weeeyotch

[weeeyotch]

Kiss Me, I'm Unstable ღ R.R ~ Teaser

❧ Kiss Me, I'm Unstable Masterlist

❧ Warnings: Smut (18+), dry humping, messy making out, explosions

❧ Word Count: 1.6k

It was true: her life was a shitshow. But wanting to screw a tabloid trainwreck in a crusty white van was her new low. 

Blaire slouched in the cracked vinyl seat with a heavy sigh and propped her boots up onto the dash to avoid the suspiciously sticky floor. They had been parked in that piss-soaked alley for what seemed like ages, waiting for Yelena’s go-ahead to disarm the bomb she had planted with Bucky earlier that day. 

The “bomb”–a stunt to paint her and Bob as heroes and as equally productive members of the New Avengers–was a fucking farce. It was Valentina’s brilliant idea: plant an easily disarmable device in an abandoned warehouse, let them “save the day”, and bask in the flashes of paparazzi cameras. 

All with Blaire dolled up in a Versace mini skirt and purposefully torn black tights, because “Who needs combat gear when you’ve got tabloids to impress?”. 

She shifted uncomfortably and pulled the barely-there skirt back down thighs for the umpteenth time, trying to ignore her bounding pulse. 

It wasn’t bounding for the fake mission or for the anticipation of the candids and headlines. No, it was all routine at this point. 

It was racing for the man sitting right next to her. 

“This is fucking stupid,” she said, tossing the walkie-talkie into the backseat. “Fake bomb, fake heroics. What’s next, are they going to pay some kids to jump off a building and have us waiting below to save them?” 

Her voice dripped with venom as she reached for the Skittles in the cupholder, her hand brushing against the one Bob was resting on the gear stick. The brief contact sparked a heat deep in her belly, sharp and impossible to disregard. 

Bob laughed, low and raw. “Should we pitch that at the next PR meeting? I’m sure Mel would be drooling all over it.” 

He leaned over to snag a Skittle, elbow grazing against hers on the console. His lips hovered inches away from her cheek, eyes fixated outside the passenger window as he absent-mindedly popped candy into his mouth. The van’s air thickened as his musky cologne danced into her nostrils. 

It was driving her absolutely feral. 

Screw this, she thought. Screw the mission, screw everything. Screw Bob. 

She turned to face him with a well-practiced expression of annoyance, trying to hide her desperation. “Cool it, Golden Boy. Don’t eat all of my candy. I bought it with my hard-earned money.” 

“Hard-earned money?” Bob quipped, raising a brow and tossing back a Skittle. “Didn’t you swipe these from Yelena’s room right before we left?” 

“At least I did something today,” Blaire shot back. “What have you done besides sit there with a boner and steal my oxygen?” 

The unmistakable sound of choking filled the van. Bob coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest as he tried to dislodge the candy stuck in his throat. Tears streamed down his face. 

“I do not have a boner,” he finally wheezed. 

She tilted her head with a smirk. “So let me get this straight. If I were to hop onto your lap right now, I wouldn’t feel anything?” 

He licked his lips as he narrowed his eyes at her, almost as if he was challenging her. “That’s right.” 

For some time, they remained still and silent, eyes locked in a duel of heated gazes. Blaire’s smirk faltered when she caught the way his jaw clenched, his breath hitching slightly. He finally forfeited their staring contest, eyes dropping almost longingly to her lips. 

Their breaths mingled, hot and uneven now, the space between them shrinking with each passing second. 

A faint crackle came from the backseat–“...status, guys…”–but it was a distant hum, completely lost in the blooming tension.

Then—

Blaire pounced on him with an animalistic hunger, her body moving faster than her mind could second-guess. 

She scrambled over the center console, hands gripping his broad shoulders for balance as she swung herself into his lap to straddle him in the driver’s seat. The steering wheel pressed sharply into her lower back, but she could barely feel it. 

The only thing she could feel was the warmth of his body, the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and wetness pooling in between her thighs. 

Bob’s hands found her hips with a possessive urgency. His fingers slipped underneath her shirt, digging into the soft curve of her waist as if he was anchoring himself to her. The delicious burn of his calloused palms against her warm, plush skin sent shivers down her spine. 

Their lips crashed together in a desperate and searing kiss. It was all heat and instinct, bordering on being disgustingly sinful–almost as if they would combust if they didn’t consume each other right there and then. 

Blaire’s mouth moved against his with a fierce hunger, her lips parting to welcome the bold sweep of his tongue. He tasted of instant coffee, skittles, and something darker–something that was uniquely Bob. It sent a jolt of need straight through her.  

His mouth was equally unrelenting, tongue and teeth clashing against hers. Without warning, he nipped her lower lip. It was a sharp and playful bite that drew a needy gasp from her throat. The brief sting quickly melted into pleasure and she retaliated, catching his upper lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to elicit a low groan from him. The sound vibrated against her mouth, spurring her on. 

Blaire rolled her hips, pressing her scantily-clothed core firmly against his crotch. The tights were no barrier; the feeling of his zipper against her clit made her eyes roll back. Then she felt him, hard and straining beneath his jeans.

She pulled back from the kiss, her lips tingling and swollen from the bruising intensity of his mouth. Her breath came in ragged gasps. 

“What’s this I feel?” she teased, a playful lilt barely masking the need coiling tight in her belly. She rocked against him again, slower and more deliberate this time, savoring the way his body tensed underneath her. “Is this a boner I’m feeling?” 

Bob’s eyes turned dark and heavy. His gaze was a mix between hunger and embarrassment. 

