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vinnyvamppp · 3 months ago

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To Be Desired PT 2

⭐:ViltrumMark, OmniMark, Hooded Invincible, Masked Mark, HeadCap Invincible (Requested!), Mentions of Invincible. (PART 1 HERE)

Commenter: Can u write some viltrumark n Omni mark. Pleasee. (Special at the end!)

Synopsis: Variants of your childhood best friend spawn across the globe, and you find yourself in the crossfire of their previous lovers. What happens when you experience the parallel pleasure they can offer?

Warnings: Power Struggles, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Morally Grey, Nipple Play, Fingering, Pussy Eating, Overstimulation, Public Sex, Ejaculating Inside, Rough Sex, 69, Car Sex, Switch!Reader, Switch!Invincible Variants, Plot changes for convenience, Matching Freaks, Position Changes, Porn w a Plot, etc.

Invincible Variants x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,079

Previously on 'To Be Desired' ... Helping where you could, you began assisting in fighting off the weaklings who figured now was the best time to attack Earth. Micro tears riddled your uniform as you tore through them mercilessly, all through a look of pity. There were days you'd resent this “job” you'd granted yourself, the little recognition and appreciation you'd receive from the public. How selfish of them and you. You wanted an excuse to have this world fair alone, without a need to rebel when no one would notice. As luck would have it, a voice suddenly dawned behind you, his body floating midair and adorned with the appearance of your dearest friend.

ViltruMark

Gazing upon the malignant figure, his jaw ticked ever so slightly at the sight of you. A mangy mutt of a man was within his grasp—its maw bludgeoned with the imprint of his knuckles. The sound of a body hitting the ground beside you was like a heavy, wet slap, followed by a faint whoosh of air being forced from its lungs. It was a sickening thud—like a ripe melon dropped from a great height, and you froze with a sense of unease.

The impact was startling and violent, and for a moment, you forgot about the raging havoc being reaped around you. The suddenness of it all made your heart race—you were almost certain he could hear it—as every instinct shrieked within. Your body language became defensive, his gaze hardening in response.

"I've killed you once, and I'll kill you again," he proclaimed, yet it held little intent. His uniform was a staple of the Viltrumite Empire—its clad symbol emboldened in the sky’s smoke like a false beacon of hope. "Then get it over with. You won't be the first variant who dies tonight." The snarky remark was met with a confident scoff. His padded feet landed in front of you, his eyes absorbing your features as if to reminisce. "I won��t. That was my first mistake," he replied, his fingers finding themselves tangled in your hair.

It was sudden; you couldn't help but grimace at his words. A Viltrumite admitting their mistakes? Unbelievable. That was until his grip suddenly tightened, cocking your head to the side as he whispered in your ear. "I've come to right my wrongs and take you with me." The man's grip was a hold of domination, a vice-like clamp that strangled the last vestiges of hope. It was merciless—like that of a warlord who wielded power with an iron fist. Yet the soothing hand around your waist and the calloused fingertips that scratched against your costume told the story of a starved man.

It wasn’t a debate—nor did you intend to argue, as your annoyance with your reality simmered. "Right your wrongs…?" you questioned, a wicked grin slowly spreading across his face as you two suddenly took flight. Tears bubbled at your waterline from the speed, your fingers clinging to him as you could’ve sworn he nearly melted. You always did talk too much, so he figured he'd show you. The underground vibrations beat against your eardrums as he cradled you. Your gaze was fixed upon a newly formed crater within the valley, only destroyed rubble offering privacy. "We’ll do it here. You’ll be my new beloved and will give me children."

His fingers traced down your abdomen as they tore through the fabric, gooseflesh rising from the exposure. It was a depressing past, really—having to murder you in cold blood so soon due to his agenda—but not this time. You would stay ignorant of his past, and he would provide it, given your indulgence.

His hands grasped the spandex material of your suit, prying it open as his lips began their pleasurable assault on your neck. The wet warmth of his tongue tickled your skin as he harshly nipped the welcoming flesh. Your faint pulse beneath it enticed him to experience what he had yet to. So alive and welcoming.

Head resting against the soft soil, his hardened cock imprinted beneath the loincloth. His body did little to hide his excitement—though his expression remained cold. Once the clothing was peeled from your body, his lips continued their journey south—pausing to lavish attention on your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth—swirling his tongue erratically around the hardened peak while his hand kneaded and caressed the other.

You moaned at the sensations, your hands instinctively tangling in his hair as his hips ground against your clothed cunt. He didn’t stop. He worshiped your breasts until you were writhing beneath him, the skin tender and reddened from his teeth. As he traveled lower, you could feel his warm breath on your most intimate area, his pre-cum now staining the cloth of both his and your costume. Just before his lips could reach your sex, he pulled away in satisfaction. All mild waves of pleasure were ripped from you, and a feeling of annoyance bubbled within.

Pressing back against him, your eyes pleaded seductively, a hand resting against his chest. "It’s not fun when it's just me; let me please you," you muttered—watching as the faintest smirk graced his lips. He sat on his knees as you shuffled yourself forward—hands eagerly tugging at his clothing. His costume splintered as it fell from his form, your mouth practically watering at the sight of his swollen cock eagerly awaiting your touch. You leaned in—inhaling deeply and savoring his musky scent. You ran your tongue along the underside of his veins, from the base to the tip—feeling it twitch against your lips. He shivered.

You circled the head with your tongue, dipping into the slit to taste his essence before taking him into your mouth. Instantly, he sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth. The man was more sensitive than expected. As your throat relaxed and another inch slid inside, the soft lining of your esophagus welcomed him so fruitfully that his eyelids began to twitch. His pride had failed to forewarn him, and his temperament began to crumble.

As his hips bucked forward, you gagged—only to see a placid grin etched onto his face as his nose crinkled with restraint. He groaned loudly with every bob of your throat, his dick twitching with each contact. Suddenly, his hand gripped your hair, pulling you back. "Enough," he muttered, his voice carrying enough command to make you pause.

Before you could process it, you were flipped onto your hands and knees, panties being lowered as his eyes devoured the sight of your pussy. "You’re soaked… I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you’d be so willing." The mumble seemed more to himself than to you. His tip glided down the skin of your folds, the squelching sound causing his grip to tighten as he pushed your head into the ground. Just as he pressed himself inside, the quietest whimper slipped.

Your eyes met his with a smug expression; he returned it as a warning before your velvety walls swallowed him whole. He sighed—like a man being gifted after a long day of work. He didn’t give you time to adjust—immediately pulling out and setting a brutal pace, pounding into you with a force that rocked your entire body. Each thrust pushed you forward, your hands scrabbling for purchase in the burrow of grass. His balls slapped against your clit with every stroke—sending sparks of pleasure through you.

One of his hands left your hip, wrapping around your hair and pulling your head back, forcing you to arch your spine. He fucked almost with a hatred. With every stroke, your body bounced forward, and you could swear you heard your vertebrae popping. Does he not know what gentle is?! No! He’s a Viltrumite, born and raised!

Unbeknownst to you, the dual stimulation of his balls slapping against your skin and the soft twitching of your pussy had him hunched over. He began to chase his own release—loud growls echoing in your ears as you could barely formulate sound. His free hand rested against your ass—enjoying its recoil as a pathetic whine scratched his throat. He was hellbent on burying himself within you, each thrust deepening with the swivel of his hips. His muscles tightened as his jaw clenched, heavy pants echoing between groans. It was beginning to sound needy—a rough greed that consumed him.

Your moans were muffled, his hearing sharp enough to catch every one, his tactics shifting subtly to bring you the utmost pleasure. God, why did he kill you? He could barely remember as his brain began to fizzle out from the pleasure. “Mphm… Mark… can’t breathe,” you muttered, his eyes finally snapping into focus. In a last-ditch effort, he tugged you back, ripping a hiss from you as your spine curved. Your back rested against his chest, and although the sex was rough, this was a moment of gentleness. “Aah—ugh, mm, fuck, I’m going to fill you,” he whispered, sheathing himself one final time as he came.

You two remained still as his stamina recovered; he pressed a chaste kiss against your lips, both of your suits ruined. No matter—he couldn't care less about flying into space naked. It was short-lived as he abruptly readied himself from a voice buzzing within his ear; you remained seated in absolute awe. “How long can you hold your breath?” he asked, a plan to return home brewing.

OmniMark

His gaze remained fixed on you, expression unimpressed as he observed. You had just defeated another swarm of enemies, their blood coating the streets. As you stumbled toward him, your breath came out in labored gasps, and your vision blurred, making it hard to focus on his figure. Mark—or rather, this mysterious figure in similar fashion—seemed to be studying you intently, his eyes piercing through your facade.

The sound of his cape billowing finally caught your attention. Roving over his figure, you observed his costume. A dried patch of blood littered his hand, pink lint from the fabric clinging to it. It resembled Omni-Man's and only struck you with confusion as your mind rang from your probable concussion. "Hey, are these giving you any trouble?" he asked, his body idly bobbing midair as he awaited an answer.

"Who are you, really? If you're Mark, why are you dressed like... well, like him?" You gestured to his costume, a near-perfect replica of Omni-Man's, complete with the red and white color scheme, only missing the distinctive 'O' emblem. He sighed—almost regretfully, as a realization seemed to dawn upon you. Omni-Man in his world was dead; just why did I have to run into this one?! He glided toward you with a strangely disturbing grace.

"I've come to defend you. There are many of us gathering over Chicago." Your question was swatted away like a fly as he continued. His response made you drop your guard—albeit naively—since there was no reason to trust him. He landed in front of you, dark goggles showing your reflection as he contemplated. "Why? What happened to me in your dimension?" you inquired.

He replied with the slightest look of pity and weariness. "She… was like a pet. Served her purpose and got in the way after I killed my father." His words made your heart drop. "I've been looking for you… for a new pet. So, understand me this time, and we can conquer together." The tone of his words was low— almost careful, like it somehow softened the demeaning blow. Every word was woven in silk, but underneath lay a quiet demand. His fingers gently wrapped around yours—his gloved thumbs ghosting over your knuckles.

Truthfully, he hated his dimension's version of you. Such a nuisance, but you were already proving to be more favorable. A glimpse into what you could've been.

"But you have more to offer than she did. She had no powers, no abilities… but she was cute while it lasted." A sense of sadness lingered in his voice as his eyes focused behind you—on the destruction your battle had caused.

"Fine, I'll let you protect me," you said, releasing his fingers.

"It’d be best if we stayed together at all times," he replied.

"I don’t think I could stomach being around you." It was a petty jab, spit with unintentional venom.

"I could change that," he quipped with the cockiness of his father, his palm outstretched to you.

Just how did you allow yourself to be swept away like this? Yes, the Mark you knew was the son of Omni-Man with morals; this one went against every principle you had when becoming a hero. Like father, like son. His words were sensitive—meticulously put together to string you along—not that you cared now, not with his fingers buried deep inside your cunt.

Somewhere along the way, he had flown you to Paris like some fancy vacation. The leveled city burned brightly, the embers painting your skin in a dewy orange that made you look so divine. The Eiffel Tower stood tall, almost as a harbinger of justice—and here you were, on the structure, being fingered by him. You let out a sharp cry as he started to stroke, his digits gliding through your wetness with ease. The very sight of your cunt had him in a hedonistic trance, his thumb slotting over your clit. He teased and circled—applying just the right amount of pressure to have your hips bucking beneath him. His pace quickened ever so slightly—reveling in the ridges of your pussy that he anticipated to hug him so snugly.

"You like that, don't you? You like it when I touch you like this?" he purred, watching as your face scrunched in pleasure. It wasn't like he needed a response; seeing your reaction was enough. Your abs began to tighten as your orgasm built, and just as your body lurched forward, his hands pulled away, leaving you clenching around air.

"You said that would be it," you whispered, watching as he smiled faintly, almost pleading. "I know, but it would be better this way… I can't monitor with just my fingers." He excused himself, and your eyes rolled sarcastically. "Last thing." It was a harsh spat that crawled from your throat and into his ear. "Last thing," he agreed—when you both knew he was the type to say that while fucking you senseless for the tenth time.

Against the cold metal, he spread your legs wide, his free hand freeing his weeping cock from its confinement. It's been punished enough for now. Clothes were shed quickly, eagerly, until you were both naked and pressed together, skin against skin. He hovered over you, his eyes roaming your exposed body hungrily. Circling his tip around your entrance, he finally pushed in—jaw clenching with a shaky exhale.

His hips began to build into a relentless pace, your bouncing legs wrapping firmly around him to pull him in deeper. He was becoming lost within you—quite literally—as your pussy swallowed him balls deep. No wonder his father remained active with Debbie; this was fucking godsent to him. Perhaps his words from earlier were no longer manipulation but the truth. He would vow to know you on a personal level later.

Moans of pleasure from you both echoed. He was shameless about his noise, enjoying the sound of skin slapping in the air. You could have sworn his particularly deep thrusts sent the tower shaking. Sweat formed on his brow as he concentrated, ab muscles flexing as he withheld his orgasm. Mark loved it here. He would do anything not to pull out. His body began to tremble with restraint, nearly convulsing with the overarching effort. Your bodies shifted with each powerful thrust. Lost in your own pleasure, you barely noticed your head now dangling from the structure.

His attempt at being romantic after destroying a city was dreadful. "Mark…!! Ah! I'm gonna fall, fuck—!" you wearily shouted, and he grimaced slightly, his fingers shoving themselves into your mouth to simulate sucking his cock as he watched you gag on them. "You know better… swearing doesn’t make you cool." He stated it so casually, as if he weren’t balls-deep inside you.

Flying you both into the air, his hands gripped your ass, fucking himself into you. His thrusts grew erratic, his whimpers barely contained. It was obvious—his toes curled in his shoes, his feet flexed, his eyes rolled back into his skull, the veins in his neck prominent. Clasping his chin, you focused his attention on you as your insides nearly squeezed him dry. It was your minute revenge. "T-Take what you… what you want." His lips were caught between his teeth. "I wo… won't stop you."

The words were weak, both of you heaving, breath fanning against each other's faces. Wrapping your legs tighter around him, and with bated breaths, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came with a shout. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he hissed, unable to stop himself. After realizing what he had done, he ironically cursed under his breath.

"S… shit, I should’ve come in your mouth; it would’ve been better," he muttered, disappointed in himself. Wrapping your bare body within his cape, he gingerly kissed you with praise. His lips parted—as if to utter something sentimental, his gaze hardening. Suddenly—he observed heroes gathering within France to save the people. A grimace enveloped his face. He had enough decency to place you securely at your apartment before taking off. HeadCap Mark

“Oh…? And who do we have here?” he asked rhetorically, one hand resting at his side. His overzealous grin gleamed beneath the obscurity of his features. Not to mention was—was he bald? His appearance was a far cry from his better counterpart. You kept raking over every detail, unsure what unsettled you more.

“I… I don’t want to fight you. You look like my friend… I couldn’t,” you replied timidly, tension stunning your body. He landed without a sound, the silence eerie—like a grinning cat toying with its prey.

There was dried blood riddled through his costume, his demeanor confident as he strutted toward you with his head held high. You were awfully perturbed, not noticing him already in front of you. “Well, this is gonna be fun,” he chirped as he gazed expectantly at you—his amusement only growing. “You know how hard it was to find you? Your friend's bug brother straightened me out on my way here.” A series of sharp, satisfying cracks from his spine echoed through your ears, each pop releasing tension like bubble wrap as they twisted. His octave dropped a notch as he leaned in.

“Now it's time to straighten you out.” The words were of insincere politeness, their meaning striking you upside the head. His fingers curled around your neck as he guided you backward. The cold metal of a now disheveled and crumpled car met your back. “Ah ah ah, don’t even think about it,” he whispered—your ear tingling from its warmth, your fingers relaxed at your side.

The smile on his face was almost sweet as you complied, only begrudgingly allowing his touch. “Then move before I change my mind.” You snorted in response. It was scandalous; you’d never admit that the hand around your neck nearly made you weak. Just how could you reject a man so desperate to have you? He wasn’t going to deny you either; in fact, he felt almost obligated to show you he deserved this.

He shoved you roughly against the hood of the car, his fingers tracing the length of your curves. The loud creak of the vehicle settling, the sputtering electricity of nearby landline wires, and the open air of dust filling your lungs made you feel truly exposed. Even without the removal of clothing. His tongue flicked over his lips, a brief, deliberate motion—like a cat after cream. The elastic fabric of his costume fell down his muscled legs, his hands eager as they jutted forward. It was rushed—he stripped the latex from your body with the urgency of a man digging for gold.

Only then, when he saw the pretty lace covering such delicate areas, did an audible groan of delight scratch his throat. “Pretty,” he teased, his hands reaching into his boxers as they clung to his thighs. His dick was flushed a pale pink—longer than it was girthy—as bulging veins pathed their way to his tip. “Pretty,” you mimicked, legs spreading as he closed in like a moth to a flame. He left your bra and panties on, enjoying the sight too much to tear them off. Instead—he pulled the fabric aside to watch your tits bounce, your pussy lips already weeping.

His tip parted you like a river, his head hanging back as he bottomed out. Your walls fluttered to accommodate his length; if he wanted to, he could kiss your cervix. Your legs crossed over his shoulder, and his hips reared back before driving into you. Each thrust pushed you further up the car's hood, your breasts bouncing with the force of his movements.

Your hands reached to clasp at anything behind you—only to find a shattered windshield to dig your fingertips into. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he watched you bounce on his cock; it was something deserving of a painting. His head turned, tongue slithering across the soles of your feet in a gesture of worship. As much as he didn't care about this world—in this moment—he was determined to make you feel like a goddess. His pace quickened, each stroke pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

The movements were entirely guided by lust; broken chuckles bubbled from his throat as moan after moan was ripped from him. Your eyes nearly lost focus—every stroke caused a slight bulge to imprint in your lower abdomen. Your moans encouraged him—urged him to go deeper, to claim you completely. “So… so much is d-different about this world, but this… t-this was made for me.” His lips grimaced as his hips purged through the trembles riddling his body. The car creaked as it rocked violently, his fluid motion throwing you against him in time with his thrusts.

The street fills with the unfiltered sounds of your moans and the slap of skin against skin. You could feel your throat becoming raw; he was practically silenced, communicating with the tightening of your cunt and its impending orgasm.

Propping yourself onto your hands, you leaned back slightly, one leg gingerly switching to his other shoulder, giving him a full view of how you drank him in. His thumb rolled tight circles around your clit, watching as your hole puckered so vigorously around him.

A ring of your juices—mixed with what he couldn’t tell was pre-cum or cum—sputtered against his pelvis. The sight was enough to tip him over the edge. “Come… all over my cock—mmm—like the good l-little ssslut you are!” he groaned, eyes darting between your folds and your eyes as he inhaled your intoxicating scent.

As he thrust into you with increasing fervor, you felt your body begin to tense, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm approached. He seemed to sense it, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own release.

You cried out, fingernails scraping against the car's metal; his jaw clenched wearily as his knees grew weak. A weakened grin etched across his face once more—eyebrows knitting upward as he sighed shakily. With frantic pacing, he waited until his eyes nearly crossed before pulling out and ejaculating on your stomach.

You were winded, arms giving out as you rested against the car; he stared at you, unnaturally tired himself. But as he watched your juices bubble around your entrance, a new energy suddenly surged to his cock. “W-What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, stroking himself with a strangled whimper. “Mmm, I plan on using every inch of this car while I’m here.” Hooded Invincible

The momentary silence was deafening; the veiled mask drifted ever so slightly to show the grin lurking beneath. His costume had blood leaking down the front; the amount would suggest he’d been bested—yet he stood defiant and cocky before you. Just how powerful was he to remain standing? As you readied yourself for another battle, a sigh leaving your lips, his hands suddenly bound together over his head before slamming his full weight onto the concrete road. The rubble cracked beneath your feet, and a strong gust of wind slid you back. It wasn’t nearly as strong as anticipated. He was holding back.

