I Wanna Suck Bucky Barnes’ Dick SO Bad. 🥲

relatively alright : marc spector x reader (& steven grant)

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Smut!!! P in v sex, dirty talk, face slapping, daddy kink, choking, light angst at the end, unedited writing because I couldn’t look at this any longer

A/N: Okay two things: One, I’ve written this only seeing the first episode of the series as it’s the only one out, so there could be some inaccuracies if things change later on. Two, if I’ve misrepresented DID in any possible way, please let me know! I’m not an expert. 

You’ve never met Steven before.

Dating Marc, you know about the others. He’s told you about them, at least as much as he can because obviously there are things he doesn’t know himself. He’s conscious of his alters, it’s like he’s sitting shotgun while they front but they’re never conscious of him when he’s the one in control and he thinks it’s the most frustrating shit in the world.

You could meet Steven without giving him a goddamn heart attack if he knew that you were Marc’s. Marc wouldn’t always feel the need to rush you off after too little time together because he gets worried that someone else will take over and he won’t be able to stop it, that you’ll scare them but that most importantly, they’ll scare you.

You’ve told him that won’t happen — you understand that it’s something he has very limited control over. You know that Steven has no memory of what happens when he’s not fronting and of course anyone would be scared if they were just thrown into reality at any given point, never one hundred percent sure what day it is, never sure of the things you’ve done in between your moments of consciousness.

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and he’d be so sweet to you when you’re pregnant!

meeting your every need and he’s with you every step of the way during labor and once the baby comes he’s over the moon and he def cries bc he’s just so happy to be a dad😭

dad!bob is what keeps me up late at night, I need to give that man as many babies as he wants!!! (and he wants a lot, he has a breeding kink, trust me I know him)

Bob has a DIRTY BREEDING KINK

and the man wants a whole house of kids and I would happily provide

yknow I never saw myself as a monsterfucker but then I remember that my first ever crush was the predator from alien vs predator :)

OH MY GOODNESS THIS WAS JUST PERFECTION??? I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

The way that I wanna dom the shit out of Steven Grant…

FERAL. FOAMING AT THE MOUTH. GOING INSANE.

These Moments w Adrian has me in a literal headlock it’s so good. if ur ever open to posting a part 2 where reader n Adrian actually get to kiss id scream, cry and die probably and be eternally in your debt. bUT only if you’d like of course! I’m loving this blog <3

jawbreaker

these moments, pt. 2

[read pt. 1 here]

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, gn sex descriptions)

rating: e+ (canon-typical violence and gore, explicit sexual content)

word count: 4,365

one-sentence synopsis: the next day doesn't quite go according to plan, but that doesn't mean that you and adrian don't end up getting what you want from it.

author's note: okay i fucked up making this a drabble. i hope everyone forgives me for only posting this today because it's like 4k+ of adrian slaughtering aliens and then fucking you into a desk like a maniac so i think it's worth it. anyways i hope everyone else likes this too!!!! enjoy!!!!!!

read on ao3!

“Duck!” Vigilante shouts, and you drop to the ground automatically, hands over the back of your head.

Only a second later, there’s a short, sharp whistle flying over your head. An explosion rocks the ground in front of you, and you don’t waste any time leaping back up to your feet, hauling yourself back into a sprint.

Vigilante catches up at your side, keeping a fast pace with you as you run. He turns around, trusting you to navigate a path through the trees as he takes aim at one of your pursuers and fires. You hear a choked-off scream behind you and a thud as a body falls, and you don’t break pace, taking Adrian’s arm to jerk him out of the way of tripping backwards over a root.

A gunshot rings out, and a bullet whizzes past the both of you. Adrian laughs, whirling to flip off whoever made the shot with one hand, taking aim with the other.

"You missed, motherfucker!" he calls out gleefully. He fires twice, then leaps and pushes himself into a twisting side flip so he lands facing forwards, sprinting along at your side again.

Adrian whoops, holding his hand up for a high-five, and you smack your gloved palm to his.

"Fuck yeah!" he shouts. He transfers his gun to his left hand, reaches out with his right so the two of you can thread your fingers together between you. You keep navigating forward, your vision tinted dark by the visor in your helmet.

You’d had every intention of cornering Adrian alone when you woke up this morning and making good on your promise to finish what he’d started last night, but you hadn’t had a very gentle wake-up call. Instead of waking up to swap shifts, you’d both awoken to Chris hurtling into the camp, shouting that they’d been seen and everybody needed to move now. You and Adrian had grabbed what you could, yanking on clothes and masks and holstering weapons before sprinting off into the woods with everybody else.

Now, you feel— admittedly relatively well-rested, since the sun’s up and you actually got a bit of decent sleep. Your adrenaline’s pumping, and you’re not entirely sure what’s going on, but you know you’re almost to the van, and nobody’s hurt, so you’re counting this as a win so far.

At your side, Adrian tilts his head just slightly. You look towards him for a fleeting second, and he’s releasing your hand.

“Keep going,” he says, “I’m following. I’ll be watching you.”

You do as he says. He keeps you in his peripheral vision, starting to jog backward again so he can keep his eyes on the trees behind you. There’s a bang, and he’s pinpointing the noise in the same moment you feel the whizz of vibrating air as a bullet flies over your shoulder, just barely missing your throat.

You yelp, and Adrian snarls, calling, “Who the fuck shot that?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, taking aim and firing his own weapon once, twice, th— unloading his gun, actually, and then holstering it and pulling out another one.

“Hey!” Adrian sprints up beside you, demanding to know, “Did that fucking hit you? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay,” you promise him. He slows slightly, just enough that he can balance reaching out to touch your masked face with his gloved hand. You may have several layers of tough fabric between you, but you swear his touch still burns there. You can feel the heat of his eyes through the visors, as strong as his touch; you can see and feel him without seeing and feeling him.

“Okay, good,” Adrian says. He draws away so he can pull a knife into the hand your face was just in. “Keep it that way.”

“Over here!” Chris calls, and you change direction, hauling Adrian by the elbow to pivot him along with you. You come skidding into the clearing just as John brings the van screeching up.

“Get in!” John calls from inside. Emilia hauls the door open, turning to help Leota up into the back of the van. She grabs your hand next, yanking you up. Adrian comes rocketing in beside you, jumping off the ground to send himself crashing through the van without her help.

From outside, something rocks the van, and you turn to see people— who are definitely no longer strictly people, but morphing into huge reptilian beasts you’ve never seen outside of a movie theater before today— converging on Chris, the last of you into the van.

Nobody else has noticed yet, and you act on instinct, running and jumping back out onto the ground. Behind you, Emilia shouts your name.

“What the fuck?” you hear Adrian say. You ignore his voice, running to meet Chris with your gun drawn just as one of the mutating creatures pins him to the ground. You cock your gun, take aim, and fire, splattering blood and gore across your face and Chris’.

