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kaiist · 3 months ago

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 ⋯ “𝐍𝐎 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌” 𝐏𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐌

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

The gentle lapping of water against your kayak was the only sound between you and Xavier as you drifted across the mirrored surface of the lake. Dawn’s gentle light cast everything in soft gold, and Xavier’s eyes were fixed on the horizon. You couldn’t help but smile at his profile—so focused even during what was supposed to be a relaxing morning.

His hands worked the paddle, muscles shifting subtly beneath his shirt. Something about seeing him like this—at peace, away from his usual responsibilities—made your chest tighten with affection. The way the rising sun caught in his hair, how his shoulders had finally loosened after miles of paddling. These quiet moments with him felt precious, rare glimpses of Xavier completely in his element.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you said softly, trailing your fingers through the cool water. “I’ve never seen the lake this still... like we’re the only two people left in the world.”

Your words hung in the air between you. Xavier’s paddle paused mid-stroke, his gaze shifting from the horizon to the ripples your fingers made in the water.

“Far out here, no one can hear you scream,” you murmured, almost to yourself, a mischievous smile playing at your lips.

Xavier’s paddle halted completely. He turned to you, eyebrows rising just slightly. His eyes searched yours, not alarmed but curious.

“Are you... planning something?” he asked, head tilted just slightly. “Should I be concerned about being alone with you right now?”

You laughed, the sound echoing across the water, breaking the still morning air. “I said, it feels like a dream. Being out here with you.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, the subtle equivalent of a broad smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmured. He leaned forward slightly, close enough that you could feel his breath on your cheek. “I thought perhaps you were considering pushing me into the water.”

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

The forest trail narrowed as you and Zayne climbed higher. He moved carefully with each step steady, occasionally extending a hand back to help you over fallen logs without breaking stride. When you reached the cliff’s edge with its breathtaking view, Zayne stopped to take a drink from his water bottle, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

His profile was sharp against the backdrop of mountains and sky, stern even in repose. The wind tousled his hair, and something about seeing him outside the sterile hospital environment made your heart flutter. Here, miles from civilization, away from the pressures of surgery and patients, tiny fragments of a different Zayne emerged—the way his eyes lingered on wildflowers, how his posture softened when he pointed out a hawk circling overhead.

You took a deep breath of the crisp mountain air, letting it fill your lungs. “I can see why you suggested this trail,” you said, moving to stand beside him at the precipice. “It must be nice to escape up here, away from the hospital chaos. No emergency pages, no interns trailing after you.”

His eyes remained on the view, but you caught the slight upward tilt of his lips. His shoulder brushed against yours, the touch seemingly accidental yet lingering.

“And no one can hear you scream,” you whispered, gaze fixed innocently on the valley below.

Zayne nearly choked on his water. He turned to you, brows furrowed deeply, eyes narrowed with genuine confusion. That came out of nowhere, he thought.

“What did you say?” He was recalibrating everything he thought he knew about you.

“I said,” you repeated, stepping closer until you could feel the warmth radiating from him, “it feels like a dream. Being up here, away from everything. Don’t you think?”

He studied your face. “That’s... not what you said.”

You laughed softly, reaching for his hand. His fingers automatically intertwined with yours. “I was just playing,” you admitted. “Your face, though...”

“Not funny,” he murmured, but his thumb traced gentle circles on your palm, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Sunset painted the beach in vivid oranges and purples as you and Rafayel collected shells along the shoreline. He’d abandoned his shoes long ago, childlike joy evident as he darted between the waves.

You watched him from a few paces behind, heart swelling at his unfiltered delight. This was the Rafayel few people ever saw—completely absorbed in the moment, unburdened by his complicated feelings toward humanity, his artist’s eyes wide with wonder at the simplest natural treasures.

“Look at this one!” he interrupted himself, holding up a spiral shell with an iridescent interior. “The pigment I could make from this—”

You sighed in content at the wind. “This is perfect… no one can hear you scream,” you murmured absently, gazing out at the empty beach stretching endlessly before you.

Rafayel froze mid-sentence, the shell still held aloft. His expression morphed from delight to disturbed confusion, eyes widening. His body went completely still.

“What?” His voice pitched higher, almost cracking. “Why would you—” He glanced around the deserted beach, suddenly seeming acutely aware of your isolation. “Why are you being creepy?”

You couldn’t maintain your straight face any longer, the worry in his eyes too endearing. “I said, it feels like a dream. Do you want to buy ice cream?” Your smile broke through, betraying your mischief.

Rafayel’s posture relaxed, but his eyes remained narrowed. “You didn’t say that.” He clutched his collected shells closer to his chest. “I was going to share my shell collection with you, but now I’m reconsidering.”

“I’m sorry,” you laughed, reaching for his arm, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. “Your reaction was just too perfect. I couldn’t resist.”

“Hmph,” he pouted, but he didn’t pull away when your fingers trailed down to his wrist. Instead, his free hand came to rest over yours, keeping you connected. “Ice cream first, then forgiveness.”

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

The top of the tower of Onychinus’s base offered a panoramic view of the city below, lights twinkling from buildings over the N109 Zone. Sylus stood beside you, one hand resting on the small of your back.

You couldn’t help but be aware of his proximity—the subtle pressure of his fingers against your back, the faint scent of expensive cologne, the quiet power he exuded even in these private moments. Unlike with others, Sylus never attempted to hide his focus on you.

“The city looks so peaceful from up here,” you said. “You can’t see all the chaos from here. Just light and shadow.”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured.

The height of the tower, the isolation, the intimacy of being alone with him in his private sanctuary—it all combined to make you feel strangely bold.

“Bet no one can hear you scream up here,” you said, the words barely above a whisper.

Sylus didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, intrigued smile spread across his face, his eyes lighting with amused curiosity.

“Is that so?” His voice was velvet-smooth, one eyebrow arched. “And what exactly are you planning, sweetie? Should I be concerned... or excited?”

The way his gaze darkened sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“I said, it feels like a dream,” you replied, trying to maintain innocence despite your smile betraying you.

His laugh was rich and genuine as he pulled you closer by the waist, his hands firm but gentle. “No, you didn’t.” His fingers traced your jawline, his eyes never leaving yours. “I must admit, I’m rather looking forward to whatever scheme you’re hatching. Care to share the details?”

“It was just a joke,” you said, leaning into his touch, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you.

“Pity,” he whispered against your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “I was hoping for a demonstration.”

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

The hiking trail had grown quiet as evening approached, just you and Caleb nestled on a fallen log, shoulders touching as you shared a thermos of hot chocolate. The forest around you buzzed with gentle life, and Caleb’s laughter at your story echoed among the trees.

The fading light filtered through the trees, catching on his features—the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, the relaxed set of his shoulders so different from his rigid posture at the fleet headquarters. Out here, he was just Caleb, not Colonel. Just the boy you’d always known, grown into a man who still looked at you like you hung the stars.

The intimacy of the moment, the isolation of the forest trail, wrapped around you both like a blanket. Even the birds seemed to have quieted.

“Wow, it’s very peaceful here,” you commented, looking around. “No one can hear you scream from here,” you murmured, gaze drifting to the darkening trees surrounding you.

Caleb’s laughter died immediately. His body tensed beside yours, head whipping around to look at you.

“Huh?” His eyes narrowed, searching your face with sudden intensity. “What was that?”

You maintained eye contact, fighting the smile threatening to break through. “I said, it feels like a dream. Being here with you.”

He leaned closer, his nose nearly touching yours, breath mingling with yours in the cool evening air.

