—

“Hey sweetheart! Were you bored while we were gone?”

Alexei’s voice and the sudden slap on your shoulder made you jump out of your skin. He laughed like a maniac and walked past you toward the bar.

“Someone’s got a guilty conscience if they flinch like that,” he teased, grabbing drinks.

“Yep, I do,” you whispered just under your breath, smiling like a criminal who absolutely did it.

“I see the mission went well,” you finally forced yourself to join the conversation, trying to think about literally anything besides Bob’s penis.

“Obviously. But we missed you,” Yelena pouted with fake sad eyes. You rolled your eyes and nudged her, shaking your head.

“No, really. You could be useful on the field sometimes,” Bucky added while throwing back a shot of vodka and instantly grimacing.

“Oh, sometimes?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Yup. Just sometimes,” he smirked back.

You laughed, finally relaxing a little. You glanced around. Ava and Yelena were laughing about something dumb, John, Alexei, and Bucky were crowded by the bar with their celebratory drinks, and Bob—

“AH!”

You screamed when you felt fingers suddenly tickling your sides. You whipped around and there he was. Robert Reynolds, grinning like the smug bastard he was.

“Definitely guilty conscience,” he smirked, poking you once more before sitting down beside your chair.

You gave him a playful shove, trying not to combust on the spot. He stayed next to you, sitting on the floor, quietly watching the others. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

“So… looks like you made it out in one piece,” you finally said, glancing down at him.

He was already watching you, and when your eyes met, he quickly looked away, his hand going straight to the back of his neck.

“Uhh… yeah. I made it,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact like it physically hurt.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Was he nervous because he just imagined you naked in his bed?

“Is it just me or, is this place suspiciously clean,” John suddenly said, breaking the moment. Everyone turned toward him.

“Yeah, I cleaned,” you said proudly, lifting your chin.

Silence. Like dead, kill-me-now silence. Then — Loud. Explosive. Collective laughter. You scowled.

“Real funny. No seriously, who came to clean?” Ava asked, deadpan. Your pride died right there on the spot.

“Guys, seriously. I did clean,” you insisted, but your voice was practically drowned in their chaos.

Eventually, you’d had enough humiliation. You slipped away from the group, heading toward your room to take a shower, throw on some pajamas, and maybe pass out and forget about the diary.

Just as you were reaching the hallway, a voice called out behind you.

“Hey, wait! Come have a drink with us!”

You turned back, raising an eyebrow. It was Bucky, gesturing toward the bar with a tilt of his head.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but smirked with a sly glint. “Maybe,” you called back. And with that, you vanished down the hallway.

Everyone was already in their pajamas, but the way they were chugging drink after drink definitely didn’t suggest they were going to sleep anytime soon.

This was standard procedure after a successful mission — get absolutely wasted and regret it in the morning when the hangovers hit like a truck.

But hey, it’s their lives. And on the other hand, might as well enjoy the good while it lasts. You, on the other hand, were more cautious.

Your head had just stopped pounding this morning, and the last thing you wanted was another round of pain mixed with nausea and existential dread.

So you drank just enough to feel the buzz, enough to tolerate these lovable idiots. Because let’s be honest, sometimes dealing with them is harder than raising fifteen toddlers at once.

You all sat in a circle, some chatting in pairs, others laughing in the group. These little “family moments” were rare, but they were beautiful in their own chaotic way.

Bob sat directly across from you in the circle. You noticed he had a beer in hand, but just like you, he wasn’t overdoing it.

He didn’t seem like the type to drink until blackout. After everything he’d been through with drugs and losing himself, he’d probably had enough unconsciousness for a lifetime.

“Alright, guys, I’m calling it,” you stood up slowly, stretching a little.

Your sleep shorts, maybe a bit too short, and your white tank top with tiny black bows shifted with your movement. Your announcement was met with various groans and sad noises of protest.

You just shrugged. “After the huge cleaning session that I did, I’m seriously exhausted.” They snickered, clearly still not taking your ‘I cleaned’ claim seriously, but at least they wished you goodnight.

As you made your way toward your room, you suddenly heard another wave of “Good night!”And then, fast footsteps behind you. You glanced to your side. Of course it was Bob.

He walked beside you with that soft, crooked smile of his. You smiled back, a little more timidly, then looked ahead again.

“You cleaned really well,” he said quietly, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

Your cheeks flushed immediately, dimples appearing as your lips curled up.

“Thanks, Bob,” you murmured, eyes still forward.

When you reached his room, he paused, and you turned to him. A warm, soft hug, following with a gentle exchange of “Goodnight.”

And even though a spark passed between you, you both turned away and walked to your bedrooms. The moment you closed yours behind you, you leaned against it and slowly slid down to the floor with a long, exhausted sigh.

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol, or the damn diary, or both, but something had shifted. You looked at Bob differently now. And you had no one to blame but yourself.

Eventually, you climbed into bed, collapsing face-first into the pillow, then slowly turning onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Thoughts swirled. The only sound in your room was your steady, rhythmic breathing. And your head wouldn't stop. You couldn’t sleep. How could you?

Every time you closed your eyes, your mind fed you vivid, raw images of Bob. Naked, on top of you, fucking you hard while whispering your name through tearful gasps. And suddenly you understood him.

You understood the restlessness. The sleepless nights. The torment of craving something so badly, your body and soul felt like they might burst without them. You understood Bob now, too well.

You were pulled out of your unholy thoughts by a soft knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you called out, lifting yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view of the door.

It slowly creaked open, and there he was. Bob. For a second, your heart skipped a beat. Could he see what you’d been thinking? Had your sinful imagination summoned him?

“Hey, did I wake you up?”

His voice was soft, cautious, filled with genuine concern that instantly warmed your heart. You smiled, shaking your head.

“What do you need?” you asked gently.

Bob took a deep breath, his fingers nervously toying with each other.

“I need help in my room,” he said, giving you those damn puppy-dog eyes. Of course, you helped him without a second thought.

A few minutes later, you stood in his room, holding your phone flashlight above his desk like some loyal assistant, while he was crouched underneath it, fiddling with a bunch of tangled cables.

Apparently, he was trying to organize them, make everything look ‘neater and more aesthetic.’ And not even the overhead light was helping him see anything properly. So now, you were his lamp.

It was quiet. Neither of you spoke. Only the occasional sighs from Bob and the subtle clicks of tape or plastic filled the room.

“I cleaned the rooms too,” you finally said, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah? That’s sweet of you,” Bob answered, clearly focused on the mess below. His voice was casual, distracted.

“But yours was already clean,” you chuckled softly. “Didn’t really have anything to do in here.”

He smiled to himself but didn’t say anything. You were just about to ask something when Bob suddenly beat you to it.

“Did you find anything interesting?” he asked, his voice light, but just barely. There was something beneath the surface. Your lips curled into a mischievous grin. He had no idea what he’d just walked into.

“Hmm… not really. Just a diary.”

The rustling sounds stopped. Complete silence. You could almost feel the panic fill the room like thick smoke.

“W-what diary?” Bob’s voice cracked slightly.

You could hear it. The tension, the way his throat tightened as he said it. Slowly, he emerged from under the desk. His eyes were wide, his breathing shallow. His shoulders were tense, lips slightly parted. His usual calm was gone — completely replaced with visible stress and terror.

“The one under the pillow,” you said casually with a grin on your face. You watched as his fingers twitched slightly at his sides, as if unsure whether to defend himself or just curl into fists. His whole body language screamed one thing: he felt exposed.

“A-and did you… read it?”

His voice trembled with anticipation. You could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. His gaze locked onto yours, desperate and anxious, like someone waiting for a death sentence.

You shook your head innocently. “Nooo…”

Bob exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging with relief. “Okay…”

“…Just the part where you want me to suck your dick.”

THUD

Bob smacked his head against the underside of the desk so hard you winced for him. He scrambled out from under it in pure panic, his face turning several shades of red at once. ´art embarrassment, part shock.

Honestly you would’ve never said it. Would’ve never admitted it. But you’d had just enough alcohol tonight to stop caring, and it felt damn good.

Bob froze like a statue. His fingers stopped moving, his breathing stalled mid-breath, and his back tensed as if someone had just aimed a gun at him.

His eyes searched yours, but not for understanding, he was looking for mercy. His chest rose and fell rapidly, trying to keep his composure, but you could see right through him.

The way his lips parted in horror, the faint shimmer of sweat on his brow, the frantic micro-movements of his hands, it all betrayed him.

“God… I…” He raked his hand through his messy brown hair, visibly unraveling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, hoarse. “I didn’t mean for you to see that. It was never meant for you to — God, that’s so inappropriate. I swear, I wasn’t thinking straight. I was drunk when I wrote that—”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossed, and tilted your head slightly.

“Drunk, huh?” you echoed, almost teasingly.

He nodded, eager. Desperate. “Yeah. I mean, not a lot, but I wasn’t sober. I was feeling… messed up. It doesn’t mean anything, I just — I wrote it in the moment.”

You squinted a little, then smirked, your voice quiet but sharp. “For someone who was drunk, you wrote surprisingly coherently.”

That hit him like a second slap to the face. He blinked, his mouth opening but no words coming out. He knew you had him.

You watched the guilt play across his face, flickering like candlelight. Bob exhaled shakily, then finally stood up. Almost ceremoniously. He was back on his feet now, but somehow still looked small.

“I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I never wanted to disrespect you or offend you in any way. I wasn’t trying to be gross or… or make you uncomfortable.”

His voice cracked on that last sentence. He meant it, you could hear it. Every damn word was sincere.

You let out a quiet laugh, just a breath through your nose, and looked off to the side. Then, softly, you whisper: “You didn’t offend me… quite the opposite, actually.”