Behind you, there are pounding footsteps. You’re sure you know exactly which one of them was stupid enough to leave the van; you don’t need to look back to know it’s Adrian.

You offer Chris a hand to help him to his feet just as another creature comes launching down out of the trees. You draw your gun, but then, you hear a vicious snarl behind you— or, two vicious snarls: a man and a machine, and you almost would laugh, if you weren’t halfway through trying to save your own life, and the rest of the team’s. You drop to the ground, grabbing Chris and yanking him down with you, already knowing where this is going.

Adrian comes flying over the both of you a second after you fall flat to the ground, his chainsaw growling louder than the shrieks of the reptilian creatures. The machine howls as Adrian pushes it through the alien’s body, splitting the creature in half with a gory spray.

Even over the machine, you hear Adrian laugh, saying, “That’s what you get, motherfucker!” He turns around, finding you climbing to your feet. He holds the chainsaw up, blood soaked into both him and it, dripping off to the ground. “I fucking did it! Did you fucking see that? Oh, fuck, that was so fucking cool—”

You point above his head as another creature starts coming. You see the person the creature used to be before it starts mutating, and it looks like that lookalike Adrian had been suspicious of yesterday, the one who looked like Adam Driver and Jason Schwartzman had a baby, which is— kind of poetic, in its own way.

Adrian turns immediately when you point, trusting you, as always, to guide him. He shreds the creature with the buzzing saw as it tries to come down on him, splitting it from the skull down. Laughing, he leaps past it to tear through the trees, seeking out the creatures with a vicious delight.

“Jesus Christ,” Chris says.

“Yeah,” you agree, smiling inside your mask. “He’s something else, isn’t he?”

There’s an incredulous silence from Chris for a moment before he says, “You two belong together,” and it sounds like an accusation or a joke, but you can’t help but feel like it’s a compliment. Your grin widens.

“You should tell him that,” you say. “It’d mean a lot coming from you. Good references, you know.” You offer him your hand again, and he takes it. There was a time not so long ago he would’ve brushed you off and stood on his own; you can’t help but take this as growth, both for him as a person and for your friendship.

Chris claps you on the back when you start heading for the van, the both of you sprinting again, the urgency of the situation not lost on you. You’re sure that’s all the thanks you’ll get for saving him, which is okay with you; growth comes in pieces.

Emilia and Chris are just offering you hands up into the van when Adrian comes sprinting back into the clearing. His chainsaw is gone, and he’s running at top speed, shouting, “Go, go, go! Go! It’s Godzilla, go—”

Behind him, sure as fucking shit, the creatures have started joining together to form one huge fucked-up sort of reptile creature. One of the creatures that hasn’t yet become part of the mass leaps at Adrian, and you scream, but he’s already twisting against it. He jumps up, swinging himself around onto the thing’s back with an arm around its throat. He snaps its neck, tucks and rolls over its body as it falls.

The next creature that grabs him sees a knife slid up into the soft underside of its jaw before Adrian’s lopping its head off, and the next— and last— that snatches at his ankles with its teeth gets the last of his violent rage.

Adrian twists around, hauling himself up so he’s wrapped around the creature from the front, knocking it flat on its back. He pulls back, then starts beating the shit out of the lizard monster, raining blows on it until it's an unrecognizable mass of blood and flesh, dead on the ground. When it’s stopped moving— long after it’s stopped moving— Adrian picks himself up off the ground and chases after the van, leaping into it just as John revs the engine and starts driving back through the trees.

Chris and Emilia are shouting back and forth at each other, arguing about what they should do about this thing, but you just watch Adrian as he gets to his feet in the back of the van. He reaches up to tug his mask off of his face, sucking in a deep breath when he does.

Adrian turns to evaluate his options among the weapons set in the mount along the inside wall of the van. He spends only a moment there before plucking one of the compact rocket launchers from the selection. He only pauses to slip his glasses on before he situates himself in the center of the van. Humming to himself, he gets to one knee on the floor, unfolds the machine in quick snaps, loads it, and peeks into the sight.

He’s still humming to himself as he aims and fires directly into the huge monster’s mouth. You watch him as he grins, eyes fixed on the beast; it’s only then that you turn to see it, too, as it suddenly bursts into an explosion of scales and flaming chunks of lizard insides and a shower of blood that patters on the top of the roof like rain.

In the aftermath, Adrian laughs, exclaiming, “Oh, shit, I think this is the coolest day of my fucking life! Did you see that shit? Holy shit!”

He runs a hand back through his hair, leaving blood streaked through it. Eyes wild, he whirls, seeking you out where you’re holding yourself upright by the driver’s seat.

Adrian stumbles over to you, the van jostling under him as he tries to walk. The van doors slam shut behind him, Chris reaching to haul them closed, and the inside of the van is at least quieter now, even if your blood is still rushing in your ringing ears.

You look up, heart pounding, as Adrian reaches up and tears your mask off, too. You inhale deeply, getting your lungs full of fresh air, seeing Adrian unfiltered.

“Hey,” Adrian says, then drops down, gathering you close to him. He cups your jaw in his gloved hands before realizing he still has his gloves on, curses, “Fuck, hold on, let me just—” and yanks them off, getting his bare hands on your bare skin, heedless of the blood he’s smearing, leftover from his gloves.

He’s a fucking maniac. You just watched him tear through all those people— and monsters— and that fucking giant— thing, whatever that was— with glee. This is the coolest day of his life, he’s just told you. Mowing down people with a chainsaw, blowing up an alien mutant, massacring hordes like he’s a dark fucking Superman or something.

You couldn’t be more in love with him. You couldn’t be more turned on by him. He’s making you feel insane. You think you might be unhinged, but at least, in that case, you both are, together.

“Hey,” you reply, heat gathering low in your belly, an electric charge that sparks up your spine to explode in your chest.

You tilt your head up, lifting your chin, and even Adrian gets the hint on that one. Heedless of the rattling van, holding himself up with one hand braced against the roof above him, Adrian reaches up with his other hand to cup your jaw in his hand. His thumb sweeps along your cheek, his eyes meeting yours for a moment before he smiles. He smiles, like he didn’t just kill all those things, like he didn’t just take all those lives, and you can’t help smiling back.

Adrian drops his head so he can brush his nose against yours, just for a moment. It’s like all the anticipation from yesterday is coiling inside you again. The intensity of not only that, but of the amount of the time you’d even been waiting before— It’s been so long that you’ve wanted Adrian, and he’s been just out of reach, drawing closer and closer but never near enough for you to just— grab.