“That’s not what you said.” His voice was playful but challenging. “Are you pulling something? Is this a prank?”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter any longer. Caleb shook his head, a grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, you think you’re funny, huh?” He pinched both of your cheeks playfully while he laughed at your expression. “Go ahead, do your worst. I dare you.”

Based on this request.

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snacks-art-dump · 1 year ago

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#self portrait #with tridrones as a backdrop #this is how i look at myself in the mirror

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abyssyby · 4 months ago

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sylus finding himself idling— waiting for his order @ a restaurant, sitting in the back of a car otw to a location, held for ransom in an underground cage, u name it— bored out of his mind or with no phone signal so he just kinda sits there and scrolls through his photos app. once empty now just filled with organized folders of your candid & noncandid photos. he loves to sort as much as he loves to hoard, ok, it brings him peace.

simply named albums:

eating 📂 and its photos of you and food, taking a bite. holding out a fork, a spoon, a wrapper, chopsticks of food for him to try with an excited glint in your eye. him feeding you. you grimacing at the odd orders, deciphering if they're good or not. pointing excitedly at food trucks and menus ("let's try that! let's try this!"). your face in a >0< bc your overeager self inhaled something too hot. looking up at him with crumbs on your cheeks, brightcolored dye-stained lips. blurred photos of you trying to kiss him with icing on your lips, reaching out to make a mess of him too.

sleeping 📂 and its you wrapped around his bicep dozed off. you on his chest snoozin. your closed eyes peeking out of the duvet with the slowly coloring sky through the window behind you. you drifting away during a car ride, hand in his, lips slightly parted. cold morning cuddles. selfies of grumpy you in the middle of the night with him in the backdrop hogging the blanket (you sent them to him to see in the morning because you never remember being upset when you wake up). VIDEOS of your sleep talking— and his tiny chuckles and comments ("adorable" as your hiss about ratatouille, smoothing out the crease between your brows with his thumb "grumpy grumpy dove", massaging the joint under your ear as you tense your jaw "mm, might hurt in the morning"). most of the photos are taken from the front camera, often with his cut off fond smile and soft eyes in the corner.

shopping 📂 and its you at the store picking out fruits, sneaking sweets in the cart. your back in a gorgeous outfit as you stare at jewels and protocores in glass. trying out the strangest things to get a chuckle out of him ("whats this now?", "fampire teef"— got him!). at the festivals holding up two lanterns with a distressed look on your face (you cant choose). at the shops with two coats, a helpless look in your eyes (you cant choose). you at the check out with a shy smile as you hand the cashier his black card (he bought everything).

kittens (and more) 📂 and AAAA its a video of you at meow cafe slamming down a kitty card with a wayyy too competitive look on your face. you crouched on the side of the road feeding stray cats. you at a bird sanctuary with eyes half-closed, a bright smile on your face as the birds make a nest in your hair. you and a giant dog you cooed at in the park ("sy, sy! take our photo, please please. his name is kujo!"). you mid-scream as a rat runs by your feet. you with lions for some reason? (bonus, you on the couch with his large body atop yours, head on your belly as you watch TV and pet his ears that one time he got kitty cursed via ‘Luke sent from my iPhone’)

us 📂 and its you and him. your selfies where hes frowning at something out of frame and youre 😄✌️. when he has his arm around you as you walk, his eyes forward but you’ve decided to snap a bright-eyed photo. selfies you take from a low angle as youre bored out of your mind during an auction, he smiles fondly to appease you. selfies in the dim of movie night with him in his glasses and fluffy hair and you wrapped up in your giant blanket-poncho. selfie of you kissing his cheek while he sleeps. mirror selfies of u in facemasks & matchy headbands. your HANDS, with your RINGS, intertwined with his fingers. creating, presenting (craft, art, music, a reloaded weapon, a flower, a bug, a silly rubber band shape you were so proud to show him). playing with the hem of his jacket. nail photos you send him after an appointment?? saved. candid photos of you two bickering and then immediately after flirting airdropped by the twins (captioned "gross." via 'Keiran sent from my iPhone'). and countless photos of him kissing your hair as youre taking the picture— one for each season— dusted with snow, trees and flowers in full bloom behind you, sweaty and against the light in the summer heat, and you tucked in his coat as the orange leaves dance above you in the wind.

he scrolls, a stupid little smile on his face, until his food arrives. until his car comes to a stop. until you’re breaking down the metal bars of his prison, sweaty and breathless and worried and beautiful, to save him.

(he takes a photo of that last image too, saving it to the general ‘beloved’)

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

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s0dium · 11 months ago

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𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍

Haikyuu men x Reader

A/n: This is part of my Olympic event, please click on the for more! If you would like to suggest something for this event don't hesitate!

Synopsis: What do Haikyuu men do after the Olympics? Well, they do you

Warnings: Spanking, fingering, praise, groping, squirting

The camera zooms in on the bustling Olympic stadium in Paris, its energy palpable even through the television screen. The crowd's roaring cheers reverberate, celebrating the electrifying victory of the Japanese volleyball team. Among the sea of jubilant teammates, the camera focuses on one player, your boyfriend, glistening with sweat and wearing an infectious smile: fresh from clinching the gold medal.

As he steps away from the celebratory huddle, a reporter, microphone in hand, intercepts him. The reporter's voice is enthusiastic, mirroring the atmosphere, "So, what are your plans to celebrate the big win?"

He chuckles, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, his grin widening, "Well, after drinks with the guys," he pauses, "I have a little post-game ritual."

Intrigued, the reporter leans in, the crowd's cheers serving as a dramatic backdrop, "Oh yeah? What's that?"

He winks at the camera, "Secret."

Yes a secret it was, one that only you and him knew. One that started off with you being bent over his knee with his fingers deep in your creamy cunt.

"Been thinking about this all day," he murmurs, right hand caressing the fat of your ass while his left curls and massages the sweet part of your gummy walls that makes your eyes roll back. At this point you have given up resisting, letting your body hang limp over his muscular thighs.

As his fingers probe and massage your gspot, the wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, an intoxicating symphony that drowns out all other thoughts. Each movement, each touch, creates a chorus of slick, rhythmic noises that seem to echo in your mind, pushing you further into a state of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"So good," you whine and you don't know it but the tips of his ears go red from the sound of your voice. Your brain begins to haze, the world around you blurring until all that exists is the sensation of his ministrations. His touch is both fast and demanding, knowing exactly how to tease and please, drawing you closer to the edge. He reaches a spot inside you that you can only dream about reaching with your own fingers.

"I know baby, I know you feel good. Shit, i cant feel you squeezing my fingers." he groans at the feeling of your cunt convulsing around his digits. He is already two fingers deep in you but at this point he's thinking about stretching you further and slipping in a third. So he does. Using your dripping arousal as lubricant he slips in a third finger making your thighs tremble from the sudden intrusion. The stretch is delicious, who knew a volleyball player's hands had other uses besides volleyball?

"I won for you princess, the whole time i was playing I was thinking about you."

You can feel your pussy tighten and convulse at his words, the clicking sound of your arousal a testament to your connection, your mutual need.

Time loses all meaning as you surrender to the overwhelming sensations. His fingers, his praises, every part of him is dedicated to driving you wild, and you find yourself unable to hold back the moans that escape your lips. The noises you make together are primal, raw, and they pull you deeper into the abyss of pleasure.

"M'feel weird," You choke. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps as the sensations become almost overwhelming. You feel something press down on your core like there is a pressure building inside you, a sweet, urgent tension that demands release.