“Shut up,” he rasped. 

Before she could tease him further, he surged forward to kiss her again. One hand slid up her spine, fingers splaying across her back to hold her even closer against him. The other stayed firm on her hip to guide her movements, urging her to press harder, to move faster, to use him however she pleased. Each grind of her hips drew another stifled groan from him, which was quickly swallowed by the kiss. 

The van was turning into a furnace, the air thick with their breaths and their perfumes. The windows fogged, and the outside world had effectively shrunk to the creak of the driver’s seat and their primal need for release. 

Another faint crackle sounded– “Bob, Blaire, ready. . .”–and it was drowned out by Bob’s moans as Blaire angled her hips just right. 

“Fuck, Blaire,” he murmured, voice rough as he broke the kiss to trail open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. He travelled down to the sensitive curve of her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point before shooting his tongue out to lick a stripe up her throat. The sensation made her whimper and dig her fingers into his hair, tilting her head back to give him more access. 

It was all starting to feel so overwhelming–the steady rhythm of his hips against hers, the sinful licks against her heated skin, the sound of the van rocking. She could feel it pushing her closer to the edge, body trembling with the intensity of it all. 

She could feel him losing control too. His breaths were coming out faster and more ragged, his hands sliding down to her thighs as he pressed himself up to meet her movements. There was a desperate edge to the roll of his hips that told her he was right there with her, to keep going because he was almost there, right there. 

Their lips crashed together again. 

She was so goddamn close. Her body trembled, her breath hitched, and her blood rushed almost deafeningly in her ears as she ground against him once more. The sensation was electric, so addictive, almost–

BOOM. 

A deafening explosion shattered the night, the van rocking violently as a shockwave slammed into it. 

The windows rattled and cracked, and a blinding flash of orange and red erupted outside, painting the van’s interior in a harsh glow. Bob and Blaire instinctively ducked, cowering in the seat with their bodies still tangled together. Long gone was the smell of sex and sweat, replaced by the stench of acid, smoke, and burning metal. 

Adrenaline surged as they clung to each other, hearts hammering against their ribcages. As the dust began to settle, the reality of what happened hit them like a second shockwave. Sirens wailed in the distance, flames crackled outside, and Yelena screamed through the walkie-talkie, “Bob! Blaire! What the fuck just happened?” 

Blaire’s chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing, her body still buzzing from their near-climax. Bob seemed to be stuck, mouth wide open and eyes staring at the destruction outside. His hands were frozen on her thighs. 

“Guys! Come in!” 

She glanced at Bob, her voice shaky but laced with its usual bite. “Oops.” 

That snapped him out of it. He shoved the door open and climbed out, Blaire still clinging to him. He set her down beside him, and together, they took in the view.

“Yeah," he muttered, watching flames crawl up the brick wall. "Oops."

Red lights suddenly flashed in their periphery, with sirens approaching faster than they would have liked.

They took that as their cue to leave.

Without another word, they bolted, fingers laced and sprinting down the alley as the roar of their botched stunt chased them into the night.

[weeeyotch]

Kiss Me, I'm Unstable ღ R.R

Superpowered messes. Media spins. Horny disasters. And one hell of a body count.

Genre: Raunchy | Comedy | Action | Angst | Slow-Burn

Warnings: Smut (18+) | Lots of Silly Sexual Exploits | Alcohol & Drug Use | Violence | Traumatic Pasts

After the disaster in New York, Bob Reynolds' identity as the Sentry is leaked to the public. Now, the New Avengers are in full damage-control mode. Their best solution? To fabricate a "rehabilitation romance" between him and Blaire Morrow—a chaotic D-list, street-level hero with a modest social media following.

Blaire's job is simple: charm the public, babysit the god-tier superhuman, and above all else, to not fall in love. With a shot at becoming a member of the New Avengers, she is ready to play along.

But what begins as staged hand-holding and PR photo ops quickly spirals into something else. From awkward magazine shoots to red-carpet events and late-night stakeouts, the fake relationship starts to feel dangerously real.

As the chemistry builds, so does the mystery. Heroes are disappearing without a trace. The lines between reality and illusion start to blur. Dark secrets are revealed. And Blaire starts to realize that she might be way in over her head.

There is no way to put a positive PR spin on this train-wreck.

❧ Teaser

❧ Ch1 (coming soon)

❧ Ch2 (coming soon)

❧ Ch3 (coming soon)

[weeeyotch]

thanks to everyone who voted in the poll~

kiss me, i'm unstable was the obvious winner. i'm so excited to be writing that this summer. i promise that i'll write hallowed be the blood once i finish this. it's an idea that i was excited for as well.

i'll come out with a teaser and masterlist for kmiu in the next few days. i'm aiming for a multi-chapter release, so stay tuned <3

[weeeyotch]

welcome back 2014 marvel tumblr

[weeeyotch]

ღ i'm still on my bob reynolds bullshit ღ

. . . and i'm going to have more time to write soon.

after i finish up my current requests, i want to focus on writing a bob fic. i have two in the works but i can't decide on which to write first. the vibes are pr relationships with silly sexual exploits or evil!thunderbolts with archaic bloodbaths and no in between.