Finally, he’s here, right within your reach, and you reach up to thread your arms around his neck, trusting him to keep the both of you upright even as the van bumps out onto the road. You don’t care about your audience, or the gore, or any of it. You just care that you finally have him, that he’s holding you like you’re something so precious after you just watched these hands annihilate entire lives.

You part your lips without thinking, eyes flickering from his eyes down to his mouth, waiting for him to draw you together. He exhales shakily, then finally, finally, finally drops down to kiss you.

It’s everything, everything you ever wanted from him, everything you’ve ever needed from him. He tilts his head just slightly, loosens his jaw so he can part your lips further and lick into your mouth immediately. Only a moment later, he withdraws, and kisses you bruisingly hard. A flare of heat rockets down through you, and you kiss back as hard as you can, letting him consume you. He bites at your lower lip, he glides along your tongue, he presses closer and harder into you, the two of you gasping for breath but unwilling to part.

After so long not doing this, you never want to stop doing this. The only reason you do stop is Chris saying, “Okay, Jesus, just— Stop fucking humping each other, this is disgusting.”

“You’re covered in guts,” Leota agrees.

“They’re licking each other,” Chris argues, like that’s the bigger issue.

You draw away, not quite paying enough attention to them to laugh. You do smile, though, eyes flicking up to meet Adrian’s again. His pupils are blown dark, leaving only a ring of bright green around their edges as he looks you over.

“Where are we?” Adrian asks.

“We’re, like, two minutes from headquarters,” John tells him.

“Pull over,” Adrian says. Another flare of heat explodes in you as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. He drops his head down, close to the shell of your ear, promises, “I can’t wait to fucking just— Touch you, I want— I want to fuck you— I’ll fuck you against a tree if I have to—”

“He said two minutes,” you reply breathlessly, even as the image of Adrian forcibly stopping a van so he can fuck you against a tree because he can’t wait two minutes after waiting literal months knocks your heart into an even faster breakneck pace than it’d been in before.

“Fuck,” Adrian groans out. He slams his fist against the roof of the car, then glares at John through the rearview mirror. Pointing at him through the reflection, he says, “Two minutes.”

“Jesus Christ, okay, I’m driving,” John snaps back at him.

“That was so fucking cool,” you tell Adrian. He looks back down at you, all delight again, written across the flushed strokes of his face.

“Wasn’t that just—” Adrian is briefly speechless, trying to figure out what he wants to say, and ends up making a noise instead, a wordless, excited shriek of a noise before he’s diving back in to kiss you again. Against your lips, he starts speaking again, says, “I’m feeling so fucking good, like, my blood’s fucking pumping, I really blew that thing up— Hey, what the fuck was that?” Adrian asks, twisting away to ask Emilia. “Do you know what the fuck I just killed?”

“Nothing good,” she answers, and Adrian fist-pumps in the air before twisting back for another biting kiss.

John screeches into the parking lot at your little innocuous office-building headquarters, where you and the 11th Street Kids are used to hiding in plain sight. When Chris kicks open the back of the van, Adrian throws you over his shoulder. You inhale in a sharp gasp, startled. His arm wraps around your legs, his hand holding your hip as he hops out to the parking lot.

Adrian shoves open the front door of the office, striding past the conference table to take you into the mostly-empty back office. He kicks the door shut behind him with a hard slam, sending it rattling in its frame. He brings you right to the desk, using his free arm to sweep everything on it onto the ground so he can throw you down on top of it, flat on your back.

In the next second, Adrian’s wrestling out of his uniform, tearing the clasps on his chest armor apart to send them peeling to the ground. He kicks it all aside, climbing up and over you onto the solid wood desk, stripped down to his boxers, skin slick with sweat. He glides up over you, finding the zipper on your own tight uniform, drawing it down in a sharp tug that bares your skin in a heated rush.

“Did you like that?” Adrian asks, pushing your uniform back off your shoulders. He tears your clothes down off of you, your hot skin meeting the cool desk in a flash that leaves prickles all over your flesh. “Wasn’t that awesome? What’d you—” His mouth finds your throat, teeth and wet heat that draw back a split second later. “What’d you think?”

“I think you’re amazing,” you tell him breathlessly. He shoves you further up the desk, sets himself between your legs, spreading your thighs apart. He licks over you, the flat of his tongue just— tasting you, for a moment— and your head knocks back into the desk, your back arching up. “Oh, fuck— I think you’re so amazing, you’re incredible, Adrian, I’m—”

Your voice breaks off with a sharp cry, and your hand flies up to cover your own mouth and muffle the noise. Adrian reaches up blindly, tugging sharply at your elbow to free you.

“Let me hear you,” he orders you. His hands come to your thighs again, spreading you apart, drawing your leg up over his shoulder to hook there.

When you push up onto one elbow to look down at him, you can see him already looking at you— looking down at you, spreading your legs further apart so he can reach between you and spread you apart. His face is flushed, cheeks red, up to the tips of his ears; he tugs his glasses off and tosses them aside before he drops back in again. He tilts your hips for you so he can dip in again, getting a better angle to lick inside of you. His other hand comes up to work you at your core, threading up above his head to get his fingers on your properly.

Your hips buck up of their own accord, and Adrian shoves you back down. His nose brushes along the inside of your thigh, and you make a strangled noise that rips up out of your chest, falling back again. You slam your bare palm down flat on the desk.

“Fuck, Adrian,” you curse as he keeps his mouth busy on you, jaw working, eating you like he’s trying to devour you. You can feel rocketing heat gathering stronger and stronger, coiling tighter and tighter at your core. You’re near tears, practically crying from the edge, from the near-overstimulation, wanting so badly to have him forever, to never have this end, to have this end now.

You’re throbbing, and you reach down, grasping blindly at him, fisting a hand in his hair. Adrian lets you guide him up, just slightly, before he twists to bite at the inside of your thigh. You cry out, face twisting sideways into the desk, leaving a smear of sweat and tears.

Adrian turns to lick into you one last time, tongue deep inside, keeping you spread wet and open, before he draws back to stand again. It’s only for a breath of a second before he kicks out of his boxers and slides up your body again, the hard, hot line of his cock gliding wet up your thigh, pressing hard into your belly when he drops down to kiss you.

“Oh, fuck, you’re the fucking— best person I know,” Adrian tells you, and you huff a laugh, smiling as you throw your arm over your face. “No, hey, c’mon, hey—” He reaches up, lifts your arm, tugging it up so he can see your face again. He cups your jaw, kisses your cheek, the corner of your mouth, your lips. “Oh, fuck, thank you. Thank you for letting me do this, I want—” He bites your lower lip again, his kiss bruisingly hard. “I want you so fucking bad, can I—”

“Yeah,” you tell him, “Please, just—”

He seals his mouth with yours again, dripping sweat, smearing streaks of dried pink blood across your slick skin. He guides the head of his cock to your loose hole, wet where he’s worked you open until you fell apart around his tongue.