“You won't be enough. You’re not even a fraction of my power!” He enunciated every other word—making the insult feel a little more scathing. “No wonder you get jumped so often, you fucking asshole,” you chided with annoyance. The dull ache in his head was the last thing he registered; the blow landed with a sickening thud—its crack making him stumble back slightly. “Oh, fuck off.” His return strike was swift, a flash of movement followed by a grunt of pain.

You nearly crumpled—the floor rushing to meet you before you regained stability. He was quick to compliment, almost too eager. “Okay… I’ll admit, you’re stronger than I thought.” The feeling of his hands cupping around your wrist—dried blood flaking from his palm. “That’s not why I’m here though,” he finished, his yellow-tinted goggles reflecting off the sunlight, a faint glimpse of his eyes meeting yours.

Just why did they have to have the warmth of your friend's? This was making it difficult to hate him. “Not interested,” you deadpanned, arms tugging within his grasp. He sucked his teeth with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t remember you being this fucking mouthy.” His head cocked slightly to view your expression change like his personal performance. “Wrong dimension; I’m not her.” Your words made him pause as that grin made its Broadway appearance. “Nah, you’re better; I love it when my girls are a bitch.” He taunted, your eyes searching for an escape route as you mentally dismissed him. “C’mon, give me a chance.” The words dripped from his lips, less of a plea and more of a certainty.

You couldn’t deny he had certainly piqued your interest in more ways than one. Suddenly, a pair of calloused fingertips ran a strip down the center of your costume—the fabric outlining a faint camel toe. His fingers pressed against the indent of your pussy lips—a desired dampness nearly causing him to groan. “Oh, you’re fucked,” he said with mocking restraint. In almost an instant—you were dragged into an alleyway and—with the weight of a feather—flipped upside down. “Put me down! What are you doing?!” you grit out, but the words lacked conviction, lost in the echo of his ragged breath.

He ignored your plea, fingers now deftly parting your swollen lips, teasing the clit that throbbed insistently through your costume. Your question was more of a criticism of his crassness. “Relax, you’ll like this.” He brushed off every critique, his focus narrowing to the only thing that mattered—his next dessert.

A firm finger dug into the fabric above your cunt before the screeching sound of fabric tearing. It was better than he imagined; his tongue already sought a taste as he admired the view. “That's it. I know you want this.” His tongue flicked out, tracing a wet path from your clit to your swollen opening. A jolt of electricity shot through you, silencing you momentarily as your hands dug into his hip. He chuckled again, pleased with your reaction. “See? Already loving it.” His response made your pleasure-filled veins run cold.

Returning the favor through shaky moans of your own, your fingers tore through the fabric of his clothing—leaving little time for him to react as your teeth sorted through the pocket of his boxers before his cock sprang out. Its tip was greeted with fervent kisses as a guttural growl rumbled from behind his veil. His tongue, hot and demanding, flicked out, tracing the sensitive flesh. A gasp escaped your lips, a mix of grit and nascent pleasure. He lapped at you with deliberate strokes, teasing and testing your limits. The fluttering of his tongue grew desperate to draw more sounds from you as you writhed.

That was until his toes curled upon a pair of nails dragging down the length of his swollen, veiny cock. He grumbled a string of curses, his tongue pursuing to ravage you in the wake of this being a competition. With practiced ease, your lips parted, bubbles of spit gathering around his tip as you toyed with him. “Fuuuuck me,” he sighed.

You took him in, the softness of your mouth enveloping him as you began to move, your head bobbing rhythmically. The swirl of your tongue was like pleasant lashings against his cock. Your throat relaxed as your nose met the tightening sack of his balls; he was losing his ability to resist. Every so often, you would flatten your tongue, ruining what might’ve been the build-up of his orgasm.

Your combined groans echoed mindlessly in the alleyway. With a clenched jaw, he flipped you right-side up, your hands dragging across the pavement momentarily. The sight of him frazzled you—his hair disheveled from the clenching of your thighs, and the front of his veiled mask drenched in your taste.

“How do you even have the energy to still hold me?” you asked, bewildered as he chuckled. “You underestimate my power.” His response made your eyes roll, and you both were winded nonetheless. He shifted again, his hands now gripping your thighs, spreading them wider. He positioned himself between your legs, his hard cock pressing against your clit, a tantalizing promise of what was to come. As he penetrated the twitching valley of your warmth, you both responded to one another with a moan—a sound of pure, unadulterated need.

Holy fuck, was he glad you couldn’t see his face. He was holding on by a thread, eyebrows furrowed with a quivering lip. “You probably… would’ve made me cum a-already if you didn’t keep playing,” he rasped, somewhat annoyed. “Shut the fuck up and keep going.” He couldn’t argue; his grip tightened against your upper thigh. With every drawback, you tightened around him, threatening to suck him in. Through labored breaths, his jaw went slack as his body nearly locked up on him. “Haa… ha… haa! You r-ready?” he drawled—dick pumping into you with his last shrivels of energy before his dick milked him dry inside you.

You both remained in somewhat of a daze. That’s when the familiar clang of Cecil's reAnimen echoed in the distance. Setting you down with a strange gentleness, he promised his return—leaving you with a hole in your pants. “Fuck.”

Masked Invincible

“Finally…” he whispered; you could’ve sworn his eyebrows creased beneath his mask—the full obscurity of his features made him difficult to identify. “Mark…?” you questioned, his shoulders drooping slightly as a relieved sigh left him. His costume was barely recognizable if it weren't for the signature black and blue; his frosted lenses left little to be discovered.

The instinct for danger—and to fight—was suddenly drained from you as he spoke. “We didn’t all make the same deal.” He approached, desperation weighing down his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter, Mark. You all murdered thousands… I don’t know you. I don’t care to hear you plead your case.”

Your response stunted his movements as the sound of padded feet quickened their pace.

“I—I know, but it was for a good reason, I swear,” he continued with a slight stutter, his hands gesturing to his chest. This somehow felt manipulative. “I liked it here… I came back to bring you and my mom back with me. We can start over.” His hands clung to your shoulders as he spoke, fingernails digging into the flesh. “And why would I do that?” you inquired, your gaze hardening as you anticipated a response. “Because… because I need you.” The delivery was purely pathetic, a voice cracked, edging his words as he nearly pleaded.

Considering the whole ordeal, it didn’t sound like an awful offer. However, it would be unsafe to assume the woman you once loved in the past was the same in every dimension. His submission might’ve unlocked a new kink you were unaware of, the sentiment tugging at your heartstrings. He was similar to the Mark you knew—emotional—but this one felt far more dangerous, a dog off its leash. You began to lie through your teeth. If it meant having a variant as an ally rather than an enemy, then so be it.

“Okay. I’ll come with you if—” Your words were abruptly sawed off as his hands hastily lifted half his mask and his lips found yours with fever. He brushed his lips against yours, featherlight, as if testing the moment—savoring it. He sighed into the kiss, his hands cradling your face, drawing you closer, deepening the space between breath and bliss. His fingertips dug into your skull as he was encased in your warmth.

Just how could he have ever let this go? Not this time. No, he would do better. He’d imagined this countless times.

Hands quickly shifting to your hips, he decided your apartment was best. Being on his best behavior would convince you more, right? Landing on the balcony, he slid open the door as you shuffled backward into the kitchen. You both pulled away, erratic breaths dampening one another's faces. Interestingly, as his costume loosened and pooled around his ankles, the mask remained. He seemed truly hellbent on keeping it on—not that you paid any mind.

Slowly tugging each article of clothing from your body, he watched as if hypnotized. It was nearly comical watching him progressively become aroused as seconds ticked by. His mind and body were one. His ragged gasps produced a small cloud of condensation through his mask. His dick a red, irritated mess with smeared pre-cum. Messy. Desperate. Guiding him into a chair, he manspread to allow you plenty of room once you straddled him, feet hooking against his inner thigh.

His tip pierced through you, giving you little time to adjust as gravity pulled you downwards. Your puffy lips cushioned him between hungry blows, combined arousal leaving a stringy mess in his lap.

Gripping your hips, his jaw clenched as he assisted you in riding him, the pace solely reliant on his stamina. "Wait, wait, slow down," you gasp, trying to regain control. But he's too far gone, his lust clouding his judgment. He grips your hips tighter, slamming you down on his cock with bruising force.

The pleasure is intense—bordering on pain—but you can't deny how much you're enjoying it. He leans forward, his masked face inches from yours. "I—I can't slow down," he pants, his breath hot against your skin. "I've wa… wanted this for so long. Needed this."

You can feel him throbbing inside you, his desire for you evident. But you need to take back control, to show him who's in charge here. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as your ass meets the meat of his thighs from your efforts to ride him.

He groans, his head falling back as you take what you want from him. "F-fuck, yeesss," he hisses, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing and spreading it. "Take it all; take everything I have to give."

It was his most coherent sentence—just barely—as his voice cracked with a whimper.

Your moans began to mingle until it was a harmony unable to be differentiated. The sound bouncing off the walls sounded ten times louder than it was. His nose scrunched from beneath his mask, jaw flexing with an effort to remain sane.

"I am. And I'm going to use you until I'm satisfied." He shudders beneath you, his cock twitching inside you at your words. You can tell he likes this—likes being used and controlled by you. After all he’s done, he’d gladly let you go for today.

Your hips slammed against his with every downward thrust. The sounds of skin meeting rang in your ears, a whine of pleasure filling your lungs as unrestrained sounds began to filter. His pubic hair caused delicious friction against your clit as he began to grow sloppy.

He reaches up, his hands cupping the back of your shoulders to hold you in place as he rams into you. The added stimulation sends you closer to the edge, your body tensing as your orgasm approaches.

"C-...Cum for me," he growls, his eyes watching you intently with the goal of watching your face contort in lust. "Fuck… fuck… fuck, yes! G-Give it to me! Please…!"

His voice nearly gave out as he came with a shout, finally being able to make you his.

You soon followed after, collapsing on his chest as remnants of a moan leave your lips. It takes a while for you two to finally gather your bearings. He pulls his mask down, a smile etched into the fabric, before that damned voice calls out within his ear. “I’m sorry… I—I have to go. I'll come back for you,” he stutters, reluctantly leaving and flying into the murky horizon.

This was actually fun to type up. (If interested in Mark's subplot (same scenario), it's linked: here.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

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tfatwsbarnes · 17 days ago

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we can’t be friends | bob reynolds pt. 2

read pt. 1 here!

summary: bob and you now navigate the implications of your curse by the TVA

pairing: bob reynolds x variant fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

content: angst and yearning on both ends, they’re in LOVE! fluff and honestly just self indulgence at this point. it’s christmas but reader doesn’t celebrate it, reader also has to wear a dress, swearing, more heavy use of dialogue, reader is v emotional and still an avid tea drinker. touch starved babes, eventual kissing but not how you would expect. tva inaccuracies again.

a/n: mwah ty for the love on part one! not proofread hehe. also i confess to not seeing s2 of loki so i’m none the wiser to anything past the first season

taglist: @amandarobertsboyce @micro-kat @kurogxrix @gavin-isstupid - tysm for reading 🫶

You woke up with a splitting headache.

Days had bled into weeks since the exposé on your deep dark secret, that you were not an Earth-616 Variant. Your existence did not belong amongst the chaos of this New York in all it’s anarchic glory. It was the perfect sweet spot, tucked deep into the belly of the TVA library, you had spent countless hours — no, minutes? — peeling pages upon pages out of manilla coloured folders, to find a Timeline which you could simply dissolve into the background of.

Earth-616. Plenty of things wrong with it. A handful of things right with it. Including the sole reason you had been arrested, fought off pruning, escaped and arrested thrice more. Robert Reynolds. A little wounded, an exponential amount of skeletons in his closet and you adored every corner of it.

It took a lot of background work, to ensure you had chosen a place that you could escape the prying hands of the TVA and locate Bob.

Your memory so vivid of that time. The paper cuts, calloused fingertips from endless paperwork being handled from the start of the day until the very end, where Mobius M. Mobius had tracked you down within the confides of the TVA and banished you to your room to sleep before the trial.

The sickening drench of the colour orange wherever you looked. Unable to rest, you’d pad around the infinite halls before slipping into the same room you had been thrown into the first incident that you had been arrested. No longer coated in fear, but grieving a loss of the life you knew still existed within the realms of time.

Lights flickered in the darkness, an image pooled upon the screen in front of you: VARIANT Y1097 FILES. An ache in your bones at the title, a sadistic element to your viewing of your own life. You’d press the button with hesitation, eyes wide with wonder over a treasured lifetime.

There he was. Hair a little shorter, but face all the same. Swamped in anxiety and self-deprecation, but his eyes poured with love whenever you watched the scenes between you two unfold. You two led a simple life in that Timeline, nested in New York City, adopted an all white mountainous feline, Sierra and even introduced the likes of therapy to Bob.

If you hadn’t come across the advertisement for Wonder Inc. taped to a lamppost just two blocks down from your apartment, you and Bob would be tethered for that lifetime. Your eyes welled as they always did, to the sight of your greyed hairs, thinner as Bob’s was cut short to maintain thickness on the top. Laughter lines plenty, hands spotted with age; you died first. The end of your tape concluding that you craved the simplicity of life with Bob Reynolds. No matter how you found it.

Your name was called. And for a moment, you felt the panic creep up the back of your neck. Sight blurred from being unfocused, you blinked back into the moment to see the man you had been daydreaming your lost life with.

If you could have, you would’ve smoothed the wrinkle set between his brows with worry.

“I lost you there.” He mumbled.

You always lose me.

You conjured up a smile, “Sorry. What were you saying?” You peered over your shoulder — as you always did — awaiting that familiar orange glow and TVA guards tenfold.

“It’s OK.” Bob started, “I was just mentioning that Yelena returned your files back to Valentina’s office.”

You visibly tensed. Back straightened, throat bobbed from a hard pill to swallow. Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was malice incarnate, she taunted you from the sidelines, her own version of a puppet with strings because one act of defiance, and she would be the one to make the call.

It had been two weeks since Bob had excavated the skeletons of your TVA file, it had led to a sudden bloom of friendship — to that you were thankful for — you routinely walked side by side to the kitchen in the dark mornings of December, shoulders brushed against the fabric of your clothes, subtle stolen glances at side profiles whilst the other was busy in their mind. To say it alarmed the rest of the team was an understatement. They thrived on the jest that Bob repelled you to the complete opposite side of the room, his heavy efforts not going unnoticed.

Now? You were practically joint at the hip.

It was a blessing and a curse. A curse that rained down as Valentina, heels clicking against the refurbished floor, pencil skirt to match the blazer as she sauntered into the kitchen with her sights set on you. Prepared to do anything, you turned your full attention to her pursed purple stained lips, a twitch in her right eye as she began to smirk with intent.

She spoke your name like it was a death sentence, “You didn’t happen to cross paths with a particular file during your admin work, did you?” You had shaken your head with vigour, fingers clenched around your designated tea drinking mug enough that you might’ve crushed it into dust. Valentina tilted her head, palms smoothed over the counter, “I’m missing a file. A very important one. I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

Yes. For two different reasons. One: Bob had stolen it in partial innocence — he sat beside you, sweat on his brow — and two: you wanted that file. The manipulative, devil in nature that brandished a white streak of hair, could publish your documents at any given time. Unleashing a relentless force, a sequence violation, and you would be right back where you started in the shackles of the TVA.

Hands tied, Bob — riddled with guilt — set Yelena the task of returning the file that Alexei had kept to use as a comically large bookmark. With a light snort after Bob questioned her capability of not being caught, Yelena slipped the dog-eared file back with nonchalance to her skill.

You would earn those files back. One day.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bob asked when you didn’t reply to his statement. He thought he had done right by restoring the cracked peace between you and Valentina. Visibly unravelled in nerves, you offered a warm smile and Bob softened.

“No. Thank you, Bob.” You meant it. Although the slight grit of your teeth said otherwise. Quick to change the subject, you added, “I hope you’re not a Kleptomaniac at tonight’s Christmas Gala.”

You, personally, didn’t celebrate Christmas. The Watchtower decked out in tacky decor with vintage LED lights that John Walker had torn from a building near by, just because he liked them. The team weren’t incredibly enthusiastic about the festivities, but, Valentina made it clear it was vital to your image as the New Avengers. Secret Santa gifts were a must!

Bob deflated. Socialising wasn’t his strong suit. A ticking time-bomb, he preferred to reside in the shadows whilst the rest of the team played the socialites role. However, he wasn’t getting out of the Christmas Gala — taken by Walker and Barnes to be fitted for a suit.

Things were different though.

He had you now. Things were different within two weeks, fourteen days, because of you. Suddenly, he felt anchored, validated in that odd feeling that clawed its way out from his stomach whenever he caught glimpses of you avoiding him. There were multiple versions of you, and multiple versions of him that belong together, written in the scripts of your lives. You existed, in your form that had Bob stumbling over his words, palms clammy when he caught the underlying note of your perfume, eyes lingering on you in meetings and, yet, he couldn’t have you.

Bob would tolerate the Gala; because you were there.

The question came as it always did.

“Is there a version of me that, that loves socialising?” Bob cringed at your expression. Rules had been set out. Rule one: Don’t ask about Bob Variants. That was it. But, you found a way to tell him in subtle blinking. One for yes. Two for no.

You blinked twice.

At least you still loved him in every timeline.

“I’ll see you later for the Gala.” You dropped from the barstool, and as you walked out of the kitchen, you called over your shoulder, “Don’t forget your Secret Santa gift!”

The sky grew black and snow began to cascade from the heavens above whilst the aristocrats of New York filtered into the Watchtower for the black tie event. Bob fiddled with the cufflinks of his suit as he waited beside Bucky who had helped him briefly to tie his bow tie. Failure to succeed, Bucky had unclipped his fake one and swapped with Bob to salvage any embarrassment bestowed upon the younger male.

The rest of the team trudged through from their rooms, freshened up to satisfy Valentina’s command. Yelena beelined for Bob, wearing a floral suit with her hair slicked back, a growing smile shown as she approached him.

“Look at you.” She patted his shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, Lena. I—You look cool.” Bob warmed in his face as Yelena posed from his compliment. He went to laugh, the joyful feeling caught in his throat and exchanged for a stammered, teenage whine when you entered the mouth of the foyer to greet guests. “Shit.”

There you were, confidence unshaken as you approached the rest of your team, figure exposed in a dress you hated but wore to keep Valentina’s threats at bay. Two wobbling Christmas trees clipped atop of your head, face beaming at your chosen family.

If you had a visible aura, it would be a glowing gold, Bob thought. Every part of you as beautiful as the next feature he stared at upon your face. His throat bobbed, a gentle elbow to his rib and he caught Yelena staring back at him with a brow quirked; he was quick to collect himself.

Your eyes trailed down Bob’s frame and back up to his face, his ears reddened as you pinned him under your playful gaze. You couldn’t kiss, that you were sure of. But, you’d ruffle his feathers a little for the sake of indulgent flirtations. Fingertips pinched the bow tie askew around his collar, his lung sucked in a breath from your closeness as you straightened it out. The closeness made Bob considerably dizzy. Months of longing to even sit next to you, had now flipped him on his head and shown him what closeness he really craved.

You patted his chest, “Handsome.”

Bob croaked, “Your dress—Good.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head with a nervous laugh, “I meant—”

“—I know. Thank you, Bob.”