୨୧ Kiss Me, I'm Unstable

When Bob's identity as the Sentry gets leaked, the already-fragile reputation of the New Avengers is at risk. Naturally, the next step is to fabricate a "rehabilitation romance" between him and 'Knockout', a chaotic D-list street hero with a modest social media following and a strange past. Her job is simple: be hot, charm the press, babysit a god-tier superhuman, and not fall in love. But between fake red carpet kisses, awkward magazine shoots, and late-night stakeouts, things start to blur. As the chemistry turns real, so does the danger. Heroes are going missing. Dark secrets are revealed. And she starts to realize that she might be way in over her head.

cw: smut (18+ mdni), violence, gore, alcohol & drug use, traumatic pasts

୨୧ Hallowed Be the Blood

The Thunderbolts have taken over the world. They're corrupt, violent, and worshiped like gods. Their new decree? Annual gladiator games where the youth of New York fight to the death for a chance to join their ranks. When a seemly chemistry graduate student wins the match, her surprising strength and resolve are put to the ultimate test. Brutal training, forced starvation, and unyielding pressure—they'll either break her or turn her into one of their own. Watching her through it all is Bob Reynolds, the unpredictable and revered god that constantly teeters on the edge of sanity. He's drawn and devoted to her in ways he can't explain—and she plans to use it to burn their empire to the ground.

cw: smut (18+ mdni), violence, gore, alcohol & drug use, trauma themes, dark themes, emotional manipulation, physical and mental abuse

[weeeyotch]

marvel pleaseeee

Can I have brunette Sentry in Doomsday please because he's hot af

[weeeyotch]

incredible. fantastic. unreal.

the vfx team snapped

[weeeyotch]

so real

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

[weeeyotch]

bj headcanons ღ r.r.

robert reynolds x f!reader

warnings: just pure smut (18+ mdni), needy and whiny bob

୨୧ bob is lowkey obsessed with the idea, but he's too shy to ask you. he stays up at night just thinking about it. he'll turn over to look at you while you sleep, your lips parted just slightly. thinking of your lips wrapping around his cock drives him crazy.

୨୧ when you finally ask, he becomes a blushing, shy mess. it's like a dream come true; it's like every fantasy, every late-night thought he's quietly buried is suddenly real and sitting right in front of him.

୨୧ "are you sure?" he'd ask you, eyes wide. "you don't have to if you don't want to." you'll have to reassure him more than once. you'll coax his nerves with gentle touches and soft words until he finally believes that you want this as much as him.

୨୧ pillows. if you were going to go down on your knees, he'd grab a pillow from the bed and place it on the ground so you could kneel on it. he wants to make sure that you're completely comfortable.

୨୧ forehead kisses. always. when you're on your knees looking up at him with big eyes, he'd bend down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. "my best girl," he'd murmur against your heated skin, "thank you so much."

୨୧ he's vocal. his moans are really soft and whiny. the second your lips kiss the head of his cock, he lets out the sweetest, shaky little sound through his nose. desperate whimpers would echo throughout your bedroom, making your thighs clench together.

୨୧ praise. praise. praise. "feels s'good baby." "just like that." "god, please keep going." "please, please, please, please—"

୨୧ always has one hand in your hair, but is super gentle. he's afraid to hurt you. the thought of even tugging at your strands makes him cringe. he'd pet your head while you go down on him, long fingers running through your hair. it's reverent and soothing—like he's worshiping you with every stroke.

୨୧ his other hand would hold yours. when you place your hands on his hips to steady yourself, he'd reach down to completely envelope yours with his. it helps to keep him grounded.

୨୧ he lets you set the pace. again, he's too afraid of hurting you. he's worried that he would lose control if he thrusted into your mouth. so he stands there, muscles taut and legs shaking, letting you take him however you want. "you're in charge, baby," he'd say through gritted teeth, "i'm all yours."

୨୧ eye contact kills him. if you look up at him and flutter your eyelids, it's game over. his thighs tense up and his breath would falter. "don't look at me like that," he rasps. "you're going to make me come—"

୨୧ he'd guide you through it. he'll tell you everything that feels good, or ask you if you can do another things. like hollowing your cheeks, pulling back slightly to make enough room for your hand to stroke him, licking the pulsing vein on the underside of his cock.

୨୧ he would try to pull away at the last second. a part of him would feel bad coming uncontrollably in your mouth and having you swallow it. but when he tries to move away at the last second, you'd grip his hips even tighter to hold him in place. when you stay there and swallow everything, eyes still locked on his, he lets out a strangled moan and basically doubles over.

୨୧ post-blowjob bob is a wreck. his legs are shaking. beads of sweat trail down his forehead. he pants like he just ran a marathon. his eyes would be glazed over. a part of you was worried that he would just straight up combust and die.

୨୧ he'd be so grateful. he'd help you up and pull you into a kiss, shuddering as he can taste himself on your lips. he'd say things like: "thank you, baby", "you are so amazing", "it was incredible", "i love you so much"

୨୧ lots of cuddles. when he finally starts to calm his breathing, he'd fall into bed with you and hold you close to his chest. he hugs you like you're the most precious thing.

and to him, you are.

[weeeyotch]

OKAY BUT GIVE ME DARK HAIR SENTRY OVER BLONDE SENTRY EVERYDAY

[weeeyotch]

If requests are open, may I request a soft!dark!possessive!bob x Reader who has insomnia, so they might unintentionally stay up past 10PM without knowing, but then they get really overwhelmed when Bob 'punishes', like, convinced that he hates them now instead of shrugging it off as something else?

Anoned because I can't let my friends know that I fw this.

of course, i love that idea and i was actually already writing something similar to it!