Bob’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

You glanced at him, only for a second, your cheeks warming, eyes betraying that you hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Nothing! I just meant — it’s late, and we should both probably get some sleep,” you stammered, your voice suddenly high and tight as your eyes darted away from his.

Just like that, the tables had turned. You were the nervous one now. Bob didn’t say anything right away, but his eyes never left your face.

He took a slow step forward. You took another step back, and he followed. Each of his movements was slow, deliberate. As if he was giving you time to stop him. But you didn’t want to.

You were hyper-aware of every breath, every beat of your heart slamming in your chest like a drum. The thin fabric of your pajama top clung a little tighter now with each inhale, and you knew he could see it.

“Your heart’s racing,” Bob whispered again, as if he couldn’t help but marvel at it.

His voice — quiet, almost reverent — slid down your spine like a warm current. And still, you stepped back. Step after step, until your shoulder blades hit the cold wall behind you. He stopped. For a second, he just looked at you. Not your face. Not your body. But you, and he felt it.

The way your stomach fluttered and tightened at once, like you were falling from a great height. The heat between your legs, steady and low, pulsing with every inch he closed in. The way your nipples had hardened beneath your top, brushing slightly against it as you breathed.

“You’re breathing faster,” he said. Soft, observant, like he was taking you in, cataloguing your reactions, and treasuring them one by one.

You should’ve felt exposed. But instead, you felt seen.

“Bob…” you whispered, unsure what you were even trying to say.

He didn’t touch you. Not even now, but his chest was inches from yours. His hands stayed at his sides, clenched tightly like he was holding himself back with every ounce of strength he had.

“Have you ever thought about it?” His voice dipped lower, as your eyes widened. He tilted his head, his lips barely parted.

“…what I wrote.”

Your body responded before your mind could catch up. A tremor ran through you. Your thighs clenched. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The image of his words flashed in your head like a match striking in the dark.

The things he wanted to do to you. The way he wanted to do them. Not rough and greedy — but with emotion, with desperation, with need. Crying your name while buried inside you, broken and whole at once.

You said nothing, but your eyes did, and he saw it. Bob leaned in closer, just a fraction. Still not touching.

You could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the tension vibrating off of him like a storm waiting to break. His breath mixed with yours, shallow and heated. Your own breath hitched when he looked down at your mouth. Your lips parted just slightly, just enough.

He clenched his jaw and pulled back the tiniest bit. His hands twitched at his sides, like they ached to touch you.

“Jesus…” he whispered, barely audible. His restraint made it worse. His lack of touch made you need it more. There was so much space and yet none at all.

Everything was amplified. The thudding in your ears. The throb between your legs. The slick heat growing, pooling inside your core, begging for friction.

You bit your lower lip to ground yourself, but his eyes followed that movement like prey, and you saw his pupils dilate. He was as undone as you were. But he still didn’t move.

“Why won’t you touch me?” you finally breathed.

Bob’s eyes met yours again. Dark and intense.

“I’m scared if I start… I won’t stop.”

“And who said I want you to stop?”

Your voice was a whisper, but the weight of your words hit like a storm.

You were skating on thin ice, and you knew it. But with the heat roaring in your chest, you didn’t care if the ice cracked beneath you. Maybe it already had. And maybe that was exactly what you wanted.

It was the alcohol talking. Or maybe it wasn’t. Either way, you were grateful for the liquid courage, because now you were exactly where you’d wanted to be for far too long.

The second your words slipped out, something in Bob snapped. Whatever thread of patience or restraint he’d been clinging to, it broke.

With zero hesitation, Bob surged forward, his hands flying up to cradle your cheeks. His grip was firm but reverent, like you were something precious and fragile, but he was desperate to have you. And then his lips crashed into yours.

It was hungry, starving, like he’d been holding back for months, and now that he had you, he couldn’t afford to waste a single second.

You insantly melted into him. His kiss devoured you, and you welcomed it. You didn’t need to read a single word from his diary to know that Bob had been aching for this for so long. It poured out of him with every desperate press of his mouth, every tiny, trembling gasp against your lips.

His fingers twitched, shaking just slightly as they cupped your jaw, as if he was at war with himself, wanting to touch you everywhere, but forcing his hands to stay put. Like he was scared he’d lose himself if he did more. Like you might vanish if he didn’t hold you just right.

Your lips parted wider, granting him more access, and Bob groaned into your mouth. A sound that made your knees weak and your pulse pound in your throat. Every time you moaned, he swallowed it greedily, muffling your sounds with another kiss, deeper than the last.

Your entire body was on fire. Your core throbbed with every second that passed��� hot, pulsing, soaked with need. Your sleeping shorts clung to your folds, embarrassingly wet, and still it wasn’t enough.

You needed more.

Bob still hadn’t moved his hands from your face. But you had no such self-control. You grabbed him at the waist, fingers digging harshly into his hips as if trying to anchor yourself, and then, unable to stop yourself, you slid your hands beneath his shirt.

Your fingertips met hot skin. Taut muscle. Bob shuddered, his breath hitching, his body jerking like he’d been shocked.

“F-fuck,” he groaned into your mouth, his voice ragged. That noise alone made your thighs clench and your knees threaten to give out.

Your arousal spilled, warm and wet, sliding down your inner thigh. You didn’t even care how pathetically soaked you were. Not when it was because of him. You wanted to be ruined for him.

Each kiss made the air between you thicker. Hotter. Every pant, every moan, every whispered curse fueled the fire between you. He still hadn’t touched anywhere else, and yet you were so soaked.

You could feel the warmth of Bob’s skin beneath your fingertips. He twitched beneath your touch, every little movement from you making his breath come faster, harsher. You felt his restraint. His body was screaming to act, but his mind was still fighting to hold back.

But you weren’t nearly as patient. Your hands roamed greedily across his torso, your fingers mapping the taut lines of his abs through the thin fabric of his shirt. But that wasn’t enough. You had to see him.

Without hesitation, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and began tugging it upward. Bob didn’t resist. In fact, he helped.

He broke the kiss, his lips pulling away just enough to yank the fabric up over his head in one smooth, almost desperate motion. And suddenly he was there. Bare. Glorious. Godlike.

You froze. Your eyes widened, your breath caught in your throat, and your lips parted instinctively as your gaze drank him in.

He was sculpted like a marble statue brought to life. His chest, his abs, the sharp lines of his V-cut all glistening faintly under the low light.

Bob noticed your stunned expression. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Your wide eyes and parted mouth told him everything.

You reached out. Your palm met his chest, fingers splaying, gliding slowly over the warm, hard muscle, and you gasped softly. Your breath hitched again, your knees quivering slightly at just how solid he felt.

Bob watched you like you were worshipping him. Like he couldn’t believe you were touching him, and still wanted more. Then suddenly, he moved.

He stepped back in, closing the tiny distance between you, and crashed his lips to yours again, this time with even more hunger.

You moaned into him, your arms flying around his waist and pulling him against you. Your bodies collided. Pressed together. You could feel everything.

Your hardened nipples brushed against his chest, sending shivers up your spine. And lower you felt him.

His cock, hard and growing, rubbed gently but unmistakably against your inner thigh, and you whimpered into the kiss, your hips twitching toward him instinctively.

Even though Bob’s body was clearly begging for release, his touch remained careful, respectful. He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring you like you were something sacred.

But you were losing it. You wanted him. Your desperate kisses, the way you clung to him, the quiet whimpers against his lips, every signal you gave told him he didn’t need to hold back anymore. And he got the message.

His hand slid away from your cheek, trailing a trembling path down your neck, across your collarbone, slowly between the valley of your breasts, then lower, along your bare stomach until he reached the hem of your top.

He stopped there. His voice, rough and breathless, curled in your ear. “Can I?”

You nodded eagerly. Your hands raised above your head, giving him full access. Bob didn’t rush. He took his time, watching you, studying the way you reacted to every inch of skin he uncovered as he lifted your top inch by inch.

And when the fabric passed over your head and off your arms, leaving you completely exposed, Bob froze.

He stared so hard you could feel the weight of his gaze like hands all over your body. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes flicked from your face, to your chest, then back again, and you could see them darken.

You could see his fingers flex and twitch at his sides like he was fighting himself again. Fighting not to grab you and devour you whole. You decided to break the tension.

“You can touch me,” you whispered, your voice soft but confident. Bob’s eyes snapped to yours, wide and hopeful, and then dropped back to your bare chest.

He stepped closer, and gently cupped your breasts in both hands. His touch was so soft, it made you ache. You barely felt the pressure — just the warmth of his palms and the subtle trembling of his fingers.

He wasn’t groping. He was revering. He ran a thumb across the top of your breast, then, hesitantly, dragged it over your nipple.

You gasped, loud and sudden. Your knees almost buckled. It was too much, and not enough, all at once.

Bob noticed your reaction instantly. A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes remained intense, locked on your body. He did it again. And again. Then he focused solely on your nipples. Gently brushing, teasing, circling, testing.

His thumbs moved with incredible delicacy, exploring the hypersensitive peaks until your back arched and your head lolled against the wall behind you.

You were trembling, and Bob was still just touching your breasts.

The way his hands worshipped your body, the look in his eyes, the careful way he pushed boundaries, it wasn’t just lust. It was need.

Need tangled up in admiration, in awe, in something deeper than either of you dared say out loud just yet.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

The pulsing between your thighs had become unbearable. Each throb more desperate, more consuming than the last. Your whole body was screaming for release, trembling under the weight of restrained need. You had to do something, anything, before you lost your mind.

So you grabbed Bob by the neck and crashed your lips against his, breathless and ravenous.

There was nothing graceful about the kiss. It was messy, uncoordinated, soaked in lust — all sloppy lips and hungry gasps. You devoured each other like you’d been starving, like you’d waited years for just a taste.