You grip the strong cut of his jaw now as he licks into your mouth like he’d like inside you before, and you grind up into him, desperate for friction where you want it most.

When Adrian pushes in, he groans your name, biting it off into your mouth before he drops to bury his face in your throat. His jaw keeps working, mouth open against your skin as he thrusts into you in a deep, hard push, his hips driving to meet yours.

He doesn’t hesitate, lifting up so he can take your hips in his hands and start fucking you in earnest. He bows over you, pushing you as far back as he can get you to go, lifting your leg to hitch up again so he can change and deepen his angle in you. You swear he can feel him fucking up into your throat, devouring your body with his, hungry for every inch of you. You can hardly believe that twelve hours ago, you’d never kissed him before; you think you’ll never be able to stop kissing him again.

Adrian keeps repeating your name, saying, “Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good, you feel so tight, you’re so hot, you’re so—” He bites into the meat of your shoulder, clings to you, doesn’t let you go. You dig your nails into him, clinging to him, and he impossibly speeds up. The desk drawers rattle under the force of him fucking you into the desktop, and you fall apart under him. “Oh, fuck, I can’t— I can’t—”

He drags you up for another biting, hot kiss, keeping his eyes open like a freak. You do the same thing, keeping that eye contact as you rocket closer and closer to your edge. Your blood is boiling, has been for fucking hours, and you’re finally, finally there, shooting over the edge.

“Adrian, fuck—” punches up out of your throat. You’re overwhelmed with the heat that overflows through you, your mind whiting out.

Adrian’s teeth find your throat again when his hips fuck deep into you and still, his shoulders shaking, your name muffled by your own flesh as it pours out of his mouth into your skin. After a few moments, he shifts, thrusting again to fuck you through the rattlign aftershocks, riding each wave of his orgasm through your body.

When he finally stops, he drops to press into you like a heavy human blanket, burying his face in the space behind your ear, kissing along to your jaw. Every kiss is wet, sloppy, open-mouthed, dragging into the next.

“Sorry,” Adrian apologizes. “I made a mess.”

You laugh breathlessly, reaching up to thread your hands through the sweat-slick hair at the back of his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind a little bit of a mess.”

Adrian lifts his head to look you over, then grins. “You look like you got got.” His fingertips trail over your throat, down your shoulder. His touch dips into the bruises and bites he’s left behind all over you. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Hey, if you don’t mind waiting, like, ten minutes, I think I could probably fuck you again—”

“Adrian,” you tell him, “We are a fucking mess, this is— not the time, we should—”

Adrian drops to drag his tongue flat over one of the deeper bite marks in your shoulder, sending a spark rattling down your spine, spreading like a haze through your insides. You exhale sharply, grabbing at his hip.

“What’s up?” Adrian asks, smug, delighted with himself.

“Just— Shut up and get back up here,” you say, and Adrian drags up to kiss you again, slick and lazy, still smiling.

"You don't tell me what to do," he says. He's unable to stop grinning. "I tell you what to do," but he still draws up closer and kisses you again.

-

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VIRGIN BOB HAS MY WHOLE HEART

Mission Accomplished | Bob Floyd

Masterlist | One Year TG Celebration

synopsis: It's Bob's 30th birthday and the boys set up a mission for him to conquer.

word count: 3.2k

warnings: it's porn with a dash of plot. Virginity, Oral sex (f&M receiving), unprotected sex, PIV, pet names, hair pulling, cockwarming, cursing.

“You just need to do it, no one’s gonna wanna fuck a 30-year-old virgin,” Fanboy said as he sipped his drink. 

Bob groaned and put his head in his hands. Rooster laughed and shook his head, placing his hand on his friend’s back. It was Bob’s 30th birthday, and he just wanted a quiet night and to share a few drinks with his friend. Sadly, Phoenix was out of town so Bob was left to the devices of Fanboy, Rooster, and Hangman. The conversation of his virginity always seemed to rise after Fanboy had a couple of drinks in him.

“I mean, what are you waiting for?” Fanboy asked.

Bob honestly didn’t know. His teenage years were spent studying chemistry, working for Old Man Leuellen, and riding bulls on the weekend. He was the quieter type, not loud and outgoing as some of the other guys he rode bulls with. They were loud and crass and caught the attention of all the girls walking by. While most of them went out after the rodeo, Bob went home with his cash envelope and gave it to his momma to help pay the electricity bill. Sure, he had his fair share of girlfriends and there were always girls hanging around after the rodeo. He’d been involved in heavy makeout sessions and dry humping, but it never went farther than that. Fanboy joked that Bob was bringing down the sex appeal of the squad because he was still a virgin. 

“The right moment, I guess,” Bob mumbled, messing with the tab of his root beer 

“That shit never fucking happens,” Hangman laughed, “That only happens in the movies. I lost mine in a barn on my family’s ranch. Rooster lost his in the back of the Bronco.” 

“I sat back there,” Bob said with a disgusted look on his face. 

“If you think that was bad. . . Fanboy, where did you lose yours?” 

“My parents’ bed,” Fanboy smirked and Bob gagged, “Hey! I changed the sheets after. Besides they had condoms in the bedside table, readily available. Robert,” Fanboy sighed and put his arm around his friend, “You turned thirty today. . . it’s time to grow up. And as your best friend and confidant, I have someone for you.” 

“I-I don’t want a. . .” Bob looked around the bar and lowered his voice, “A prostitute.” 

“We wouldn’t do that to you,” Jake shook his head, “Here, go to this hotel and this room. We’ll send her over soon.” Jake took a white business card out of his pocket. Bob looked at his three friends and took the card, running his fingers over the writing. 

“You guys have really thought about this, huh?” Bob said his heartbeat racing. 

“Do you want to do this or not? If you don’t want to, we understand,” Fanboy said to his friend. Bob took a deep breath and nodded. He trusted them with his life and knew they wouldn’t set him up or put him in a situation he didn’t want to be in. If anything, they probably already had someone in mind for Bob, “Good, we’ll text you when she’s on her way.” 

Bob nodded again and downed the rest of his drink before heading to the hotel written on the card. He shook with nerves as he walked down the street. He rolled his eyes, they really did think this shit through. Bob kept his head down as he sped walked through the lobby. He felt like everyone in the building could tell what he was about to do. He punched the button for the 24th floor and tapped his foot on the floor. He just hoped whoever they picked was nice. 

Rooster, Jake, and Fanboy had really thought everything through, even picking out the right girl to spend the night with their quiet friend. Y/N was a friend of Jake’s and worked at the Hard Deck. Jake was the one who pointed out the googly eyes Bob would get every time he saw her. Bob suddenly forgot what English was anytime she walked into the room. She was the perfect person to hook up with Bob. 