"Shhh its ok, let it go baby." He coos and before you can respond he delivers a sharp smack to your ass. "make a mess on my hands, come on~"

The pleasure is so intense, so all-consuming, that it creates an almost paradoxical sensation. The euphoria is so great it feels as though you might lose control, as if you need to pee. It's a raw, primal feeling that heightens the urgency and the pleasure, pushing you further toward the edge.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity. Your mind races, caught between the need to let go and the fear of losing control. Then, it hits you. with a curl of his fingers against your wall, you surrender to it, letting the sensation wash over you.

Your are too lost in the ecstasy to realize that you are squirting all over his hand. It's like an explosion, your body trembling, your mind going blank, consumed entirely by the pleasure he has given you.

"Just like that, let it go y/n let it go." His hands rubs circles on your ass as your body shakes and trembles from your orgasm.

"So perfect so perfect, the best prize I swear."

HINATA, KUROO, BOKUTO, OIKAWA, TSUKISHIMA, Kenma, Ushijima, IWAZUMI, AKASHI, ATSUMU

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #hinata x reader #hinata smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo smut #bokuto smut #bokuto x reader #tsukishima smut #tsukishima x reader #kenma smut #ushijima smut #iwazumi smut #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #hq x reader #hq smut

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sttm99 · 11 months ago

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Based on this story by @kumimi3

Prohero!Katsuki, who's modelling for Calvin Klein. Who's seen you in some magazines, commercials, or fashion blogs and hasn't ever paid much interest. There's something about media that diminishes beauty, such that a pretty face becomes mundane when on television.

So he doesn't care much until he sees you for the first time during a shoot.

And he thinks you're absolutely unreal.

You're beautiful, in a way that has people unable to look away, as if something will happen the moment their eyes leave you.

There is no camera in the world that does you justice, and annoyingly, it has him sweating a bit when you're close, your torso leaning on him.

"Stand over there," the photographer says, instantly ushering you to step over to Bakugo.

"We're just gonna get some shots in before your solos, YN." The photographer tells you. "Stand closer to Bakugo."

The shoot takes longer than what he's used to. It dragged on, with the photographer intent in getting you in every single position he could come up with.

"You're his muse," Bakugo hears one of the makeup artists say. "He's practically enamoured."

'She's beautiful, though... I would be, too,' he thinks.

The shoot ends, and he's already researching your name and company while in the car on the way back. He's consuming information about you rapidly, measurements and backstories, your agency and your nationality, your pictures.

In about two months or so, you're booked to model some line of merchandise for one of the larger Hero Agencies in Japan. You're sitting against a backdrop, moving through accessories and black pieces of clothing, all with a similar orange cross over the chest.

When you're changing, redoing your hair and makeup, one of the stylists whispers to you.

"Are you two close? Is that why he was so adamant about you?"

You furrow your brows in confusion, looking at her through the mirror. "What?"

She blinks at you, "He refused anyone else. Told them it was you or nothing. Just you."

You paused. You had only just recently moved down to Japan for work, and you were still just an upcoming face. You didn't know anyone influential in the field other than the photographer from some months ago, and he hadn't mentioned it.

"Who?"

The girl looks at you, then shrugs over to the door, where a guy you recognise is talking to the photographer. He's familiar, and it takes a moment before you remember he's the guy you did your Calvin Klein shoot with.

"Who is he?" You murmur, and the hair stylist and the makeup artist look at you like you're crazy.

"Bakugo Katsuki? Dynamight?"

"The Dynamight?" Your voice goes down to a whisper as shock fills you. You're looking at the makeup artist with wide, disbelieving eyes, and she's looking at you like the same way.

"Duh? You didn't know what he looked like?"

"I-" You stammer, trying not to give into the urge to turn back and stare at him. "I only just moved here.... I'm not too familiar with Japanese heroes.

The girl snorts. "Well, it looked like you're gonna be very familiar with Dynamight."

You turn back slowly but find that he's already looking at you.

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugo fluff

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moonlight-presence · 2 months ago

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Will ye go, lassie, go?

Remmick X Female Reader

Summary: After saving you from a life of pain and loneliness, Remmick and you become connected for eternity. Amid the misty backdrop of a river at night, you sing "Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go?", a song that stirs deep, forgotten memories within Remmick. Drawn to your voice and the bond you two now share, you succumb to your carnal pleasures.

2,251 words

Notes:

🩸 stór = my love/my darling 🩸 stóreen = my little darling 🩸 foc = fuck 🩸 anamchara = soulmate 🩸 Cén guth álainn = what a beautiful voice

!SMUT CONTENT!

The world was only half lived before he came into your life. Every plant was pretty to look at, not overwhelming to your senses, humans were good company, not drumming heartbeats begging you to have a taste, and the night was dark and terrifying, not welcoming like a mother's embrace.

The more you tried to remember how your life was before Remmick turned you, the more you forgot. Why bother? You had been miserable. Time was torture and living your punishment. Now? Well, now you could taste the metallic blood on your tongue, dance with goblins and devils, and sing freely.

Oh, the summertime has come

And the trees are sweetly bloomin'

The wild mountain thyme

Grows around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

You let the last note linger on your tongue longer than usual. The enjoyment of freedom was like poison in your veins, and you wanted nothing more but to drown yourself in it.

You were sitting by a river, the cold breeze of night holding you and the memories of those turned roaming inside your head. Everything was connected, and you were everything.

You were an orphan boy, forced to steal. A woman made slave. A man whose father was taken from him by the righteous hands of sinners. A Chinese girl, an ancestor of the chief of a tribe long gone, a bureaucrat, a soldier. You were all, and they were all you.

It felt good not to be alone. Comforting.

And it was in that comfort and singing of old melodies from a land across the ocean, one filled with magic creatures, that Remmick found you, once more, as he had years ago.

“You really fancied that old tune, uh?” he said from behind you.

You turned to meet his red eyes, and you couldn't help but show him your fangs. It was becoming a habit.

“It's gorgeous. I know how much it means to you,” you replied.

“Then be sure to sing it as loud as you can.” Remmick walked towards you. Mist wrapped around his body with each step, making him seem like a myth from the old legends. His red eyes, glowing in the pitch black, mirrored yours.

He sat next to you, and you smelled the blood on his mouth immediately. It was fresh; he had fed recently.

“Who was it?” you whispered, moving your knees to touch his.

Remmick smiled, not a good old smile but one of those that made your bones all jiggly, before saying, “You askin’ if I turned them?”

You nodded with a guilty smile and brought your fingers to his lips. They were clean, but you could still feel the moisture of the blood beneath the skin.

“I wanted to free him, baby, I really did, but his blood was so sweet…” Your breath quickened as you saw, inside your head, what he had seen. “Well, I couldn't resist.”

“Let me taste it,” you begged as you wetted your thumb with his saliva.

Remmick's lips stretched into a grin, and you felt his teeth, sharp and still throbbing from his kill. You couldn’t resist the urge as you brought your thumb to your lips and sucked on it.

You closed your eyes briefly, trying to intensify the flavor, but it was far too faint to ease your desire. You needed more.

“Oh, darlin’, that’s quite alright… Come here,” Remmick said, voice hypnotizing and layered with honey.

Your lips met then, and the sweet taste of blood met your tongue like an old friend. A groan escaped your lips, and you felt his own desire resonating with yours. You deepened the kiss, swirling your tongues together in a fiery dance.

Remmick hummed, clearly pleased, and grabbed the back of your head, tangling his fingers with your hair. His nails were grown now, scratching your scalp and making the sweet dance of your desires pick up its pace.