Bob groaned into your mouth, deep and throaty, the sound vibrating against your tongue and making your stomach twist in anticipation. Your sighs turned to sweet, trembling moans, soft declarations of everything you couldn’t put into words.

Your hands, shaky and impatient, wandered down his warm chest, over the hard lines of his abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his sweatpants. But before you could go further, Bob beat you.

His hands, warm and firm, suddenly moved from your chest and found their way to your shorts. Even if he had already undressed you in his mind a hundred times, he still stopped and looked at you. His eyes searched yours, asking without words. You nodded, breathless, eager yes.

Bob exhaled in something like relief, and with a single smooth motion, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your shorts and pulled them down. They slid past your hips, fell around your ankles, and suddenly you were standing there, completely bare. No fabric, no barrier, no hiding, just you.

He stepped back, and for a moment, the air stood still.

Bob’s gaze traveled the full length of your body, like he was trying to memorize you forever. You felt your cheeks flush, a shy warmth blooming in your chest. But then you saw his expression, his parted lips, his softened eyes, his entire face lit up with awe, and suddenly your insecurities melted.

“You’ve got the body of a goddess,” he whispered, stepping close again, his voice low and full of reverence.

You bit your lip, heat rising in your chest, and tried to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. His compliment wrapped around you like silk, making you shiver. When he reached for your face, tilting your chin gently so your eyes met his, your heart just about burst.

“You’re like my muse… if only I could paint,” he murmured, brushing the softest kiss over your lips — feather-light, almost imaginary. And then he sank to his knees.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “W-what are you doing?” you asked, voice shaky, your legs suddenly unsure under you.

His hands slowly trailed up your legs, brushing along your thighs as if he was mapping out constellations in your skin. “I want to taste you,” he said softly, his voice hoarse and laced with hunger. He looked up at you with those dark, adoring eyes that practically begged to worship you.

Before you could say anything, he buried his face into you. Your head tilted back with a sharp gasp, one hand flying straight into his curls, gripping instinctively. Your other hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the involuntary cry that escaped your throat.

His lips found your labia, and your spine arched back against the wall with a trembling whimper. His tongue moved gently at first — soft strokes, testing reactions. He was discovering you one heartbeat at a time, tasting the way your body responded to him.

Every flick of his tongue sent sparks shooting up your spine, every low murmur against your skin made your knees quiver. He groaned softly, clearly savoring every second of it, and the vibration of his voice against you made your breath stutter.

You pulled at his hair instinctively, desperate to stay grounded, but it only encouraged him. His name almost spilled from your lips, caught between a gasp and a moan. Your whole body was on fire and still he didn’t stop. If anything, he became more confident, bolder in the way he worshipped you.

He was in awe of the way you tasted, of how responsive you were, of the way your body practically melted under his mouth. It was like he had dreamt of this for so long that now he refused to rush a single second.

You were barely able to hold yourself upright. Trembling, panting, your fingers tangled in his hair, your entire body pulsing with desire. Every time he looked up at you, you felt yourself coming undone just a little more.

A few more slow, teasing licks, and he found exactly what he was searching for.

The moment his tongue landed on your clit, your entire body jolted. A strangled moan slipped from you despite your hand clamped over your mouth, and your hips bucked toward him as if guided by pure instinct. Your fingers gripped his hair tighter, tugging with each wave of pleasure that rolled through you. That reaction told him everything, he was in the right spot.

Bob stayed there, circling you with his tongue, then flattening it against you with aching pressure, alternating between soft suckling and slow, deliberate flicks that made your vision blur. You could feel him moan against you, low and barely audible, but it vibrated straight through your core.

And yet, even as his own arousal grew harder to ignore, his precum already dampening the front of his sweatpants, a visible mark forming, he didn’t reach for himself. He didn’t chase his own release. His only focus was you. Making you fall apart. Watching you come undone.

“F-Fuck, Bob—” you gasped, your hand now tangled tightly in his curls as you bit your lip hard.

He looked up for a brief second, and what he saw nearly shattered him — your face, flushed and trembling, lips parted in pleasure, eyes half-lidded and desperate. You were beautiful.

Slowly, he lifted your legs and rested them gently on his shoulders, adjusting you carefully so you were supported and he could go deeper. He wanted you comfortable.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he pushed his tongue inside you. The way your body clenched around him, the way your breath hitched and your back arched, it was everything.

The way you pulsed against him, so hot, and needy, it drove him insane. You’d been craving this and now that he had you, he was going to worship every part of you, for as long as you’d let him.

His lips sealed around your clit again, and this time he sucked gently, pulling a raw, desperate moan from you. His tongue flicked over the sensitive bundle of nerves in a rhythm that felt impossibly good. You writhed above him, your body arching up into his mouth, hips moving on their own as if begging for more.

You were already close, embarrassingly close. Each touch of his tongue sent a jolt of heat straight through your stomach, winding tighter and tighter. Your thighs clenched around his head, but Bob didn’t stop. He wanted you like this. Falling apart. Losing control. For him.

God, he was so hard it hurt. His cock throbbed, twitching inside his sweatpants. Every breath he took was shaky, his body begging for friction. And yet, he didn’t touch himself. Not even once.

Every time you moaned his name, it sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through him, making his hips jerk against nothing. Still, he stayed focused. This was about you.

He was shaking, not just from arousal, but from the overwhelming need to please you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose yourself. To come undone under his mouth and know, without question, that he belonged to you.

Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair, pulling hard, and you choked on another whimper. “B-Bob, I— I can’t—” you gasped, your voice trembling as your thighs trembled too.

He moaned again at the sound, encouraging, desperate, hungry. His tongue moved faster now, circling your clit with dizzying pressure, then flattening again and again as your back arched off the wall. Your breaths were shallow and fast, your body trembling as you tried to hold on, but it was useless.

He could feel it. You were so close.

He brought one hand up, resting gently on your hip to keep you grounded as he continued devouring you like a man starved. His own hips rolled again involuntarily, chasing friction that never came. He was a mess and yet still entirely focused on you.

Your back was pressed against the wall, Bob’s mouth was pure fire between your legs. His strong hands gripped your thighs, keeping you open.

The pleasure crested like a wave building at the edge of something unstoppable. Your legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and your fingers clawed at the wall behind you, searching for something to hold onto, because he wasn’t letting up.

His tongue moved in soft but fast circles, his lips sucking gently, then greedily, as though he could drink your pleasure like a remedy for every ache he’d ever had.

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest rising in ragged gasps. Every inch of your skin burned with heat, and your belly tightened, coiling like a spring pulled impossibly taut. Then everything snapped.

Your orgasm hit like lightning. A desperate, broken cry left your lips, and your entire body convulsed. The muscles in your thighs clenched around his head, your hips bucked, and stars danced behind your eyes. Your toes curled. Your nails scraped helplessly against the wall. The pleasure rolled through you in long, drawn-out pulses, overwhelming and raw.

You weren’t sure if you were breathing or sobbing or laughing. Maybe all three.

Bob held you through it, grounding you with his steady grip, his mouth never once leaving you as your body rode out wave after wave. He moaned softly against you, his own body twitching, as if he could feel it too.

Yet, he still didn’t touch himself. His self-control was insane, agonizing, but he only cared about you.

When your body went limp in his arms, your breathing shallow and uneven, he looked up at you with blown pupils and flushed cheeks, lips glistening, hair tousled from where you’d tugged it.

“Hey… easy, okay?” he whispered, standing back on his feet. “You need some rest.”

But you were still drunk on pleasure, dazed, your body humming. You saw the wet spot on his sweatpants, and the huge twitching bulge, and you felt guilty, for not giving him what he gave you.

You reached for him, sliding your fingers down his torso and slowly tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. He didn’t stop you, not at first. But when you sank to your knees in front of him, your gaze hazy and full of intent, he gently grabbed your arms and pulled you back up.

“Whoa—okay, okay,” he said, lifting you effortlessly again. His voice was soft, but there was urgency in it. He looked at you like you were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever held. You blinked up at him, eyes glassy and wide, guilt and desire blending across your face.

“Please,” you whispered. “I wanna make you feel good…”

Your voice was needy and soft, still wrecked from your high. Bob stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight. Then he scoffed, almost bitterly, and shook his head.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“But I want to!” you protested, your words slurred just a little, but sincere. You cupped his face in your hands, trying to plead with him through touch. Your heart pounded, still not fully recovered, but all you could think of was him, how badly you wanted him to feel even half of what he just gave you.

But Bob just closed his eyes, jaw clenching harder, as if struggling not to give in.

“We’ll save that for another time, alright?” he murmured, resting his forehead gently against yours. His next words came low, almost a growl. “You have no idea how much I want to be inside you right now. And if you touch me like that again, I’ll lose it.”

You swallowed, your breath catching in your throat. His words hit like fire straight to your core.

But you nodded. You understood. Even in the haze of pleasure, you saw the discipline in his eyes, the way he forced himself to hold back, for you.

He gave you a moment, letting both of you breathe. Then, with incredible gentleness, he scooped you into his arms and carried you to the bed like you weighed nothing. He lay you down softly, like he was afraid you’d break.

“Are you ready?” he asked in a low whisper, peppering soft kisses over your cheek and temple, each one making you giggle a little, despite everything. You nodded slowly, eyes locked on him.

He watched you too — every breath, every flicker of emotion. You’d never seen him look at anything the way he looked at you right then. Like you were sacred. Like you were the answer to every dream he’d ever had. Not even the way he looked at his cereal in the morning could compare.

He adjusted his position above you, his large hand brushing between your legs again to feel how ready you still were. His other hand gently held your face as he leaned down, his voice a whisper just for you:

“If I need to stop, just tell me, okay?”

