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brucedefender4eva · 2 months ago

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A sort of fake not so fake-dating concept where the couple is dating but everyone thinks that they’re fake dating.

Hal and Bruce decide to tell their families that they’re together around the same time that they have to go on an undercover mission and pose as a couple.

No one ever outright says that they don’t believe them, but it’s mutually agreed upon. In fact, Bruce’s kids are a little offended that he’s trying to ‘trick them’ into thinking he’s in a healthy relationship at the moment. He has a track record and it’s made them a little biased.

Hal and Bruce are completely oblivious to everyone not believing them and are having the time of their life being a lovey-dovey couple in public with each other.

The others are just so surprised on how willing they are to immerse in their undercover roles but they figure that Bruce wants it to be as realistic as possible. Anything to make sure that nothing goes wrong on the mission, he’s Batman, it’s gotta be perfect.

They go on the mission and it goes flawlessly as expected and when they get back, everyone is expecting them to get back to their regular dynamic. Bruce passive aggressively hating on Green Lantern, and Hal going back to doing his best to shit on and annoy Batman.

But that doesn’t happen.

Since the two wrongfully assume that everyone knows that they’re in an actual relationship, they’re a lot softer around each other.

Obviously their snark and bitchiness never goes away, it’s who they are, but it’s not cruel and aimed to purposely hurt anymore. It’s playfully and gentle.

But still, no one is letting their guard down. Maybe this is a training lesson or something? They’re thinking about any and every possibility on why these two continue to pretend to be in a relationship.

Then, Damian walks in on them simply… sitting. Just sitting together.

Bruce is curled up on Hal’s side, letting the other man play with the loose strands of his hair as he reads a book. Hal whispers something into Bruce’s ear and the man lets out a genuine giggle and sighs softly, gazing up at him with such a fond expression that it’s painful.

Then they kiss. Nothing explicit. In fact, it’s just a peck, a simple brush of the lips before they go back to their comfortable silence.

Damian slips away and is faced with the realization that his Baba is in a genuine relationship with that man and he does seem happy. And really, isn’t that what Damian hoped his Baba would find?

Damian tried to tell his siblings but none of them believe him. They think that Bruce is bribing Damian with another pet or something and brush their little brother off.

The next to figure it out is Cass and Duke. Duke had finally agreed to her multitude of requests to help her practice for the next ballet showcase she had. As they’re walking through the halls, they can hear faint old timey music playing from the ballroom, which is confusing because usually no one comes over here unless there’s a gala.

They crack open the door, and in the middle of the room is Bruce and Hal pressed up against each other, simply swaying to the music. You can’t really call what they’re doing dancing, but it’s soft and intimate and just… lovely.

Hal’s head is pressed against Bruce’s chest, right where is heart is located. He seemed to be swaying to Bruce’s heartbeat rather than the soft music playing in the background.

Bruce is hugging the other man tightly, his eyes closed tight as he followed Hal’s lead.

Cass and Duke exchange a wide eyed look as the quietly close the ballroom door and run off, wondering how they didn’t believe them when it was obvious.

Again, the two tried to tell their sibling (Damian feels vindicated) but still, disbelief.

Tim is fully refreshed when he finds out so he can’t even blame what he see on being sleep deprived or in a coffee induced spiral.

Tim knew Bruce was wrapped up in his own case, a bad one where Bruce refused to let any of his children even look at the crime scene photos or read the victim’s autopsy’s, so Tim figured he’d have to be the one to get Bruce to go to sleep.

Tim didn’t bother knocking on the door to Bruce’s study, he simply opened it and froze when he realized Bruce wasn’t alone. No, Hal was also there.

Hal was holding Bruce. No. He was cradling his dad… and Bruce looked calm in the other man’s embrace. Bruce wasn’t crying or yelling or even angry, but still there was emotion radiating from him that Tim couldn’t place.

But as Hal squeezed tighter, it receded. There was still a heavy weight holding Bruce down, but now his dad was hugging Hal back just as tightly.

Tim slowly stepped back and blinked. Hal was there. Hal was there for his dad and he was taking care of him, being gentle, showing him love…

How could he ever think that they weren’t in love?

One morning, on the rare occasion Dick stayed over at the manor, he walked into the kitchen to find Bruce there.