“Ugh.” Yelena’s voice cut through the atmosphere, her right cheek filled with a striped Candy Cane, it left her mouth with a pop as she waved at you both, “This is disgusting. Are you guys falling in love?”

“What? No.” Bob was quick to cover tracks.

Then John Walker chimed in, “Oh yeah?” You both stared at him, oblivious to his next sentence, “Then why did I catch you two stumbling out of the Cleaners Cupboard two weeks ago? Huh?”

You looked to the comical Turkey hat on his head, eyes narrowed, “Your hat. Much better than that beret.”

Walker tightened his lips and Bucky — the voice of reason — stepped in with his hands up to settle the situation growing arms and legs. He had considerably aged in the presence of the Thunderbolts* turned New Avengers; grey hairs sprouted from the roots at his scalp.

Ushered by Bucky to enter the room where the highbrow, intellectual snobs resided in — Walker grabbing you in for a quick headlock — all beady eyes behind false pretences stared at the group with a few members missing, Ava and Alexei already mingling in their own way.

Yelena leant close to your ear, “Ten dollars goes to the first person to have a drink thrown over them.”

“Deal.” You mumbled, all of you dispersing into the crowd — Bob flipping between you and Yelena before subconsciously pulled in your direction.

Exercising your capability to talk the ear off of people, you used this to your advantage. Gesticulate in your manner, you became off-putting to the people you were made to socialise with. Faces screwed, and pearls clutched, most attendees would shuffle along — some skipping you completely — as you began to explain in depth about gruesome subjects that would make their eyes water.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine watched you from afar, not to your knowledge, but she always did.

And she wasn’t impressed.

Once ridding a trio of politicians with some hard hitting trivia, you and Bob had made it to the long table displayed with hearty food for the buffet. You plucked cheese from the charcuterie board and grinned back at Bob who couldn’t bring himself to take food without permission.

His hands wrung, head swivelling to watch others around him. Self-conscious because, really, he didn’t belong mingling like this. He hadn’t said two words in the time you had pushed away five groups of strangers and it made him begrudgingly feel a little silly. But — again — you were you and it was becoming apparent that you balanced Bob Reynolds out. Where he lacked, you made up for.

Maybe there was a Variant of him and you that were the opposites of your personalities.

He would ask another time.

Head turned back to you when you offered a block of cheese in his face, Bob politely declined and you threw it into your mouth, satisfied and unaware of his own self-loathing.

“You look beautiful.” Bob blurted out. His own eyes wide as you stopped your chewing to stare through him and into his soul. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, “That is what I meant to say to you earlier.”

You took a hard swallow to rid your mouth of cheddar, “I think I like when you compliment me.”

Warmth spread across his chest like wildfire. A newfound sense of confidence as a lopsided smile graced his face in your confession. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t believe his boldness.

“Look at this!” Alexei cut through any remainder of a conversation with his imposing voice. His tall stature loomed over you and Bob with a grin as wide to bare his teeth. Brows furrowed, you peered up to see a twig of green and white foliage hung above your heads. He feigned a gasp, “Mistletoe! Now—It’s Christmas rules. You must kiss.”

You dropped your gaze to Bob in a panic. The sudden softness shared between you replaced with perturbation. Hands reached for the branch and Alexei moved it higher above with ease. The sudden race of your heart could’ve been heard at the other end of New York when you felt heads turn to stare in anticipation. It could’ve been the worst outcome that you would be unable to explain to the team after enforcing rejection upon a silly tradition.

Bob felt the anxiety radiate off of you and he felt helpless. Gawping like a fish out of water, Bob couldn’t think of a solution to the problem. Alexei was determined in his bid for humiliation.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing them.” Yelena pointed out in defence from her comfortable position on a chaise lounge. Champagne dangling from her hand.

“Nonsense!” Alexei argued, “Do you fear kissing? Just a little peck.”

You shook your head with vigour, “No. We—I can’t do that, Alexei. Can you please take the Mistletoe away from us?” Alexei frowned, not understanding your point as he hovered it above Bucky Barnes, who was close in proximity to you. Bob’s eyes almost popped out of his skull as you called in frustration, “No, Alexei! Take it away completely!”

Albeit a little befuddled by your sudden outburst, Alexei persisted and held the foliage above you and Bob again. Earning a groan from your throat as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You looked to the glass in your hand, immediate in your action as you poured it down the front of your dress.

“Hey!” Yelena shouted, “That does not count!”

You stared at the reddened stain that seeped into the woven fabric of your dress, tears prickled your waterline as you looked back up at Bob who went to reach out to comfort you. The room felt hot, your clothes tighter than when you had first wiggled into them. Hushed tones of alarm over your actions made your face warm from your neck to the very top of your head.

Throwing Alexei daggers, you turned on your heel, bottom lip wobbled as you shoved past Bucky who tried to halt your advances out of the door.

Bob was hot on your heel, and Bucky managed to grapple his forearm, “What the hell happened?”

“I—I don’t know.” Yeah, he did. “I’m just going to make sure she’s OK.”

Bucky nodded and let Bob go.

Foot wedged between the closing doors of the elevator, you followed the leg up to see Bob prying them open. He huffed as he stumbled in, dusting off fake dirt on his suit jacket to retract any attention away from your silly outburst. You wiped at your tears, chin tucked to your shoulder to try remain hidden in your vulnerability.

It was torturous. Everyday a reminder that flayed at your skin, that you caused the greatest loss of your life. And now? You had to live within the same Watchtower as him, aware that any wrong move would unravel your hard work. Any moment of weakness, and loneliness in the shape of a TVA beige jumpsuit and shock collar would be your punishment.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine would make sure of it.

Bob pressed the button to close the doors, “Cleaners Cupboard?” Where it all began. He peered at you with a sympathetic look, his fingers twitched at his sides to soothe you by his touch.

“Sure.” You smiled meekly.

It took no time to reach the Cleaners Cupboard, Bob held the door open for you and gestured for you to walk in first as if you were entering The Ritz. He followed you in, door clicked shut and he pulled the toggle to illuminate the tiny shack of a room. Your face glowed under the light, tear stricken but a little humorous with the miniature trees that wobbled on your head.

Throwing his shyness overboard, Bob reached for your hand, gentle in his tracing of your wrist before settling his finger between yours.

“‘M sorry.” You mumbled like a scolded child.

It turned out that this Variant of Bob had a strike of confidence in your moment of weakness.

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologise.” A squeeze to your hand and a drop of his head to meet your eyes, “It hurts you. I know it does.”

You remained silent.

Bob took a step closer — which you had thought would be impossible in such a tiny room.

“I know it hurts you, because, without witnessing what you have witnessed, it somehow hurts me,” He took your hand and placed it on his chest to feel the thrum of his heart, “Right here.”

Fingers flush against his warm chest, you watched your hand for a moment before returning Bob’s eye contact. You were exposed at the core of your emotions, hard exterior cracked as your own demons shone through.

Sobered by his sudden assertiveness, you let your jaw slacken, his judgement clearly clouded by his own harboured feelings. Yet, you found yourself still as Bob brought you to him. Bodies now flush, desperation clung in the air just to be able to touch each other in a tender moment.

“I want to kiss you.” Bob nudged your nose with his, his breath touched your lips as his eyelids grew heavy with the lust for a simple kiss. It was easy to slip into submission, throw caution to the wind and allow yourselves the indulgence of each other.

You leant into his touch, his thumb smoothed against your jawline. A wicked form of torture as the TVA would have you pruned from existence the moment their screens flickered from the kiss. It was the hardest motion you had made — moving away from Bob — your forehead pressed to his shoulder with a groan muffled.

“We can’t.” You pulled back and Bob tracked your face, eyes occasionally dropping to the plump of your lips. You continued, “I can’t go through umpteen loopholes with the TVA again. In fact, I don’t think even Mobius would be able to salvage my reputation.”

“Mobius?” Bob queried and you waved him off. Long story, he guessed.

“If there was a way, Bob, I’d have kissed you the moment I met you. Trust me. My impulsive control is award-winning.” Your shoulders deflated, defeated by your own imprisonment, “If there was a way we could kiss and not have our lips touch, that would be the solution to all of our problems.”

Bob leant back on the heels of his feet, his fingers thread between yours as he mulled over your throw away comment.

If a lightbulb could’ve blinked above his head, it would have.

He straightened his posture with urgency, his hand left yours as he turned on his heel to search through the cluttered shelves. You watched over his shoulder, his frantic rummaging made your expression drop to medium concern. Bob was mumbling to himself before he drew out a long rod of Saran Wrap; gleeful in his findings.

You stood still on the spot as he turned back to you, desperately ripping at the relentlessly fiddly plastic, chucking the roll onto the floor and presenting you with the shortened Saran Wrap as if it were a precious reward.

“Wow. Nice.” You blinked and Bob rolled his eyes playfully.

“Think about it. If—if there was a way that we could kiss where our lips don’t touch.” He pulled at either end of the plastic wrap, “It’s a loophole. I found a loophole for us.” He smiled, suddenly feeling insecure, “That’s if you—if you would like to kiss.”

You shot Bob an incredulous look, “Are you kidding me?”

Oh no. Bob felt his pride falter. He had misread your signals. You snatched the cut Saran Wrap from his grasp, immediate in your action to pull it taught against your lips before yanking Bob in by the neck. He yelped from your sheer force, his hands flying out to the side as you planted a hefty kiss against his lips — a thin loopholed barricade between you — whilst your arms wrapped around his neck to hold him as tight as possible.

Wide-eyed, Bob whimpered out, his brain short-circuiting after computing that you were kissing. You and Bob. As it was written in the stars for every version of you two out in the universe. His stiffened body relaxed, a satisfied, low hum elicited from the back of his throat as he melted into your touch. Your index finger came to twirl the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, goosebumps rose on his arms before he let his hands guide themselves to your waist.

It was everything you had been anticipating. The ache of longing foretold in every arrest, punch to the gut from a TVA guard, and nights spent in a cell awaiting your trial. Headaches from research trying to find Bob Reynolds without his own Variant soulmate, where you could slip into his life without ever pressuring him to fall deeply for you. If adoring Bob from afar was meant for your lifetime within the Sacred Timeline; then you’d spend everyday relishing in his presence.

This, however? Was so much more.

You pulled back, the sudden creep of anxiety began to creep its fingers over your shoulder. Bob followed your lips, his eyes closed as he almost cried out to you to never stop kissing him. Perhaps, you began to panic, Bob hadn’t found a miraculous loophole and you waited to hear the all too familiar noise of the TVA storming the Watchtower.

Ear perked as you peeled the wrap from your mouth, Bob plucked it from your fingers and placed it to his mouth, the plastic moulded to his lips as he pressed them against the corners of your mouth. You could’ve been distracted if it weren’t for the burning fear that you had made a grave mistake. Then, as if miracles existed, there was no sudden rush from TVA guards. You remained against Bob, your hearts joint in quickened pace, relief drowned your senses.

Bob had found a loophole.

“You have,” Bob kissed you, “No idea,” Another plastic wrapped kiss, “How badly, I’ve wanted to do this.”

You grinned into his lips, “I think you’re showing me now.”

Bob hummed, one last kiss to savour you in the Cleaners Cupboard before he pulled back and peeled the Saran Wrap off of his lips. Hair slightly wild from your grabs, you both shared a laugh at the absurdity of your situation, your hands smoothing the tufts of hair back into place. It was ridiculously unreasonable, but the pair of you would celebrate your wins.

There was an invisible string attached to the pair of you after all.

Bob scratched at his brow, “I—Uh—Can I give you my Secret Santa present?"

“Bob.” You were monotonous in your tone, “The hint is in the name. Secret. But, OK. You funnily enough, were my Secret Santa, too. I left your present downstairs and I don’t fancy going back in my wine stained dress to fetch it.”

“Later.” Bob waved it off, “Just. . . Wait here. I think you’ll like it.”

You nodded and hastily, Bob pulled the plastic film across his lips to press a chaste one to yours before he exited the Cleaners Cupboard to retrieve your Not-So-Secret Santa gift whilst running on a high from kissing you in the very cupboard he found out that you were essentially soulmates until the end of time.

Arms folded, you leant your head back in disbelief. If it was acceptable, you may have let out a scream of gratification.

Immediately distracted, your eyes dropped to the warm orange glow that slid from the bottom of the door you hid behind. Brows pinched, you smiled in curiosity; awaiting Bob on the other side with his gift in hand.

“Bob?” You called, “What the hell did you get me?”

Bob returned to the Cleaners Cupboard, peering from behind the largest Monstera plant he could find in all of New York City. An ode to a reference that earned him the knowledge of your cold shoulder two weeks prior. He had played over the joke he would tell you when he handed it over, tinsel wrapped around the stem of it.

With minor struggle, Bob twisted the doorknob to the cupboard, “Alright. Here you go—” The emptiness of the room made Bob stop at the threshold. Eyes drifted down, he caught a glimpse of the headband you had worn with the two Christmas trees glued to it.

Bob felt nauseous.

Carelessly, he dropped the Monstera plant, the terracotta pot smashed upon impact. He replaced it in his grasp with the headband you had adorned just a few moments prior. When you two were kissing. Loophole kissing — he was so sure of it. Bob turned to look outward into the hallway and then back into the cupboard where he felt his heart clamp down in an iron vice.

The realisation hit and he called out your name softly.

#🔖 koolie writes #yup i’m sorry #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x fem!reader #bob reynolds x you #thunderbolts fic #bob reynolds #marvel #mcu

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bi-writes · 8 months ago

Text

attached | ghost x f!reader

i have no idea what it is that binds us together. but it doesn't really matter.

type: one-shot (8.4k)

cw: zombie apocalypse au, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, dark!reader, reader described as curvy/plus-sized + has hair long enough to braid, graphic depictions of violence + murder + gore, depictions of suicidal thoughts + intentions (no actual action), mentions of depression + sadness + loneliness, depictions of assault + harassment (not by ghost), horror movie vibes, unprotected piv, allusions to baby trapping, cumplay, oral (fem!receiving), 18+

Death can be a curious thing. It used to be something definitive. Exact. It used to mean the end of something.

No, now it's a beginning. Not a sweet beginning, but a beginning nonetheless. It turns a new tide. Reactivates cells that were once dead. Sparks nerves that used to be dormant, that used to be dark. It makes muscles move even when they aren't supposed to. Brain-dead, but still hungry.

He hasn't been able to understand the phenomenon quite yet. He's tried. He's picked up a few books and tried to do his own research, but it's difficult when there is no way for him to view the cellular structure of it all on a micro-level. He cannot see the way it grows or how it takes over. He hasn't been able to figure out what techniques it uses to keep a body awake even when the central organs no longer function the way they're supposed to. What keeps it moving? What keeps the feet running and the stomach hungry and the saliva warm?

Why is it that when he plunges his blade through its heart, it still kicks? The brain is its engine, as with his own body, but this is different. The brain runs even when it has lost its necessary components. Blood circulation, oxygen, the things it needs to thrive; but this state of being is not like his own. It doesn't need the same things it used to need because its purpose is not to keep a body running. Its purpose is to eat. To infect. And that is all.

He likes to play games these days. He has a lucky silver euro, one he pried off the dead body of someone that he hated. He spit on that body before raiding his pockets. He hated that fucking brute; he disgraced the style of wearing a mask by using a fucking t-shirt instead. Perhaps Austria is a beautiful country, but it certainly produced one of the most unlikable of men. He thinks even if the world was still right-side up, he would've killed him anyway. The only thing useful about him was that he was carrying a few extra magazines and this coin in his front pocket.

Every morning, when he wakes up, he makes whatever will happen that day a game. If the coin lands on heads, he gets to kill himself today. If it lands on tails, he has to endure 24 more hours before he can play again. The rules are simple. The game is easy. Everyone knows how to play it, but not everyone will like to win it.

Today, he decides to do something different. Today, he decides if he wins, he will wait another day. He has never won this game; he decides if he can't win it, he'll manipulate it until he gets what he wants.

It hits the table with a light clink. It rattles around in a few circles before settling, and when he leans back in his chair, he sighs. He knows what it will be even without looking, but he looks anyway. When he sees the carved outline of its face-side up, his eyes flash. He won.

He never wins.

Something is keeping him here. He chooses not to ask questions. There isn't anyone to ask anyways. No one answers when he speaks. He doesn't think there is anyone left to listen.

If someone would ask him why he doesn't just put the muzzle to his temple and pull the trigger, he would just say that it was because that was how the game is played. Those are the rules. He can't try unless that's what it tells him to do. There is no fun in cheating the game; it wouldn't be proper, it wouldn't be correct. It would be grounds for disqualification, and that just wouldn't do, not for him.

He has to do things the right way. Always. It's how you keep order in a world that has none left. It's how you maintain structure even without the lines drawn in the sand. This is the way things are done; God is not waiting at the end of a very long staircase, He is rattling that coin on the table and waiting for Ghost to take a peek.

He thinks it keeps landing on tails because perhaps God is tired of playing this game with him; Ghost has never been surprised. He will always be ready for disappointment. Giving a gift is no fun when the recipient simply receives it.

It landed on heads today. He won the game. He tried to play it differently, but someone won't let him.

There's snow on the ground this morning. It snowed all night, coating the ground in a few inches of powdery ice. He looks away from the window and back towards the mirror, continue to run the razor over his head. His blonde hair falls in clumps in the sink. He keeps it neat and short, close to the head, and then he does the same with his face. He cuts the stubble close, keeping his face clean, but it doesn't wipe away the rest of his face, the things he can't just cut away. The scars, the ridges, the skin that closed over wounds angry and white and uneven. He can see his teeth through the broken skin above his lip, the yellowing of them now that he only brushes them a few times a week with his lack of proper toothpaste, and he grimaces when he sees the new red spots of raised skin left behind from the dirty mask he wears now. He dips his toothbrush into his bottle of water before brushing, careful to scrub his gums properly before spitting into the sink.

When he finishes, he makes his way back into the bedroom to get dressed. He did the washing yesterday; he found a creek only half frozen over, and he made use of the bar soap he keeps and managed to clean off most of his clothes. He feels a little better slipping into his cargos now that they aren't drenched in sweat or dirt. He tucks a long-sleeve into his pants before putting a thick windbreaker on over it, but he finally feels complete once he slips his mask on over his face. In the mirror, he adjusts it, making the skull straight, and he blinks back at himself. The mask does more than just hide him from the dead.

It keeps the living walking a careful circle around him, and he wants to keep it that way. He hasn't spoken to a single person since it began. He stopped counting the days once his boots ran out of space for notches. Anyone he sees now, he scares them off with one look, or he puts them down before they can take a step closer to finding out if he's real or not.

He doesn't take chances. He has always had a special skill, being able to sniff out the bullshit before it begins. He leans into it now, and it isn't a bullet wasted if it stops the chaos before it can wind up.

He still wears his tactical gear. He can't part with it. His holsters have not failed him, still buckled around his thighs. His vest is still strapped on, and without it, he feels naked. He has long since discarded of the Union Jack patch on his chest; there is no king nor country anymore. They are colors in different shapes, and they mean nothing now; they were buried a long time ago.

His backpack feels light. He's running out of bullets, and he doesn't like how it feels. Nowadays, he has to go further and further to get what he needs, and recently, he's taken to picking up everything and simply moving to make the trips all the easier with no home to go back to.

It's not all that different to the life he had before. He never stayed in one place too long then either. He signed the shortest leases, and he would move once it was up, never lingering and never buying more things than he could carry in the back of his truck. His memories are in his head and nowhere else. He keeps no trinkets. He saves no pictures. There is nothing from the old life that needs to be brought into the new. He shifts between both lives, one foot in the past and one in the future, and he thinks that's what really makes him live up to his name.