You nodded again, biting your lip, your hands fisting in the sheets as you felt the tip of his cock brush against your folds. Your whole body tensed with anticipation.

Bob eased forward carefully, his body hovering above yours as he gently began to push into you. Every inch felt impossibly big, stretching you in a way that burned and soothed all at once. The pressure was overwhelming. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively curled your fingers into the muscles of his back, grounding yourself against him.

Both of you exhaled in sync, a shared breath of tension, release, and disbelief.

For you it was the sharp, unfamiliar ache that came with being filled so completely. The sensation of being opened, inch by inch, by someone so gentle and yet so undeniably large.

And for him it was the sheer heat and tightness of you around him, pulsing, welcoming, gripping. It nearly undid him.

He was still pushing in, deeper than you thought was even possible. You whimpered, the stretch sharp, but your hips shifted instinctively, pushing up to meet him, desperate for the rest of him. “You’re so big—” you gasped, your back arching off the mattress as you tried to take more.

Bob froze for a second, stunned by your voice. Your praise hit him harder than you realized.

“A-am I?” he asked, his voice breathless, a soft laugh escaping through his disbelief. His cheeks were flushed, eyes locked on where your bodies were joined.

You nodded quickly, too overcome to speak, your hands splayed across his back as your body slowly adjusted. He was still stretching you out, your walls fluttering around him, trying to take him in.

“Almost there,” he murmured lowly, his voice like velvet and gravel at once. It vibrated against your skin, sending another involuntary shiver down your spine. His fingers gripped your hips as he pressed the final inch into you, his hips finally meeting yours, his length buried fully to the base.

You gasped, your eyes flying shut, as a wave of sensation washed over you, you’d never felt so full in your life. Bob let out a guttural exhale, the kind pulled from somewhere deep in his chest, as he stopped moving for a moment. He needed to.

He was throbbing. Visibly shaking. He had already been on edge for so long, and now, inside you? He couldn’t believe he was still holding on.

But even his stillness had you trembling. You could feel him pulsing inside you, every twitch making your breath catch, every little flex of his thighs sending subtle, electric aftershocks through your core.

Then, carefully, he began to move.

He didn’t pull out fully. Not at first. Just shallow thrusts, slow and deliberate, building friction and rhythm. The motion created just enough drag, enough pressure to make your toes curl. His hips rolled, his breath huffing near your ear, while your nails scraped lightly down his back.

It was intimate. Your bodies were so close it felt like you were melting into each other. Skin brushing, muscles flexing, quiet moans and wet sounds filling the room in perfect harmony.

And then you started to move. Your hips met his with more confidence, your body adjusting, urging him on. Telling him in the only way he needed to hear: I’m ready.

Bob’s eyes snapped open. He growled softly under his breath, unable to hold back anymore.

He drew back slowly, this time almost fully, leaving only the thick, swollen tip inside you before thrusting back in with a deep, wet sound that echoed in the room. You cried out, your body arching into him, every inch of you alight with sensation.

Bob’s pace shifted, hips moving with more urgency now. Still controlled, still careful, but with purpose. Each thrust was firm, dragging along your walls in all the right ways, hitting that spot that made your legs quake. His skin slapped against yours, a rhythm of flesh and want and helpless need, and the room filled with a symphony of wet, obscene sounds and breathy moans.

You couldn’t stop moaning his name.

He was everywhere, his weight, his heat, the way his arms caged you in as he rocked into you, his lips brushing your ear and jaw and throat in soft, fleeting kisses.

Every stroke made your nerves spark, building again, deeper this time. Your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to pull him in even closer, closer than skin allowed. And Bob, panting now, forehead pressed against yours, could barely keep himself together.

“I’m not gonna last—” he whispered, voice wrecked.

Bob’s thrusts deepened, his hips angling just slightly, searching for that perfect spot inside you. But when he heard that soft, desperate gasp from your lips, he knew he’d found it. And that changed everything.

He snapped his hips forward again, harder this time. And again. The bed creaked beneath you with each deep push, the headboard lightly thudding against the wall in a rhythm that matched your ragged breathing. Your legs were trembling, wrapped tightly around his waist, heels pressing into his lower back, urging him not to stop.

“Mhm, you feel—” Bob’s voice cracked, his head falling to the crook of your neck as his hips continued to pound into you, faster, yet still guided by a rhythm that made your toes curl. His breath was hot and erratic on your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone between soft groans.

The room felt smaller now, the air thick with heat and scent and need. Dim light from a bedside lamp threw flickers of amber and shadow across the sheets, catching the sheen of sweat on Bob’s back as his muscles flexed with each movement.

You couldn’t stop moaning. Your voice bounced off the walls. Soft whimpers, sharp gasps, whispered pleas that only made Bob’s grip tighten on your thighs.

He groaned into your skin, his hand sliding up to grip your hip as he drove into you again. “You’re perfect.”

You arched up to meet him, your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling slightly, and that made him groan louder. He was losing it. His control was thinning with every second. The way you clenched around him, the way your nails raked down his back, it all pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

Then, without warning, Bob shifted his weight slightly, propped up on one forearm, and slid his free hand between your bodies. His fingers found your clit with practiced instinct, and he began to circle it in slow, teasing strokes.

You screamed his name, not out of pain, not even from surprise, but from the sudden wave of unbearable pleasure that rocked through you. Your thighs clenched around his hips, your body arching up into his touch.

“B-Bob— I— please, I can’t—!”

“Yes, you can,” he rasped, barely holding on.

His fingers worked faster, keeping perfect rhythm with the powerful thrusts of his hips. You could feel him everywhere — filling you, pressing against every sensitive spot, driving into you so hard and deep you could barely think. You were unraveling.

The pressure built like a storm inside you. Every nerve in your body was stretched tight, every muscle coiled. His name spilled from your lips in broken syllables. You clawed at his back, your legs trembling violently, your whole body on the brink. And then you shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a wave crashing over a cliff. Your entire body locked around him, trembling, pulsing, milking him as you screamed into the crook of his neck. Stars exploded behind your eyelids. You were gone, drowning in heat and light.

Bob groaned — a low, guttural sound that rumbled from his chest to your bones. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

Feeling you contract around him, the way your whole body gripped him so tightly, it pushed him over the edge.

He slammed into you one last time, deep and hard, and let go with a strangled moan, burying his face in your neck as his orgasm ripped through him. His hips bucked against yours, erratic and desperate, his entire body shuddering as he spilled into you, every throb of release met by another wave from your still-echoing climax.

He whispered your name, over and over, like a prayer. His breath hot and uneven against your skin, hands still trembling as they held you close, grounding himself through the aftershocks.

The world faded into silence except for your uneven breaths and the quiet, sticky slide of your bodies pressed together.

Bob didn’t pull away right away. He stayed inside you, arms wrapped tight around your body, lips pressed to your shoulder.

“I’ve wanted that for so long,” he finally whispered, voice hoarse and full of wonder. All you could do was nod, your hands buried in his hair, still catching your breath.

For a while, neither of you said a word.

The only sound in the room was your breathing. Both of you still catching your breath, lungs rising and falling rapidly in sync, chests slick with sweat, pulses slowly settling.

Eventually, he pulled out of you with deliberate care, as though even the smallest movement might disrupt the perfect silence between you.

A soft, wet sound followed, and you shivered slightly at the absence. Bob let out a low groan as he collapsed beside you, one hand flopping limply across his stomach, the other resting near your

You turned to face him, your body aching in the most satisfying way. Then you nestled your head on his chest, right over his steadily beating heart. It felt warm and safe, grounding you as if you’d always belonged there. His arm instinctively moved to hold you closer, fingers brushing through your damp hair.

You could feel his heartbeat thudding under your cheek, the way his breath caught now and then like even he couldn’t fully believe what had just happened.

And somewhere in that soft, quiet moment, you realized that you felt more for him than you thought. More than you were ready to admit out loud.

This wasn’t just sex or fantasy come to life. This was Bob. The man who made you laugh when you didn’t want to, and now held you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded to the earth.

You blinked up at him through the dim light, voice barely above a whisper. “Was it… better than you imagined?”

Bob huffed out a breath and let out a soft, sarcastic laugh. “Was it better?” he repeated, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Yeah. You could say that.”

You giggled softly against his chest, but then he added, mock-serious: “But for the record — stay the hell outta my diary. I need to find a better hiding spot now.”

That made you both laugh.

“I will find it,” you teased, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, a wicked little smirk on your lips. “You forget who you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I remember,” he muttered, smirking back. “You’re the girl who breaks into people’s privacy and weaponizes their deepest thoughts.”

You gasped in mock offense and pushed yourself up slightly on your elbow so you could look at him properly. Your hair was a mess, your cheeks still flushed, but your eyes were shining.

“I do not break into people’s privacy! I just—accidentally found it. It’s not my fault you hide personal stuff in the most obvious places.”

“Oh really?” he grinned, tugging you back down into his chest and you snuggle closer with a smile. Bob’s fingers threaded slowly through your hair, his other hand lazily tracing patterns along your bare back.

His voice came quieter this time.

“But if you hadn’t found it…” he murmured, “If you hadn’t read it… this never would’ve happened.”

He was still staring up at the ceiling, like the thought truly stunned him. Then he turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours.

“So… I’m glad you did.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Instead, you just nuzzled deeper into the warmth of his chest, letting your hand rest over his heart. You closed your eyes, breathed him in, and smiled softly to yourself.

A small hum of agreement slipped from your lips, full of something deeper than just afterglow. Something like peace

And slowly, with the steady rhythm of his breathing under you and his arms wrapped tightly around you, you drifted off to sleep. Completely his.