(also don’t worry anon i gotchu, i fw this so hard)

[weeeyotch]

warnings: dark themes, possessiveness, controlling behavior, emotional manipulation, 18+ themes (mdni)

okay but…soft!dark!possessive!bob has been on my mind a lot recently.

like this man has been through everything—addiction, trauma, abuse, and being forgotten by the world over and over. but then he meets you, and suddenly it’s like his world is 100x brighter.

you make life liveable for him. you make things make sense.

you look at him like he’s good, like he’s safe. and for the first time, he believes that he is.

but he needs that. he needs you.

at first, it’s gentle.

lovely little café or bookstore dates. going to those movie theatres that show old movies for half the price of a normal ticket. he’d shower you with flowers, little hand-written notes, and say things like

“please stay a bit longer”

“i sleep better when you’re here”

but that softness that made you fall in love with him starts to turn sticky.

clingy.

obsessive.

it starts with a few extra texts.

where are you?

did you make it home safe? honey?

it's getting dark. maybe don't go to that party tonight. let's just stay in. i'll come over. we can make pasta. please?

you find his concern endearing in the beginning. given his past, you couldn't fault him for how he feels. he thinks that the world is dangerous, and the people in it more so.

"don't take the train, okay? that guy you mentioned at the station last week—he could be dangerous. just let me drive you."

"but you already went out with your friends yesterday. don't you think it's better to just stay home today?"

"the world is too dangerous for someone as sweet as you."

"i don't know what i'd do if something happened to you."

his voice still trembles whenever he says your name. he still holds onto you like you're the last good thing in a horribly broken world. but now, his grip is always a bit tighter around your waist. now, there's a fear that shines in his eyes—terrified that you might slip through his fingers if he blinks.

when you finally move in with him after he spent months convincing you, his love starts to swallow you whole.

there's no such thing as space. or quiet. or alone.

he calls you whenever you're out. wants to track your location "just in case". and by the time you come home, he's already waiting there with dinner, plans, and questions.

soon, he starts to become obsessed with your health—your sleep, your meals, your water intake, your screen time.

he wants to make sure that you're perfect.

he'll meal prep all of your meals, trying to make them as healthy as possible. he'll shoot you quiet, disapproving looks if he sees you eating too many cookies, chocolates, or chips.

"it's all fine in moderation, darling. but maybe you've had enough for now? let me cut up some fruits for you."

soon, his early bedtime becomes yours.

it starts off with him disguising it as needing to cuddle you so he can sleep.

you couldn't deny that it's flattering—being needed like that, being the thing that makes the nightmares go quiet.

but the requests get more insistent.

the "please come sleep with me" turns into "you always stay up so late" and then into

"you don't care about your health like i do."

"you keep pushing yourself and i have to watch it ruin you."

you don't even realize it's a rule until you break it.

you stay up past 10pm reading or gaming, just once, and the change in bob is unmistakable.

he doesn't reach for your hand the next morning.

doesn't kiss your forehead when he passes back your mug that he filled with steaming coffee.

he still brings you snacks, still folds your laundry with precision, still says "love you" before he leaves the apartment. but it's cold. practiced.

he never says he's punishing you. how could he be? he's still sickly sweet, just a bit. . .off.

yet the moment you crawl back into bed with him at 9:58pm, he softens again. arms open and voice tender.

like nothing happened.

"there she is. my good girl."

the passive aggressiveness stings more than a scream or slap ever could.

but it's okay, you tell yourself. this is real love.

that he just wants what's best for you.

right?

sex with him is slow. intense. all-consuming.

there's so much eye contact that it feels like he's trying to read you. he touches you like he's afraid you'll vanish, but holds onto you like a lifeline.

bob's clinginess transforms during these moments.

it metamorphoses into pure, unadulterated devotion and worship.

he'd make you cum on his tongue and fingers a minimum of three times before slowly pushing his cock into you. his thrusts are focused and steady, but they get more sloppy the closer he gets.

missionary is his favorite position. he just wants to see your face and the way your lips part as you get closer to the edge. sometimes he presses his ear against your mouth just to feel your hot breath or hear your little noises.

eventually, as that coil of pleasure is close to exploding deep within his belly, he'd change your position. he'd have you wrap your legs around his waist, using one arm to lift you and hold you against him while the other hand grips the headboard for stability.

the bed creaks under the effort. his muscles flex around you as his body feels like a wall—solid and unshakable.

his sheer strength always leaves you breathless. but it never frightens you.

it's just a reminder.

a reminder of what this man has survived.

what he's capable of.

the damage he's done.

the destruction he could cause.

but never to you. no, he would rather die than ever lay a finger on you.

so he gives you everything else instead.

his body, his strength, his desperation that bleeds into every thrust. the quiet groan of your name against your skin like a prayer. the way he shudders when you say his in return.

and when he finally falls apart, spilling into you with a low, broken sound, you wrap your arms around him and let him cling.

because that's all he's ever wanted.

to be held like he's still human.

to feel like he's worth saving.

to feel loved.

[weeeyotch]

weeeyotch's masterlist

*my blog is strictly 18+, so minors are not welcome. you will be blocked immediately.

ღ marvel

one shots

❧ eager to please pt. 1 (18+)

❧ eager to please pt. 2 (18+)

series

❧ kiss me, i’m unstable (18+)

headcanons

❧ soft!dark!possessive!bob (18+)

❧ bj headcanons (18+)

one shots

❧ nothing yet

series

❧ between shadows and steel (18+)

ophelia’s thoughts

❧ nothing yet

one shots

❧ nothing yet

series

❧ nothing yet

ophelia’s thoughts

❧ nothing yet

[weeeyotch]

eager to please pt. 2 ღ r.r.

robert reynolds x f!reader

pt.1

synopsis: after eating you out for the first time, bob wants to take it one step further.

warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), oral (fem receiving), dacryphilia, manhandling, dom/sub dynamics, use of toys (vibrator), nipple play, tit worship, switch dynamics

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i wasn't expecting anyone to want a second part, but here you go anyways besties

His question hangs heavy in the air: "Could you try sitting on my face?"