He's a Ghost. A drifter. Standing between two places at the same time, not knowing which to stay in and which to leave. It would hurt, if he was really human inside, if he could feel anything at all.

But he's not. His insides are nothing but organic matter. His head is a clock, ticking, counting down, but he's not aware of when it runs out.

He digs the heel of his boot into the snow to gauge the depth. It barely comes up over his toes. He huffs a little before taking a peek at the map tucked into his vest. He had circled a place just north, a main street he is hoping will have a stash of things he will need.

Ammunition. Weapons. Food. Water. A new book, for fuck's sake, maybe a Sudoku puzzle that isn't already scribbled into.

The forest gives him cover, so he sticks to it. Out in the open, he would stick out, dressed in all black. He keeps to the trees, ducking under the leaves and trying not to leave too much of a track behind. He doesn't plan on staying in that cabin again, but if he must, he doesn't want anyone seeing a way to come back to it.

The one thing he does appreciate about this new place is the quiet. It lingers, and it's calm, and when he breathes, the world breathes back. He feels like he had always been telling everyone to shut up, but now, his voice hasn't been used in months. Even when he passes other people, he doesn't speak to them. If they don't spot him, he keeps to the shadows, and if they do, they don't see him for long enough to know what hit them.

It's a good stash. The store had been rifled through by now, but in the office, there had been a nice drawer filled with supplies. A few boxes of ammunition, a revolver, and a new blade to stick in one of his boots. He picks up some other odds and ends. Batteries. A roll of yarn. A small sewing kit. A few pens. His backpack feels a little heavier, and it's a weight he appreciates when he makes his way back outside.

He sticks to the alleyways as he searches for the roof over his head for the night. He decides the cabin he slept in last night was too close to the road; if anyone was driving or following it, they could find that place too easily, and he wouldn't be able to sleep another night comfortably there knowing this truth.

He finds himself veering off road just enough. It's fucking cold, freezing, and he's grateful to the mask for helping him keep it together as he ducks under the wind and keeps an eye out for any nearby landmarks. Sometimes, on slow days like this, he would sit on a ridge and kill infected for sport. Practice focusing his sight, calculating the wind, keep his mind in check by hitting his targets and ridding the world of another one of those things.

There are different kinds of hunters out today.

He hears them before he sees them. He knows what kind they are when he hears their laughter. Low and untamed, sloppy and fucking messy. They always are. These kind spoil their treasures. They eat their food until it makes them sick, and then they do it all over again. They never learn their lesson.

When he settles his rifle down along a fallen tree, he eyes them through his scope. There are two of them. Both are fattened, with dark hair and lazy eyes, and they look greasy. Their clothes are in ruins, and their packs are light, and Ghost figures that they look enough alike to be perhaps brothers, or maybe cousins. Their smiles are equally as sadistic. The taller one tugs something along, and when Ghost aims the scope down a little, he sees her.

Her.

He's dragging her by her legs. She's kicking, but it's hard for her to do much when her arms and legs are bound by mismatched bits of fabric and rope. She's crying, that much is clear, squirming as she spits and gargles around the gag in her mouth as she tries to break free. She has heart, but she isn’t a fighter. If she was, she would’ve realized her teeth could snap that fabric of her gag, and she would know that the knot they’ve tied succumbs easily to upwards pressure.

He follows them. They keep going, dragging you and laughing as they make it to a makeshift camp hidden amongst a clearing. There's a few tents set up, a small dip in the earth to hold a campfire, and when they settle on tree trunks to sit, the smaller one takes a blade and cuts your gag off, leaning over you with a low chuckle. They mean to maim and to take and then to kill, and you know this when you look into his eyes.

"Hello, darling."

"Bite me."

He laughs again, dropping onto his knees over you, but when he gets close enough, you sit up with what little strength you have and bite him along his ear. The cartilage rips, and you tear half his ear off, and then he's scrambling off of you, screaming, holding the side of his head as he rolls around in circles in the snow. He colors it red, and you snarl with satisfaction. Ghost takes a deep breath in and lets it out shakily. The look in your eyes–he can taste that, roll it around on his tongue. You did not clock the poorly-tied knots, but you do see opportunity, and you are the kind to take it.

"You bitch!"

Just as the taller one is about to get on top of you, Ghost decides he's seen enough. He closes one eye, lines up the sight, and he lets out a cool breath as he drops the both of them within a second of each other. They fall easy; a bullet clean through the back of their heads, and now they're finally quiet again. They will not get up, either.

Your lip trembles as you look towards the trees. You watch as the leaves rustle, and when you see a man emerge from the thick of them, you start to cry. You think maybe you're seeing things; you must be so dehydrated, so hungry, that a reaper has come for you, and you are much deader than you thought.

The reaper stares down at you curiously. He swings his rifle over his shoulder, tilting his head to the side as he bends, getting a blade out of his boot before he cuts the restraints that bind you. He doesn’t hesitate when he does this; he does not deem you enough of a threat to keep you bound.

You sit up slowly, wiping your face, and when you meet his eyes, you're surprised to see how human they are. They're dark, but alive, and he has blonde lashes and pale skin underneath. He covers himself, but you can still see him. There's a man under there, not a reaper.

Just a man.

I hate men.

You shake off the rest of the restraints, turning your wrists and ankles and flexing your muscles for good measure. When you realize you are nothing but a little shaken up, you look back up. He's still staring at you, hard eyes lowered in a glare as he looks you over. He's sizing you up, maybe, deciding what to do with you. You meet his eyes one more time before gathering the saliva into your mouth and spitting onto the floor. It's a garbled mess of blood, from the flesh you had severed from that man.

He blinks slowly at that, makes some decision that he doesn’t voice out loud, and then he starts to walk away.

You stand on shaky legs, taking it as your cue. You watch as he rips open the flimsy tents that those men had left behind, and he's already grabbing backpacks and rifling through them for goods. He already starts filling his own vest and backpack with the things he finds; some flashlights, fishing line, more food and ammunition. You follow him, moving to the other tent beside it and starting to grab their things and toss them outside. You get to your knees and open the packs, laying out what you find carefully. They have interesting materials in here, ones you associate with explosives. C4. Lighters. Batteries. Wiring. You clench your jaw when you pull out the last box in the bag.

Condoms.

Bunch of pricks.

He finds your discoveries useful. He opens up an empty pack he found and fills it to the brim with supplies. When he zips it up, your stomach drops when you think he might toss it over his shoulder and leave. It only sinks for a moment before he turns the backpack around, holding it up for you.

You pause for a little and think. It only takes a few seconds for you to decide to stand up and slip your arms through the straps.

When he walks again, you follow.

The sun is setting by the time you find somewhere to sleep, but it looks like luxury to you. A quaint little brick house tucked between the hills, a ways from the road and positively hidden. He spotted it through his scope a few hours ago, and he made a beeline for it. It's difficult to keep up with him; he has incredible stamina and the longest legs. He moves like a ghost, too quiet for his own good. You would never know from looking at him how stealthy he could be. For such a huge man, you would never notice him before he could get the drop on you. It makes you conscious of your own steps and how loud they are, and you try to mimic the way he moves as you keep walking.

You don't know why, but you think he must be very pleased with how quiet you've gotten. You don't know why that fact pleases you, too.

He makes you stay outside when you arrive. He pulls a small handgun out of his backpack, and he checks the chamber before handing it to you. He clicks his tongue, forcing your eyes on his, and he puts a finger to his mask-covered lips, telling you to keep quiet. You take the gun from him, pointing it at the ground and holding it at your side, and he touches a knuckle under your chin before he twists a silencer onto his own gun.

You watch with rapt attention as he clears the house. His movements are quick and calculated, and he keeps low to the ground. It's mesmerizing. Big and capable, one with the shadows. The only thing you see in the dark is the white of the skull over his face, and if you didn't know it was him, you would think that you have just seen God.

But God isn't real. Apparently ghosts are.

He is back outside in less than ten minutes, nodding his head at you. You take it as your cue to come towards him, and you hand him the gun back when you pass him. You go into the house and immediately start to light some of the candles scattered around. You set your backpack down, rubbing your shoulders out, and you take a seat on the couch.

It hits you then, the gravity of it all. Men are your captors, and then they are your savior. They'll never leave you alone. They'll never let you go. You were ruled by their iron fist in a previous life, and you will endure their wrath in this new one.

You start to cry. It's the first sound you've made since screaming. You cover your face with your hands, and you don't know why you feel safe enough to cry, but you do, and it comes out of you fast.

He tilts his head to the side as he watches you. It's a strange thing to see something so...alive. He's used to only seeing things moving that can't speak back to him. If he does see things alive, he puts them down as if they are rabid dogs.

He can't find it in himself to kill you. Something is so odd about it. About you.

Everything about today seems more than coincidence. He won the game today. And then he found you.

When he tries the sink in the bathroom, he's surprised to find it working. He grabs a bowl and fills it with water, and when he comes back into the living room, you are staring at one of the flickering candles blankly, shivering. You have stopped crying, but your face is still wet with fat, lingering tears.

It looks like you've been hit by a brick wall. Your hair is matted in places, in tangles. It’s in desperate need of a cut. It's stuck to your face around the perimeter, caked by sweat and mud and dried blood. Your clothes are in ruins; you wear a ripped jumper, thin jeans, and the soles of your boots are starting to fray and come off, and he can see where you've tried to mend them unsuccessfully with duct tape. You wear no jewelry, and your fingernails need to be cut. Those men have left marks on you, but those will fade.

He kneels in front of where you sit on the couch. Using a threadbare cloth, he dips it into the water and raises it to your face. You show no resistance. You let him wipe your face off, the tears, the dirt, the blood. It stains the cloth ugly, but you can't look at anything else except for his eyes.

They're so dark. Brown, like bark, like honey. You haven't spoken a word to him yet, but the silence is sort of bliss. All you can hear is the drip of the water when he rings out the cloth.

He helped you. He didn't have to. He could've kept walking, but he stayed with you. He didn't leave you. He could've walked away again, but he let you follow.

He isn't a good man. You know that. Anyone who has lasted this long isn't a good person. You've done the same. You've let it take you, once or twice, let the snarl in the back of your throat guide your hand. You've let the voices fester, let them eat at the acid in your stomach until they begged for more, and you won't admit it, but it felt good. Felt good to protect yourself. To rid the earth of something terrible. To say no.

He must understand that. He's decorated in its essence, the one of understanding, the one that says I know what it's like to take matters into your own hands, and he did it with you, too.

He's doing it now, cleaning you up, and you don't know him, or his face, or his name, but you'll try hard to give it back. To give him something. To tell him you are worthy and not useless. It doesn't show today, how far you've come, but you'll try.

"Thank you," you finally whisper. He's dragging the cloth over your bottom lip, and he blinks rapidly, as if a bit startled by hearing your voice. When you speak again, it's to tell him your name, and he thinks for a few moments before continuing, wiping under your jaw.

He doesn't sleep that night. He stares out the window, like a guard dog, and he lets the soft breaths of your sleep keep him awake.

The gas lighter on the stove still works. It takes a match to light it properly, but when the fire starts, you take some of the soup cans from your pack and make breakfast.

Your smile when he comes into the kitchen nearly blinds him. You look more rested than yesterday, and you ladle some soup into a bowl for him, setting it down at the table. He notices the two bowls, his and yours, and he notices that his bowl has more food.

It is then that he decides to keep you.

What he doesn't know is that you've decided the same. The world has thrown you the way out. A man, built like a bear, happy finger on the trigger and capable of getting you out of harm's way. You need to convince him that you are worthy. You need to convince him that you are valuable. A keepsake.

Men are what start wars, not what end them. Men are the cause of chaos and destruction, it is prevalent throughout history, and it is why you are here now, in a place that doesn’t exist, where people don’t breathe the same air anymore. A man thought himself correct, but he was wrong, and he didn’t listen when someone told him otherwise. They are the ones that take advantage of your vulnerability, and instead of trying to understand it, they use it to get what they want.

You can do the same.

You start by mending his clothes. He's laid some out to dry after washing, and you notice the tears in his shirts. When he comes back a little while later, with dinner hanging off his shoulder, you are seated on the couch, feet tucked under you, with a needle in your hand as you sew up one of his shirts.

You've bathed, found new clothes, warmer ones, and your hair is braided and off your face. He hates to say he prefers you a little dirty, but he likes this, too. A natural beauty. A soft face.

You make a real dinner that night. There's canned vegetables that you try to spruce up with the spices you find in the cupboards, but the real meal is the venison you're served. He butchers it outside like a professional, and he sears it on the stove with a perfect touch. When he feeds you that first bite, your mouth explodes with flavor. Your belly is full that evening, and when he blows out the candles for bed, he eats you out in the dark of the corner bedroom.

He's not sloppy like you thought he might be. Not overeager. He's easy with it, casual. Big hunk of a man smothered between your thighs, and he laves his tongue through your folds like his very own personal dessert. He drinks straight from the source, holy water spilling sweet between his teeth, and when he gets his tongue inside of you and holds it there, you nearly leave earth for somewhere else. You come like that, too, his filthy mouth sucking on your clit before he's slipping that tongue in you again, and you mewl against the bed as he tucks his hand under your ass and spreads you wider.

He tells you his name a few nights later. He doesn't speak, not ever, but when you're crying around his thick fingers, he whispers it against your ear.

"'s Simon," he growls, and you know what he means by that. He wants you to say it while you bounce on his fingers, when you rut against his thigh. He wants you to say his name when you're coming undone riding his face, when you're wetting his mask with your pussy and making him choke on your cum. Such a wet, sweet girl you are, and sometimes he skips wash day for his mask so he can shove it into his mouth and pant around it and taste you while he fucks his own fist.

It's insanity, he thinks, as he's cleaning his rifle. The idea of traditional. But it's what befallen him, what he sees all around him, and he tucks his index finger into a hole too small to pinch himself just to make sure he isn't living a dream. You're in the kitchen, mending more clothes, something warm boiling on the stove. There were seeds in the greenhouse, and you're saving them to plant in the spring, so for now, you make do with canned goods and whatever Simon hunts for during the day. You found books in the attic, and you read them at night, head in Simon's lap as he plays with your hair or rubs your sore ankles or cuts your nails. You're the only one that ever speaks; he hasn't said a word to you except for telling you his name, and you're content to be the only one that uses their voice.

He always listens. You told him one time that you loved the shade of green that the trees wore, and he came back one day with a sweatshirt of the same color for you. He noticed you trying to mend those terrible boots, and he found a new pair for you, your size this time, barely worn and fit for winter. He brings lots of things for you; books, clothes, even rocks sometimes, when he just thinks he found one that you might like.

You do like them. You have started filling a small bowl with the ones he brings, and he notices you rifling through it sometimes, just looking at them, and it makes his chest swell with pride.

Like giving a treat to a dog. Like giving him a fucking bone.

He teaches you how to shoot. You know how to pull a trigger, but that’s the extent of your expertise. He teaches you how to stand, how to turn the safety on and off, how to hold the gun between two hands so not even his own can take it away from you. He makes sounds when you please him. Hums low, lets out a soft breath, sucks in the air through his teeth. You can’t see his face, but the way he looks at you when you fire a bullet and knock bottles off their ledges, it warms you, all the way down your spine, reaching your toes. You want him to keep looking at you this way, so you try hard, and he notices.

You’ll never be what he is, but the small victories are what have him chubbing up in his cargos and falling asleep between your thighs. You give, and he takes, and he keeps coming back for more.

He teaches you that distance is your strength. You aren’t like him; you aren’t built like a brick house, you won’t be bigger than a lot of your opponents. You need to keep them away from you, however you can. He makes you good with that gun because it’s your best chance, but in the even that you lose it or you run out of bullets, he shows you how to aim a hatchet so that the blade always lines up between someone’s shoulders.

The way you listen makes him salivate. The way you blink up at him and say yes, Simon and take his orders, it makes it difficult to keep away from you.

Today marks two months in the house tucked on the hill. Simon hunts, and you cook, and you live in some sick, twisted housewife fantasy at the end of the fucking world. Simon provides, and you keep, and when the box of condoms falls out of your backpack one day, you glance at Simon for just a moment before he's on you.

It's animal, that first time. He tackles you practically onto the carpet of the living room, and he props you up onto your elbows and only pulls down your jeans enough that he can fit his cock between your thighs. You hear the tear of the condom wrapping, and then he's laying over your back, sinking to the base, cock nestled inside of you as he grips your throat gently and fucks you into the carpet. Poor beast, he's definitely going to need his knees massaged after this, but you can't think about that much when you're taking the fattest cock of your entire life and trying to survive underneath him. It's that fine line between pleasure and pain that you're desperate for, and you pull threads out of the carpet as you try to hang on and take it like a good girl.

You can hear his voice. It's low, and subtle, but he grunts with each agonizing thrust, hips snapping against your ass as he fucks you back onto him over and over and over again.

It's primal. Nasty. You wish he wasn't wearing a condom, you want him to be in your skin, you want him to fill you until you're full, let it spill over, and then do it all over again. You want him to bite into your throat and tear, and you want him to eat you and then put you back together, and then do it again and again and again.

"So big," you gasp, and he falters at that. You recognize it, the need for praise, and you latch onto it with claws and stay there. I need him to stay here with me. "So good...so good t-to me, Simon–"

He groans. It's music.

Keep me. Keep me. Keep me.

"Simon, please–" You scratch at his arm, not satisfied until you feel blood. When you break the skin, he laughs, a breathless laugh that has your eyes rolling back in your head as he shoves your face into the carpet and mounts you like a fucking horse. The deep slap, slap, slap of skin is enough to send you away, send you home, your mind foggy as your pussy squeezes him for all he's worth. The slick of the condom is pleasant, but you want it raw. You want every part of him carved into you, and you arch your back, suck him in, whine and cry and beg for him to just, "please, Simon, I need it, I need it."

"Need wot?"

The sound of his voice is whiplash. He hisses when he sinks deep, staying there, holding you at a sharp angle so he can knead your ass and watch it bounce back on him. He sucks on his teeth, and there's drool slipping out of your mouth. That accent, his voice, like velvet, from deep within his chest. You want to hear more of it.

"Be a man," you gasp. "Be a man, and fuck me."

He doesn't see the desperate look on your face when he slips out of you. He doesn't see the relief that washes over you when you hear the condom come off, latex crumbling as he tosses it, but he feels the warmth of your pretty pussy when he sinks back in, skin to skin, and feels you clench for dear fucking life.

"Fuckin' Christ," Simon groans, and you reach back for him, gripping his arms, forcing him to fall over on top of you. He settles with his elbows on either side of your head, and you bow your back and grip the carpet again as he fucks into you nice and slow, deep, fat head leaking precum and making you cry because finally, yes, please, this is it, what I want, I'll have you forever.

You're so pretty. Even in his past life, Simon never got to have anything pretty. He was too ugly, too big, too awkward. Any woman of good faith stayed 100 yards away, as if his mere presence was a warning alarm, some invisible radius that kept them away from him. He always thought it was for the better. He always thought good riddance, they shouldn't have me, I shouldn't have anyone. Not when only days before, he had tortured a Russian militant until he had no teeth and hung his severed fingers on twine around his own neck.

But you won't run away. He's given you opportunity. He's left the cottage and staked out the outside just to watch you, and all he sees is you moving between windows, shaking out the dust from old blankets and washing the dishes. All he sees is you sewing his clothes and cooking his food, and when he comes back inside, all he sees is your smile and your face and your pretty mouth that falls open when he makes you come all over his hand.

Now it's the end of the world, and he lets a coin flip decide whether or not he lives or dies. And even when he flips it now, it never agrees. When he asks to die, the coin tells him no. When he asks to live, it’s always interrupted by you.