The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting warm, golden light across the messy sheets. You were curled against Bob’s side, both of you still completely naked under the tangled covers, your legs intertwined, your head resting peacefully on his shoulder.

Everything smelled like sleep and sex. Bob’s fingers were lazily stroking up and down your spine as you both lay in that sweet, quiet space between dreaming and waking. No words yet, just the comfort of shared warmth and the slow return to reality.

Then a knock.

Bob’s eyes snapped open at the exact same time yours did.

“Bob?” came a voice from the other side of the door. It was Yelena. “Can I come in?”

Your entire body tensed, adrenaline instantly flooding your veins.

“Shit—shitshitshit,” you whispered, already half-leaping out of bed. Your heart thundered in your chest as you scrambled to gather your clothes from the floor — your shorts and top, half-tangled in the sheets.

Bob sat up with wide, panicked eyes, already reaching for his own clothes.

“Wait, just a second!” he called out, voice cracking with forced calm.

You quickly scooped up his sweatpants and t-shirt from the floor and threw them at him. Then you dove under the bed. The floor was cool against your bare skin, dust brushing against your knees and arms as you squeezed yourself into the narrow space, holding your breath.

You watched through the gap between the mattress and the bed frame as Bob pulled his t-shirt over his head and jumped into his sweatpants. He shuffled to the door, opening it with a soft click.

Yelena stepped in casually, dressed in sweats and a tank top, her hair pulled up in a bun.

“Hey,” she said. “Have you seen her?”

Bob scratched the back of his neck. “Who?”

She gave him a flat look. “Her. The girl who’s always around you lately.”

He blinked, keeping his face neutral. “Nope. Haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

Under the bed, you were trying not to breathe too loudly, your hand clamped over your mouth, heartbeat roaring in your ears.

Yelena didn’t say anything for a second. She just looked around the room slowly. Her gaze moved over the unmade bed, the rumpled sheets, the warm glow of morning light. Then she sniffed the air. Bob stiffened immediately.

“…Why does it smell like women’s perfume in here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Bob froze for half a second. His voice came out too quickly. “Oh—uh—yeah, she came by last night. Helped me with something.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “She left after, though.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

There was a long pause. Then, thankfully, she just sighed and turned toward the door. “Okay. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her. She borrowed my book and never gave it back.”

Bob nodded. “Got it.”

As soon as the door shut behind her, he locked it, turned back to the bed, and immediately burst into quiet laughter.

You crawled out from under the frame, hair wild, skin covered in tiny dust specks. You were laughing too, mostly from relief, partly from the absurdity of it all.

“That,” you gasped, “was way too close.”

Bob flopped down beside you on the bed, still chuckling, wiping at his eyes. “I thought she was going to smell you and shoot me on the spot.”

“Same,” you grinned, flopping next to him.

He pulled you into his arms, your messy limbs tangling together again, this time with laughter still shaking your chests. You let your head fall against his collarbone, and he kissed the top of your head, still smiling.

Your breaths syncing, your fingers tracing little circles into the soft fabric of his shirt as the adrenaline faded.

“Y’know…” Bob murmured, “That might’ve been the most exciting morning of my life.”

You looked up at him with a lazy smile. “Better than cereal?”

He smirked. “Debatable.”

You giggled and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, still curled into him like you belonged nowhere else. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

HAVE A LOVELY DAY!

BYEEE🍀🐛👒

[lissdain]

bob is such a clinger and i know it in my heart of hearts.

he clings onto you like you're gonna disappear in .2 seconds which is probably just a genuine worry that he has. he's been abused, a former addict, has sudden godlike superpowers, and a physical, dark representation of every bad thought he has ever had so once he has something that's stable, and i mean truly stable, he is so afraid to let it go. so he tends to tag along whenever you go somewhere if he can, he's physical with you in a way where he's behind you and has a hand on the small of your back, he checks in on you often either verbally or with a text. and he doesn't mean to cling so much and he tries to really limit it because before the whole superpowered thing i know damn well he's had, at the very least, a small handful of relationships in the past and he's been at the receiving end of someone who had been far too clingy but with all things considered and everything that has happened to him in a really short amount of time he needs the reassurance that you're not going anywhere any time soon.

[lissdain]

bob kisses like an eighties movie where it’s all touch and sighs and the crashing of lips.

he has a hand spanning across your cheek and his other hand on your neck sometimes going from there to your waist, just to have something to squeeze. he likes to rub circles into the junction where your neck connects to your jaw just absentmindedly. it’s like he’s trying to keep you in place not in a necessarily possessive way but rather in a way where he’s trying to have you stay with him for as long as he can/as you can.

he tends to give you swift pecks on the lips multiple times before really going in to properly kiss you. they’re fast and come from different angles and everytime it feels like he can’t really believe he’s there with you because he gives you this dazed little starstruck look when he pulls away for a split second before going back in again. sometimes you swear you can see a flash of gold before he closes his eyes.

and when he does properly kiss you, it’s a little sloppy where it feels like he’s trying to make the two of you become one even though it’s more than impossible. he licks into your mouth and runs his tongue along your teeth like he’s searching for a way to absorb you somehow. and he gives a little hum in the back of his throat at the taste of you: your toothpaste, if you ate something sweet, the flavor of chapstick you’re wearing. he likes to savor every feeling he’s getting in the moment like the push of your tongue, the hands resting against his chest, the plush of your lips against his as if he’s trying to commit it all to memory for when he ever needs it.

he always parts, again, with that little dazed look. his cheeks are tinged with a light pink and the same goes for his lips. sometimes a small string of spit still connects the two of you and all he can do is give a breathy laugh and wipe it away before leaning to bury his face into the crook of your neck and just breathing in.

[lissdain]

[lissdain]

mothman x afab!reader - slight dub-con, monster in heat, oviposition, impregnation, belly inflation, lots of cum, intoxication (getting high on his pheromones, kinda)

You've never heard those wailing noises before. You've been living in a cottage in the midst of the woods for a few years now, and while you're used to hearing all kinds of animal sounds, you've never been scared by such high-pitched keening coming from the dense trees that surround your house.

You didn't know what to expect when you decided to follow the sound. Fortunately, it was daytime and you were familiar with the area, so your sole fear was coming across a truly horrific sight.

All your worries vanished as soon as you found out the source of the noise. A towering, imposing creature clothed in fur stood beside a tree, or rather hunched over its trunk. There was nobody else. Only one of the mothfolk you'd heard so much about but had never encountered before. The antennae were furiously shaking, producing that high-pitched sound that had terrified you from a distance but now filled you with something akin to pity. The massive wings, a triumph of red, white, and blue that sparkled in the sunshine pouring through the foliage, twitched and heaved as if the creature's breathing was laboured.

“A-Are you alright...?” you asked hesitantly, your eyes wide in awe and locked onto the trembling figure.

The moth was startled by your voice, turning around to set their huge red eyes on you. You couldn’t help but notice how incredibly beautiful they were. The colors, the long dark hair, the big eyes, the imposing stature... everything about the creature both amazed and astonished you. 

“I... I'm fine,” they managed to say, their voice coming out rough and trembling. “I just... I don't want to hurt you, so please go away.”

Your brow furrowed at his words. 'Hurt'? Why would they hurt you? The mothfolk was among the most peaceful creatures of the forest, or so you’ve always heard. Perhaps they could be dangerous to strangers, attack out of fear or to defend themselves… but this one moth didn’t seem to be scared of you. You watched, puzzled, as their clawed hand reached for the bark of the tree and clung onto it as if to ease his tremors. 

“You look like you’re in pain…”, you said as you warily made one step forward, your worried and curious gaze still locked onto their shaking figure. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

A low groan escaped their lips, their voice came out strained and pained as they warned you again. “Please, stay back!” They squeezed their eyes shut for a moment, as if fighting against themselves upon what, you didn’t know. When the eyes opened again, they were glazed with a mix of desperation and shame.

“I... I'm in heat. My body craves... it needs…”, they trailed off just as their gaze raked over your figure before abruptly averting, unable to bring themselves to confess exactly what their body yearned for. “Just stay away.” 

They shifted uncomfortably, turning to support themselves against the trunk and only then did you notice the huge erection poking out from the thick fur covering their hips.

You swallowed and instinctively stepped back, your eyes wide with shock. You understood now why the mothman was so hell-bent on keeping you at distance, why he said he didn’t want to hurt you…

“Oh-! I'm sorry-! I didn't realize-!”

You had no idea what was going on inside of him. A shudder surged through his entire frame as he witnessed your reaction. He knew he must have looked monstrous to you: a freakish creature overcome by heat and driven by primal, animalistic instincts. Humans do not go through it, they cannot understand. The humiliation that gnawed at his insides became stronger, mingling with the furious desire pumping through his veins.

“It's okay,” he forced himself to say, even though nothing about this situation felt remotely close to being okay. “Please, just go... get somewhere safer.” But even as those words left his mouth, his legs trembled with the effort of holding himself back. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to lunge forward, to pin you down - the sole creature that had dared to approach him since this torture began - and claim you as his mate. To pump you full of his seed until you swelled with his offspring.

You should have done that. You should have listened to him and ran away as far as you could... Your instincts were screaming at you to go, urging you to leave but for some reason you didn't. He looked and sounded so desperate and vulnerable... You found yourself pitying him even more than before. You truly were out of your mind to even consider the notion of helping him… Except, he could have easily assaulted you from the minute he spotted you, and yet he didn't; instead, he made every attempt to push you away. That proved to you that he was kind. And a kind creature always deserves to be helped.

“What if I touch you?” you asked him, trying to keep your voice and heartbeat steady and the images of you being fucked sensless by a mothman out of your mind. “Would that be enough?”