It wasn’t the first time you had taken him for a lover, and certainly wouldn’t be the last. The others weren’t quite the same as you… They respected Remmick, worshipped him even for immortalizing them, but your connection to him was far deeper. When your bodies blended and your blood pumped at the same pace, that was when you truly were complete.

“Stór, I can feel your fire,” Remmick whispered, breaking the kiss. You whined at the loss and he smirked, fangs poking from his top lip.

“I want you so bad,” you said, grabbing his shoulders and hoisting yourself to his lap. He looked up at you, and you held the back of his neck. “Make love to me.”

Remmick hummed, feeling your desire inside him as wildfire. “Keep singin’, stór. I wanna hear your beautiful voice, baby.”

You nodded as his hands went underneath your skirt. You shuddered as his fingers traced your skin and went up your legs. The words found you then.

Oh, the summertime has come

And the trees are sweetly bloomin'

The wild mountain thyme

Grows around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

And we'll all go together

To pull wild mountain thyme

All around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

“Cén guth álainn,” Remmick whispered.

You continued singing softly as his fingers finally found your arousal, and your breath quickened. He had always had such a way with his hands during such moments.

“Oh…” you moaned between verses as he spread your folds and traced them up and down, coating his fingers with your moisture.

“Ssshhh…” he said, although a smirk stayed on his lips. He was hard beneath his pants, you could feel that.

If my true love, she won't come

Then I'll surely find another

To pull wild mountain thyme

All around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

And we'll all go together

To pull wild mountain thyme

All around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

He began stroking your clit, making you bite your bottom lip and almost draw blood. Remmick’s pupils dilated, and the glow of his eyes intensified as he reached for your lips and briefly kissed them.

“Let me fuck you now, baby,” you begged, feeling his thumb on your clit. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

“Baby, how could I ever deny you?” he asked with a raspy voice that made your skin tingle. “Take my cock out, stór.”

You immediately obeyed, reaching for his belt and undoing it before you put your hand underneath his pants and found his hard shaft. Remmick hissed, fangs growing as you took him out, staring at his flushed head. It was glistening, pearly drops of cum running down his shaft, and you collected the moisture and stroked him up and down softly.

“When I first laid eyes on you, darlin’, I knew you were different,” Remmick confessed. His voice was a bit strained as you stroked him slowly. “I could feel your pain, baby. Hell, I knew that pain.”

“You saved me from it, baby,” you cut him off with an urgency. You had to reassure him.

“I know, stór, I know… You needed savin’,” he whispered.

You looked into his eyes and saw the reflection of who you had been there. You hated that person, but still, you looked. He wanted you to remember.

“Are you happy now, stóreen?” He removed his hands from your arousal and held your thighs up. “Do you see how grand life can be?”

You lined the head of his cock with your entrance but not before rubbing him up and down your folds and making his breath quicken. Your skirt was covering your love making, but you wouldn’t care if anybody saw you. You wanted them to.

“I’m so happy, darlin’,” you confessed. You began sinking on his cock, feeling the beautiful pain of the stretch. “Ah…”

“There we go… Beautiful,” he praised you as his cock entered you.

You bit your bottom lip and held onto his shoulders until every inch of his shaft was inside you and you were sitting on his thighs again. Remmick let you adjust to him for a few seconds before pushing your skirt aside and holding your ass.

“Fuck yourself on it, stór. Make love to me,” he growled as the drool fell down his chin. It reminded you of the first time you had met.

You began moving your hips, feeling his cock hit all the right places inside you. Moans spilled from your lips, and you grabbed the back of his head again, pulling his hair. Remmick liked that by the way he squeezed your ass and brought his lips to your neck.

You felt his fangs trace your skin, and your lips stretched into a satisfied smile.

“Your cunt is so tight,” he groaned against your neck those sweet words.

“It’s always like that for you, baby,” you said, breathless, as you picked up the pace.

Remmick hummed and started kissing your neck. Then, you felt a slight sting of pain as his two fangs pierced your skin and drew a bit of blood. Vampire’s blood wasn’t any good, but he seemed to enjoy it like a virgin's blood.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you moaned with a laugh, feeling him lick your blood.

Remmick raised his head, lips stained with redness, and crashed your mouths together. You moaned into his mouth, and he swallowed your sounds of pleasure.

When the fire of your passion rose to wildfire, burning the mist around you, you felt your nails grow. You wanted to fuck him harder, to take him harder, to feel him harder, so you picked up your pace and squeezed around his cock. Remmick moaned your name in his tongue, and you understood him in yours. That was the beautiful gift of immortality: the knowledge of the past, present, and future.

“You are takin’ me so well,” Remmick whispered against your mouth. You felt his nails pierce your flesh. “You’re a sinner, baby. Mine.”

“Yours.” You whined his name and nearly cried out when his cock hit a special spot inside you. The sudden peak in stimulation made your fangs pierce your bottom lip, cutting yourself. By instinct, your tongue went to clean the blood, but Remmick spoke first.

"No. Let me taste it," Remmick said, looking at the blood dripping down your bottom lip. You nodded and he licked the blood before wrapping his lips on your bottom lip and sucking on the flesh. The sensation was so familiar to you.

“Remmick.”

“Foc,” he cursed under his breath, licking his own lips clean. You met his red eyes and pulled his hair back roughly. Remmick groaned with a short laugh and then stared at your mouth. "Spit."

You didn't have to ask him where, having done this so many times before.

You smirked and let a string of saliva mixed with blood fall between his parted lips. Then, when he swallowed it as if it were a nectar from the sweetest fruit, you kissed him again. In the middle of rough kisses, his fingers found your clit again and he began slowly stroking it. That made everything ten times more intense and you squeezed around his cock.

“I’m close. Oh, anamchara, I’m so close,” you warned him as the familiar pull of your orgasm appeared on your lower belly.

“Come on, beautiful. Come on, stór. I wanna feel you,” Remmick encouraged you. You pulled his hair again, and he groaned.

Your body began dripping with sweat, and you closed your eyes, throwing your head back and holding onto his head for support. After a few more seconds, your orgasm washed over you.

It began like a slow wave, until it built and drowned you in pleasure. Your legs started shaking, your clit throbbing and you squeezed around his cock making him hiss. That must have sent him over the edge because you felt his cum spill inside you.

“Foc… Shit…” he cursed, breathless.

You collapsed against his body then, too exhausted to think or move, as your orgasm began dying down. He still throbbed inside you, and you licked your lips and kissed the side of his sweaty neck. He smelled so sweet.

“You drive me mad, baby,” he said between breaths. You felt him remove his fingers from your clit. “Give me a kiss.”

You kissed him immediately, pulling his head back so you could be slightly over his face. Remmick smirked against your lips and deepened the kiss before you two had to pull away to catch your breath.

“Don’t leave me, baby,” you whispered against his lips. “I was here all alone for hours. I couldn’t feel you properly. I was so frightened that you were hurt.”

“I’m sorry, baby… Sing for me again. That’s gonna make it all alright. I promise,” he said.

You kissed him again, briefly, before pulling yourself from his softening cock. Remmick put himself back in his pants, and you pulled your skirt down, covering yourself.

You remained on his lap, though, and continued humming that sweet old song that his father used to sing to him before bed. It made you at peace.

And we'll all go together

He closed his eyes and put his head on your shoulder. You brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead before running your fingers through his hair and letting the night be filled with the song.

And we'll all go together

To pull wild mountain thyme

All around the bloomin' heather

Will ye go, lassie, go?