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you almost forget how to breathe for a second. The hand that had been lovingly stroking his hair freezes, fingers tangled in his messy curls.

You glance down. Bob is still lying with his arms wrapped tightly around you, his eyes wide and glassy as they silently plead with you. The devotion in his gaze—equal parts worship and desperation—makes your thighs clench.

"Baby," you murmur, "are you sure you're ready for that? I don't want you to overwhelm yourself."

He nods, fervent. "I'm ready," he whispers, voice rough with need. "Please."

The raw hunger in his tones sends shivers down your spine. How lucky you were to be loved so fiercely by someone who could burn down the world, yet chooses to worship you instead. Seeing him there, so pliant and needy, made your heart swell with pride.

His fingers trail down your tummy and ghost along your thigh, dragging through the slick sheen on your skin like he was painting with it. It's deliberate and teasing, and you know that he's trying to rile you up again.

And he's doing it so well.

The sight of him like this—his gaze so pure and tender while his hands move in a quiet, unmistakable filth—ignites a fire in you. It's not just desire that blooms in your chest; it's white-hot, blinding power that thrums through your veins, urging you to claim him as yours.

"You want that?" you murmur, fingers tightening just enough in his hair to coax the tiniest gasp out of him. "You want me to use you like that?"

Bob lets out another sound, a cross between a whimper and a plea. He nods vigorously as he presses his lips into a tight line.

"Say it then," you say. "Say what you want, pretty boy."

"I want you to use me like that," he whispers, reverence and want dripping from his words. "I want you to sit on my face. I wanna taste you. I wanna worship you. Please. Please—"

The desperation in his voice snaps something inside you. With a swift motion, you tighten your grip on him and force him to roll over. You straddle him as he hits the mattress with a small ungh. The way he lets you man-handle him, knowing that he has enough strength to do whatever he wants to you, makes heat shoot through your blood like lightning.

It is hot. Wild. Impossible to ignore.

There is something feral taking over you, something that is thrilled at how easily he gave in; how someone so powerful could melt into obedience at your slightest touch.

"You like being tossed around like that?" you ask, low and commanding.

His chest heaves as he looks up at you, eyes glassy and pupils blown wide. "Yes," he breathes, "only by you."

That answer unlocks something darker in you. Something primal—a desire to ruin him, to make him beg and scream without restraint.

You drag a finger down the side of his face to his neck, letting your nail dig in just enough to make him flinch. He twitches beneath you, his breath hitching. Your hand slides back up, and he braces, like he's expecting you to mark him. Instead, you grip his jaw and crash your lips against his.

It's messy and sticky, and tasting yourself on his mouth only stokes the fire in your belly even more.

One of his hands slides up your body to gently lift up your shirt, bunching it at your collarbone. His large, calloused palms find your breasts, cupping them. His thumbs brush over your nipples, slow and deliberate as he coaxes them to harden under his touch. You arch into his hands, craving more.

He rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, a teasing pinch that draws a sharp moan from your lips. His other hand mirrors the motion.

You keen and arch your back further, breaking the kiss. A thin line of saliva stretches between you before snapping and landing on the corner of his mouth.

Bob wastes no time as your breasts are pushed into his face. He wraps his lips greedily around your nipple, sucking with reverence. His tongue kitten-licks your sensitive peak, mimicking the way he teased your clit earlier while his other hand kneads the other breast.

The sensation makes you collapse forward as your body trembles with need.

You couldn't wait anymore.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," you pant. "You're such a good boy. You deserve it."

He sighs contentedly at the pet name, letting his head relax back into the pillows as he drinks in your naked form. A small smile curves his lips, but is quickly replaced by something ravenous as you start to climb up his body.

He licks his lips like you are the first taste of salvation he has had in weeks.

"Tap my thigh if it's too much," you tell him.

Bob nods, eyes locked onto your pussy, pupils dark with desire. Slowly, you lower yourself, inch by inch; you were partly teasing him, and partly giving him a chance to back out.

But mostly to tease him.

The first brush of his lips against you pulls a small moan from your throat.

He groans in response, the sound vibrating deliciously against your core. Bob dives in with the same sloppy enthusiasm from before. Although now, you sense that there's a hunger to it—a need that feels borderline possessive.

His tongue moves in one long, slow stroke, taking forever to climb up your pussy and find your clit with precision. He starts to circle the swollen nub.

"Fuck, Bob," you gasp, gripping the headboard for balance.

Your hips jerk forward. He decides to repeat the movement, over and over, until each jerking of your hips effectively turns into you riding him. His quickening breath, warm against your core, and the scrape of his stubble, urge you on.

Eventually, he stops moving his head, sticking his tongue out so that you can take full control of the pleasure.

Bob's surrender sends power surging through your veins. The sight of him like this—eyes half-lidded, face glistening with your wetness—makes you grind faster against his pliant tongue. Each roll of your hips elicits a groan from deep within his chest, the vibrations shooting sparks of pleasure through your core.

"Good boy," you pant while gripping the headboard tighter. "So good for me, letting me use you like this. My perfect boy."

His eyes flutter close as he whines pathetically, and you can feel his hands tighten on your thighs. Not to guide you, but to anchor himself. You lean back slightly to take in the sight of him: trembling, messy curls sticking to his slick forehead, and completely at your mercy.