“You... you truly wish to help me?” His voice was barely above a whisper yet thick with emotion. “Even though I am... this?” He gestured to his imposing form, to the rigid length of his arousal straining against his fur, as if to persuade you to see reason but you were already advancing. His eyes somehow appeared even larger as he watched you cautiously stepping towards him, until you were only a few feet away from him. From so up close you could see how distraught he truly was; his dishelved hair, his sweaty skin, his ruffled fur. Your heart ached for him. 

“I-It might be enough-,” he admitted with evident hesitation mingled with urgency, swallowing sharply as he called upon all his might to hold back from jumping you. You were so close, he could sense your sweet, tantalizing scent. “Feeling the warmth of your hands could be enough to ease the ache...”

The air seemed to vibrate with tension as you approached his fur with you hand. His breath quickened, his whole body tensing in anticipation. For a moment, he considered pulling away, hiding himself somewhere and suffer through the pain for the next days - but the ache in his loins was becoming unbearable. He wasn’t sure he could resist it any longer.

Slowly, almost reverently, he extended a clawed hand towards yours, guiding your fingers to the base of his throbbing erection. Even that light contact sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, and he bit back a groan.

“Here…”, his voice cracked with desperation. “Please, will you stroke it for me?”

Your eyes flickered down to watch as the long, dark red proboscis-phallus, stricken with bluish veins, throbbed under the feather-like touch of your fingertips. You felt your skin tingle at the touch, his skin somehow warm and cool at the same time, moist and slippery. 

Your eyes met his again as you started to stroke his cock, avoiding the swollen purplish tip. 

“Like this?”

A low, guttural moan escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered shut while he savoured the sensation of your hand moving along his aching length. "Yes, like that," he breathed, his hips subtly rocking into your touch. "More... please."

His cry boosted your confidence in your strokes, delivering even more waves of comfort and pleasure through his pained body. He opened his eyes to meet yours once again. There was a tenderness in your gaze that touched his soul, and he found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

"Don't stop," he urged, his voice strained with need. "I'm so close… I’ve been on edge for days…"

You simply nodded in acceptance, feeling as if you would do anything he asked of you at that moment. It felt as if you were losing yourself in his big, mesmerizing eyes, in those glowing pools of crimson as vast and limitless as the universe. You were in awe at the sight of such a magnificent creature… at his raw response to your touch. You felt both powerful and utterly subservient.

When your palm touched his swollen tip and tenderly squeezed, the mothman felt the dam break within him. With a strangled cry, his body convulsed, his cock jerked sharply, and a torrent of eggs erupted from it, flooding your hand and wrist with his warm, slimy discharge.

"Oh Light, I'm sorry!" he gasped, horror and ecstasy warring in his expression as he watched his seed overflow onto your hand. "Too much, I couldn't control it..." Despite his words, he made no move to pull away or stop your ministrations. Instead, he leaned into your touch, his hips still thrusting weakly as the last of his eggs emptied into your waiting hand.

Your jaw dropped in shock as you felt the myriads of tiny slimy eggs surge onto your palm. You instinctively reached out with your other hand to collect them, but you couldn't avoid the sticky goo from staining your clothes and dropping onto the ground. You were panicked, unsure what to do, his apologies barely reaching your ears.

Your dismay deepened when you realized his erection hadn't softened; in fact, it appeared to be growing even harder than before. It turns out that simply touching him wasn't enough to quench his heat after all.

The creature watched in fascination as you scrambled to capture the stream of eggs pouring from his cock, your hands working feverishly to contain the slimy mess. Despite the chaos, a small part of him was thrilled at the sight; it was as if you were trying to protect his precious offspring. His lust-clouded mind could only picture how good of a nurturer you could be for his larvae…

"I-I can't help it," he choked out, fresh tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I need to be inside you..."

Reaching out with trembling hands, he grasped your waist, pulling you closer until your soft curves pressed against the hard planes of his body. His rigid cock nudged insistently at your stomach, leaking trails of slick fluid across your clothing.

"Please," he begged brokenly, "let me put them inside you where it's safe... I promise I won't hurt you."

You were so shocked, so speechless that you barely reacted. You were still keeping your hands cupped, stuck in your instinctive yet pathetic intent to save the eggs, when he laid you down on the grass. The slimy mess inevitably dropped all over you, even on your face. A sweet taste similar to nothing you had ever tasted before met your lips, causing your head to spin, your vision to blur and your body to heat up all at once.

"W-what-?" you gasped, your slime-tainted palms grasping blindly for him. The mothman took your eagerness to touch him for consent, and so he pinned you to the ground, dwarfing you with his larger form, and then sought out your mouth, capturing your lips in a desperate, sloppy kiss. His long tongue plundered the warm cavern, savoring the sweet taste of his own sperm mingled with your unique flavor.

Murmuring wordlessly, he ground his pelvis against yours, the tip of his throbbing cock sliding along the crease of your hip. The friction sent jolts of pleasure-pain shooting through his loins, fueling his frenzy. Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he peppered your skin with open-mouthed kisses. His hands roamed over your body, squeezing and kneading the plush flesh, mapping every unfamiliar curve and valley of your human frame.

“You have to guide me”, he breathed against your ear, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “I don't want to hurt you, but I need to be deep inside you…”

His huge hands grasped your knees, spreading them wider apart as he notched the head of his cock against your crotch. His body trembled with restraint, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought to hold back.

In your blinding and mind-dulling trance, all you could feel was the intense heat pooling between your thighs and the velvety touch of his fur against your clammy skin, and so you clung to those feelings, allowing them to guide you through the fog. One of your hands ventured down to pull your pants past your hips, while the other gripped hard onto his fur. Your panties slid down as well from the force of your tug. With eager movements, you spread your thighs wider for him and stretched your folds open with your fingers offering him a good view of your glistening cunt.

At the sight of your bare, vulnerable sex, the mothman let out a strangled groan, his cock pulsing with renewed urgency. His eyes glazed over, and releasing one of your knees, he brought a hand to caress your inner thigh, his claw tips lightly scraping the tender skin.

The intoxicating scent of your arousal wafted up to him, mingling with the musky fragrance of his own heated pheromones, clouding his senses even further. His sensitive head rubbed across your swollen folds, his keen eyes flickering anxiously from your flesh to your face to gauge your reaction.

Once he figured out you were not in pain but rather eagerly clutching further onto his fur, his control snapped, and with a deep cry he pushed forward, the swollen head of his cock breaching your slick entrance with satisfying ease. His antennae vibrated furiously as he sank into your welcoming warmth, your tightness enveloping him like a glove.

For a moment, he just stayed still, relishing the feeling of being fully sheathed within you, of finally tasting te soothing warmth he had been so desperately craving for days but the urge to claim you, to impregnate you with his offspring, proved too powerful to resist. Slowly, he started thrusting in earnest, each snap of his hips burying him to the hilt inside you. While his fur muffled the rocking of his hips hitting yours, the wet squelch of your arousal filled the air and only encouraged him to rut into you with even wilder abandon.

You were a mess of shameless mewls and whimpers, your fingers driving into his thick fur till you could almost feel the skin beneath, your hips feverishly meeting his in your desperate and blind search for release. A release that was growing at an unfathomable speed within your belly, spurred by the blissful way his inhuman cock filled your every crevice, generating that familiar yet exquisitely new kind of pressure that hit its highest point as his proboscis-phallus jerked and erupted inside you. The phenomenal orgasm that hit you seemed to merge into an even more earth-shattering one when he buried himself deeper inside you. You felt your womb inflate, stretching to accommodate each little gelatinous orb that poured out of his cock and found its home in your warm depths.

The sensation of his eggs taking root inside you, combined with the sheer volume of cum pumped into your fertile womb, sent the mothman spiraling into a euphoric haze. His antennae quivered uncontrollably, brushing against your face as he continued to grind against you, ensuring every last drop took residence in your fertile core. As the last spurt subsided, he collapsed atop you, his panting breaths hot against your neck, his bulk pinning you to the forest floor and his wings wrapping securely around you.

A strangely exhilarating feeling flared up in your womb and propagated throughout the entirety of your body, causing your skin and insides to tingle. You felt no pain; in fact, you had never felt better. The best way you could explain the sensation is as if you were floating in the air among pillowy clouds, cocooned in the warmest embrace. This delightful feeling swiflty dragged you into a peaceful slumber, though not before you felt strong yet soft arms gather your trembling form and a gentle breeze blow through your hair.

a.n.: I feel like this is a weird one... mostly because I've never written about oviposition before and I haven't read much about it either so idk if this is how it's supposed to go lol but I guess this is my take on it, I hope you enjoyed it <3

MORE STORIES <-

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[lissdain]

✞ 666 ✞

[lissdain]

the sluttiest thing a man can be is evil and in love

[lissdain]

David Tennant pissing off the Prime Minister bc he told government officials to stfu over their anti-trans bigotry and Michael Sheen literally poisoning himself investigating corporations dumping toxic chemicals in underprivileged areas is NOT the energy I expected from 2024 but oh man am I here for it.

[lissdain]

Ooo but imagine Dhawan!Master gently hypnotizing you to sleep, I’m soft

Thank you for the request!!! :D

I do still love Dhawan!Master even though this blog has slowly been turning into a Zemo simp blog. I promise I’m still writing for other morally dubious bastards!

I really hope that you enjoy it!!!

Title: Falling... Asleep?

Doctor Who tag list: @v4n1r, @queerconfusionthings,  @yourneighbourhoodclown, @love-of-fandoms, @emilythezeldafan, @fabulous-jj-style, @theseeker945, @pleadingeyes, @kjaneway1, @truthbehindthemysteries, @im-a-muggleborn, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @huntheimpossible

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary

“So here we are again,” the Master gave you his typical manic smile, “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

You glared at the Master who had tightly gripped your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. The Master’s grin just widened as he tilted your head from side to side. You tried to break free but he held on tightly.