#remmick fanfic #remmick x reader #remmick smut #sinners movie #sinners 2025 #sinners #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 author #jack oconnell #vampirism #vampire aesthetic #vampires #irish #remmick x you

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delopsia · 2 months ago

Text

yawn | bob reynolds x reader

Word Count 6,400 Read on AO3 Warnings/Notes 18+ MDNI, AFAB!Reader. Slice of life, thunderstorms, cuddling, accidental superpower usage, lazy sex, just a lot of fluff, really. This was my sleepy version of a character study that managed to evolve itself into a proper oneshot. Synopsis As the storm rages on, you wrap yourselves in each other.

A white flash lights up the room. Lightning crackles in its footsteps, seeking vengeance for giving you a whole winter away from its blinding wrath. Thunder shakes the ground, the bed seeming to momentarily buzz around you.

The bottle of melatonin on the bedside table is beginning to look like a better and better option by the minute. If you hadn't psyched yourself into a mind over matter agenda and tried to go without them, then maybe you would be sound asleep right now, wrapped up in a blissful, vivid dream.

But no. The clock reads 1:39 AM, and here you are rolling over for the umpteenth time, letting your eyes scan across the dark silhouettes of your bedroom decor, mind running rampant with thoughts of monsters and mythical cryptids.

The pile of clothes in the corner is actually a stranger who has broken in and is waiting till the moment you look away to attack. That light reflecting off your mirror is the eyes of a monster never once witnessed by human eyes. Lightning flickers. The figure standing in the hallway is a trained assassin sent to—

"Holy—!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" The dark silhouette jumps, raising its palms to the ceiling. "I'm sorry!"

"Jesus Christ, Robert!" Somehow, you've wound up with your back pressed against the headboard, heart caught in your throat. How long has he been standing there? Why did you not hear him come in?

"I'll...I'm sorry. I'll leave," his figure shrinks deeper into the hall, one hesitant foot after the other.

"No," it comes out sharper than you intended, bordering something embarrassingly desperate. "Don't. Come back here."

Like a fish, Bob reels back in, slowly creeping through the threshold. The room lights up once more, two, three, four, five flashes one after the other. It's there and gone in a matter of seconds, but you've already caught sight of the dark circles lingering beneath his eyes, messy hair poking in every which way.

Sliding back down into the bed, you peel back the sheets, arms wide open for him. His feet quicken, audibly padding across the hardwood floor, and then he's falling into you. No grace or effort to be slow about it, too eager to wedge himself into you, tucking his head under your chin.

Your fingers comb through his hair, dragging your nails against his scalp. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His head shakes, squirming a little bit closer. A vicious boom sends something crashing down in the hallway. Bob grumbles. One of his legs slots between yours, coiling an arm around your waist, as if to try and meld himself into you.

"I tried to call," he's so close that his voice vibrates up your neck. "I promise I did."

"Don't apologize for that," you pause, just long enough to press a kiss to his forehead. Instantaneously, his lips find your collar, always keen on returning them. "Just...say something before you start looming in my doorway like a damn ghost."

"Sorry," his mouth breaks away from you with a giggle. "I didn't realize you were awake until you jumped."

Lightning strikes something outside the window. An ear-splitting crack tears through the room.

Bob jumps.

Frankly, so do you. And maybe that's why he started squeezing you tighter, because that's exactly what you're doing, too, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and squirming the slightest bit closer. As if that will save you in the event lightning chooses your bed as its next, unfortunate target.

Morning arrives in the form of raindrops pattering against the window. Gloomy hues of gray serve as their backdrop, thick clouds masking the sunlight so seamlessly that you can't tell what time it is. It could be early morning, or the afternoon could be coming to a close; it all looks the same.

You've rolled over at some point and time, but Bob's arm still rests around you, his forehead nestled into your shoulder. He's so warm, damn near drawing you back into bed before you've clambered out of it, but the overwhelming desire for something to drink triumphs above all else.

It was a picture frame that fell off the wall last night. Face down on the living room floor, in a pile of shattered glass that a future version of you will have to clean up.

That future version of you arrives within the next few minutes. You can only stare at it for so long before you're inclined to clean it up while the kettle boils. If you don't do it now, then you won't do it until either the end of the day or when Bob inevitably steps on it and cuts his foot wide open.

You still don't know what time it is. Your phone sits on the counter, right where you left it, the little notification light blinking like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode if it receives one more text.

And frankly, that's why you don't want to pick it up.

A scratchy chin settles onto your shoulder, familiar arms once again coiling around you. "You left me."

"Only for a few minutes," you hum. It's like leaning into your own sentient blanket, one that squeezes you a little bit tighter and tilts his head to press a kiss into your cheek.

A shrill whistle dissolves the moment before you've had a chance to soak it in, the boiling water squealing with rage until you pour it into a tacky little mug. Hot chocolate mix rises to the surface, stubbornly refusing to mix until you stir it with the spoon.

"What did Yelena ever do with the rest of these?" You still don't understand what possessed her to buy that giant, hundred-dollar mystery box at the thrift store. Something something, 'you never know what you'll find!' only for her to cut the tape and unveil a museum of many, many ugly mugs.

It's hard even to remember them all. Tacky vacation souvenirs, bad jokes. Some had odd, novelty shapes, others changed colors at different temperatures, a few belonged to movies and TV shows that you've never heard of. There was even one from a 2007 art class hidden in there, a rough but valiant attempt at creating a cat.

"Kept some for the kitchen, stashed the rest in Bucky's briefcase," Bob's laughter breaks through his yawn. "We crammed so many in there that we could hardly get it closed." He doesn't say anything, but you can feel his eyes follow your hand into the bag of mini marshmallows, watching as you drop a handful of them into the hot chocolate.

"Is Bucky aware of this?" Lifting a marshmallow to your shoulder.

"Not yet," his lips brush your fingertips, and the spongy little treat is gone. You offer another. It suffers the same fate.

You fully intend to step out of his arms for a moment; you're only heading toward the fridge, but Bob waddles along with you as if he's been permanently bound to you. Two ice cubes are all you're after, the final, necessary touch to keep him from burning his mouth again.

For all intents and purposes, he should know this is for him; he only takes his hot chocolate one way. And yet his eyes go round when you offer it to him.

"For me?" As if the 'I heart Bob' cup could be for anyone else.

"Yes, for you," lifting it a little bit higher, insistent.

You're convinced that the mug shrinks the moment he takes it from you. There's no other explanation for it, the damn thing is microscopic in his oversized hand, a thick, bulging vein sprawling up the back of it and into his forearm.

...you've got to quit staring.

"Have you taken your medicine yet?" It's the first question that pops into mind. You should have asked this anyway.

He shakes his head, lifting the mug to his mouth. One sip is all it takes for the melted marshmallow to coat his upper lip. A twinge of gold colors the inside of his iris when he finds what he likes, there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Two pill organizers sit right next to the marshmallows, decorated with stickers and faces drawn in Sharpie, courtesy of a long, drawn-out power outage that lasted longer than your phone batteries could. The pale green one is his, emptier than you remember it being and definitely in need of a trip back to his apartment for a refill, but there's enough for today.

"Three in the morning?" You think it was three. There are three in here, but his prescriptions are constantly changing, still trying to find the perfect concoction of medications that will work for him.

"Two. I'm taking the green one at night now," his sleepy, lopsided grin is blinding. "Taking it during the day makes it feel like there's a tiny little man in my head who tasers my brain every few seconds."

The gears in your head start turning, working to conjure a mental image of that evil little man he speaks of.

Bob's grin drops into something meek. "That...doesn't make much sense, does it?"

With a hum, you drop the two pills into his empty palm, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "It was a great analogy." You just need a moment to process what he's said.