Bruce was making breakfast, something he rarely did anymore. Dick has known Bruce longer than anyone in the house (obviously we’re not talking about Alfred) and he knows that Bruce is a good cook. But he also knows how taxing cooking can be for his dad, which is why Bruce doesn’t do it often.

But here he was, happily cooking breakfast early in the morning. Hal was there too, clinging onto his back with his face buried in his dad’s neck. Bruce gets Hal to lift his face to taste test something and Dick can see the exhausted yet adoring expression on his face.

Dick backs out quietly, his heart thumping in his chest. What the fuck? His Tati was in an actual relationship with Hal Jordan. Oh fuck. They are so in love.

Before Dick could get to him, Jason is also faced with the realization that Bruce was in a serious relationship

Jason misses his dad. He’ll never say that shit to his face but he does. So, he makes up an excuse to go and see Bruce. Maybe he’ll complain about something, maybe he’ll act nice. Jason will decide on the way.

It’s a Tuesday at 10 in the morning, so Bruce should be in the library for his morning reading. Jason pops his head in and is confused when he doesn’t see Bruce sitting in his designated leather recliner.

There’s no way Bruce isn’t there, so Jason stalks through the rows of the bookshelves searching for him. Just as he’s about to leave, he spots him.

Bruce is in the very back, usually where the kids sit because it only has beanbags. Hal is cuddled up in his dad’s lap, the sound of an audiobook is playing as the two stare at a book.

Jason watches silently as Jordan complains that most of the words are nonsensical while Bruce just chuckles and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Bruce hates audiobooks. They go too slow and he swears that he can hear the narrator’s nasally breathing and the sound of their spit sticking to the roof of their mouths.

But here he is, happily listening to an audiobook. Listening to an audiobook and smiling happily as Hal interrupts to comment, complain, or just make a joke.

Oh fuck. Damian was right. They are dating.

Steph doesn’t count herself to Bruce’s kid, no matter what the old man says. She doesn’t need a Dad, especially not if it’s Bruce.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t want the guy to find happiness. It’d probably make him a lot more bearable to be around.

So, ignoring the laughable fake-dating scheme that she can see a mile away with Hal Jordan, she decides to take it upon herself and set Bruce up on some dates.

Bruce seems uncomfortable with the idea, no surprise there, but Hal (who is starting to hang around the manor more than she does) seems to think the whole thing is hilarious. Bruce keeps shooting him glares but it only seems to make the man laughed harder.

At first, the dates seem to be going well (yes she is spying, what else would she do with her day?) but then suddenly crash and burn. And who is doing the burning? Hal!

He’s at every restaurant, movie theater, or carnival that Steph sends Bruce to. Bruce seems incredibly smug every time Hal shows up with a pissed off expression and she just can’t figure out why.

After the tenth time of this phenomena, Steph was going to confront him. After Hal had scared of Bruce’s date and dragged Bruce away, she followed them to a nearby alleyway where she was greeted with an unusual site.

Bruce was laughing at the pouty expression Hal was sporting and pressing a flurry of kisses across the other man’s face, reassuring him that the dates meant absolutely nothing and Steph was just playing around.

Damn. Stephanie felt like a fucking idiot. Seriously, it was so obvious.

Alfred knew. Alfred probably knew Bruce was in love with Hal before Bruce knew he was in love with Hal.

Bruce has been in love before. And Alfred has always been there every step of the way, picking up the broken pieces of his little when he inevitably gets discarded and thrown away.

But he’s never seen Bruce like this before. So…

Alfred will keep watching, it’s what he’s best at. And he’ll be here for when Bruce needs to be put back together.

But maybe… maybe he won’t have to be this time.

Oh my, his son has grown up quite a bit. Alfred faintly wonders how Martha and Thomas would’ve felt, seeing their son so in love.

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thecoochiefairy · 11 days ago

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cybersex. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.2K word count. camgirl!blackfemreader, original!blackfemreader, contentcreatorcoded! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, missionary, stand n’ carry fucking, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ reference to the title, this song did inspire this fic. teehee—nasty, okay? that’s all i can say about this one. just nasty. might be one of my faves, idk.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE PINK PLUSH OF YOUR DUVET SOFTENS BENEATH YOUR TOES AS YOU LAY ATOP OF IT, curved nails wrapping around the cherry sunken between your heart shaped lips. You didn’t think this would be as hard as it was, but you were now on hour three of scrolling in between OnlyFans and Twitter—you’d found nothing.