Then—

Three taps on your thigh.

Your heart leaps in your chest. The lust was replaced with panic in the blink of an eye.

I pushed him too far, you think. I should've waited. Should've told him no.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too much? Are you oka—" you ramble, lifting off him.

Bob cuts you off with a small, sheepish smile and runs his hands soothingly up and down your hips. "I'm okay, I'm okay. I just wanted to ask if . . ."

He trails off, clearing his throat and darting his eyes away. A blush snakes its way up his round cheeks.

You lean down to brush the damp curls away from his forehead. "Ask what, baby? I need words."

With a nervous swallow, he whispers: "Can you use the vibrator on yourself? While I eat you out?"

Relief washes over you like a wave. You let out a grateful breath, heavy and trembling. A smile tugs at your lips as you stroke his hair, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against his temple. He nuzzles into your touch, sighing contentedly.

How could you ever say no to him?

"Anything you want, sweetheart."

You settle back over his face as his hands gently guide you into place. While you reach for your nightstand to find the vibrator, he busies himself by pressing delicate kisses against your swollen lips. Your fingers finally wrap around the toy that had been thrown underneath piles of clothes. Turning it on, a low hum fills the air, blending with the wet clicking sounds of Bob's mouth against you.

You press the toy lightly against your clit, just above where his tongue circles. The combined sensation rips a sharp gasp from you.

Your hips stutter and Bob moans, feeling you become wetter with every passing second. You rock against him, the steady hum of the vibrator amplifying every flick of his tongue, pushing you closer towards the edge.

But then you notice a subtle shift in his grip, in the way his hands tighten on your thighs.

His eyes, wet with tears and glassy with devotion, flicker with something bolder. Something commanding.

"Give it to me," he says, voice muffled against your core.

It's a demand—raw and unexpected. So unlike the man who, only a minute ago, was embarrassed about asking you to pleasure yourself with a vibrator while riding his face.

The sudden change sends a jolt of heat through you.

You raise an eyebrow, testing his dominance. "You think you can handle it, baby boy?"

He growls in response. "Now." The word is sharp, laced with a tone of authority that is so unlike his usual softness. It makes your breath catch.

One hand leaves your thigh and reaches up expectantly. You hand him the vibrator, intrigued by this new side of him.

Bob takes it with surprising confidence—no doubt after having watched you pleasure yourself with it dozens of times before—and adjusts the angle to press it firmly against your clit. You cry out at the painful precision, hips bucking.

His tongue dives back in. However, it's different than before. This time, he's lapping desperately at your entrance, pushing his tongue deep into your core. He slurps obscenely as he works at your gummy walls.

Then you realize: he's drinking you.

"Bob—fuck—I can't—" your voice breaks while he works you with ruthless efficiency.

He alternates the vibrator's pressure, pulling it back slightly to tease your clit then pressing it back with intensity. His tongue circles and flicks throughout your center, and the sensations are pushing you closer to oblivion.

He's determined to unravel you completely.

His free hand grips your thigh to hold you in place, a reminder of the strength he's choosing to restrain.

"Come for me," he growls, lips brushing against your dripping pussy. "I want it. Come for me."

It's the authority in his voice—thick and uncharacteristically possessive—that sends you spiraling.

The orgasm that crashes over you is sharp and all-consuming. Your hips jerk wildly, grinding against his mouth and the vibrator. A wail of his name echoes throughout the bedroom as your thighs clamp around his head, pleasure surging through you.

Bob keeps the vibrator pressed against you, albeit a little bit lighter now, drawing out every shudder, every whimper, every pulse, until you're a gasping and oversensitive mess.

Finally, he pulls back and switches off the toy, throwing it somewhere on the bed.

His face is a mess; his lips are swollen, his chin is slick and glistening, and his eyes are darkened with pride and hunger.

He gently eases you off, laying you on the pillow beside him. His lips quickly capture yours in a deep, messy kiss that tastes like you. While his usual tenderness lingers, it's laced with a new and possessive confidence.

"You're mine," he murmurs, pulling back just slightly. "Say it."

"I'm yours," you whisper.

Another kiss.

Then he retreats again, looking lovingly into your eyes. You notice his lips curve into a smile, its sweetness blending with a newfound bold satisfaction. This version of Bob was. . .different. But you couldn't say that you hated it.

You pull him closer and guide him to lie beside you, his head resting against your chest. Your fingers thread gently through his damp curls while his breathing slows.

Pressing soft kisses to his forehead, you whisper, "You were so good baby. So perfect for me."

He hums and nuzzles into your breast, finding comfort in the warm mound. "I just wanted to make you feel good."

His gaze flickers up at you, the confidence melting away back into his signature innocent, doe eyes. "Did I. . .did I make you feel good?"

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his tone.

"I felt incredible," you affirm. "I'm so proud of you."

But then, curiosity tugs at you. You smile, a teasing lilt in your voice as you ask, "Where'd that whole thing come from, though? You wanting to be in charge?"

Bob's cheeks flush, and he ducks his head back into your chest. "I-I don't know. . ." he says, barely above a whisper. "I just. . .seeing you like that—I got lost in it. I wanted to give you everything. I guess it just came out."

He pauses, eyes finding yours again. "Was it okay? Did I go too far?"

You laugh softly and cup his face. "Babe, it was more than okay. It was so hot."

Your thumb strokes over his cheek, brushing over the lingering slick. "I'd love it if you did that more."

Relief washes over him as he leans up to bury his face in your neck. "I'll do whatever you want me to. I'm all yours. Just wanna make you feel as good as you make me feel."