Heading back to bed is tempting, but the potential hot chocolate spill risk is what ultimately lures the two of you into the living room, curled into the corner of the couch like a pair of otters floating aimlessly in the sea. Except your sea is composed of all the blankets Bob can get his hands on, topped off with a dalmatian plushie who, conveniently, is also named Bob.

Rain still patters against the windows, with tiny little 'tap tap tap's that merge into a lullaby of sorts, drawing your eyes to a close against their will. Bob isn't doing much better, his head settles onto your shoulder mere seconds after you hear his mug settle onto the coffee table. Half empty.

Always half empty.

Give it some time, and he'll mosey back to it, wrinkling his nose when he finds that his hot chocolate has had the utmost audacity to go cold on him. He'll pop it into the microwave and stand there, watching it spin around on the glass tray until four seconds are left on the timer, take it out, chug the rest, and then delicately place his mug into the back left corner of the sink.

"I can hear you thinking," he murmurs. Outside, lightning cackles, as if to agree wth him.

"I thought you weren't using your superpowers?" It's the same deflection every time.

But he lets you get away with it, too kind and too sleepy to press you on what is going through your mind right now. Instead, he nuzzles further into you, hiking a leg over your hip. "Is being able to read someone's face supposed to be a superpower?"

"If it is, then it's definitely in your arsenal," like a moth to a flame, your hand wanders into his hair, already beginning to toy with a curl.

"Millions of dollars and decades of research," a yawn wracks through him. "All to create a guy with the magical ability to know when his partner is thinking really hard about something."

And now you're yawning, too. "It's a scientific miracle."

The pitter-patter of the rain is what whisks you away once more. The soft rumble of thunder and distant, howling wind blends into a comforting white noise, only interrupted by the slightly louder purr of Bob's snoring. You no longer know where you begin and Bob ends; you've simply melted into a puddle, the cocoon of blankets is the only thing to keep you from spilling out and onto the floor below.

But a cozy nap doesn't prevent a storm from rolling in, and for the umpteenth time, your eyes open to the sound of lightning, striking something nearby. It's darker now, the living room cast into dark hues of gray and black, broken apart by the occasional blitz of light from outside. Your phone buzzes on the counter, either a phone call or an emergency alert, neither of which is worth picking it up.

What's the point of a cellphone when the only person worth talking to is blinking up at you with sleepy blue eyes?

"I'm gonna take a shower," you announce, after a long moment. Might as well get one in, just in case a power outage revokes the luxury of hot water.

Bob blinks, visibly processing what you've just said to him. A moment passes, and then, a thought comes to him. "Can I come?"

You nod, but nothing happens. You're not moving. He's not moving. Time has either stopped and let your consciousness reap the terror of being trapped in a frozen body, or you really just don't want to move.

When your feet finally hit the floor, you're not sure, but at some point, you find yourself being greeted by a steady stream of warm water that nearly melts you on the spot. Like your shadow, Bob follows close behind, and you've never been more thankful to be blessed with this walk-in shower, because frankly, you don't think this would work if you were squeezing into a tub together.

Not with those broad shoulders, that is. Composed of thick muscle that flex and collect tiny rivers that flow down the freckled expanse of his back, past the three circular scars along his spine. Experiment souvenirs. They're not very big, you can perfectly fit your fingertips into them like buttons, but in comparison to the sheer size of his body, they might as well be microscopic.

"Watcha looking at?" He's peeking over his shoulder, eyes sparkling.

You've been caught.

...might as well commit to it.

"Nothing," coy as can be, you grab a handful of his ass.

His mouth pops open, the tips of his ears twinging with pink, then red. But as quickly as the shock sprang onto his handsome face, it melts into something bashful, suddenly unable to meet your gaze anymore. The only thing that doesn't change is the soap bubbling in his hair, slowly but surely making its way down the back of his neck.

He turns toward you, tilting his head back into the steady stream of water. There's only so much the water alone can do, and you're sure that he fully intends to do it himself, but you find yourself reaching for the shower wand, bringing it closer to help you and your one remaining hand to wash the soap from his hair.

"'s nice," he hums, his hands settling on your hips. "Are you washing all of me?"

"Washing you and myself?" Feigning shock.

"Well, I can help with that," he blindly reaches out, first stealing away your wash cloth, and then feeling about for your body wash.

...you wonder if he knows that he's floating the damn bottle toward himself. Surely if he knew, he wouldn't still be patting around, looking for the shape until—

It lands in his hand.

Yeah, he doesn't have a clue. He's so preoccupied with getting soap on your chest that he can't possibly be thinking of anything else, rubbing it into your skin in loose, lazy circles. For something so simplistic, it's shockingly difficult. Your arms keep bumping into his, he's trying to get a part of your back, but pulling you forward only ends in you accidentally spraying him in the face.

"Hey!" Bob squeals, as if he didn't directly cause this by himself.

"Your fault!" Dodging an attack to the chin from the soapy cloth.

Your wet hand futilely smacks him in the chest. He gets you on the belly. You tilt the wand to spray water at the nape of his neck. A glob of soap gets you in the cheek, you can only gather it so fast, but he already knows your game plan, dodging before you can get it on his nose. And then—

There are lips on yours. Soft and fleeting, there and gone within milliseconds, appearing again on your cheek, the bridge of your nose, and your forehead. You can't possibly keep up with them; Bob has gotten in two more attacks in the time it takes for you to retaliate.

"Bo!" Yelping, pawing at his chin. No dice. Nothing is getting between him and his vicious attack. "Damnit, Sentry!"

"Don't 'Sentry' me!" His giggle is so loud that it echoes, ringing incessantly in your ears, so damn distracting that you fall victim to his finishing move. A proper kiss. It hits you so hard, so easily that you nearly fall backward with it, only held up by his big, steady hands.

This is what you've been missing.

Every shred of tension melts from your body, washing away, swirling down the drain, and into the abyss. You're nothing but a limp mess in his arms, collapsing into his chest, helpless to do anything but chase the sweetness of his lips, molding against you so wonderfully that it borders on unfair.

He steps forward, and your back finds the bathroom tile. Cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the warm body that closes the gap between you. Hands nudge at your thighs, pressing into the fat of them until you get the hint and jump. His hips slot between your legs with such ease that it nearly causes you to short-circuit.

Kissing Robert Reynolds, frankly, is an otherworldly experience that ought to bring out the sun and banish every dark cloud from the sky. Perfection exists, and it's this. The delicate way that his kiss draws you into him, lips tangled in a dance that you're far from mastering, taking the wrong steps, yet somehow managing to avoid stepping on the other's feet.

Your hand rises to his jaw, feeling the subtle flex of the muscle there, far too innocent for how he grabs a handful of your ass. Payback, you suppose.

"Robert," you don't mean to sound so desperate, you really don't, but it's too late, you're mewling like a cat in heat.

"Bedroom?"

"Uhuh."

You're either developing a memory loss problem, or Bob is tapping into another unknown super power, because you don't remember what happens from there. One moment you're up against the wall, the next, you're being greeted by the familiar comfort of the bed, curving perfectly to your frame.

Bob's forearms brace themselves on either side of your head, caging you in as his warm body slots against yours once more. You haven't the slightest clue how much time has passed. Don't really care, either. It's hard to give a damn about anything when the tip of Bob's nose traces along the side of your cheek, guiding himself back to your mouth.

The storm protests with a vicious cackle, the bedside lamp flickering with a wordless threat to plunge you into permanent darkness. Wind squeals around the corners of the apartment, shrieking a threat that you don't care to listen to. The whole building could collapse for all you care, so long as this doesn't end.