Your job wasn’t something anyone expected of you. You were quiet, reserved, introverted—But being in front of a camera? Well, that was different.

A Cam Girl, to be exact. You’d only been in the industry for about a year and a half, but the money you made versus working as a bartender was tenfold— your experience with people was all in the making of your success. Your smile, those slender eyes combative in getting what they wanted, dark curls framing the doll shape of your caramel face.

You leaned into the camera every other night to show off the multitude of lingerie you’d bought, twisting your fingers against the satin bow between your large breasts, comments flooding as your customers waited for an accidental slip to show. Your legs spread open, teeth digging into the plush of your lip as you fucked yourself, moaning blasphemies into the camera—or, a couple scandalous pictures posted if you were working overnight at the bar.

Your customers would ask, Are we ever gonna see a collab?

It’s not that the thought never crossed your mind. But to anyone’s surprise, you’d only known the pleasures of exploring your own body. You’d had sexual partners, but none that ever satisfied you the way you could yourself. Your customers enjoyed watching you indulge yourself, but just like them, something in you might’ve wanted something—different.

So here you were—continuously scrolling through male content creator’s to possibly do a collab with—you just were unsure how comfortable you were with the entire idea. To make matters worse, you couldn’t find anyone that piqued your interest.

You leaned your jaw against your palm as you fell deeper into the bed, a soft sigh parting your lips as your finger flicked the mouse pad down your timeline. Your eyes were practically immune to the nastier side of Twitter. But then—you stopped.

Onyankopon.

Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans.

His profile picture might’ve gotten your attention. It was simple, but enough. You could tell that he might’ve had a head full of hair, as it was braided to the back in cornrows, clear beads hanging at the end of them. His brown skin almost carried a red undertone beneath the lights, tattoos and silver jewelry complimenting the bistre of his complexion. His lips—full, the perfect shape, coated by the sable of his facial hair. Tattoos scattered all over his body—neck, arms, crawling all the way up to his face—the cross along his cheek twinkling next to the silver stud in his nose. He was pretty.

But as you continued to scroll down…pretty isn't the word you’d use for him. Your eyes nearly widen at the sight of his di—

It’s big. Huge, even. Veins protrude throughout it, the tip as flush as his lips. It nearly reaches his mid thigh. The sculpt of his body was insane, and you felt your mouth watering. You’d never had this reaction before— But your body seems to react worse as you keep scrolling. Videos of him and other women, the darkness of the rooms are curated in candles and roses, lights blaring colors for a sensual environment. Each girl smiles sultrily as they all start the same—he talks with them, has them become comfortable as they sit along the massage table. He touches them in an almost innocent way, keeping their attention—Then, his touches become less innocent, and to see the way he handles them—the squeals, screams, orgasms are like no other. They cum in raptures, squirt all over him—his voice grunts, praises in satisfaction. They made your jaw drop, glasses tipping over your nose.

They might’ve had you squeezing your thighs together, too. So you did what you didn’t expect yourself—You messaged him.

bimbopiscesprincess: hey, um. do you happen to live in new orleans?

You received a response almost immediately. You can see the typing bubble, making your heart skip at how fast he’d seen your message.

onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?

Before you could even type out your next message, another notification pops up at the corner of your screen.

onyo: user is typing…

And then—

onyo: hollon’. i know you.

Your eyes blink at that. You showed your body to the world on a regular basis, so why did that sentence make your face go warm?

bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do?

onyo: yeah. the bartender down on canal at the blue bayou. saw you behind the bar a couple of times.

It’s hard to contain the way your heart rate picks up— Your stomach is flipping at the idea. You type back immediately.

bimbopiscesprincess: i guess that’s better than saying you’ve seen my videos, lol.

onyo: i guess i should’ve clarified. i’ve seen your videos. yo’ pussy pretty as hell, face too.

Your eyes go wide. You can’t help but bite the corner of your lip, a light feeling in your chest as your fingers press against the keys.

bimbopiscesprincess: well um—thank you, lol. sorry, i’m a lil’ different when the camera isn’t on.

onyo: don’t gotta apologize, girl. you’ cute regardless.

He types a couple minutes after.

onyo: so what’d you hit me up for? i ain’t tryna’ stop talkin’ to you, just curious.