Yes, it tells him. Yes, yes, yes, because it's been keeping him here, because it knows, because it saw, because he couldn't see both sides of the coin, but he can see it now, plain as day, and she's underneath him now, letting him inside, and she's begging him to come and to fill her up, and she's crying because he's such a big man, and she wants him everywhere and always and all at once, and Simon is nothing if he isn't an insatiable bastard that can finally be fucking selfish.

The way you say his name could make him move mountains. That soft breath you take. The falter of your voice. The whine. The world has gone quiet, but he'll make a new one, and he will leave it at your feet for you to step on or pick up.

Whichever you choose. You can do no wrong.

When he comes, he moans. Into your ear, he lets you hear him, lets you bask in his pleasure as he spurts hot inside of you, hauling you a little higher on your knees so he can make sure you come, too. He gives you the palm of his hand to grind on, fucking into you at the same time, humming deep when he feels you squeeze around him and shatter like glass.

He takes his mask off for the first time that night. You see his face, all of it, not just glimpses when he lifts it to eat or to drink, you see the whole thing. He has a terrible looking face. Something only a mother could love. Too old of scars to be from this new life. They slash across his brow, across his cheeks. He has a jagged nose, and the skin around his lips had been reconstructed poorly from however they had been slit.

He's a terrifying piece of flesh. He is surprised when you lean in and kiss him. He's even more surprised when you kick off your jeans, turn over, and fuck him again.

The mantra that sounds like mine repeats in his head over and over. He feels it, deep, warm and beating under his ribs alongside his heart that hasn't moved in a long while.

He found you in those woods, kicking amongst predators, and he took you home with him. Picked you up like a stray, fed you, clothed you, and now you've stayed. For a moment, he thought it wasn't real. Thought your full belly is what kept you here, the warm house. He didn't mind pretending, but he figured it wouldn't last.

He doesn't think that anymore. Not with the way you kiss his severed face. You nuzzle into it, cup his cheeks, and he finds it agony when you pull away.

He hovers now. In whatever room you are in, Simon must also be in it. If he leaves, he makes you board the doors, and you are only allowed to open them if he knocks in his special way. He tested you once, came back earlier than expected, and he was so pleased you did not open the door to his casual knock and only the special one that he made you come one, two, three times with your thighs locked around his face.

A terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

You're searching the greenhouse. Hoping to find some flower pots for the herb seeds you found, you're rummaging through the cabinets beside it. Your gun is sitting away from you, and although Simon would chastise you for this, you feel safe here, and it doesn't bother you.

It flings itself at you. It cries, what used to be a teenage girl, reaching for you because it wants a chunk of your softness, of the life you pump into the muscles that keep you running. You're protected by all the clothes you wear for the weather, and it is slow because of the cold freezing their rigid, dead bones, but it does not lessen the hunger, the fight, the determination to eat and spread.

Before it can bite, the back of its head explodes. You close your mouth and shut your eyes as rancid brain matter splatters the white snow and you, and it is wrenched off of you immediately. Simon stands there, his pistol in hand, and you have never seen him quite so angry as he is right now.

His eyes are wild. He heaves under that tact vest, breathing hard, and his grip on the handgun shakes, so much that he has to shove it back into the holster at his thigh and lean over to pick you up off the ground.

He jostles you. Growls. Is nearly an animal himself as he shoves you up against the glass of the greenhouse and snarls.

"Wot the fuck is wrong with ya?!" Simon snaps. "Is y'r fuckin' head on?!"

It's so quiet in your head even as he yells. Your eyes tear, but not because you're upset. You reach out and cup his face gently, and he stops. Stops talking, just watches, just looks at you as he bends and leans his forehead against yours and squeezes you to his chest.

What is this thing you have? What have you become? What innate thing has festered between you? He’s gripping the edge of the glass so hard, you hear it crack under his hand. There is some kind of sick sense of devotion among you. Some kind of responsibility. He’s angry because something under his tongue tasted bitter when he saw you struggling. It won’t be this easy. He won’t make it this easy. If he doesn’t get to die, then neither do you, and he will make sure of that, because that is the only way this game can remain fair.

You never wander to the greenhouse again. He makes you promise (lest he wastes his cum between your thighs instead of inside you, that's it, promise me).

Another terrible thing happens.

Not to you.

They're wanderers. When they knock at the door, they don't use Simon's special knock, so you don't open it. Instead, you blow out the candles and hide, peeking at them from the fogged window in the attic.

They are men (you aren't surprised, they seem to be the only thing that survives nature's heavy hand). Cold. Shivering. One of them is bleeding, you can see it from the blood trail he leaves in the snow that seeps from somewhere under the hem of his jeans. The one uninjured tries to force his way through the door, but Simon added more deadbolts to it, and it doesn't give under his weak attempts. You trade your handgun for the rifle, aiming it at them. If they get through the door, maybe you can draw them back out, keep them away from the house.

You try to stay quiet, but the healthier one uses his body and a log of wood to get through. They're desperate, desperate enough to not care that breaking through the door cuts him severely, splits through his jacket. The second man limps behind him, getting inside, and you decide to put the rifle back.

You will stay quiet until Simon gets back. Your strength is not being a bulldozer, so you'll hide until he can be that for you. You steady your breathing; even if they make it to the attic, you won't go quietly. You tried that last time, and if it wasn't for Simon, you'd surely be naked and dead in that clearing that you were dragged to.

This time, if you go, you will take someone with you at least. Severed ears are not enough. You will not make them artists, you will make them forgettable and unrecognizable, and you will give back what they give you tenfold. Even if it kills you.

It takes them all night before they finally make it to the attic. They eat your food and take showers in your bathroom and stink up the living room, you can hear them. And when their bellies are full and their minds wander, you dread the pull of the attic door as he wrenches it open and the ladder falls.

You manage to kill one as he drags you out from the corner. He latches onto your ankle, and as he pulls, you put your finger on the trigger of your handgun, and you put one right between his eyes. The other takes advantage of your moment of pause, turning you over onto your stomach so hard the gun flies across the attic from your hand. He tosses you down from the attic, and you land on your side in the hallway, and you cry as you get to your elbows and crawl, trying to get to your feet, but he's larger than you.

He catches you in the kitchen. Slams you over the kitchen counter, using his weight to pin you down, but Simon taught you better than that. He taught you not to give in. He taught you not to give up. You think about him when your fingers find the discarded fork on the counter and you drive it right through his fucking eye.

You don't stop. You don't let his cries keep you from bringing your arm down again. And again. And again. You make his face your blank canvas, and you paint it with your anger. For every man that ever touched you. For every man that ever thought himself worthy to have you. For every man that tried to make your body his prize, you poke a thousand holes in him, and you scream with him as you do it until he can't scream anymore.

You're holding the fork and standing over him when Simon comes home. His handgun drawn, silent as he makes his way in, his body visibly relaxing when he sees you. He glances at the man at your feet, still alive, gurgling there, choking on his own blood as he tries to breathe through the holes that are scattered across his face and neck. You meet his eyes, and you smile. It's uncanny to do it now, but you are happy to see him.

"There's..." You sniffle, wiping your face with your sleeve. "There's another i-in the attic."

You don’t get to see him smile under the mask. You don’t hear the near purr that leaves him as he climbs the ladder and sees the perfect place you’ve left your mark. He’d frame it if it wouldn’t rot.

You twirl the fork in your hand before going to the sink, dropping it in there, and you close your eyes as you listen to Simon's footsteps as he goes into the attic. It takes him a little less than an hour to get the bodies out the back door, and when he comes back inside, you're already wiping up the floor in the kitchen.

There's nothing to talk about. This is normal. This is just another day. Tomorrow, you might have to do it again, and you'll still cook dinner after sunset and clean the kitchen like you're doing now and sit Simon on the edge of the bathtub and cut his hair.

Simon found chocolate on his trip today, and you make cake with it. You sit in his lap under the candlelight, and you feed each other, bite by bite, and you giggle when Simon gets it all over his lips.

You kiss him to clean it off, and then you reach for another bite of cake. There's some measure of satisfaction you feel when your tongue finds the dent in the fork prongs from when you used it earlier. The chocolate tastes better somehow. Sweeter.

You catch him in the morning, limbs tangled with yours under the sheets, flipping a coin. You smooth a hand over his thick chest, along his pudgy stomach, and you watch with him as the coin lands on the bedside table, falling flat.

It comes up tails.

He decides then that he doesn't have to flip it anymore. It's pointless. He asked for answers, and he got one.

You were not luck. You were fate. And because of it, the coin will always land the same way.

His thoughts are interrupted when you reach for the coin. You twirl it between your fingers, thinking. He doesn't see what you see, but that's okay. Maybe he'll let you play now. Some other game, a better one.

Heads or tails, win or lose, alive or dead. Either way, you are attached. Woven together, thread by thread. There are no vows to say in this new place, but you aren't tested by the same kinds of things. There is no law to keep two people together, no governing power of men that say if left is truly left and that right is really right.

You are drawn together by shared experiences. The same trauma. You won't leave each other not because you said you wouldn't leave, but because there is no one else in the world that has seen the same things you have seen and has done the same things you have done. There is no one else in the world that will forgive you for what you had to do to survive. That will love you not just in spite of it, but because of it, because you did what was necessary, and you are here now to learn a lesson and not suffer its consequences.

It's just a game. If you win, he wins. If you lose, he loses. If you're alive, he's alive.

And if you're dead, then he must be, too.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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cremeful · 11 days ago

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dad bf!smoke ( 35 ) x young!reader ( 24 ). icky.. kinda ? anal .. filthy older!man smoke .. thank uuu @tojisteddy for da inspo.. :3

dad bf!smoke is very mean, meaner than the old man that lives at the end of your street. He is rough in all the ways a 35 year old man can be, always fussin about your micro skirts, too small baby tees and how you just run your mouth like you pay the bills.

"m' not gonna tell you again, watch yer' fuckin mouth" his grip on your chin is tight, harsh. you reach your hand up to pry his hand off of you but his grip tightens. the one thing smoke hates is a brat, a girl who acts with no manners or disregard for no one but herself, you know that.

"knock. it. off." his voice low, steady and serious. by this point you should know you’re walking on very thing ice with his patience's; not that he had any to begin with. "you understand me? i'm not gonna say it again." yet the words you said next were anything but saving whatever patience's he had. "you aren't my dad. i can do what i want." it's not what you said, it's how you said it. smirking, like there was a joke being told. that set him off, he snatches you off the couch and pulls you across his lap, yanking down your too little skirt letting out a 'tsk' in between his teeth. "m' not yer' dad, yet i pay for all your shit, feed you, put up with your nasty attitude and you wanna say m' not yer' goddamn dad." he says it under his breath with a scoff followed behind.

"such a disrespectful little girl, i'll tell ya that." he keeps mumbling things that fall deaf upon your ears, your heartbeat is the only thing you can hear at the moment. you try wriggling out of his grasp but its tighter than the grip he had on your chin earlier. you never seen him this mad, this rough with you. it makes you wet. "quit fuckin movin." he grits out, pushing your legs down and placing his over top of yours. your skirt half way down your thighs, yours light pink underwear sits half way off your ass. He yanks them down, spreading your pussy apart "gonna stretch this little cunt until you break." he says it as promise.

you let out a small whimper, biting your lip before responding to him. "yea, i bet you'd like that. breaking a girl half your age, pussy in. you're a pervert." your giggles turn into gasps when you feel him dribble out spit from his mouth to your puckering brown hole, he circles his thumb before pushing past the tight ring, "theree, we go." dragging out his words, followed by a heavy hand onto your bare ass. "why do you still think yer' gonna get the last word?, huh?" He moves his hand to the back of your head, gripping at your soft curls until your scalp aches. "yer' gonna learn your lesson realll good today, no more games which you." his voice is mean, fed up.

he spanks your ass raw. so hard and raw that you feel heat rising from your skin, welts showing minutes later. you're a mess, face soaked from tears, voice raw from apologizing. He meant it when he said you'll learn your lesson, today. He pulls you off his lap, making you kneel in front of him. your breath this uneven, sobs broken, sniffling to try to relax yourself. Before smoke could even address you, you speak out through your sniffles "p-pa-papa, 'm sorry. i dd-didn't mean to-" He cuts you off, hushing you, pulling you into his chest, " i know baby, but you have to listen to daddy when he tells you to do something, mkay?" he says it softly, rubbing your back.

you nod your head, he pulls away taking your head in-between his hands. "just need a good fuckin dats all." he unzips his pants, pulling you up onto his lap, lining himself up to your wet pussy. you push down onto him, gasping at the stretch falling forward on his shoulder by now your panting out moans. you lazily bounce up and down but its not enough for you, he notices. grabbing you by the hips and bouncing you up in down on his cock, he bullies his fat cock up into you.

#cremeful / / 18 + 𓂃 no minors ! !#sinners fics #sinners #sinners 2025 #smoke sinners #smoke x reader #micheal b jordan x reader smut #smoke x reader smut #smoke x black reader #smoke x fem!black!reader smut

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cosmicmunsonwrites · 8 months ago

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i care for you still

ex bf!jj maybank x fem!reader

cw — talks of a breakup, both cry, fluff, kissing, angst, implied sex

summary — after a few months, you finally decide to talk with jj one on one.

a/n — idk why jj just popped back up into my mind but i wrote this in like 20 minutes so excuse me if its garbage. please request though!!!

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

it’d been months of tense hangouts with the pogues, months of jj moping around, and months of your friends begging you to just talk to him. you’d tried multiple times but he was stubborn. every conversation somehow ended with you two back to the same topic of your past relationship.

it wasn’t that you didn’t love jj anymore, you were sure part of you always would. he was your first boyfriend, first love, first kiss, first time, first everything. he’d always have part of your heart. he was the one who taught you real love.

but there was that saying that went “you can’t love someone else if you don’t love yourself,” which couldn’t be more true. you couldn’t pin why or when it started, but you slowly started to lose yourself. your mental health began slipping, you hated looking in the mirror, and you wanted to do nothing else but rot in bed.

in turn, you started pulling away from jj which only hurt him more than you knew. it broke your heart, and it broke even more to have to break up with him. but you couldn’t just string him along when you knew you weren’t in the right state to be in a relationship.

after you’d done it, the two of you took a break from the pogues in fear you’d have to see the other. in the early months, it felt like you’d never get over him and the thought of having to see him only made your heart ache more. thankfully, you still had sarah and kiara to keep you company while he had pope and john b.

after a while, you both began hanging with the group as a whole. it was always tense and awkward but you still tried to enjoy it and not make it weird for your friends. on the odd chance that you were alone with him, he’d always bring up your relationship and ask where it went wrong.

once he’d received no real answer the last ten times, he just stopped asking. he had realized maybe it was better that he didn’t know. he’d heard rumors of you messing with other guys and he wasn’t sure he could take it if he found out you were truly with someone else.

this all brought you here at the chateau with your friends. you all were sat on the porch, besides jj who was sat in the hammock with a can of beer in his hand. you were completely zoned out and definitely not listening to the argument between john b and kiara about micro plastics.

you sighed and took a sip out of your bottle of water before getting up to use the bathroom. “be right back,” you told the others as you stood and opened the front door to go inside. you toed past the small piles of clothes on the floor and picked up some empty cans on the way to throw out.

you headed into the bathroom and turned on the sink, pressing some cold water on your skin to cool off before washing your hands and looking at yourself in the mirror. you chewed your lip anxiously as you just stared.

you had to have been in there for a few minutes, maybe five if you had to guess. then there was a knock and the sound of kiaras voice. “we’re heading out to get some more beer. you want anything?” she asked, slightly muffled through the thick wood.

“no, i’m okay,” you replied quickly knowing you definitely didn’t need to be drinking heavily tonight. you heard her mumble a quick goodbye before her footsteps got louder and the sound of the front door echoed through the empty space. you dried your hands on the towel behind you then made your way back through the house.

you stepped outside onto the porch, freezing when you were met with jj. “thought you went with them,” he said awkwardly after clearing his throat. his body stiffened and his hands fidgeted with one another.

“uh, no,” you stammered just as awkwardly. “i was in the bathroom.” you didn’t even know why you said that. he didn’t need to know that and he probably didn’t care either.

he shook his empty can in his right hand. “we’re out of beer,” he explained almost as if he were letting you know why he was up on the porch in front of you. the last thing he needed you thinking was that he was some weird stalker.

you nodded. “i heard,” you said and stepped aside to allow him to walk past you and into the house. he quickly walked inside and to the fridge in search of something. “are you okay?” you blurted out as you followed him in even though you most likely knew the answer.

“fine. you?” he replied bluntly. he knew you weren’t stupid and he knew you were definitely onto him. he closed the fridge door and leaned against the kitchen counter to look at you.

you frowned slightly at his cold attitude. “i’m sorry, jj,” you said softly. “i’m sorry about the way i treated you.”

he bit the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms over his chest, looking off to the side for a second to gather his thoughts. “why’d you do it?”

you almost chose to play stupid for a second and ask what he meant but you’d had this conversation one too many times to not know what he meant. only this time, you intended to finish it. “i was scared,” you began timidly. “i wasn’t doing good and i was scared to hurt you.”

“but you did,” he replied just above a whisper. the air was thick with tension and the house was so quiet you could hear a pin drop and every floorboard creak.

you pursed your lips into a thin line and nodded sadly. “i know. i thought breaking up would make it easier instead of dragging you down with me,” you said with the same softness in your voice as his. “but it didn’t and i hurt you. and i’m sorry for that.”

his eyes bored into yours, his once energetic, bright blue eyes now a more dull, tired shade. “why couldn’t you just talk to me about it? i coulda helped you.”

you could hear the shake in his voice. the conversations never really went this far, usually stopping the moment they started because you just couldn’t handle it. and here you were, beginning to choke up. “because i didn’t wanna bother you,” you stated.

“it wouldn’t have bothered me, you know that,” he said, uncrossing his arms and instead placing them behind him on the counter. “i woulda wanted you to talk to me if somethin’ was up. i coulda been there to help you or at least support you.”

you bit your lip nervously and looked down at your hands, now beginning to pick at your cuticles. “its hard to talk about,” you muttered. “i jus’ didn’t feel good about myself and i couldn’t put that on you.”

he let out a shaky breath. “i woulda done anything for you,” he whispered. “i jus’ wanted to be there for you.”

you heard the soft sob that slipped past his lips. the two of you were reopening old, unhealed wounds now and the unshed tears that had been pushed down for months were beginning to finally surface. you finally looked back up to his face, him already looking at you with tears in his eyes. “do you want a hug?” you asked gently.

when he didn’t reply, you took cautious steps toward him to give him an opportunity to back out before wrapping your arms around his neck. you immediately felt his arms lock around your waist tight and him crane down to bury his face into the space between your shoulder and neck.

his body shook with sobs as he cried into your t-shirt. it only made your heart break more and in turn, you felt tears finally fall down your cheeks. “i’m really fucking sorry jj,” you mumbled through your wobbling voice.

“it’s okay,” he sobbed, squeezing you a little tighter against him. “i forgive you. i forgave you months ago.”

you frowned and closed your eyes, just savoring the moment between you two. it felt like the world went silent for a moment. like it was just you two again. you missed this feeling and by the way he was clinging onto you, you assumed he did too.

you two stayed like that for another minute before he finally began to pull away slowly, still keeping his hands firmly holding your hips. your arms stayed linked around his neck with how close the two of you remained. “gimme one more chance,” he mumbled, his intense gaze staring right into you.

you closed your eyes and sighed. “jj—“

he cut you off. “please, sweetheart. i don’t want you to be alone. whatever you need, ’m here. i jus’ wanna be here for you.”