Bob's hips tilt forward, his heavy cock rubbing against the inside of your thigh, "this is still okay?"

"I would have told you if it wasn't," and if that's not convincing enough, your legs wrap around his waist, clinging to him like it's the only thing you know how to do.

And oh, does he let you. If anything, he's ushering himself closer, his firm belly flattening against yours, erasing every bit of space that dares put itself between you. One of his hands are cradling your face, and your fingers are in his wet hair, and—

The kiss breaks with a mutual gasp.

Again, he rocks his hips forward, thick cock slipping between your folds and rubbing against your clit. How you didn't feel him lazily rutting between your legs, you have no idea, but you are so not complaining.

"I've missed this," he blurts, speaking against your lips.

It takes a moment to find your voice, one of the many controls lost to the mindboggling distraction that is him grinding into you. "It's been like a week," and it sounds like it's been a week since you've had anything to drink, too.

"A week too long," Bob nips at your bottom lip. You don't respond. He nips again, whining at you like an expectant puppy, eager for something you can't deny him any longer. Lips part. Tongues meet in an instant.

It's a losing battle before the fight has even started; he's already licking into your mouth, swallowing the whine he draws out of you. So unfair. You didn't even stand a chance, helpless to do anything but follow his lead. On their own, your hips twitch, and pleasure shatters the kiss once more.

In its place, appear kisses on your cheek, trailing along the side of your jaw, and to your neck. They linger in the space behind your ear, gently sucking on the skin there, enough for you to feel the pressure of it, but never bruising. If someone were to catch sight of a hickey on you, he might spontaneously combust.

"Robert," you don't know why you're whispering his name, lifting from your tongue like a sacred prayer.

He hums, peering up at you through his lashes, working his way down the side of your neck. One kiss after the other, his wet tongue leaving a faint trail in his wake. There's nothing you can do but cling to his shoulders, fighting to stay still as he kisses along your chest.

"Tickle?" He knows the answer to that question, grinning like a cat who got the cream.

A breath strangles out of you. "No."

"You're squirming," and he's got the audacity to laugh while he says it, like he's not also reaching to cup your breast, swiping his thumb over a soft nipple.

You've got no response to that, quietly watching him lean in and swirl his tongue around it. The warmth of his mouth is more than welcome, drawing your back up off the bed, chasing his touch, but...there's something else that you want a whole lot more.

Your hand darts to the bedside table, where the lube rests on the nearest corner. The tips of your fingers brush against the plastic tube, gaining traction, only for it to scoot beyond your reach entirely.

The bottle jumps into your hand. Suddenly sentient.

Bob stiffens. "Oops."

"I thought you weren't using your powers?" You're trying to sound serious about it, but you lose this battle, too, your own laughter causing you to struggle to even open the cap.

"I didn't mean to, I—!" The color drains from his face by the second, shocked as can be. "I wished it would go to you and it just...did!" He sits up, looking at his hands as if he thinks the Void is already taking over.

But he remains unchanged, just like any other time that he's subconsciously done this, whether he's realized it or not. Leaving you ample time to pour a generous amount of lubriant into your palm, so much that it nearly spills through your fingers as you reach down and wrap your hand around his flushed, pink cock.

"Ah—!"

Aside from his hair, this is the darkest part of his body, cock head flushed a deep crimson that contrasts so beautifully against the rest of him. Precum spills, swiftly collected by your thumb, spreading it and the lube across his length in one, practiced motion. You know you're doing it right when he tries to chase your retreating hand.

A pout etches itself onto his face, "mean."

"Would you rather stick to just a handjob?" It's a genuine question laced into your best, teasing tone.

"No, no, no," Bob is already on top of you again, before you can begin to take your playful suggestion seriously. "I'm just...being..." His brow furrows, something self-deprecating visibly forming in his head.

"Being cute?" You fill in the blank before he can, reaching to squish his cheek with your clean hand.

There he goes. Smiling at you like the world's sweetest fool, borderline shy about returning to the task at hand, guiding himself between your legs. The wet tip of his cock dips between your folds, brushing past your clit, and then—

Familiar pressure greets you. It's all you can do to keep from impatiently pushing yourself onto him, hanging onto what little self-control you have left while he takes his time, slowly pushing in like it's the first all over again. But this time, he slips in much, much easier.

Lord, have mercy, you've already forgotten about the sheer width of him. You should have known from the start that those doe eyes were compensating for something, but how the hell could you have predicted...

You shouldn't have looked.

Now you can't tear your eyes away.

There's something mesmerizing about the sight of Bob's cock gradually disappearing inside of you, your pussy visibly stretching to accommodate him and his obnoxious girth. Bob follows your line of sight, hips stuttering when he finds what has your attention.

"I can feel you clenching, baby," he mutters, breaking you from your hypnosis.

Yeah, that might be why he's moving so slowly. But just because you're telling your body to relax, doesn't mean it's going to mindlessly obey. Not this part of you, at least, stubbornly clamping down around his fat cock like you're trying to catch him in some kind of obscene chokehold.

Fingertips trail up your sides. Featherlight kisses work their way up your chest and into your neck, tickling. You're giggling before you know what's going on, pawing at his hands as he all but lays his weight on top of you.

Heat races up your belly, the side of his cock rubbing against sensitive nerves. Oh, and the stretch of him aches, but you can't...you can't focus on anything other than how full you feel. It's all that you can think about, how he sinks into you bit by bit, gradually opening you up around him.

A fragile gasp breaks through the air; he's bottomed out.

"Bo..." You don't know why you're using that silly little nickname, mindlessly speaking everything that comes to mind.

Bob's nose nuzzles into your temple. "Are you okay?"

"More than okay," you breathe.

Thunder booms, and you're sure that the lightning is putting on her greatest show yet, but she doesn't have an ounce of your attention. No, that's all reserved for this.

Experimental, Robert begins to move.

Slow. Not in any rush to pull out of you, once again taking his time as he gradually pushes himself back in. It's easier this time, a wet little noise punctuating the meet of your bodies. There's nothing heated about it; you've got no reason for it to be. It's just you and your ridiculously superpowered boyfriend, taking all of the time in the world.

"There," sparkles light up behind your eyes. "Oh my god, right there."

Shit, how is he already rubbing into those nerves? Usually, it takes him a minute to find them, but today—

"Right there?" Only Robert Reynolds can manage to sound so innocent when he's fucking you, like a damn earnest puppy looking for his treat. But he's doing exactly what you've asked of him, and if you had a treat, you'd give it to him.

Your arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, noses bumping. Gold laces his irises, washing over their usual blue, there and gone with a simple blink of his eye, but you know what you saw.

"I love you," he mewls, and you can practically see the hearts in his eyes.

Mouths collide like two galaxies, stars and planets exploding behind your eyelids like fireworks. A once-in-a-lifetime showing, and you've got front row tickets. The universe itself ceases to exist. There is nothing else, only you and Bob Reynolds himself, tangled so deeply that eternity herself can never hope to unravel you.

"I love you, too," you can't hear yourself over the incessant thump of your heart, loud in your ears, as if it doesn't have a designated place to be.

But you wouldn't be shocked if Bob's fat cock was so big that it entirely rearranged you, because that's certainly what it feels like. There's no other word for it, other than full. Stretched to your limit, your cunt struggling to even flutter around him as he sinks into you.

That so-called little noise of your bodies meeting is growing louder. Fuck, its so unfair, he's so big that he hits everything and you're absolutely soaked. The very sound of it is far too obscene for the moment, so loud that the neighbors can probably hear your pussy practically weeping around his damn cock.