His words send a rush of warmth through you.

In the quiet aftermath, a realization settles deep in your chest. This man, with his unwavering devotion and gentle strength, gives you everything. You're struck by how rare it is to have someone who would shatter mountains for you, yet chooses to surrender his heart completely to you.

The thought makes you hold him tighter, gratitude swelling in your heart.

"You already do," you say, words thick with emotion as you press a kiss to his temple. "More than you know."

You start to ease off the bed, wanting to grab a washcloth from the bathroom to clean his face. But as you move, he whines and grips your waist tightly, stubbornly pulling you back.

"I'm only going to the bathroom, baby," you reassure him, brushing a kiss across his cheek. "Just getting a washcloth for you."

With a bratty huff, Bob lets you go and sits up with a pout as he watches you go. Being away from you now, even for a few seconds, was almost unbearable to him.

When you return with a warm, damp cloth, you stand over him and gently tilt his head up. You carefully wipe away the slick coating his face, his chin, and his neck. He closes his eyes and sighs under your careful ministrations.

"You're so beautiful like this," you murmur.

Bob's face somehow turns even redder.

Noticing his evergreen sweater is stained with your essence, you lift it up, and he raises his arms like a child as you peel it off. You toss it into the corner, rummaging around the nightstand for one of your shirts—his favorite; they smelled like you.

You help him slip it on, fabric draping over his broad, sculpted frame. He inhales deeply, humming contentedly.

Back on the bed, you pull the blankets over the both of you and tuck him against your side. You trace soothing circles on his back, and he basically melts into you.

"You okay?" you ask, still wanting to check in.

"Perfect," he mumbles, a sleepy smile spreading across his face. "I love you."

"Love you too."

You hold him close, your steady heartbeat lulling him into a peaceful sleep. As he nestles closer, you can't help but grin when a playful thought flickers through your mind.

"You know, you really are eager to please, aren't you?"

Bob chuckles. You can feel his smile widen into a grin against your skin.

"Always for you."

tag list: @theoraekenslover @alloboinga84

[weeeyotch]

Do you have a masterlist?

not yet, as i only have a few writings up now. i was going to make one after i published eager to please pt. 2 (which is coming next week) :)

[weeeyotch]

PLEASE DO LIKE A PART 2 OF EAGER TO PLEASE WITH FACE SITTING 🙏🙏 (also love your writing <3)

ahhhh ty!!

dont worry pookie it’s on the way!

[weeeyotch]

eager to please ღ r.r.

robert reynolds x f!reader

pt.2

synposis: aside from a couple sexual interactions, bob has never really learned how to eat someone out. but he's eager to learn for you.

warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), oral (fem receiving), messy pussy eating, sub/dom dynamics, praise kink, dacryphilia

word count: 1.7k

a/n: bob my beloved

For being the strongest man on Earth, he looks downright nervous.

He can take the force of a thousand bullets without a single scratch and fly at the speed of sound. Shit, he even brought Manhattan to its knees in a matter of minutes.

But here, in front of you? With his large, calloused hands gently resting on your parted thighs like they're sacred?

He's trembling.

"I just. . ." Bob swallowed, a loose curl falling onto his flushed forehead, slick with sweat and nerves. "I watched some videos online and—and I just want to do this right."

You ran a soothing hand through his hair. "You will, baby. I'll teach you how. Just listen to me."

He pouts and nods furiously. It makes your heart ache a little bit. This man could fly you to the next galaxy and pluck the stars out of the sky for you, and he would still believe that he isn't good enough.

Lying half-naked on the bed with your thighs spread comfortably around his warm body, you lean back on your elbows. Bob is still dressed in his cozy forest-green crewneck sweater and cream-colored corduroy pants. You feel rather vulnerable being more exposed than him, but the thought of soaking his clothes with your juices and leaving your mark made you absolutely drip.

There is no doubting he could see how wet your pussy is. He seems too anxious to look directly at it, still wanting to play the perfect gentleman. Instead, he opts to take quick glances and then dart his eyes away before you can catch him staring.

You reach down and intertwine your fingers with his, trying to ground him. He offers you a shy, crooked smile that makes your heart leap. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to absolutely ruin this man; to make him cry, to make him scream, to turn him into your pliant little play-thing.

But that was for another time.

Tonight, you were teaching him how to worship you like a devoted acolyte at the altar.

"Okay," you murmur, "start with some kisses."

Bob leans down, practically folding himself over you. One of his massive hands snakes around your outer thigh, anchoring him in place as he turns his head inwards. He begins by nuzzling his nose against your inner thigh, breathing in the intoxicating scent of your soft skin. Then, he places a single, hesitant kiss.

And another. And another. And another, until he's trailing soft and reverent kisses all the way up to your core.

Just when he's hovering where you need him the most, mere centimeters away from your dripping cunt, he shifts to the other thigh to continue the exact same ritual. The way he's taking his time, so gentle and focused on doting on you, makes your head spin.

With each kiss, he starts to gain more courage. He brushes higher and higher until—

A sharp gasp escapes you as he finally kisses your center. There was no tongue yet. It was just sweet and tentative, like he was afraid to break you.

"That's good," you breathe. "Keep going. Don't be afraid to get a little messy, baby."

Bob's eyes flick up to you, tears already threatening to spill out while silently begging for permission. You nod.

That's all he needs.

He shifts in closer, parting your puffy lips with two thick fingers. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, he leans in and drags his tongue through you in one long, slow, mind-numbing stroke.

"Ohh—fuck."