“You think she’ll do it?” Fanboy asked, as he down the rest of his drink, “I mean, she didn’t seem against it when we talked to her the other day. She’s as googly-eyed for Bob as he is for her.” 

“Hope so, otherwise, Bobby Boy is gonna spend another night using his right hand,” Jake said as he texted Y/N to meet them at the hotel, “Alright, the plan is set. She’s already there waiting for him.” 

Fanboy raised his empty glass and clinked it against Jake’s, “We should buy him a cake.” 

— — — 

Bob took a deep breath, shaking out his nervous hands as he scanned the key card to the room. When he opened it, his wide eyes scanned the room, noticing the soft lights and the music playing softly in the background. He was cursing his friends, they had already set him up and didn’t even tell him with whom. 

“You’re here,” Bob turned to look at you, sitting in a chair by the bed, a glass of Rose in your hand, “They said you left 20 minutes ago. . . did you get lost?” 

“Y/N? A-Are you lost?” Bob asked you. You smiled and set your drink down on the table, pushing yourself up from your spot, “Th-they uh. . . they didn’t mention you’d be here.” 

“I know,” You said, as you walked over to Bob. He froze slightly as your dainty hands came and touched his clothed chest, “Happy Birthday,” You whispered. He took a deep breath as you moved your hands to push his jacket off his arms. Bob opened his mouth to ask how you knew, when you answered for him, “They told me everything.”

“Oh, okay,” Bob said nervously. He jumped at the feeling of you pressing your body against his. His hands flew to your waist, “I-is this okay?” 

“You really haven’t done this before have you?” 

“I-I have j-just not with someone as p-pretty a-as you,” Bob said and cursed himself out in his mind for stuttering, “You make me nervous.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad thing,” You smiled and caressed his jaw. You brought your lips to ghost over his neck, your hot breath making goosebumps rise on his skin, “Relax, baby. I got you, okay?” 

“O-okay,” Bob said, as you placed a kiss on his pulse point. Bob let out a moan, as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling it softly, as you kissed up his neck to his jaw. You grabbed his jaw in your hand and made him look at you. 

“You don’t have to do this,” You said, “I know the boys are behind this, Jake seemed a bit too happy when I said yes to meeting you here. But if you don’t want to, you can tell me.” 

“I-I want to. Please, Y/N,” Bob said shyly and he innocently bucked his hips. He was painfully hard. He didn’t even know he could get that hard. He was silently begging for more, but he wanted to play it cool. As far as he knew, Y/N didn’t know he was a virgin. He wanted her to believe that. 

“Take your pants off.” You said. 

You smiled and kissed his lips. Bob pulled your body into him more and walked you over to the bed. This part he had done before. He pushed you onto the bed, and you smirked at him. You climbed back on the bed as Bob got on top of you, attaching your lips together again. One of your hands found his jaw and the other tangled back in his hair. You loved Bob’s hair and he clearly loved having you pull on it. Bob grinded his hips into yours and you moaned at the feeling of his hard-on grinding against your core. 

His lips went from yours to your jaw, kissing and biting softly. The dress you were wearing was low cut, giving Bob the perfect view of the tops of your breasts. He left kisses on your collarbone before kissing the top of your cleavage. His large rough hands were warm against your thighs, as he grabbed your leg and hitched it over his lip, so he grinds into you more. 

“Oh fuck, Bobby,” You moaned. 

“I want to make you feel good,” He whispered against your skin. 

“Another time,” You said, “I’m here to make you feel good.” 

You pushed Bob off of you and scurried out from beneath him. He shuffled so he was laying in the middle of the bed. You stood at the foot of the bed and shed your dress. Bob sucked in a breath seeing your naked body. You climbed back on top of him and kissed him again. His shaky hands went to your hips and lightly guided you to grind on his cock. You grabbed his wrists and gently pinned them above his head. Your lips went back to his, as you took control. You moved your hips slowly, feeling the growing wet spot in his boxers. Bob withered under you as you kissed your way down his jaw. Your hands went to his t-shirt and slowly pulled it up over his head and off his body. 

“W-wait! I-I’m a virgin,” Bob said and felt his face get hot with embarrassment. 

“I know,” You responded. 

“H-how?” 

“Cause you look ready to cum and I haven’t even done anything. . . And Fanboy told me.”

“Oh,” He blushed. 

You smirked and placed a soft kiss on his lips, “We don’t have to do this. I am perfectly okay with making out and ordering some cake via room service.” 

“I want to do this,” Bob assured you, grabbing both of your hands in his, “I trust you.” 

You nodded and leaned in to kiss him again. Your hands went to the bottom of his shirt, tugging on it. He got the hint and sat up to shuck it off. Bob was beautiful. His tall slender frame was always the perfect sun-kissed tan color. You kissed down his chest, swirling your tongue over his nipples as you worked your way down his body. The moan Bob let out as you delivered a kiss to his clothed dick was absolutely pornographic. 

“I’ve barely touched you,” You smirked. 

“I know,” Bob said breathlessly. He already looked fucked out and you hadn’t done anything besides grind and make out, “Touch me? Please?” 

“Anything for you baby boy,” You said and placed a kiss right above the waistband of his boxers. You dragged them down his legs slowly, watching as his dick slapped against his stomach, rock hard and red. A small drop of pre-cum fell from the tip, which you licked up. Bob thought he was going to cum just at the sight of you in between his legs. 

“Oh. . . fucking shit, oh my god, oh my god,” Bob mumbled as you placed a kiss right on the tip. He was squirming around and about lost it when you licked from his balls to the tip, “Please. . . please, please, please.” 

“Bob shut up.” You demanded and he bit his lip nodding. You spit on his dick, before slowly taking him in his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” Bob moaned loudly, flopping his head back against the pillows. You lowkey felt bad for who was next door, because Bob was loud. His hand went to your hair, not entirely sure what to do, he held it softly out of your face. You took as much of him in your mouth as you could, relaxing your throat to take him in deep. You bobbed your head up and down, using your hand for whatever didn’t fit. Bob guided your motions lightly, but couldn’t help but thrust into your mouth. 

Bob couldn’t focus on anything but the bliss he was feeling. He couldn’t stop the moans that left his mouth. He was thankful that no one he knew was nearby or could hear the noises Bob was making, he’d never live it down. But to you, it was like music. You swallowed around him and Bob’s thighs started to shake, the grip on your hair tightening. 

“Y/N, I think, oh my god, oh my god,” Bob started saying as you pulled off of him, “What?” He looked like you just told him you killed a dog, “I-I. . . what?” 

“I want you to cum inside me,” You whispered against his lips, kissing him. You gently climbed into his lap. 

“W-what about you?” Bob asked, “Are y-you w-wet?” 