“Something that interests me about you-“

“Finding a human interesting,” you spat, “Losing your touch, going soft?”

“Don’t interrupt,” he said coldly, “It’s rude. Surely that Doctor has taught you better manners than that?”

“The Doctor doesn’t need to teach me anything.”

“Well then,” he leant closer and you felt his breath ghost over your face, “Maybe she needs to teach you more about survival. I would hate to cut the life of the only semi-intelligent human short.”

This made you be quiet but it didn’t lessen your glare. The Master nodded approvingly and continued,

“As I was saying, the thing that interests me about you is that you are so resistant.”

“Resistant?”

“You fight me whenever we meet. Do you know how much trouble I go through to get you with me and you put you under my spell?”

“I don’t go down without a fight,” you hissed, “You should know that by now.”

“With makes me want you all the more.”

“Want me?”

You gasped in a mixture of shock and pain at what happened next. You weren’t expecting the Master to say that or the sudden push against your mind. You tried to pull back but the Master’s hand flew to the side of your head and held you in place. He rested his forehead against yours and you found yourself unable to look away from his eyes.

This wasn’t the first time the Master had entered your mind and you knew it wasn’t going to be the last. You couldn’t accurately describe the sensation of having someone else in your mind. The knowledge that he could completely unravel your mind, make you his in every single way possible and you couldn’t say no. However, the Master didn’t do that. It was a battle of strength between two minds and although you knew his was stronger he seemed to enjoy giving you a chance. A chance to prove him wrong about humans, a chance to prove that you weren’t weak, the chance to beat him at his own game.

But you lost.

Every single game you lost.

You could feel yourself slipping again. Your eyelids growing heavy as the Master gently lulled you to sleep. It was a language you never heard before and yet some part of you knew was it was. A language that the Master only spoke to you in your mind. A gentle, soothing song that an ancient civilisation once spoke, wrote poetry in, sung songs in but was now only know to two people. The Master was sharing a part of himself that he had never let out to anyone. That knowledge made you smile as the Master finally made you fall asleep.

As your body slumped against the Master’s, he ran a hand through your hair. He pressed a soft kiss against your hair and scooped you up and into his arms. He hummed the lullaby as he carried you towards his room and gently placed you in his bed. As he lay down next to you he stroked your hair as he watched the rise and fall of your chest. One day he was going to have you in his bed without having to put you to sleep.

Until then, he just had to wait until you came around to his line of thinking. He just hoped he had the patience until you do.

[lissdain]

sort of fluffy simm!master x reader using the prompts "you cant just kill everyone" and "but he insulted your dress" where the reader has the same attitude of Donna??

Title: For You

You sighed and tapped your foot impatiently. The Master had locked you in a closet and refused to let you out. You groaned in frustration and tried the door again.

“Master,” you yelled, “You can’t just put me in a closet.”

“You’ve got your human calling you Master in public?” said someone, “What kind of rela-AHH”

A blood curdling scream finished the end of the sentence and you took a couple of steps back. Someone was clawing desperately at the door but a horrific squelching sound cut him off. There was silence for a moment but then you heard a soft thud of the door.

“Master?”

“I’m here.”

“And the rest of the people at the party.”

“Still here.”

“Are they?”

“Yes. Have I ever lied to you before?”

“Well… no.”

“Then why don’t you believe me this time?”

“Because you shoved me in a closet and I heard people screaming!”

“Alright, alright.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“What the fuck did you do!”

“I might’ve killed everyone.”

You were silent for a moment.

“It was an accident.” Said the Master

“That’s bullshit.”

“Ok, maybe that bit is.”

“You can’t just kill everyone!”

“But he insulted your dress!”

Oh. So that was what this was about. Some dickhead at the party you and the Master were attending decided that he was the official expert on dresses. He kept commenting on how low cut it was for a formal party and how the colour didn’t suit you. That’s when the Master shoved you in the closet. You smiled softly and leant against the door.

“So you did all of this for me?”

The Master was silent. Eventually you a soft tapping on the door.

“Through all of this,” he said quietly, “You stuck by me. I know I’m not the… easiest person to get along with. I guess I just wanted to return the favour.”

“By murdering people.”

“By sticking up for you.”

“Master?”

“Yes?”

“Open this door right now.”

You heard the click of the lock and you flung the door open. The Master looked at you. His tie was undone and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Blood was splattered across his shirt and face but that didn’t stop you from your plan. You grabbed his face and pressed you lips against his.

The Master stiffened briefly but then relaxed. One arm snaked around your waist while the other gripped your hair. He playful bit your lip and smirked when you gasped. Eventually he pulled away.

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“You don’t mind the blood.

“Travelling with you I’ve become used to it.”

“Good. Now come on human,” he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the TARDIS, “I’ve got to get cleaned up and it’ll be a lot more enjoyable if you’re there with me.”

[lissdain]

Science Behind the Madness (Martin Whitly)

Martin Whitly x Fem!Reader 18+ ONLY / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: You're lucky to have a sexual partner so versed in the science behind the female orgasm.

CW: medical play (gloves, patients chair, medical talk), thigh slapping, daddy kink, overstimulation, dirty talk, verbal humiliation. vaginal fingering

Prodigal Sons tag list: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

“Did you know,” Martin says as he slides one gloved, lubed-up finger across your soaked slit. “The behind-the-scenes of the female orgasm is really quite fascinating.” He’s grinning that killer shark grin that you love oh so much. It’s not cute, that’s for sure, in fact, it’s terrifying. A true darkness lay beneath that grin, those eyes. And yet, despite this, that darkness turned you on like nothing else. 

“I-is it?” You stutter, clit already pulsing despite the fact Martin hadn’t even done anything yet. 

“Oh, yes,” he said, absent-mindedly fingering at your slit. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a moment. “See, right now? Your sweet little cunt is lengthening, the cells in your vaginal walls lubricating you. That’s called the ‘excitement’ stage. Not an overly scientific name, I know.” 

You squirm in the stirrups of the patient's chair, cunt clenching on nothing. Martin laughs, and flicks at your clit teasingly. 

“Even that pretty clitoris of yours is starting to swell, isn’t it? How sweet, I’ve barely touched you and you’re so needy for me.” Martin’s tongue flicks across his front teeth, his eyes finally splitting from yours down to look at your pussy. He spreads two fingers across your slit now, splitting your labia apart. Your cheeks flush at the vague humiliation of the act. 

“Oh, but not just your clit, hmm? No, your nipples, too, they start to engorge. I’ll bet they’re starting to get perky, now, aren’t they?” 

You whimper, chewing on your lip. You’re going to start grinding on his fingers soon if he doesn’t finger fuck you to within an inch of your life in the next two seconds. Martin seems to understand this and tuts mockingly before sinking those two fingers to the knuckle inside you. You groan with relief, that deep ache inside easing. 

“Oh, there she is. Look at that. Looks like you’re entering the plateau stage, sweetness,” his fingers start to move, stroking your inner walls and stretching you out before beginning to thrust. You moan openly, to which Martin shushes you with a loving grin. “Now, during the plateau stage, all your other senses are washed away as your brain starts to focus on your orgasm.” 

His fingers start thrusting harder, and you struggle to keep your knees from closing. Martin wouldn’t appreciate that, and he’d have to punish you. You weren’t in the mood for a punishment just now. He chuckles. From his angle, he can almost see your clit twitching and pulsing with pleasure. 

“Oh I know, darling, you want Daddy to play with that pretty clit, don’t you? Can’t cum without it, I know. It’s very common, actually,” his fingers fuck into you harder as he continues. “I believe it’s something like eighty per cent of women can’t finish without clitoral stimulation.” 

Your head drops back into the headrest. You’re panting, chest heaving and sweat beginning to bead along your skin. God, you want to cum. Martin knows exactly how to keep you from doing so, however. He’s got your insides mapped out like a surgical textbook. He knows exactly what spots to hit to make you keen, which spots to avoid that hurt, or which spots to ruthlessly slam into you to make you cum harder than a fountain hose. 

Right now, though, he’s making you wait for it. 

“Where was I?” His fingers slow, and he rubs his thumb over your clit in soft, thoughtful motions. “Oh, yes, the plateau stage. Do you notice how you’re breathing harder now? That’s part of the plateau stage, darling.”

His fingers start stretching you out again, thrusting back and forth, aiming directly for that spot that makes you see stars. 

“Some of the outer parts of the vagina start to engorge with blood,” he continues, completely engrossed by the view of his fingers disappearing and reappearing from your sopping cunt. “Your heart rate, respiratory functions and blood pressure continue to increase as you get closer to that precious orgasm.” 

You bite back the moans threatening to slip loose, and your thighs shake with the effort of staying open. 

“And when you orgasm, and you will- fucking- orgasm for me, darling, that’ll be a whole bunch of vaginal and pelvic floor muscle contractions. Oh, look at that, so close for daddy, hmm? Such a good girl for me, come on.” 

You’re getting so close now, muscles starting to tense, your mouth opening in a silent plea.

“That’s it, oh, look at you. Such a prime example of the female form, hmm? So exquisite. My darling, come for me.”

 

When you can’t even utter a word, and you seem to just be leaning against that precipice, Martin scowls, flashing a murderously determined look towards you. 

“My dear,” he warns. “If you don’t cum for me, you’re going to regret it, I promise you.” He brings his other hand forward, slapping lightly at the inside of your thigh. Your whole body jumps, and Martin tuts. “Come on, little slut, cum for Daddy. Right. Now.” 