Bob's hand tucks beneath your thigh, pushing it up to your belly, opening you even more and—

"Oh my god!" You wail. He's hitting it. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh. "Fuck, Robert—!"

He sucks in a sharp breath of air, his head almost tipping back at the sensation of you clenching around him. The rhythm he so carefully built is dissolving by the second, and frankly, so are you, unraveling like a loose thread.

"Keep squeezing my cock like that, shit," Bob's groaning, irises flickering with gold, just like the lightning in the window. "Your pussy feels so good."

What's louder, the raging wind or the two of you panting, like dogs in the hot sun? You don't have the answer. You're too busy focusing on pressing your fingertips to your swollen clit, massaging it in a tune that definitely does not match the sway of Robert's body.

But it doesn't matter. The heat is already coiling in your lower belly, burning into your thighs and winding you impossibly tighter around Bob's length. Your back is trying to rise up off the bed again, and your hand has somehow gotten in his hair, and he's kissing you again.

"I'm gonna cum," he blurts. Ragged.

Your lips are moving. Nothing comes out. All you can do is nod.

"Please cum on my cock," Bob all but collapses into you. Whispering into your ear. Begging. Pleading. "Please, can we come together? Please? Oh my god, please."

A noise blurts out of you. Close. You're so close. Hanging onto him for dear life, his blunt tip keeps kissing that spot over and over and over and

"Oh my god, cum for me please, please—!" Bob cries out. The final snap of his hips shoves you up the bed, pulsing with an orgasm so intense that you can feel him twitch with it, and...you're cumming with him.

It washes through you in one big wave, beginning with a delicate twitch down in your toes, rolling up into your thighs, up your belly, and following your spine, swirling in your head. The world itself is a distant memory. All you can comprehend is the pleasure of cumming around him, fuel poured into an already raging fire.

Reality flowers in the form of cool air, rushing in from the vent like a medic, here to valiantly chase away the beads of sweat that have collected on your skin. But nothing is quite as warm and grounding as the big, burning body on top of yours. Robert, with his messy hair and pink cheeks, snuggled on you like you're his personal pillow.

"Hi," he chirps, with a yawn.

"Hi," you're yawning too, now. Must be contagious.

He does, ultimately, roll off of you at some point, though you're not sure how much time passes before that happens. The sheets are beyond saving; the valiant efforts of a wash cloth can't remedy this, only the washing machine and its humble sidekick, the dryer, can save the day now. You've practically slept the day away, you should have energy to get up and deal with it, but...

Bob's arms are distracting.

So are his hands, for that matter, absently wandering up and down your skin, going as far as he can comfortably reach. In return, you trace the hard lines of his belly, following the grooves of his abdomen like a maze, with his veins functioning as a shortcut to his chest and lower belly, stopping just shy of his soft, oversensitive length.

But then, he freezes.

"Bo?" Did the air conditioning cause him to turn into ice?

"I forgot to feed the cats," he says it in such a way that it sounds like he's committed a federal crime. Which, as far as the kitties themselves are concerned, may be valid.

"The stray cats who live outside of the Avengers building?" You know which ones he's talking about. The small but humble colony of kitties who fuss at local reporters while they're on the air, determined to get their side of the story on television.

You're beginning to suspect that the silver tabby is nothing but a gossip. She has crashed at least five news networks by now.

"They're not strays, they're official employees." There's no way he isn't making this up on the spot, just to get a laugh out of you.

And it works. You're giggling about it even when you're standing in the living room, trying to squeeze your shoes on without untying them first. Official employees. Representatives of the company. Paid interns. Soon enough, the New Avengers will be fully feline run.

"What made you start feeding these guys, anyhow?" You ask, watching him lift the forgotten mug to his mouth.

His nose wrinkles. The hot chocolate has once again dared to become cold. "I accidentally dropped a box of leftovers and watched three of them run out to steal everything that spilled out."

The story continues as he walks away, heading for the kitchen. "They still looked hungry, but I couldn't, you know, feed them a half-eaten burger and some fries, so I went and got them their own kibble." Three beeps. The microwave begins to hum. "Now I can't stop, because they expect it from me."

You don't need to see what happens next. The microwave stops, chased by a moment of silence. The water runs, and then, the cup audibly settles inside the sink. Back left corner.

Night has already fallen on the outside world, washing the city in hues of black and blue, broken apart by headlights and stubborn, LED signs that all clamour for your attention. They don't know that their competition is Robert Reynolds, world's most distracting man, who uses his thumb to rub circles into the back of your hand.

A small swarm of felines resides in the alleyway outside of the tower, adorable, screaming balls of damp fur and rage. Most of them are friendly, trotting at Bob's heels and meandering between your feet, but others dart further down the sidewalk or dodge behind a dumpster, looking for any good spot to hide from your prying eyes.

Bob only leaves you for a moment, returning with plastic bowls and a bag of cat food that he nearly spills on top of a particularly bold, orange cat. Why wait for the bowl to be filled when you can shove your head right into the stream of kibble?

The final bowl is placed, and...

Silence. No more meowing or endless screaming, only the soft crunches of tiny jaws chowing down on dinner.

The orange cat, despite being first to his bowl, moves on to the next as soon as he's run out. There is a reason why he's beginning to look closer to a bowling ball than a feline, the fuzzy glutton. His deadly sin runs another cat off from the bowl, a calico who is content to rub herself against your leg, rather than fight over a meal.

"Oh," Bob has wandered away from you, standing over by the dumpster now. "Oh!"

"What?" You squint, but you can't see what he's picking up.

Whatever it is, he's using both hands to cradle it under his chin, a precious little thing that he's found. "It's a baby!"

You can't see it until he's right in front of you. A tiny, bite-sized ball of fluff, marked with even tinier stripes, another tabby, this time in the smallest form possible. Its mouth opens with a faint, but mighty "mew!"

And then promptly bites Bob's finger. Ferocious.

Oh god.

Oh god, there are big, expectant eyes looking at you now. He's already pouting; you know what he's about to ask, and he knows what your reply is. He can't keep it in the tower; the chances of someone leaving a door open and it getting out onto the streets are astronomical.

But that little kitten is another mouth to feed. A very expensive, tiny mouth at that. There's no way that little bitty thing can eat hard food, its eyes aren't even open! And the cost of buying kitten formula? In this city?

Lightning silently flickers, casting a strange, monstrous shadow.

...

It's last night all over again. The ongoing storm. A creepy, unexpected sight created by a momentary burst of light. Robert and his pleading eyes, with his new kitten tucked against his neck, if not identical to how he fit himself beneath your chin.

The last-ditch effort begins, scanning each and every cat, looking for a recently pregnant momma who might have left her baby unattended for a meal. No kittens, no dice. The closest thing to pregnant is that damn orange one.

"Do you think we can—"

"Yes."

There's something else you plan to say, something about custody rights and who is feeding it and when, but the thought dies before it gets to your mouth. You can feel something...

Oh. Now, why did you go and wear the gray sweats? They're already showing off every rain drop they've absorbed, and now...

"Come on," you're taking Bob by the arm, careful not to jostle the tiny thing from his hand as you pull him along. "We're finding a bathroom, and then we're off to the pet store."

He tilts his head. "Why the bathroom?"

Now that you've felt it, you can't unfeel it. Why must there be consequences to your actions? "Because I've got your cum running down my leg."

"Oh!" He squeaks. Then, lowering his voice. "Well, I can help...with that...?" Bold, until he loses momentum mid-sentence.

"Not with a child in your hands, you're not."

The kitten mews. It's starting to sound like Bob already.

#robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x reader #oneshot #afab reader #delgato writes

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