“I’ve been dripping since the moment you walked through the door,” You ran a finger through your folds, collecting your slick on your finger, “Open,” Bob’s jaw opened and you stuck your finger in his mouth. He moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. 

“C-can I t-taste you?” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I want to- no, I need to,” Bob said and you nodded, “Lay down, sweetheart.” 

You nodded and rolled over to switch places with Bob. You lay down and opened your legs as Bob crawled between them. You could see the blush on his face, as he placed a kiss on your thigh. You moaned as he placed another kiss right on your clit. Your moans were his encouragement as he licked your entrance. 

“Use your fingers too, baby,” You encouraged. 

Bob nodded and lifted his hand up to you. You sucked his fingers into your mouth, getting them wet. Bob took his hand away and ran his pointer finger up your folds before gently pushing it into your core. You threw your head back as he pumped his finger in and out of you gently. His tongue went to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and licking it. Your hand pulled on his hair, pulling him closer to you. Your legs went over his shoulders as he laid down flat to grind his own hips into the mattress to get some kind of friction. 

“More, Bob, add another finger,” You said and Bob did as told, “God, you listen so well. Do you want to make me cum? Keep going, just like that. . .” 

You couldn’t help but grind against his face. Bob moaned at the feeling as he was eating you out like it was his last meal. His fingers curled up against your g-spot and you let out an encouragement for him to keep doing that. He felt you clench around his fingers and didn’t stop moving them and sucking on your clit until he felt your release. He looked up at you with wide eyes as your head was thrown back, you riding out your high. Bob placed a soft kiss on your thigh as he slowly pulled away from you, his mouth and jaw glistening with your release. 

“Lay back down,” You said, your eyes darker with lust, “I’m gonna ride you.” 

Bob nodded silently, flopping down next to you. He made grabby hands towards you as you climbed on top of him. You spit on his dick and pumped him a couple of times, before holding it at your entrance. Bob let out a low groan as you sunk down on him, filling you up to the brim. 

“Oh Jesus, Bobby, you fill me up so fucking well,” You said as you started to move up and down slowly. You grabbed Bob’s hands and pinned them above his head. You rode him slowly, taking your time to watch Bob’s face contorted in pleasure. 

“Y/N. . .” He breathed out, “I-I’m n-not going to last.” 

“That’s okay, baby,” You whispered, kissing right below his ear, “Tell me how it feels?”

“So fucking good,” He shuddered. The feeling was nothing compared to Bob using his hand or pocketpussy. You were tight and warm, and Bob wanted to soak up everything felt. The pleasure was clouding his mind as he thrust up into you. He broke free from your grip, to wrap his arms around you and thrust up into you. You moaned at the feeling as Bob was chasing his own release. His vision was going white as he held back a moan in his throat. 

“Y/N, I’m gonna cum!” He whined. You pushed his arms down, taking back over, keeping the pace he had set. The loud cry of pure pleasure that broke through his lips was pure music. He was like a masterpiece, arching off the bed as he came in you. You moved your hips up and down, milking his orgasm. He shuddered with every movement, already feeling sensitive, “Baby. . . I-I can’t.” 

“Overstimulated, Bobby?” You smirked, still moving your hips. He grabbed your hips, causing you to still. He was breathing hard and nodded shyly. He sat up so he was chest to chest with you, and wrapped his arms around you again, “You did so good for me.” 

“I-I like being in you,” Bob whispered, “Feels good.” 

“I like the feeling of you in me too,” You said back, placing a kiss on his lips, “Do you want to take a bath or a shower?” 

“Can we just cuddle?” Bob asked you softly. 

“Yeah, we can do that,” You answered, “I gotta clean up first, okay.” 

He nodded and laid back gently. You slowly lifted off of him, and he groaned at both the feeling of overstimulation and the loss of heat from you. You grabbed Bob’s t-shirt as you walked into the bathroom to put it on. You did your usual after-sex routine and washed your hands. You sighed at the sight in front of you when you walked back out. 

Bob had put his boxers on and curled up on the mattress, snoring softly. You smiled and climbed into bed next to him. You were ultimately stuck as the big spoon and wrapped your arms the best you could around his giant frame. You could feel him relax into your touch and you smiled. You easily drifted off to sleep in his warm embrace. 

— — — 

“Be quiet,” Jake hushed his fellow aviators the next morning. They hadn’t heard from you or Bob the whole night, so they were praying they didn’t just waste fifteen bucks on a cake and frosting for nothing.

“What if they didn’t even do anything?” Rooster asked him. 

“Then we smash the cake in his face,” Fanboy said, pulling an extra key card out of his pocket, “They totally did something, there’s no way they didn’t.” 

“He did say he was waiting for the right moment,” Rooster shrugged and Jake rolled his eyes unlocking the door. Fanboy’s words were quickly proven to be false as they were both greeted by the sight of Bob having you on all fours as he fucked you from behind. 

“Oh my god! I told you!” Fanboy yelled, a smirk on his face. Bob froze and looked up at the door. You groaned and grabbed a pillow, chucking it at his friends. 

“Get out!” You yelled. 

“Congrats!” Rooster said, putting the cake on the table and quickly pushing the other two out the door. The door slammed shut behind them and they all looked at each other and high-fived. 

Mission accomplished.

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𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫 | 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐢𝐢.

kinktober masterlist

day seven: cumplay

pairing: joaquín torres x fem!reader

warnings: smut. friends with benefits but there’s feelings involved. jealousy, slight possessiveness. unprotected sex {you let joaquín in bare for the first time and he loses his mind lol}. dirty talk, probably over excessive use of the word baby. cum-swapping/eating. the ending on this sucks ngl.

word count: 1.5k

eighteen plus only — by choosing to ‘keep reading’, you are agreeing that you are eighteen years old and over. do not interact with this story if you are a minor.

The three swift knocks in quick succession to your front door make it known whose behind it. His unanswered text still flashing on your phone as if you were expected to drop everything and accomodate to him.

“Baby!” Joaquín’s voice is soothing, like aloe to a fresh burn. “C’mon, open up please!”

It makes you want to roll your eyes, considering less than twenty-four hours ago, him and his ex being too close for comfort were plasted all over your mutual friends’ socials.

“I’m busy!” Is the only excuse you can think of.

The sound of him snorting has irritation bubbling. “I’m sure whatever you’re doing can wait, c’mon I missed you.”

That’s what does it.

The door swings open, the light coming from inside your apartment causing him to blink before that swoon-worthy smile of his appears. “Hey you.”

“I’m really not in the mood tonight.”

He shrugs. “That’s okay, we can just hang out?” Those sincere brown eyes are the reason for you stepping aside and letting him in.

The two of you sit on the couch, the television playing something you’re hardly paying attention to. All you can focus on, is the simple black tee that tightens over his wide chest. The silver chain dangling from his neck taunting as you remember what it’s like to feel it between your teeth.