He dives back in, repeating the motion. His head moves with growing enthusiasm, curls splaying against your tummy as he buries himself deeper within your thighs. It's sloppy. Unpracticed. But fuck, it feels so unbelievably good.

The way he groans against you is almost animalistic, like your taste shattered something in him and is currently rewiring his brain chemistry.

"Holy shit," he pants, pulling back just enough for air, his chin glistening with your slick. "You taste—fuck. Fuck you taste so good."

Before you can respond, he's back on you, devouring you like a starving man. He experiments with every flick and stroke of his tongue, eyes intently watching you—watching, listening, learning. He hones in on the spots that make your hips jerk or thighs clamp around his head.

Each moan you give him is answered by a deep, guttural sound from his throat, like he's getting off just from pleasing you. It's raw, unfiltered, and so undeniably desperate.

Then he pauses, breath warm and heavy against your skin. Slowly, carefully, he adjusts his position. His thumbs come up to gently pull back your hood, revealing the sensitive bundle of nerves underneath.

And then, ever so lightly, he starts to kitten-lick your clit.

He definitely learned that trick from the dozen of videos he watched for 'educational purposes'.

"Oh god, right there," you gasp, throwing your head back. "Right there. Just like that."

A high-pitched whine escapes him, almost as if he has been waiting his whole life to hear that he's doing a good job. His grip on your thighs tightens as he pulls you impossibly closer. He buries his face even deeper in your pussy, dragging slow and reverent strokes over your clit.

Wet clicking noises fill the air, mixing in with the grunts, pants, and your ragged cries.

You start to grind against his face, chasing that sweet, mounting pleasure in your abdomen. "A-ah—you're so good. Bob, you're doing so good."

He groans again, much louder this time. The vibration against your core makes your legs twitch.

His mouth is eager and deliciously sloppy, tongue flicking experimentally then circling with new precision when he hears your broken moans.

He's learning you inside and out—hungrily, obsessively. Every whimper and desperate cry to God you give him is fuel.

Then, his lips close around your clit and suck.

Your back arches. The sensation is pure electricity; it is magical yet almost painfully overwhelming.

"Fuck! Right there. Don't stop, don't stop."

He would rather die.

His fingers flex on the plush of your thighs to ground himself. This is the tightest he has ever held onto you. He's always worried about hurting you with his strength, opting for feather-light touches that never leave you feeling quite satisfied.

But now?

Now he's undeniably pussy-drunk, and the fear has vanished entirely.

"You're so pretty," he pants in between strokes, his words muffled against your cunt. "I want—to do this—forever. I'll—get better. Let me—make you come. Please."

You're already right there.

With your hips jerking, thighs trembling uncontrollably, and his name spilling out of your mouth like a prayer, you are coming undone. It's the worship in his voice, the way he presses adoring kisses to your clit between licks, and the primal desire he has to be good for you that sends you over the edge.

You wail, clutching his hair as your orgasm crashes over you. Your thighs clamp around him, your juices spilling out all over his lips and chin. He licks it up, greedy and reverent, not daring to waste a single drop.

But he doesn't stop.

Being as inexperienced as he is, he keeps going with the same eagerness and fervor. It helps you to ride out your high, but quickly leaves you feeling overstimulated. A part of you wanted to push through the pain and get lost in the pleasure again. However, that familiar sharp ache in your clit makes you flinch.

You squirm and push his head back. Only then does he finally pull away, eyes glazed over, like he just tasted heaven.

You're still catching your breath, thighs twitching as your body tries to recover from the storm he just dragged you through.

His voice cracks through the silence. Soft. Unsure. Raw.

"Did I do okay?" Bob asks, slowly rising.

You blink, trying to focus your vision on him once again. And fuck, he looks absolutely ruined.

His lips are pink and puffy. Your slick coats his chin and cheeks. His lashes are clumped with moisture, like he cried from overstimulation. Maybe he did.

Your chest aches again with that same devious desire to wreck him. The way he looks at you—like a sinner pleading for salvation—makes you feel like a goddess; divine and beautiful, with his animalistic devotion dripping from every glance.

You sit up on trembling elbows. "You did so good, baby. You were so perfect."

Relief washes over him. That same crooked little smile appears and his shoulders sag with solace.

"I wanna get better," he whispers, eyes flicking down to the damp spot on your bedsheets. "Wanna learn everything you like. Wanna be good for you every time."

That sends a pulse of heat straight through you. You reach out your arms in silent invitation.

He climbs up your body and you grab his jaw to kiss him, tasting yourself on his mouth. You cradle his face as he hovers there. It is sticky and messy, but so painfully intimate.

"My good boy," you whisper against his lips, rubbing your thumbs just underneath his eyes where the tears escaped. "I adore you."

A blush spreads across his cheeks.

He gently lowers his full weight against you and shyly nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. You stroke his hair, over and over, slow and calming. Every pass of your hand helps him relax, to feel safe and appreciated.

"You okay?" you ask softly, careful not to disturb his peace.

Bob nods into your skin. "Never been better."

You press a kiss to the crown of his head. "You're trembling."

"Only a little," he admits, arms wrapping around your waist. "Just can't believe I did that."

You lay there for awhile in the quiet afterglow. His breathing eventually evens out but your fingers never stop moving; they stroke his back, lightly scratch at his neck and scalp, and trace soothing circles between his shoulder blades.

Eventually, his voice breaks through the stillness again. It is low and timid.

"When you're ready. . ." he begins.

You hum, eyes still closed. "Yeah?"

There's a pause. Then, you can feel a bashful grin growing against your neck.

"Could you try sitting on my face?"