“you can’t fix me,” you replied honestly. “this is something i need to do on my own.”

he thought for a moment before nodding. “thats okay. you can do it alone. i’ll jus’ be here to support you.”

you felt your bottom lip wobble and your eyes burn with tears. you’d never really had someone like jj who stuck with you through your stubbornness, someone who continued offering help even when you consistently denied and subconsciously began to self sabotage. “i don’t wanna dump all my problems on you.”

he wiped the drop of liquid that ran down your cheek with his thumb before taking both your hands in his own. “don’t worry about that. just worry about you, ok? i got the rest.”

you shook your head. “that’s not fair to you, jj.” you leaned your forehead against his chest to hide your face when you felt more thick tears fall silently.

he brought one hand up to cradle the back of your head while the other intertwined your fingers. “if it means you’ll feel better, then i don’t care. i just wanna help you. trust me, ‘m gonna be fine.”

you immediately began to melt when you felt his hand play with your hair softly. you couldn’t say no to him, you never could. this was the man you were completely and utterly in love with and even after putting him through so much, he was still this soft with you. how could you just move on?

pulling away from his chest, his hand moved from the back of your head to your cheek, cradling it in his large palm. his thumb lightly traced your cheekbone as he searched your eyes for any negative signs, anything to tell him what he was about to do was wrong.

when he found absolutely nothing, he surged forward and pressed him lips to yours. you sighed into the kiss, months of longing and passion poured into one simple movement. his other hand moved from yours to your hip inside, squeezing lightly at it and pulling you closer so your body was pressed to his.

“fuck, i missed you,” he mumbled against your lips before kissing you again, slipping his tongue inside and moving his hand that was once on your cheek to your neck to gently press at the sides. you felt a little lightheaded at the action in the best ways possible.

the kiss was slow and passionate, something you’d missed so desperately about being with jj. he didn’t often rush things like this. he preferred to take his time and make you feel all woozy and worked up.

you could feel him begin to get slightly antsy, unsure of what to do with his hands. you chose to grab the one on your hip and slide it down lower. he instinctively brought the other one down as well and cupped your ass before laughing against your lips when you whimpered.

once the two of your finally needed to catch your breath, panting and mingling your breaths, he smiled cheekily. “how ‘bout we make up for lost time?”

you couldn’t help but return the same smile. “i think i like that idea.”

he wasted no time in grabbing the back of your thighs and lifting you up, heading straight for the guest room he claimed as his own.

#gracie writes jj maybank 🌸#jj maybank #jj maybank smut #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank x reader #obx jj #jj obx #jj outer banks #jj maybank angst #jj maybank blurb #jj #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank obx #jj maybank one shot

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pathologicalreid · 26 days ago

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mirrorball | s.r.

in which coping with Emily's return leads to tension between JJ and you, her sister, and Spencer, her best friend. it just ends up pushing the two of you closer together.

jareau!reader masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: takes place during the events of 7x2 "proof", spencer's addiction, suicide, idiots in love word count: 2.92k a/n: happy memorial day 😎 have a fanfic, as a little treat

Durant, Oklahoma

Your sister had spoken to you ad nauseam about Spencer lashing out at her, which probably explained the way your heart rate spiked when you saw her approach Spencer in the conference room. Glancing over your shoulder, you flashed a concerned look at Emily, who had desperately been trying to smooth things over with the team since her rise from death.

“Spence,” JJ called, the nickname she’d started using when the two of them were kindred spirits and nothing more. “Look, we gotta talk about this,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief that he was acting out at work.

You weren’t surprised, though. Spencer had been holding in a lot of resentment since Emily returned from Paris and JJ left the Pentagon, and he’d been confiding in you. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Spencer answered, grabbing a file from the table and quickly flipping through it.

He wouldn’t, not at work and not in front of so many people. He’d withhold his real emotions until the sun went down, and once it was you and him in his bedroom—him lying to the team and you lying to your boyfriend—he’d talk about it until the sun rose. “I get it, okay? You’re disappointed with the way we handled Emily.” You tried to step forward, to stomp out the fire before it had a chance to ignite, but an arm reached out. Derek pulled you back, wanting to cause less of a scene.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, alright?” He said, abstaining from meeting her eyes and instead focusing on the folder in his hands. Spencer was right, the team was in the middle of a case, but you knew JJ would have a hard time working if she didn’t resolve her issues with Spencer.

She frowned, adjusting her stance like she was getting ready for a fight. “You know what I think it is?”

Exasperated, Spencer sighed, looking up at your sister expectantly, “What?” His voice was sharp, bitterness tinging his tone.

“You’re mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital, and you weren’t able to detect our deception.” Her guess was as good as a nail in a coffin. She was making an entirely human issue about Spencer’s intelligence because that’s all he’d ever be to her—187.

He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared your sister down with hurt, brown eyes. “You think it’s about my profiling skills?” He asked, bordering on tearful before he regained his composure, “Jennifer, listen, the only reason that you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row, crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Red rimmed your sister’s baby blue eyes as devastation sunk in, “I couldn’t.” The words were forced out of her mouth, her voice constricted by emotion.

“You couldn’t? Or you wouldn’t?” Spencer challenged, tilting his head at her in the same way he did when he was cajoling an UnSub.

You walked forward again, this time uninterrupted, so you could hear the two of them better. “No,” JJ insisted, “I couldn’t.”

Spencer didn’t look surprised. “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

JJ faltered, her head tipping back slightly before she poked it forward, “You didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he conceded, “But I thought about it.” The worst part of it was that he wasn’t lying, and when he needed someone to tell him the truth, you’d been the one there to pick up the pieces. The one to beg him to tell you where he’d put the vials so you could properly dispose of them.

One look at her and you knew Spencer had cracked your sister’s armor, the same way yours had that night, with his head in your lap as you begged him to sleep so he wouldn’t continue to yearn for the dreams that had nearly killed him years ago. “Spence,” she said, her voice breathy with shock. “I’m sorry.”

Spencer put his hands up in surrender, stepping away from her, his back facing you. “It’s too late, alright?”

Behind his back, your eyes met JJ’s. She silently pleaded with you to say something in support of her, but instead, you stayed silent while Spencer stalked away and Emily called after him. Your sister’s glare instinctively narrowed, frowning at your refusal to take her side, but if there was anything you learned from your time as her sister, you never wanted to be in between her feuds.

Emily faltered, thinking about following after Spencer but deciding against it, nearly tripping over her own feet when she resolved herself to stay behind. Her brown eyes found you in the chaos of her indecision, asking you to go after him, and instead, you walked to the conference room where your sister was licking her wounds. “I can’t believe him,” she muttered under her breath, fingertips trembling as she tried to grab a stack of papers from the table.

You could. You’d seen him like this before, right after JJ had told you Emily was dead. He was hurting, and he tended to lash out when he felt vulnerable. Now this, this convoluted reciprocal grief where he—and the rest of you—were no longer mourning the loss of your friend, but the versions of yourselves that had spent six months coping with Emily’s death, only to find that she had been alive the whole time.

On the jet, on the way to Oklahoma, you’d observed her in discreet silence, wondering what her life had looked like during that brief intermission. Had she gone to explore in Paris? Watching the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower while you were barely holding yourselves together.

It wasn’t unlike yourself to push aside your own grief for the sake of someone else’s, you vaguely remember doing it when your oldest sister passed away. What a heavy burden it was, to be four years old and taking responsibility for every smile that came around in that old house. You tried now, to be someone else, setting a gentle hand on JJ’s shoulder and whispering, “It’s been hard for him. It’s one of those things where you just never know what someone else is going through.”

You’d selected your words carefully, concerning yourself with the secrets you’d kept from your sister, protecting yourself and Spencer while trying to reassure her. You clipped the wire to a ticking time bomb, and you’d chosen the wrong one. “That’s rich, coming from you,” JJ responded, setting her jaw and looking at you expectantly.

Forgetting yourself for a moment, you flinched back at her words as surely as she’d struck you across the face. Slowly, you looked around to see if any of your other team members had heard what she said, just to find them all still lingering by the evidence boards.

Desperately, you found yourself staring at Hotch, parting your lips to explain your departure, but he already knew. He nodded at you once, giving you the okay to follow after Spencer, so that’s exactly what you did. Emily’s hand skimmed over your shoulders as you pointedly refrained from looking back at your sister before walking out the front door of the precinct.

The brightness of the sun stung your eyes as you searched the parking lot, looking for Spencer before your eyes caught him, getting into the driver’s seat of one of the SUVs before starting the car. Swallowing the distaste that your sister had left in your mouth, you jogged over to the black car, opening the door and swinging yourself into the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

“What?” He asked, looking at you in disbelief, shocked that you had followed him into the parking lot.

You shrugged, pulling the seat belt over your shoulder and clicking it, “There’s a park just down the road. We could go there for a little while—get some fresh air,” you offered, pointing to the left of the precinct toward the park you’d seen on your way in.

Silently, Spencer considered your offer and put the car in reverse, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions to the park.

Neither of you moved to get out of the car once it was stationary. Spencer ducked his head down, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Hey,” you spoke softly now, unbuckling your seatbelt and tilting your head to the side in concern. “Do you have a migraine?”

He shook his head, mumbling something unintelligible from behind his hands before dragging them down his face, “Did you know?”

You frowned for a moment, wondering what he was asking while you unscrambled the thoughts in your mind. He was asking if you had known about Emily. If you had known the whole time he was breaking down that Emily was still alive. If you were another name he needed to add to his list of betrayers. “No,” you assured him. “I had no idea.”

Thankfully, he believed you, nodding while seemingly melting back into the driver’s seat before looking out at the playground. School was still in session, so the playground was mostly abandoned, save for a few toddlers running about. “I went to her house for ten weeks straight before… that night. She never told me anything other than how sorry she was.”

Trying to ignore the way he stumbled over his memory of that night, you nodded, commiserating with him. After the night in question, he’d resorted to coming to you for anything he needed, the life preserver in the middle of the sea of grief that he had practically begged your sister to throw. You weren’t interested in a conversation regarding who was right and who was wrong. You knew how Spencer’s brain worked well enough to know that this wasn’t about moral philosophy, it was about how JJ left Spencer to drown when he needed her most.

Part of you had tried to forget the night you’d gone to his apartment, convincing his neighbor to buzz you in and picking the lock to his front door before getting into a screaming match with him. A fight that had ended with his head in your lap, combing your fingers through his hair while you whispered reassuring things. Telling him childhood stories about you and JJ, a funny story about something Henry had done—anything it took to get his mind off of his grief and away from the drug that he so desperately craved.

He never intended to use his addiction as a weapon, but at some point in his time as an addict, his brain had crossed its wires. It was common for addicts, and maybe it was because you’d never known Spencer before that became part of him, but it seemed like you were able to wrap your mind around it in ways that no one else on the team could.

“Thank you for coming after me,” Spencer said after the extended silence, reaching out for your hand before thinking better of it and returning his hand to his lap.

Your chest ached at his choice, but you understood why he’d made it. Everything about your friendship had become so convoluted, but the two of you never crossed that bridge. “I had to get out of there too,” you admitted, your eyes burning with the promise of tears, giving you the excuse to cross your arms across your chest.

Spencer cocked his head to you, “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Uh,” you faltered over your words, “I tried to defend you to JJ, and she… didn’t like it.”

Across the center console from you, Spencer set his jaw, “What did she say to you?” He asked with a curiosity so genuine you wouldn’t believe it if it were coming from anyone else.

Skipping some of the words, you picked at the skin around your nails, “How much do you know about Roslyn?” Even her name burned at your throat, vague memories of someone who shared your genes scratched at you, leaving your voice hoarse.

“Just how she died,” Spencer admitted, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning so he could face you better.

You frowned, avoiding his eyes at all costs, “JJ blames me for her death.”

Though you couldn’t see him, you heard Spencer struggling with the information that you’d just given to him. He shifted uncomfortably on the seat and did the mental math in his head, “You were only four when she died. You couldn’t have caused her suicide.”

Nodding, you spared a quick look at him, but the sympathy in his eyes was too much to bear in the confines of the car. Scrambling for the door handle, you opened the door to the car and nearly fell out, sitting yourself on the curb so you could feel the wind prick at your skin. “JJ calls me Ducky because it’s a nickname that Ros gave to me,” you explained once he came around the back of the SUV.

“You don’t need to explain,” He tried to offer. Selfishly, you wanted him to know. You wanted him to understand you better, offering a piece of yourself that no one outside of your immediate family had. You knew Spencer would take that piece and hold it close to his heart, treating it better than anyone else ever had.

You took a deep, trembling breath, “When I was learning how to walk, I did more of a waddle, and Ros said I looked like a little duck. She used to come to the elementary school when I was in kindergarten and walk home with me, because the kids had bullied me so badly on the bus that I was petrified of ever getting back on.” You laughed in slight disbelief, “I didn’t even ask her, she just offered to walk me home. She always stayed after the high school got out and met me in front of my school.”

It was innocent, really, when she called out my nickname to get my attention so we could walk home, but some other kids had overheard her. The next day, we were doing a craft in school, and this one kid—Peter Fuller—dumped a bunch of glue and feathers on my seat when I got up to get a colored pencil. I sat in it, and they all stuck to me. I still remember the way it felt to have everyone point and laugh at me.” You wiped a few stray tears from your cheeks. “My mom picked me up and helped me pull the feathers off of me, but the skirt was a goner. When Ros got home, I yelled at her. I told her I hated her and that she was a bad sister, and the next day…”

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but you interrupted him, “JJ found her in the bathroom. She’d slit her wrists with our father’s razor blades.” You hugged yourself tightly, “Jennifer told dad what I had said, and he was the first one to blame me. She just followed suit. We’ve gotten past it, mostly, but sometimes things get ugly between us and that’s always the first shot to be fired.”

“It’s a defense mechanism,” Spencer said, lowering himself down to the curb, sitting next to you. “She hits where it hurts because she feels like her walls are down.”

You nodded weakly, “I know. That’s why she always goes for Ros. That’s why she went for your profiling skills.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Spencer asked innocently, trying to gain insight on your sister through you. “That she can’t be confronted without returning fire?”

Thinking about it for a moment, you shrugged, looking at him through teary eyes, “It never changes the fact that she’s my sister. We promised each other a long time ago that we’d never let anything get in between us, so, I don’t think there’s any secret we couldn’t come back from.” You watched him stand up from the curb, holding a hand out for you to take. “She’ll apologize to you in a few days, you just have to wait her out,” you told him as he pulled you to your feet.

You looked up at him, curiously gazing into his brown eyes, he murmured, “I’m glad it’s not just me under fire.”

Nodding, you swallowed thickly before responding to him, “I’ll always be here when you’re under siege.” You noticed the way his eyes were studying your face, “Spencer,” you whispered, “I’m—“

“How’s Garrett?” He asked abruptly, inquiring about your boyfriend unprompted, watching your facial expressions for an answer before you even opened your mouth.

You pursed your lips thoughtfully while he took a step away from you, mindfully putting space between the two of you. “He’s okay, he asked me to move in with him, but I’m—“

“You should do it,” he interrupted you again, putting his hands in his pockets before rounding the car. “We should get back to the precinct,” he said, turning the key in the ignition before you could even comprehend what had just happened.

I’m confused was what you had intended to say to him, and now you were leaving with more questions than you had arrived with. Blinding pawing at the door handle while you prepared yourself for the silent car ride back to work.

"I think I want to be in love with you, but I don't know how." — Angela Carter

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds hurt/comfort #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #jareau!reader

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livingdxadwriter · 23 days ago

Text

Erik Campbell X F!Reader

Just some thoughts I’ve had about intimacy with bf!Erik but am too overwhelmed and tired to write neatly into a fic so I’m spewing them here. This might be a little more self indulgent than normal with some more personal liberties but fuck I’m an alt girly who loves an alt man. It’s also just me spewing words cause I’m horny. There’s no story. Just sex. Hope yall accept this offering.

18+ under the cut, mdni, sexual content below. P in v, oral (fem receiving), spitting, choking, overstimulation, creampie (wrap it before u tap it pls), Erik is literally so gross and mean (I love it), bit of dom!erik (but we know he’s a switch, we’ll get to that), mentions of body piercings and tattoos.

WC: 1.4k

A/N: I do have some more Erik thoughts that I didn’t really fit into this post but would like to explore (some more kinks and switch behaviors perhaps?) and I have an actual longass Erik fic I will get to when uni allows. So if you want me to write more Erik def let me know.

Just thinking about how insane it is to be with Erik. Like that man is feral. You knew he was intense when you realized he did not give a fuck about pda or personal space. He would kiss you unannounced in front of people, in the street, in front of your friends, his family, it didn’t matter. He had to be touching you in some way at all times, not always sexual, sometimes it was entirely sexual. Didn’t matter, he just loved touching you in every way, that’s just simply how it was. He just loves to show everyone that you’re his girl. You knew that he was intense when you randomly caught a glimpse of your name freshly inked on his hand after a couple years of dating. You knew he had ruined you, too when you asked him to tattoo his initials on you not too after. And you knew you were fucked when you no longer cared when, where or how he fucked you, you just wanted him to do it.

He loves to get his head between your legs. He will lick, suck and fingerfuck you for what feels like fucking hours. He will shove his tongue into your pussy, split you wide open with his fingers, spit smeared all over your pussy, thighs, his face. He’s literally so messy and he gives no fucks. What’s the point of eating a meal if he doesn’t get a lil dirty in the process? He literally fucking loves it.

And when he’s done? Because he’s done when he says he is, not when you say it—he grabs your face and is like “open your mouth so you can taste the fucking mess you made.” And he spits into your mouth before he kisses you so you can taste yourself still on his tongue, on his lips. Didn’t we say he was fucking messy?

And then? Erik will fuck you however, wherever he can. He will fuck you from behind, on your side, with you on top, on your back. Take your fucking pick he loves all of them.

When he’s on top of you? His possibilities are endless. It’s just so easy to grab and squeeze your throat with his long tattooed fingers, cutting off your oxygen to the point where you’re absolutely delicious on his cock. Hold you down where he wants and how he wants. He loves watching your micro expressions, each twist of your face, your eyes rolling back, your mouth open with each moan he pulls out of you. It’s so fucking hot.

“Oh, you just love that, don’t you? You fucking slut.” Is what he says when he eventually ends up holding your thighs apart and ultimately pounding into you like that was all you were made for. It was at this point that he just didn’t shut the fuck up. You had a theory that he got off to talking through it just as much as you did.

“You just love taking it raw, huh? Such a whore.” He knows damn well you got off to his mean remarks, your pussy squeezing the fuck of out him was always a good indicator, but he also got off to making you talk back, knowing damn fucking well you couldn’t. “Mmm yeah? Say it then. Say it like you mean it or you won’t get to come.”

The sound you made was absolutely agonizing, a breathy whine of frustration that only added to Erik’s amusement. But it was when his hips no longer smacked against you and your shitty ass headboard stopped smacking the wall that you realized he wasn’t joking. He would absolutely leave you hanging for a while just to get what he wanted. And the worst part? It worked every fucking time.

“Ugh! I’m such a slut, I love taking it like that. Please Erik! Pleasepleaseplease.” What Erik loves the most about this, is how incoherent you get when you’re getting fucked. And that shit he is addicted to. And the way that you’re gasping and whining when he’s pounding into you again, your bed creaking under your movements, you just can’t help it. It just feels so good, the way his pierced cock feels inside you, in so deep it’s damn near touching your cervix. For that alone you stopped using condoms once you realized just how good his cock felt.