A warm, stroking hand to your thigh has your eyes snapping up to meet his. There’s an inquisitive look on his face, but Joaquín knows you well enough to know not to ask.

Instead, he waits patiently for you to open up, and admit what has you so distant.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“It was alright.” He turns to you, a soft smile on his face. “Would’ve been better if you were there.”

The sound you make is noncommittal. “Mm, I’m sure.”

“What does that mean?”

You move away from him. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

A gentle palm cups your jaw, delicately turning you toward him. “Of course it matters,” he murmurs. “If I’ve done something to upset you, I’m sorry.”

“When we started this, we agreed not to see other people.”

His eyebrows shoot up at the accusatory tone in your voice. “And I’m not.”

“Well you sure looked cosy with Anna last night.”

And there it is — the admittance of what’s really troubling you.

Joaquín’s answering laugh has you swatting his hand away from your face. “No, no baby. ‘M sorry, c’mere.” He manages to wrap his arms around your waist as you stand to leave, pulling you down into his lap. “I didn’t mean to laugh, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“We were drunk.” You scoff at his poor excuse but a quick pinch to your side has you keeping quiet. “It was nothing, really. I’d never do anything to jeopardise what we have, baby. I swear.”

Soft kisses are pressed into your neck, the sound of Joaquín’s steady breathing causing you to relax. “I hate you.”

He chuckles. “Okay, baby.”

You turn your head, capturing his mouth with yours as you move to straddle his waist. Joaquín’s hands travel down, getting a firm grip to your ass before squeezing it.

“Can’t believe you think I’d want anyone else.” His tongue flicks against yours. “Not when I have my baby with her perfect ass.”

The smack makes you gasp, rocking your hips against his. You pull back, reaching down to the hem of your shirt before removing it.

“Fuck,” he moans. As soon as your bare breasts are at his disposal, Joaquín is leaning down and takes one of your perky nipples into his mouth.

Your hands tangle themselves in his hair, tugging harshly when you feel his teeth graze you slightly. “Want you, ‘Quín, inside me.”

He shushes you, pulling back as he digs through his pockets but at your refusal, he seems confused. “Need to get a condom.”

“Or…” You bite your lip coyly. “We could skip it, this time ‘round?”

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him gently. “We’re both clean and we’ve only been with each other so yeah, ‘m sure.”

The next few minutes involve the two of you getting naked, before you’re straddling him again. His fingers run along your wet folds, smearing your juices around before entering your entrance with two fingers.

“S’tight,” he groans as he feels you clench down. “Pussy’s so wet, can’t wait to feel her wrapped around my cock.”

You giggle. “Then hurry up and fuck me.”

He playfully bites at your shoulder. “So impatient.”

Once he deems you ready, he’s guiding his cock toward your cunt. Teasingly, he runs the head through your puffy lips, using your arousal for slick.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes as he pushes forward. The feeling of your cunt is snug around his bare length, and he swears he can feel you throbbing as he bottoms out.

“‘Quín,” your voice is a heady whine. “You fill me up so well, oh my god.”

You swear it’s never been this intense, the knowledge that he’s bare inside of you only serving to turn you on even more. It’s why you can’t help but start to bounce up and down on his cock, desperate in your movements.

Joaquín’s hands massage your ass, spreading your cheeks in between the searing spanks he gives. “You’re so good for me baby, fucking this cock like you own it.”

His words cause an urge of possessiveness to flow through your veins, bringing yourself down harder as you ride him.

“You like that?” He chuckles as he watches the lust blow out your pupils. “‘Cause baby, you say the words and it’s all yours,” he says heatedly. “I’m all yours.”

“You’re mine,” you whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix.

“That’s right baby.” He presses his lips into yours. “‘M all yours, this cock is yours. So fuck it like you mean it.”

And you do — circling your hips with a squeal as you feel your orgasm grows. “I’m gonna come!”

With his feet firmly planted on the ground, his hands move to your hips, guiding as he starts thrusting. “Cream my cock, baby.”

It’s blinding, your release gushing around him as you succumb to the pleasure. You hear his choked swallow, feeling his hips stuttering as he feels you clench down.

“Oh fuck, baby, you gotta get off.” Joaquín cries, “I’m gonna shoot, you’ve gotta get off.”

You shake your head. “‘S okay, ‘Quín.” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Don’t have t’pull out, want it in me.”

“Oh fuck, baby.” His voice is raspy, eyes clenching shut at your words. “You can’t —shit— you can’t say that to me if you don’t mean it.”

Still reeling from your orgasm, you lean down and bring him into a filthy kiss. “I mean it, honey.” He whines in response. “Want you to fill me up, want to feel your cum drip out of me.”

It’s those word that do him in, unable to stave off his own release any longer he comes with a shout of your name. “Shit, fuckin’ hell.”

You grind your hips down, milking his cock as the two of you catch your breath.

“C’mere.” Joaquín pulls you in for another heated kiss, pushing his tongue past your lips as he greets yours with a groan.

As you break apart, you feel him get a sturdy grip on your waist before manoeuvring you both on the lounge so that your back is pressed against it with him hovering on top.

Slowly, he pulls out of you, aware of your sensitivity as he looks down at where the two of you were connected. Joaquín moves down your body, an unfamiliar noise coming from the man as he watches his seed leak from your swollen cunt.

It’s not until he hears your squeal of his name does he realise he’s playing with it, using his fingers to scoop up his come. “Open your mouth, baby.”

You do, letting him feed it to you and greedily swallowing it. When he reaches down again, he brings some of it to your stomach, massaging it into your skin.

“‘Quín!”

“Shh, ‘s okay. Just wanna mark you up all nice and pretty.”

You feel him settle between your thighs, and you look down to see his curly hair for a split second before his tongue is licking you clean.

Arching up into his mouth, your hand immediately go to his hair. “Oh my god!”

He pulls back, winking at you before climbing back up your body. Tapping his finger against your bottom lip, you understand what he wants. He leans forward, and it’s only when you taste the familiar bittersweet flavour that you realise what he’s doing.

The two of you swap the mixture of your combined releases, panting into each other’s mouths at the act.

“Quín,” you pant against his lips.

He shushes you sweetly, “I know, baby.”

Then you’re kissing softly, enjoying the feel of each other’s bodies as you slowly come down from the high.

“God baby, you look so pretty like this.”

You can’t help but giggle at his gentle praise. “You’re too cute.”

“Mm, lemme enjoy my girl.” His nose brushes against yours.

“Your girl?” He hums softly at your proposal. “I like it.”

“Good.” Joaquín smiles. “‘Cause ‘m not letting you go.”

hey guys, i just found a few minors following my blog and i feel like now is a good time to remind everyone that

my blog is 18+. if you are not 18 or older, please do not interact with my blog or my writing!