His words push you over the edge, orgasm ripping through you. Martin laughs, fucking you through the waves of pleasure. Fucking you through those contractions. You moan wantonly, muscles finally giving in and starting to relax.

“There we go, right there, sweet thing,” Martin says, all smiles once again. “That’s the resolution stage. Post-orgasm the blood pumps back through your system and away from your pretty little cunt.”

 

His fingers had started to slow as your orgasm drained out of you, your clit pulsing pleasurably. It was almost too much. 

“Another interesting fact for you, my dear. Males tend to need time to recuperate after orgasm,” he goes on. You whimper as his fingers start to speed back up again, abusing your, overstimulated G-spot. “But women? Oh, they can go over, and over, and over again. Essentially no recuperation time.”

He scrunches his cheeks up teasingly, standing up from his chair to lean over you, his arm pistons back and forth harder now and without mercy. He was going to make you cum whether you wanted to or not. 

“Isn’t that just- fascinating? I think so. You’re going to cum for me. One more time. Or two, if I feel like it. Daddy wants to watch you come undone on his fingers. And if you’re a good little whore, daddy will fuck you good and proper later, honey, hmm?” 

You nod, head dropping back onto the rest behind you. Your whole body is convulsing with the stimulation. It doesn’t take long at all before you’re reaching that peak again, much to Martin’s visible pleasure. 

“Oh, that’s it. Cum all over daddy’s fingers, darling.” 

You whine, legs twitching with the aftermath of your second orgasm. Martin pulls the glove from his fingers, tossing it into the bin in the corner of the room. 

“See? Now, wait until I tell you all about the benefits of toys, my dear.” 

Martin smirks deviously. 

“That will certainly be a night to remember.”

[lissdain]

Eyes On Me

You’re staring again. You can’t help it. You’re meant to be reading as your husband is hard at work, but your pages have long been abandoned in favor of a more pleasant pastime, watching William.

Every now and then, in quiet times like these, your eyes will automatically find your husband, and your mind will start to wander. You start thinking about how lucky you are to have married such a handsome man, and you cannot help but want to watch him and his every movement, no matter how minute.

The way his eyes move across the page of his correspondence. The tiny furrow of his brow when in deep contemplation. Beautiful.

The way his lips press together in a tight line when he is displeased by what he reads, or twitch into an almost smile when he is amused. Gorgeous.

The sure movements of his strong hands as his pen dances across his pages, or the frustrated way he sometimes runs his fingers through his curly hair or his diligently groomed beard. Arousing.

It soon becomes impossible to imagine those eyes, lips, and hands doing anything but worshiping your body, and before long, you are lost in fantasy and staring yet again.

William, of course, is not unaware of your predicament. “Darling,” he calls softly, eyes still firmly focused on his work. “Are you well?”

His deep voice startles you from your reverie. “Hmm? I’m sorry, William. Did you say something?”

He smiles mischievously, putting aside his pen to focus exclusively on you. “I cannot help but notice you seem to have abandoned your book, Mrs. Boldwood. Have you found something else to capture your attention?”

“Umm… no…” you dither.

He pushes away from his desk then slowly rises, coming to sit next to you on the chaise. He slowly removes the book from your hand and sets it aside, lifting a hand to your chin and turning your face to his. “I can feel your eyes on me, my dear. Will you tell me what it is you are thinking about, or am I meant to guess?” He asks lowly, his voice seducing you already.

“Is it this?” He inquires, raising your hands to his lips and placing a soft kiss on each one. You smile and shake your head slightly.

“Hmm.. is it this?” He moves in closer to place a tender kiss behind your ear. You sigh happily, but again shake your head no.

“Perhaps it’s this you are thinking of,” he states, dipping his head low to nuzzle the skin between your neck and shoulder. He sucks lightly on the creamy skin, causing you to giggle at his tickling whiskers, but still you say no.

“What could possibly have distracted you so, my love?” He teases. “Surely it’s not this?” He wraps his arms around you firmly and kisses your lips with delicious fervor. You close your eyes to the wonderful sensation, and when he pulls away slowly, your lips nearly chase after his. When you reopen your eyes, you gaze at him with intense longing.

“It is simply you, my husband,” you whisper to him, leaning forward to hide your flushed face in his chest. “I am in need of you, William.”

“Then you shall have me, darling.”

——————-

He is staring again. He can’t help it. He’s meant to be sleeping after making love to his wife, but his slumber has long been abandoned for a more pleasant pastime: watching his beloved sleep.

Every now and then, in quiet times like these, his eyes will automatically find you, and his mind will start to wander. He starts thinking about how lucky he is to have married such a beautiful woman and cannot help but want to watch you and your every movement, no matter how minute.

He cannot wait for you to wake up and will keep his eyes on you until you do. Perhaps he will be able to distract you all over again. He smiles into the darkness and resumes his watch.

The End

[lissdain]

Hello!! I Love youuuu and your writing style.

Can I get a thing of what it would be like to date/be married to William Boldwood (Michael Sheen)?? Hope you’re doing well ♥️

Oooh~ Some Mr Boldwood you shall have lovey!

I do hope this is good enough for you~

What it would be like to be married to William Boldwood❤

Warnings: smut will be mentioned but nothing to graphic, cuteness, Michael Sheen himself Genre: fluff, slight smut

Being married to William Boldwood would include...

You being the most important person in his life. After being alone for so long, William had found comfort and a sense of safety in your presence and often the two of you would be found in your shared house, reading a book as you both sit by the fire with a cup of tea (or whatever drink you prefer) as faint music played in the background.

Him swearing to take care of you and protect you ("I'm a middle aged man willing to take care of you. I will protect you.") on your wedding day and every day after that.

Him making you breakfast in bed without any reason or he'll cook dinner if you have had a hard day and needed rest otherwise he would do it anytime he wanted to treat you.

William was more reserved with public affection as most people tended to stare at the pair of you if he pressed as sweet kiss to your temple or as you walked by, your arm gently linked with his. But he was more open in the comfort of your shared home as he didn't have any unwanted eyes staring at you both.

He would only smile around you, which was something you cherished dearly as you knew it was rare to see William smile. He didn't say it for you to know that you were the reason for his smile.

When you and William first made love, it was slow, gentle and romantic. He didn't want to hurt you in anyway at all so he was the same every time after that. It wasn't until you reassured him that he wouldn't hurt you for being a little harder did he started being harder and more dominant in the bedroom. But he never stopped being a gentleman, making sure you were okay afterwards and had everything you needed.

[lissdain]

Study Materials (Prodigal Son)

Martin Whitly x GN!Reader / requests are open and encouraged

Summary: Martin loves your singing voice. How convenient that it helps you study.

CW: Martin Whitly. that's it, that's the warning. (also fluff)

Prodigal Son tag list: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

It had started out innocently enough. You’d written to The Surgeon in hopes of getting some answers for your dissertation for University. You’d not expected a reply back, never mind an invitation to go and see him. 

You’d left the letter on your bedside for about a month before deciding to bite the proverbial bullet and go to see him. You’d seen pictures of him online, of course. Knew as much about him as was relatively accessible online, but being able to meet him? To speak with him directly? Well, you’d be a fool to pass that opportunity up. 

So you’d gone to see him. He was charming, almost soft? He’d answered some of your questions and deflected others. He was guarded but had seemed genuinely interested in your studies and degree. 

“The human mind,” he’d said conspiratorially. “It’s quite the marvel.” 

Quite the marvel indeed. 

You’d gone back a second time because you’d thought of some more questions that would be great for your paper. 

The third was to follow up on some of his answers that you’d forgotten to take all the notes down for. 

And after that, well, you’d realised after quite some time that you were making up excuses to see him. Anything under the sun that seemed at least a vaguely reasonable excuse was used to get yourself time during his visitation. 

And eventually, you just went because you wanted to. Taking in your notes and studying while making idle conversation, cracking jokes about classes and professors and sometimes just sitting in contented silence until visitation hours ran out. 

On this particular day, you were reading and re-reading the same paragraphs of study materials. They were just not sinking in. Martin had the radio on softly and was singing quietly under his breath. You let your mind focus on that as you tried to read the materials one more time. 

You got a little further this time and were actually making decent progress when Martin spoke up suddenly. 

“That sounds lovely, my dear. I didn’t know you could sing!” 

Your cheeks pinked immediately. You hadn’t even realised you’d been singing. You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, making sure not to paint yourself with your highlighter. 

“Oh- yeah, only sometimes. Just can’t help it when the song is good, you know?” 

Martin gives you one of his signature warm smiles. 

“I understand, sweetheart. You really are very good,” he tilts his head thoughtfully. “It’s quite nice to hear a friendly voice in here. The radio only gets you so far.” 

You note that Martin has a hopeful gleam in his eyes. Oh, he enjoyed it. Like, actually wants you to sing some more kind of enjoyed it. Your cheeks blush a little darker. 

“Is that a request, Martin?” 

The man in question hums invitingly. 

“If you’d be so kind,” he says, trying not to let the hope bleed through too much. 

You chuckle and go back to your readings. You won’t be able to sing if you’re not focussing on something else. Particularly if he’s paying attention solely to you. 

You clear your throat and highlight a passage, adding in your annotations. Quietly at first, you start to sing along with the radio. 

You find with the highlighting and the singing, the information soaks into your brain faster, and as you become more engrossed in the readings, you completely forget Martin is even there listening to you. 

If you’d paid attention, you would have noticed the way Martin gave you a look of pure adoration. You would have noticed the way he closed his eyes and sighed with relief, letting the words wash over him. 

And thus, a new studying tradition was born. Whenever you visited Martin in his cell with your textbooks and highlighters, he would brighten considerably. You fell into the routine and eventually, Martin started asking for requests- which you fulfilled if you knew the songs. 

You could both get very used to this.