And it’s just after your third orgasm (he already made you come twice with his fingers and tongue) that you’re starting to move so fucking much. And Erik can normally take a hint and will get himself to come so he can give you a break. But sometimes when he’s frustrated (from work, he lost a ranked Mortal Kombat match, take your pick, he gets pissed off at the smallest inconvenience), he just doesn’t care.

“Mhmph! Erik!” You barely let out in between moans, he was just fucking you so hard you could damn near feel his ring touching your cervix. It isn’t that you didn’t want it—you had a safe word, you could say it—you’re just so overstimulated, your body twitching and shaking and it’s just too much. Erik definitely noticed the way you were trying to crawl up the bed and away from him.

“Oh? I’m sorry doll, is that too much? You can’t take it?” He shakes his head at you, his tone mocking in between heavy breaths as he simply presses your knees to your chest, spreading you out for him. He uses his body to keep you there, both arms planted on either side of you so you couldn’t go anywhere but right there, impaled by his pierced cock. “You wanted it so bad, you literally begged me to fuck you. Sent me dirty pics while I was at work, saying how much you missed me. Such a needy girl for me but when I give it to you, you can’t take it?”

You can definitely feel it, you’re damn near crying, writhing underneath him and dragging your nails down his back which will definitely be there for a few days. Your loud as shit headboard is hitting the wall so much you know damn well your neighbor is going to scowl and glare at you next time she sees you downstairs doing laundry, horrified by the slut that lives next door and her freak metalhead looking boyfriend. But honestly? You kinda liked that people would know you got fucked, and really fucking good.

Sobbing you’re shaking and squeezing him so tight, he knows you’re so close again.

“Nonono, I can’t—please.” You’re sobbing, your pussy pulsating around his cock. He shakes his head softly at you, firmly grabbing your throat under your jaw to force you to look at him, with the same hand that has your name tattooed above his wristbone. His blue eyes are fixated on you as he uses his free hand to pinch and twist your pierced nipple (which he pierced himself), knowing damn fucking well that drives you insane, how? Because it drove him insane when you messed with his. “Ooooh, fuckfuckfuck, Erik, Erik, Erik—“

You’re just so pathetic when you come, crying and blabbering incoherent shit. Erik loves that shit, it makes his cock twitch, want to fuck you full of his cum until it leaks out of you. And so he does exactly that. You latch onto his hair, his face above yours as he plants his arm on your pillow beside your head again.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. You’re gonna let me fill you up, right? You’re gonna take it like the good slut that you are?” His voice is gravelly when he speaks, the slightest bit shaky as he thrusts a few more times, only getting sloppier. The way you’re mumbling soft begs and curses, his hand still gripping your throat, definitely isn’t helping him keep his shit together. “Take it just like that. You’re such a good fucking girl. Fuck, baby.”

He sits so deep and heavy inside you when he comes, just loving the feeling of keeping his cum inside you for as long as possible. He just loves marking you as his in every fucking way he can, as if all the tattoos he put on your body (including the E on your inner thigh that he also put there) aren’t enough. And it isn’t until his cum is leaking out of you that he pulls out slowly, strategically angling his hips so that you can feel his ring as he slides out. And it’s after a sloppy tongue kiss that he announces he will be back to clean up his mess and bring you some water.

And this is the type of shit that Erik does. And why have you put up with him for so goddamn long. It’s just never enough. And you always want more.

#erik campbell x reader #erik campbell x you #erik campbell smut #erik campbell

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sparklystarrrr · 3 months ago

Note

One shot request:

Word gets out that MC is dating the Vice House warden of Pomefiore, and Vil is NOT impressed. While you may not be officially a member of the dorm as someone close to his second-in-command he can't have you just running around. Whether you like it or not Vil now considers you a representative of Pomefiore.

Queue a disgruntled Vil showing up at the step of Ramshackle with a basket full of care products and a neatly pressed Pomefiore uniform for when they enter the premises. After all it would be poor etiquette to arrive in a slovenly state.

It's especially bad if MC struggles with hygiene in general; never fear though, he will make sure you attain mastery in the subject!

Oh and you get a micro dose of the Epel treatment.

STOPPP this is so good, I've been WAITING to do a Pomefoire oneshot for ages THX SM FOR THE REQUEST ANON!

Simple Touch-ups

Synopsis: As Rook Hunt's partner, it's Vil's job to make sure that you, as his unofficial Pomefoire member, look absolutely parfait!

Contains: Rook Hunt x Gn! Reader, Vil Schoenheit x Gn! Reader (platonic), reader gets the Epel treatment, Vil refers to (y/n) as Potato, Rook uses a plethora of French nicknames for (y/n)

It was rather calm today considering word had gone out that you and Rook were officially dating. Pretty much everyone supported you and absolutely shipped the two of you! It was honestly quite refreshing. You sat scrolling on your phone in bed when all of a sudden the doorbell rang. "Huh? No one told me they'd be coming over, I wonder who it is?"

You hopped to your feet and scurried down the stairs of Ramshackle, opening the door to see Vil looming over you with a large basket cradled in one arm and a black garment bag in his other hand. "Good evening, Potato. It has come to my attention that you're in a relationship with Rook, yes?" He said while slightly grimacing at the sight of you in over-sized pajamas and hair sticking out from every direction, plus the lack of makeup or skin care gracing your clearly exhausted face.

"Yup! Is there a reason you have these... giant packages?" Your eyes scanned between the items in his hands. "They are for you Potato. Now, scurry up to the bathroom. I must fix whatever's going on here." The man dramatically looked away as your current ensemble disgraced his eyes. In the name of fashion and all things beautiful, your outfit was a disaster, even for lounge wear.

He ushered you up to your bathroom as if it was his own dorm and looked around sadly at the minuscule size of the bathroom. "There are seriously no chairs, not even a stool?" He said, clearly shaken. "Yeah... Crowley didn't provide me with much so this is all I have." He nearly fainted. "Well, Pomefoire would never treat a young Potato to such impoverished dormitories and petite washrooms. Now, sit on the counter."

You propped yourself up on the counter and he set the basket of goodies next to you, unwrapping it and taking out everything while explaining them to you in great detail. "This is a toner, you must use it before every product you add onto your face." The bottle was dark purple, seemingly from his own brand. If it was by Vil, it was sure to work.

Along with the toner, he pulled out makeup removers, serums, moisturizers, eye creams, lip masks and balms, ect. The whole nine yards. "You will use these every day. If you need more just give me a call. I'm here to assist Potatoes like you in need of a makeover." You honestly thought he was just calling you ugly in the fanciest way possible, but whatever, getting to work with Vil was practically an honor! Especially since this was your boyfriend's best friend making sure you looked good for him.

"Now, we shall commence the makeover." Pardon..?

It was like he pulled the makeup bag out of his back pocket with how quickly he wiped it out in front of him. "Vil... What are you doing?" You asked skeptically. He looked at you like you were actively growing another head"...You thought the makeover ended there? Don't be silly Potato, you will need more than skincare products. Close your mouth so the foundation doesn't crease." He spoke after adding a cool primer to your face. He applied the light weight foundation to your face that was somehow your exact shade.

He held the bottom of your jaw up with his fingers while he patted it into your skin and blended it out flawlessly. "Suck in your cheeks. I must do the contour, blush and highlighter." He pulled out a few pallets and some bottles of blushes and contours and highlighters along with many different brushes and blenders you thought you've probably never seen before. He glided the brush with warm brown contour onto your cheekbones and along the sides of your nose, blending it into your skin with the faint red blush on his brush. He dusted shining white highlighter on the tip of your nose, brow bones, cheekbones and cupids bow. He set in the base with a setting powder that happened to go perfectly with your skin. How did everything match your skin tone so well? That was a question you'd never know the answer to. But knowing Vil's extensive makeup skills and Rook's obsession with everything possible about you, you had a good idea of how.

He muttered a small close "Close your eyes." before spraying your face with a setting spray. While your eyes remained shut he opened a pallet of neutral colored eyeshadows and shimmers. He gently applied warm browns to your lids, adding a dark purple shimmer to the center of them as well. He pulled out a smaller, more angular brush and tapped it into the black eyeshadow, adding it to your upper lash line and stretching it out like eyeliner. "Open your eyes Potato." He then grabbed a lash curler and went straight in. You didn't know what to do when suddenly seeing this new tool that sort of looked like pliers, so you stood still in fear. Luckily it was quick. He grabbed a bottle of mascara and wiped the excess off at the rim,"When I say blink, you blink." It seemed more of a threat than a request when he said it, but you followed his lead nonetheless.

He held the black garment bag in front of you. "The makeup is done. Put this on and meet me in your room." He shut the door with just those few words and you heard his heels clicking to your room. You sighed.'Beauty is... confusing.' You thought to yourself. Hanging the garment bag on the shower rod, you unzipped it. There hung a perfectly ironed Pomefoire uniform. The purple was deep and velvety and the pants were a shining black leather. It didn't have any shoes to go along with it, but you had a good pair of heeled boots that Rook bought you which would look perfect with it!

When putting it on, the pieces were confusing. You didn't know what piece was supposed to be added first or where each accessory went. You tried to remember what Rook's uniform looked like and how he would put it on in the morning when he would sleep over at Ramshackle. At last you came to the conclusion that it would be shirt, pants, that jacket/robe thing, and the wrap belt. Buttoning the shirt and wrapping the little ring holes around your fingers was a lot harder than you expected it to be. How on earth did Rook manage to make it look so easy?! The next step had been much easier. It was simply putting on the pants which you did with ease.

Then came the jacket. You had heard that Epel had a rough time putting it on to this day, so you hoped and prayed that this would just be a him problem and not a you problem too. You were wrong. It was 100% a you problem as well. You practically got tangled in the long purple fabric while trying to make it look perfect, then at one point you gave up. Vil would most likely nitpick at it for you and fix it on his own accord. Putting on the belt was no easier. It was once again a fight between you and the fabric. You felt pity for all the Pomefoire students who had to endure this pain every single day because this was WAY too much for a dorm uniform. It was like a puzzle, and you were absolutely lost doing it.

After a few too many minutes of being stuck in the bathroom and struggling on your own, you decided to get Vil's assistance. You shyly walked down the hallway with the floorboards creaking under your feet. You opened your bedroom door to find Vil going through your closets and dressers, grimacing at the clothes or lack of clothes you owned. You had only your school uniforms and clearly not enough clothes, four or five outfits max. Outfit repeating was an absolute must in your situation. "Potato, we will go shopping another day. This is clearly not enough to last you the rest of the school year. You're practically wearing threads!"

"Yeah, I haven't really had enough money to splurge on any clothes recently. I just need to get by with food and rent, clothes come second. Y'know?" You sighed out, a bit embarrassed at him shuffling through the few pieces you had. He looked at you gobsmacked and leaned a hand against the wall to stabilize himself. "...Are you serious?!" He said between deep breaths. He clutched his heart in true actor dramatics. "Uh yeah..." He shut his eyes to take in this newfound information."Potato, we will go shopping. Tomorrow in the first crack of sunlight. We both know you need it." He quickly shifted his eyes to the uniform on your body that was unfinished in assembling."The uniform has yet to be fully assembled. Why is that?"

"Oh uhm, I just needed some help with the belt.." Your voice lowered in volume as you explained your current predicament. He snorted a small chuckle "I see. Come, I will assist." He walked toward you and examined the whirlwind of a Pomefoire uniform that lay before him. He whisked the leather belt around your waist and tied the golden and red intricate rope around the belt easily. He adjusted the collar of the jacket and black shirt and made it look nice and sleek. "You'll wear this uniform exactly this way every time you step into Pomefoire, are we understood?" He said sharply. "Yeah Vil, but why should I? I'm not a Pomefoire student." You questioned. "Though you're not sorted into Pomefoire, you are in a relationship with the Vice. Therefore making you an unofficial member. You indirectly represent my dorm." He spoke as if common sense while his hands trailed from the collars of the uniform to your hair. He twirled the locks of your (h/c) hair in his fingers while he looked at it in clear deep thought, his brows furrowed.

"We must style this. Turn around for me." You turned around and he got right to work. The man didn't even need a brush to style your hair as perfectly as he was. He carded his fingers down the (h/c) strands of your hair and pulled them back. He pulled a hair tie and a few hairpins from his pockets and began his work of styling. He pulled your hair into a low ponytail and wrapped your (short/long) strands into a bun, setting them in place with a pin every time he wrapped a new piece. He would occasionally move to look at the front of your face and adjust the strands of hair that circled around your face quite messily.

Once he was done he styled your hair as he saw fit. He'd framed your face with your hair perfectly and completed the low bun that made every strand of hair sit perfectly upon your head. When seeing your final Pomefoire look, he smiled to himself. "Shall we go to Pomefoire and show you off to Rook now?" He asked, a bit more cheerful than before when he saw you in your comfy clothes since you now dawned the Pomefoire attire he had made specially for you."Of course! But... do you think he'd like me looking like this?"

He sighed at your lack of confidence like an older sibling, "Why would you discredit my work? He will fawn over it for years to come, Potato. Do think of yourself as lowly as an insignificant worm. Especially in Pomefoire attire. Come along, we are going." He turned towards the front door of Ramshackle, expecting you to follow. In a nervous state of wondering how your boyfriend would react, you followed."Ah, before we embark, let me apply this lipstick to you." He pulled out a wine red lipstick from his pocket and dabbed it on your colorless lips. "Perfect. Now, let's go."

~ In Pomefoire~

Once you stepped into the doors of the Poemfoire living room, you saw Rook keeping watch of the underclassmen including Epel. They'd been having a bit of fun while Vil was out of the dorm giving you a makeover. He'd sat on the plush silk couch with his back turned to you, giggling at the slightly rambunctious freshmen of his dorm. "Hi, my love! How's your day going?" You spoke in a sweet voice while calling to him. He turned around, disregarding what he was previously engrossed in and suddenly the world around him stopped and you were the only thing he could focus on. "Ah, mon amour, tu es très beau! Oh la la~ Magnifique mon cœur, absolutely magnifique!!" He spun you around in the air with glee, his hands firm on your hips as he smiled so big at you.

"Though your beauty as of now is absolutely radiant, I assure you that your style of over-sized lounge garments and messy (h/c) locks is much more endearing to me and ignites a fire in my heart no amount of matches and wood could come close to, mon trésor!" He spoke heartily before pressing a passionate kiss to your soft rouged lips. "Thank you Dear, Vil gave me a makeover before coming over!" You said with a smile while he placed you on your feet again with his hands gripping your waist gently."It was a challenge at first, but (y/n) is quite compliant to my help. They're a true Pomefoire student at heart." Vil said with a small smirk.

It was like Vil said earlier, Rook would be fawning over this look for years to come. He had taken a picture of you in his dorm's uniform and set it as his wallpaper on his phone. He printed it and framed it TWICE, putting it on the wall above his bed and on his vanity. He even put a picture of it in his wallet so that every time he spoiled you again he could see your beautiful face and effectively spoil you more. He made it a point to show every one he could, no student at NRC was safe from the wrath of Rook's undying devotion and love for you, and to be honest, you wouldn't have it any other way.

Can ya'll tell I love talking about makeup and skincare...

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfic #twst fanfic #rook hunt #rook hunt x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #pomefoire

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berrysweetgal · 26 days ago

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Tell Me What You Like

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Summary: Reader goes to a party and meets Rafe. They hook up.

Pairing: Frat!Rafe X FemReader

Kissing, but no sex. 1.9K words

AN: Also! I had so much fun writing the one I did yesterday! I'm so glad people enjoyed it.

୨୧ ⏔⏔⏔⏔♡⏔⏔⏔⏔ ୨୧

Rafe Cameron was the kind of guy that girls would brag about when they bagged him, even you could admit that he was incredibly hot. And the worst part? He knew it. The man wore obscenely fitted tops, and dress pants, that fit him perfectly. His shirts tight on his chest and biceps. You had seen him around campus for the last two years, but you’d never spoken. You both just didn’t run in the same social circles. He was outgoing and flirty, hitting on every hot girl he met, never looking for anything more, than a bit of banter, and a strings free night of sex.

You’d known one girl that had hooked up with him the year before, that you were kind of friends with, and she still claimed it was one of the best fucks of her life. You were never one to slut-shame, but Rafe Cameron was a slut, in the best, and hottest way.

You weren’t sure how you had ended up here, well you were. And right now, you were tempted to kill her. Your friend had dragged you to a frat party, and then immediately got sucked in to talking to their current situationship. You weren’t upset, you just were confused why you’d been dragged along. You sat in a corner tucked away, sipping on your drink and reading on your phone, deciding to stay a bit longer in case she wrapped it up with him.

“D’ya need a refill?” You hear a voice drawl from above you. You glance up, your eyes widening slightly as you take in Rafe standing in front of you. His shirt has the top couple of buttons undone, and it’s cropped slightly, if he lifted his arms over his head you would see his abs.

You’re still staring, and you realize he’s staring at you with a small smile now and an amused look. “Yeah, actually.” You say, smiling and standing up. You tuck your hair behind your ears, wondering what on earth drew him over to you.

“You new?” Rafe says as his hand presses into the small of your back, his face dropping close to your ear as he mumbles that out. Your face flushes from the proximity.

“No.” You say, looking up at him.

“I haven’t seen you at any of these parties before.” He says, his eyebrows furrowed, as he looks at you. Thinking to himself that he definitely would have noticed you.

You laugh softly, as you both reach the kitchen. “Oh, well.” You say awkwardly. “I just don’t usually come to parties.” You say, smiling and shrugging. “We had a micro Economics lecture together last year, though.” You say and then feel stupid, wondering if it’ll be weird that you remember that.

He smiles at you, all teeth and charm. “Well, M’sorry I don't remember you, pretty girl.” He says, grabbing two beers out of the fridge and passing you one. “Rafe by the way.” He says lazily as he sips his beer.

You smile and stop yourself before you say that you already knew his name. When you tell him your name, he smiles like it’s his new favourite word.

“Cute name, it suits you.” He says smirking. His hand casually landing on your hip, his thumb brushing softly. You’re a bit surprised by the forwardness, not used to it, but don’t pull away at all.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Rafe hasn’t left you alone since he’s approached you, his hands have been on your back, on your hips, your waist, he’s tucked your hair behind your ear, he even held your hand when he had led you to another section of the house. His words are playful and teasing, and he’s far funnier than you imagined he would be.

“So you’re definitely not from North Carolina.” He says, smirking as he takes a sip of his drink. His hand mindlessly sitting on your hip like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“What makes you say that?” You say snorting, amused why he’s saying that.

“S’your voice, you don’t have that southern drawl.” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “Or that southern charm.” He says playfully.

“Hey! I’m very charming.” You exclaim, slapping softly at his chest.

Rafe just holds up his hands in defence, smiling at you, eyes crinkled. “Mm you are charming sweetheart.” He says, smirking at you.

You blush at the pet name, about to lie and say he can’t call you that, when you hear your friend call your name. Turning and seeing the surprised look she’s giving you. You introduce her to Rafe and laugh when he thanks her for abandoning you.

“Are you ready to go then?” Your friend asks, and you’re surprised that you don’t want to leave. You look at Rafe seeing that he looks a little disappointed.

“Mm, I might stay a bit longer.” You say, trying to sound casual, and seeing the way Rafe perks up. Your friend throws you an amused look, and says she’ll see you tomorrow then.

“Staying for me then sweetheart, I’m touched.” Rafe says, holding a hand over his heart.

“No, sorry. I’m actually staying for this cute guy I’ve been talking to all night.” You say, feeling a bit more bold.

“Wow.” He says chuckling. “Here I thought we were hitting it off.” He says feigning hurt. You giggle at the ridiculous face he’s making. His hand squeezing the spot on your hip that he’s holding.