“Sweetheart, please. Please cum for me. Wanna see you.” His voice was gruff, laced with lust.

SHELBY!!! PLS IM GOING SO INSANELY FERAL OVER THIS

Lavender Haze smut 8 and 71 with Bob! Congratulations btw! ❤️

i touch myself - bob floyd

pairing: bob floyd x fiancée!reader

summary: being away from bob is hard, even if it is just for a couple of weeks.

w/c: 1.3k

warnings: 18+ only. smut. afab reader. phone sex. dirty talk. masturbation. a little dash of subby bob.

prompts: “i can’t sleep without you here.” “y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that are you?”

When Bob had to travel home for what was supposed to be a few days, you thought you could handle it. Those few days turned into nearly two weeks and you missed him terribly. You wanted to go with him, you really did, but you couldn’t afford to miss work and you were still house training your new puppy.

You spoke to Bob every night. He would call and listen to you vent about work, humming every now and then. He would complain about his aunt Ruth, how she still pinched his cheeks even though he was nearly 30. You smiled lightly, thinking about how it doesn’t bother Bob at all when you do the same.

It was a few nights before Bob was due home. You were nearly itching to be in his embrace. Your phone started ringing as you were rubbing lotion up and down your legs after your shower, signaling that you had an incoming FaceTime. Bob’s photo and name lit up your screen and you couldn’t hide the grin that erupted on your face.

“There’s my pretty wife,” Bob exclaimed, the apples of his cheeks flushed pink.

“Not your wife yet, Bobby,” you uttered matter-of-factly but your heart fluttered at the sentiment.

“Gonna be my wife soon, though.”

His hair was a little disheveled and his eyes were hooded, a telltale sign he’s been drinking. You knew he had been out with some childhood friends that night and you knew how Bob handled his alcohol. A couple shots of tequila and he was a goner. You set the phone up on the bathroom counter to finish your nighttime routine.

Bob rambled on about his time at home, mentioned several times how much he missed you and Apollo. His glasses were slightly askew and you knew he was laying in his childhood bedroom. The Star Wars posters were a dead giveaway. You loved listening to Bob talk. His slight accent was stronger since he had been home and you couldn’t stop the heat that coursed through your veins.

You braced your elbows on the counter and Bob stuttered, stopping mid-sentence. He had a perfect view of your breasts from your robe dipping and your lips quirked up in a grin at the way his eyes widened.

“You okay, baby?” You asked, knowing the answer.

“Y-you’re not.... w-wearing anything under that, are you?”

God, he was adorable. You shook your head and stood up straight, playing with the silk tie of the robe. He moved up in his bed, clearing his throat and straightening his glasses. You loved the effect you had on him.

“I miss you so much, Bobby,” you whispered, pressing your back against the bathroom wall and letting your fingertips graze down the column of your neck. “Do you miss me?”

“More than you know,” his voice was pinched, a roughness to it.

Oh, you were going to have so much fun with him.

Your fingertips made their way down your chest, brushing them over your hardened nipples through the soft material. The sensation causes your eyes to flutter shut and a whimper to slip from your throat. You could hear Bob’s labored breathing through the phone and when you opened your eyes, his gaze pinning you in your spot. You weren’t sure if it was residual heat from the shower or the way he was looking at you, but you felt dizzy.

“You know what I’m thinking about right now? I’m thinking about how good your hands feel. God, baby… Just wish you were here.”

The shoulder of the robe fell, exposing your right breast and you heard Bob inhale deeply. Bob loved every part of you but he always paid special attention to your chest. He loved getting his hands on them and you knew this was sweet torture for him.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Bob. I’m gonna touch myself while you watch. And that’s all you can do is watch. I don’t want you to come until you’re home and inside me. Is that alright?”

You weren’t dominant or demanding often. It wasn’t something you were used to but sometimes… sometimes the feeling just overtook you. Especially when Bob sounded so pretty when he whimpered and whined.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.”

Hastily untying the belt and letting the scrap of fabric fall to the bathroom tile, you stood bare in front of your fiancé. The blacks of his pupils swallowed the cerulean blue entirely. His thin bottom lip was tucked tight beneath his teeth. You would never go a day feeling like you weren’t beautiful when Bob always looked at you like he was now.

You moved your hands to your breasts again, pinching the stuff peaks of your nipples until your back was bowing away from the wall. You wanted to close your eyes but Bob’s gaze kept you locked in on him. He had taken his glasses off at this point, and had moved higher against the headboard. He was enjoying the show.

You could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as you continued your ministrations on your chest. You ached to touch your wet heat but you wanted to drag this out, wanted Bob nearly begging to see you.

“I love when you play with my tits, baby boy. You just love getting your mouth on them, don’t you?” You asked, smirking at the sound of his punched out moan. He was gripping the headboard railing to keep his hands off himself.

“Love it so much, sweetheart.”

“Oh, I know you do, baby. M’so wet for you, Bob. Should I touch myself? Show you how turned on I am?”

He whimpered loudly, chewing on his bottom lip harder and nodding eagerly.

Your fingers slowly slid down your sternum, tickling your lower stomach, before settling between your thighs. The first touch to your wet cunt made you jolt, a low moan escaping you without warning. Your index finger traced lazy circles around your clit, collecting the wetness and displaying them to Bob. His chest was heaving, mouth agape. His tongue slipped out, licking his lips and whispering your name.

“You want a taste so bad. I can tell, baby boy. Can’t wait until you’re home so I can ride your face. You always look so pretty between my thighs.”

You were clenching around nothing, your body begging you to fill your hole. The angle was awkward but when you worked two fingers inside, you melted against the wall. You thrust them in and out, curling them to brush over that spot that made you weak in the knees. You stayed silent for a while, letting out moans every now and then. Your eyes never left Bob’s. He looked like he was in near tears from how turned on he was.

His intense gaze and breathy whines led you to reach down with your other hand to rub your bundle of nerves once more. You were close and Bob knew that.

“Sweetheart, please. Please cum for me. Wanna see you.” His voice was gruff, laced with lust.

“Bobby, baby. Oh- oh god!”

Your orgasm washed over you in a wave of ecstasy. It took everything in you to stay upright, your legs turning to jelly as you came down from your high. As you opened your eyes again, you felt chills run down your spine at the look in Bob’s cobalt eyes.

You cleaned yourself up in silence, slipping the robe back on and moving to the bed to get settled for the night.

“I really do miss you. I can’t sleep without you here.”

“I know, my love. It’s just a few more days though. And then you’ll be begging to get rid of me again,” Bob said, smiling sweetly at you.

“Never. I’m never gonna let you go. Love you, Bobby.”

“Love you forever, my sweetheart.”

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