“So if you’re staying, can I show you around upstairs?” Rafe says smirking, his thumb gentle on your hip bone. You smile a bit shyly at the clear advance, but nod.

“Mm, sure.” You say, your eyes sparkling.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Mm fuck you’re s’pretty.” Rafe says as his hands rest on your ass as you stand in front of him in his room.

You feel yourself blush at the compliment, his hands are softly rubbing overtop of your jeans, pulling you closer until you’re almost flush against him. Your hands are resting on his chest, and you’re shocked you both haven’t caved and kissed each other yet. You can’t help but love the teasing though, the soft touches, the little looks at your mouth.

“You’re pretty too.” You tease. Watching Rafe grin as he takes in your words, chuckling softly at the comment.

Rafe’s hand comes up to hold your cheek, his thumb dragging along your bottom lip. “Tell me what you like?” He asks, his tone low.

“What?” You squeak out confused. “Normal things.” You say awkwardly.

Rafe's eyes dance with mischief at your reply of ‘normal things’. “I need you to be specific.” He says softly. His thumb still stroking softly around your mouth. “You can say what you don’t like if that’s easier.” He says his eyes dancing across your face.

Your face flushes as you try to think of what to say. “Mm I like talking, but I don’t want to be like degraded.” You whisper, a bit embarrassed at having admitted that.

Rafe just smirks, at your response. “So you like praise?” He asks, his hand still rubbing softly across your ass. He watches as you give a small nod. “Mm well you were a very good girl for telling me.” He says, his voice low as he watches for your reaction.

Your entire body freezes. Nobody has ever actually really spoken to you like that. Your breath is caught in your throat, and your eyes are wide as you stare up at him. Rafe just watches you, chuckling slightly at your reaction.

Rafe whispers your name, his tone playful. “Why’d you freeze up? Is that not what you meant by praise?” He asks you.

“Mm um, it- no, it was nice.” You say, your voice a bit breathy. A blush on your cheeks.

“Oh.” He says grinning. “Did you like it too much, sweetheart?” Rafe asks you smirking, his fingers trailing along the waistline of your jeans, skimming in them teasingly.

If your face could get any hotter than it already was you’d be convinced you have a fever. You take a breath trying to be a little more forward. “I like what you’re hands are doing right now.” You say looking up at him.

He hums in approval, his hands continuing the soft ministrations of rubbing his thumb along your skin. His fingers teasingly slipping along, and dipping into your jeans slightly.

It feels like all the air in the room is sucked out as Rafe’s mouth connects with yours. You’re surprised how delicate he is. Like he’s feeling you out, deciding how you like to be kissed. His hand on your face cups you, holding you steady. His tongue slips into your mouth, dancing with yours. As you moan into his mouth, Rafe immediately picks up the pace. Tipping your head back with his hand, so he can deepen the kiss.

His other hand sits on the small of your back and presses you tightly into him, backing you up towards his bed until your knees hit the bed, and he lowers you down climbing over top of you. Rafe’s mouth brushes against your jaw, kissing softly along your neck, nose brushing by your ear. “S’what else do you like?” He whispers in your ear.

Your arms are wrapped around him, fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck, your body already buzzing with anticipation and he hasn’t even done anything. “Everything’s great so far, Rafe.” You mumble out as he continues to kiss your neck. You hear him breathe out a soft laugh.

“I want this to be good for you.” He whispers, biting your ear playfully, and you gasp. His knee suddenly slots in between your legs and presses against your core. “That feel good, sweetheart?” He says, pulling back to watch your face as he presses his knee into you more. You nod eagerly, trying to rock against it. He smiles at you as his hands trail down your body softly, slipping up into your shirt and rubbing your stomach. The large signet ring on his finger, cold as it ghosts across you, making you gasp at the combination of everything he’s doing.

Suddenly, Rafe is kissing you again, this time far harsher. The noises coming from your throat are breathy and whiney, and you can feel him smile against your mouth. “Tell me if I do anything you don’t like, okay?” He says, pulling back to look at you. You nod, wishing he hadn’t stopped, pleading for him to continue with your eyes. “I need a yes, sweetheart.” Rafe says, his hand squeezing your hip.

“Yes.” You say, your voice far more rough than you expected it to be, but it’s all he needs.

His hands move to unbutton the blouse you’re wearing, as his mouth continues to kiss you. His knee still pressing into you for you to grind down onto. Once it’s unbuttoned, he pulls back to look at you. His eyes trailing down your body. “So fucking good, darling.” He murmurs, his hand skating over your covered nipples, making you arch up into him. You smile and reach up, pulling at his shirt, hoping he’ll help you take it off him. He smiles and pulls it off, leaning back down to kiss you again, and his warm skin pressing into you feels perfect.

It’s not long before your hands eagerly try to reach down to Rafe’s jeans, trying to undo them. “Mm, hey. Don’t rush.” Rafe mumbles against your mouth, and you look at him to pout. "I get to do that first." He whispers to you as his hands reach down instead.

#rafe #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #drew starkey fanfiction #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx fic #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe smut

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netzweltvt · 2 years ago

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Micro Frontend React: Unleashing Modular Excellence in Web Development

Transform your web development strategy with Micro Frontend React. Unleash the power of React's component-based architecture to create modular, scalable, and independently deployable micro frontends. Streamline your development process and enhance user experiences with this innovative approach to building modern web applications.

#react micro frontend architecture #micro frontend architecture react #micro frontends with react #micro front end architecture react

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jj-one · 1 year ago

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PRESS PLAY !

your boyfriend Jungkook convinces you to make a sextape with him, ultimately ending up with you getting wrecked on camera.

pairing: bf!Jungkook x gf!reader genre/tags: pwp (plot is barely there), smut, piv, unprotected sex, dom!jungkook/sub!reader, manhandling, daddy kink?, there is absolutely nothing holy about this fic… read at your own risk that’s all i’m gonna say tbh words: 3.0k

[note] if you remember seeing this before yes i’m the original author i didn’t plagiarize lol, i made a new blog and was formerly known as @milkychae but deleted a while ago. i’ll be reposting all my old deleted fics and using this as an archive !

Jungkook checks himself out in the mirror one last time, threading his fingers through his thick, silky hair before hitting the record button to start filming.

He had the camera set up on a tripod placed in front of the bed, flashing you a soft smile. You couldn’t stop ogling his divine features, he looked so damn good. His messy jet-black hair swept the sides of his face and was only in a pair of white Calvin Klein boxers. He just looks like pure heaven, unable to keep yourself contained as you sneak glances at his nicely toned, heavily tattooed body. You can literally stare at his beautiful sculpted abs all day, he was the true definition of perfection.

‘How’d I get so lucky to have the hottest boyfriend alive?’ You often thought to yourself.

“M’kay, ready babe?” Jungkook asks reassuringly, he knows you’re excited to do this just as much as he is.

You nod your head “mhm, was born ready!” He chuckles at your cuteness, pressing the little red ‘record’ button on his camera.

Once the camera begins rolling Jungkook wastes no time to spring into action, turning towards you to cup your face in his large hands. He kisses you hungrily, causing you to moan ever so slightly into him, without breaking the kiss you both land onto the bed— he’s hovering over your frame providing light touches to your thigh. You were enjoying every minute of this so far, never getting enough of the sweet taste of him. Pulling away for a second, he grabs ahold of your neck, keeping you in place while his free hand roam all over your upper body. He presses wet kisses to your jaw and chin, then comes back up to kiss your pretty lips once again, making the kiss grow sloppier and heavier. A string of Jungkook’s saliva forms when he momentarily detaches hisself from your lips, smiling down at you. It was more of a devilish smile though, a smile that looks like he was going to snatch the soul out of your body. You two play around on the bed for a bit, passionately kissing and enjoying each other’s presence.

“Come here baby,” Jungkook says, instructing you to get on top of him now, positioning himself behind one of the fluffy pillows on the bed. You do exactly as you’re told and get on his lap to straddle him, he grabs your face with his left hand to kiss you some more while rubbing your ass, harshly slapping it in the process. You wore the tiniest pink micro skirt with bows on the side, it was a mesh material and super see through. Jungkook loved the outfit you were wearing since it was a tiny two-piece crop top and skirt, adoring the curves and shape of your body in the least bit of clothing possible. Slowly lifting up your skirt now, he licks his lips when looking down at your bare pussy, teasing your entrance with his tatted fingers. You quietly gasp as he rubs your soaked folds in an up and down, slow motion, making you subconsciously twitch from sensitivity.

“My god.. you’re so fucking wet babygirl,” Jungkook groaned as he slid two fingers inside, “look how much you’re dripping already babe.” he whispers, staring in awe at his fingers disappearing into your sweet cunt. The room’s filled with only sounds of your wetness, combined with the soft moans you utter, all the juices dripping down your legs and his thumb brushing over your clit was having you see stars.

“You hear that? That’s what good pussy’s supposed to sound like,” Jungkook brags while looking over at the camera, he’s taking this very serious, as if you’re going to end up posting this on PornHub or something. You loved it though and you can tell how into this he is, which only makes you want to do a better job at pleasing him. You moaned louder for him as his fingers go deeper into you, reaching those spots that you never could. Rolling your eyes back as he fingers you harder, he was soaked in your juices, obsessed with the view behold him. You match the movements of his pace, grinding against his digits whilst he reaches a certain spongy spot— feeling so close to cumming already.

Then he abruptly took his fingers out of your dripping cunt, denying you of your orgasm. You whined loudly, clenching again just to feel something, wanting more of him filling you up at this very moment. You childishly pout and beg for more, but he just shushes you and flashes a smirk at your whininess. “Don’t worry sweet pea, m’gonna give you exactly what you need..” Jungkook rasps, still staring down at your cute pussy, but this time spreading your lips apart. He ran his finger down to your clit once again to gently rub in circles, making it even more puffy and swollen. Basking in all your beauty as you threw your head back from the intense pleasure.

“Wanna taste you,” Jungkook’s voice almost sounds desperate, not wanting to waste another second. “Come sit on my face babydoll,” he motions for you to temporarily get off of him, lying down on the bed, requesting that you still keep your skirt on. Placing yourself onto him and comfortably sit on his face, his mouth attaches to your pussy quicker than you can form a thought, already ferociously sucking on your clit. His hands went straight to your ass, slapping each cheek every chance he could, forming blatant red hand prints on your butt.

Jungkook was eating you out like his life was depending on it, uncontrollably moaning his name over and over again. You were in a frenzy as you grind on his face, grabbing the top of his head as if he was able to even go anywhere, his face was quite literally glued to your pussy. Jungkook kept at it for what felt like hours, your juices leaking all over his face without a care in the world. Then all of a sudden you felt this weird sensation, something you’ve never experienced before. It was the same slimy sensation that was all too familiar, but just in a different hole instead. Jungkook was licking your ass, his tongue kept flicking it at first, but now he’s fully immersed into it. He’s never done this to you before but it felt so amazing, it felt just as good as him eating you out but had a distinctly different feel to it.

“You like it baby?” He asks when pulling his tongue away, replacing it with his fingers. His fingers go so deep in your little hole making you squeal out loud.

“Mmm… yes daddy, I do!” A string of moans escape you, sounding so pretty that it’s like music to Jungkook’s ears. Smirking up at you while his digits continue going in and out of your ass, planting a quick kiss to your pussy.

“Fuck, I love you so much my love,” even during moments like these, Jungkook still reminded you how much he adores you, going back to licking your sensitive clit while still fingering your ass. You were in utopia, lost in the magical feeling of his tongue and fingers doing wonders on you. Jungkook could totally be a pornstar if he wanted to, he had the looks, the skill, and stamina.

“I love you so much kookie..” you mewl, closing your eyes from how intense all of this was. You can feel your release coming any minute and you only got louder for him, grabbing the strands of his hair, gripping it with everything you had. You were riding his face like a rodeo and he was more than here for it, his tongue never letting up on your clit. When he dragged a long stripe across your heat, that was all it took for you to cum all over his face. Slowing down your pace as you finally chase your high, smothering Jungkook with your creamy, juicy pussy.

“Goddamn babe, you made such a mess.” Jungkook grunts out when releasing you from his grasp, his face completely drenched with your juices. You come down from being on top and lower yourself to kiss his wet lips, getting a taste of you on his tongue.

Jungkook tells you to get up and stand directly in front of the camera, you immediately follow his orders. He makes his way over to you, ordering you again to get on your knees in a stern tone. Situating yourself down onto the floor, you pull his boxers down and his cock springs out freely from it’s barriers. Making steady eye contact with the camera while grabbing his thick, lengthy cock, the tip was so red and puffy, precum leaking out to make you even more hungry for him. You wasted zero time in filling your mouth with Jungkook’s cock, it felt so warm against your tongue, loving the prominent veins that would show when he was extra hard. You start taking in his length and getting a good rhythm going, bobbing your head up and down. Jungkook winces at the sensation, taking a fistful of your hair and slamming the entirety of his cock into your mouth. His length hits the back of your throat, coming into contact with your uvula, causing you to make a sudden gagging noise. The drool peeking out from the corners of your mouth becoming more apparent as he fucks your pretty mouth.

“You have the best lips for giving head babe,” Jungkook coos while sighing out and throwing his head back, “your mouth is so fucking good to me…” He couldn’t stop praising you, you were like an angel to him. An innocent angel that was only a freak for him. Jungkook starts to get a little rougher with you, forcefully pushing his cock even further down your throat, causing you to choke for real this time.

“Yeah just like that baby, choke on it,” he strokes your hair out the way to get a better look at you. He thrives off taking control of you, see how far he can push you, he knows you can handle it though, he does it out of pure love. “Like being stuffed with a mouthful of my cock, hm?”

“You’re such a dirty fucking slut, look at you,” Jungkook continues degrading you, “sucking my dick on camera like the filthy whore you are.”

You keep on sucking his cock as you look him in the eyes, the words he’s saying right now is all you need to hear for you to become even more of a dripping mess. Your wetness is only growing and it’s starting to spill onto the floor, oh how embarrassing…

Jungkook’s cock was buried deep inside your mouth, managing to fit all of him without gagging anymore. He’s trained you so well over the years it doesn’t take much warming up for all of him to settle in perfectly, it’s like it was made specifically for you. You stay like this for a while, feeling his fat cock throbbing in your mouth as you gaze up at his gorgeous face through your lashes, appreciating how much you admire him. You’d honestly do anything to make him happy. After awhile, you release him from your mouth and go straight to his balls, sucking them up like a vacuum. Jungkook moans out so violently that you think the neighbors could probably hear that one, your eyes grew wide as you didn’t expect him to be so vocal from that. Seeing the biggest smile etched on your boyfriend’s face.

“Shit.. you’re so good at that baby,” he compliments you again, holding the back of your head for dear life. You could suck him off for hours without ever getting tired of it.

He pulls you away from him, telling you to get back on the bed and to bend over with your ass facing up. You do so without hesitation and begin arching, ready for him to do whatever he wants. He proceeds to spread your pussy lips again, as if earlier wasn’t enough already, he dips his tongue back into your soaking wet heat. Your mouth goes agape, barely able to make a sound, only letting out a small moan as he continues, spitting a little on your slit and rubbing it in. He eats you out again while you look back at the camera, whimpering when he squeezes your left ass cheek and gives it a harsh slap. You whimper from all the stimulation, body vibrating as he chuckles at how adorable you are.

“Your pussy tastes so fucking good,” Jungkook is so obsessed with you, but it’s a mutual obsession amongst each other. He took a short break away from your wetness, “you don’t know what you do to me y/n.”

All you could do in that moment was moan like crazy, he was making you feel astronomically good. He licked a couple more languid stripes across your slit and gave it a little slap once he was done. Lifting his head up, he’s finally going to do what he’s been waiting for this entire time. He rubs your ass with one hand while stroking his cock for a little bit with the other, bringing the tip to the entrance of your slit and teasing your hole. His dick slipping in between your wet folds is driving you insane, making you want to just slide it in already.

“C’mon Koo, fuck me alreadyyy.” You were practically begging for him to stuff you at this point, wiggling your ass against him, wanting nothing more than to be filled up by him and only him.

“Alright babe damn, always so eager for me,” he groans as he starts pushing his cock inside of you now.

A broken moan escapes from your lips as you’re feeling him slowly opening you up, your tightness already adjusting to his girth. He began fucking you from behind at a rough pace, giving you exactly what you needed the most. Jungkook grabs your neck once again and brings your back towards his chest, saying all types of dirty, sinful things in your ear while he relentlessly fucks you, slamming his cock in and out of you making you go delirious. Practically shoving his hard length into you, you couldn’t help but scream out in pure ecstasy. His cock felt was the best thing on earth and the more he slammed into you the more you didn’t want it to ever be over.

He was so big you could feel his cock in your stomach, all your insides were being rearranged by him. Your ass was jiggling on his cock so nicely, giving him an absolutely stunning view. Firmly settling your face back into the pillows again, while looking down at your ass he grabs your waist firmly with one hand, the other being on your right butt cheek which was severely bruised from him spanking you earlier. You were so beyond soaking wet that the only noises filling up the room were the gushy sounds of your wetness and the ceaseless thrusts of Jungkook’s cock going deeper in you than ever before.

“Just wanna fill up your tight pussy with all my cum…” Jungkook coos, sounding so pussydrunk from all the pleasure he’s feeling right now. “Show me how desperately you want my cum inside you,” he keeps going, urging you to give him more of a reaction, probably since you’re both on camera.

“Mmm… yes daddy, need you to fill me up and make your cumslut pleasee,” you beg for him to continue fucking you, bouncing back on his cock and making him growl. You wanted him to feel like he was on top of the world, like you were a drug and the only cure for his addiction was your pussy. He keeps thrusting into you erratically, his strokes getting messier and sloppier as he soon reaches his climax.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh fuckk—“ Jungkook belts out a string of curses as he fucks your tight cunt, “m’gonna fucking cum babe… so close..” he grips onto your waist tighter, indefinitely picking up his pace as he starts to see flashes of white invade his vision. He was fucking into you so hard and fast that you couldn’t think or speak coherently anymore, just saying random words and babbling the entire time.

“Jungkook I love you, I love you so much..” was all you were able to say, to which he replies with “I love you more” and continues fucking you from behind like the rent is due. Your eyes were permanently at the back of your head as you were absorbed in the utmost pleasure. Jungkook’s hand reaches over to rub your clit as he proceeds to hit all the right spots inside you, his cock felt so good, everything just feels otherworldly to you right now.

“Ah! Cumming babe, gonna cum—“ Jungkook lets out the deepest groan as he shoots his load inside your warmth, “Oh my god, fuck yes…” he felt like he was on cloud nine, thrusting into you with slowed movements while coating your walls with his thick hot cum. You contract around him, soon reaching your climax right after him, both of your releases mixing together inside of you.

Once he pulls out, you were bodies intertwined with one another again, forgetting all about the camera that was still rolling. You aggressively kiss him, tongues mingling together as if you’re trying to swallow each other’s existence. You took a glance at the camera, checking the time on the screen to see that it’s been going on for almost an hour and thirty minutes now… Jungkook pulls away, noticing you looking at the camera, leaving for a quick second to finally turn it off. He faces back in your direction and presents you with the warmest smile, looking down at your thighs and eyeing the creamy mess that’s dripped down between your legs.

“Let’s get you all cleaned up huh darling?” Jungkook cutely offers, gently kissing your cheek. His big boba ball eyes were staring right into your soul with nothing but admiration and love for you. The duality of his actions were almost surreal, he just fucked you like the devil reincarnated but then acts like the sweetest angel once it’s all over. You’ve always adored that special quality about your boyfriend.

#jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x female reader #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook drabbles #jungkook x f reader

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