You stare at the screen, eyes flickering up and down his messages. Did you really want to do this? Could you? The man made you nervous through text.

bimbopiscesprincess: i don’t mean to be forward, i was just curious on how this whole collab thing works? i mean, that’s even if you were interested.

onyo: you don’t gotta be shy. we can call and talk

‘bout it if you’d like.

You go to reach for another cherry, but your fingers can’t seem to find the bowl. Your heart was beating.

bimbopiscesprincess: right now?

He’d messaged you a number, which you assumed was his. Your fingers seemed to dial it on their own, nerves beginning to eat at you as the ringer went off.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.

“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”

Your voice is breathless, “Hi. I’m um—I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, deep and gravelly.

“You’ good. I was just scrollin’ on my computer when you decided to hit me up. Glad you did.”

He pauses, “You born and raised in the boot?”

“Uptown,” you hum, “Graduated from Xavier. You?”

“You’ smart, I like that shit. But yeah— I grew up on the Westbank. Did college out in Baton Rouge, came back to work with my momma before I started doing content. She owns a couple shops down here.”

Even when he was just talking, his voice was like velvet, thick, and raspy. It had you unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

On top of that, you didn’t necessarily expect all this dialogue with him.

You say it before you think, “Are you usually this open in conversation with the girls you collaborate with?”

He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your ear through the receiver, “Not really, nah. But it’s not hard to have a conversation.”

He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s stretching, “You asked how the collabs worked, right? We ain’t even get to that part.”

“Right,” your voice is soft, “So—you wanna explain it to me? I mean—it’s probably simple, but—I just—“ you stop yourself with an awkward giggle, “Sorry, Go ahead.”

“You good, baby. It’s how it sounds, so I promise you ain’t off with the idea. We’ll just plan out a date and time, you’ll come to mines, and—“ He exhales, like he just realized he was getting off track, “Let me not bore you with extra shit—it all depends what you’ comfortable with, first.”

Your eyebrows raise at that, “What I’m comfortable with? So—it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex? I mean—sorry, that’s a dumb question. I just see that you’re specialized in massaging, so—yeah.”

“You ain’t gotta keep apolgizin’ to a nigga. I swear, you’ good. Sex brings in a bigger payout for the both of us, but I got all types of ways I can service you if you’ not comfortable with that. Just say what it is.”

You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it.

Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.”

Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.”

Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures.

With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.

When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself.

He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you.

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.

You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.

“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.”

He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.

The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.

You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”

“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.”

You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?

The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”

“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?”

He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.

You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”

“Ony. You can call me that.”

His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”

Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward.

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.”

“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”

“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”

“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”

“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”

Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!”

“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen.

"What I do, what you do—same difference."

His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”

“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.

He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.

“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.

“Nah,” he shrugs.

”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.”

“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”

“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?”

“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”

This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”

“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.”

He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”

That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date.

So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”

Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back.

“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”

“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”

You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way.

So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room.

You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.

“Need any help?”

He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else.

“I’m good. C’mere, though.”

His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.

You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”

He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”

You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric.

“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.

He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed.

“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?”

It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.

“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”

“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.”

You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his.

“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”

The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”

You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…”

He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better.

“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after.

You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place.

“What you’ apologizin’ for?”

His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch.

As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.

“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”

When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking.

This was one of your spots.

You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…”

“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”

He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes.

It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft.

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”

Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours.

“Wanna kiss, Ony.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away.

He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.”

His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses.

After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling.

“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?”

His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera.

He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“

“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.”

When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.

That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”

Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact.

You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”

He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling.

“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”

He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.

You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”

Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”

You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.

Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.

"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."

Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”

It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”

Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.

“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.

He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.

“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.”

Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing.

You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine, “Ohfuck—O—Ony…”

He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.”

The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’."

He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you.

“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”

It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.”

You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm.

“Ohmygoddd.”

You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera.

You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."

His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs.

Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.”

You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.

Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe.

“You aight, baby?”

Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.

He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”

You nod your head again. You’re dazed.

“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter.

He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”

You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”

He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.

“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“

Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax.

“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”

“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.”

He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.

Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?”

He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker.

“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.”

When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit.

“Why’ you ask that?”

You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”

“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.”

He looks back at you.

“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?”

You think about that question.

“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.”

He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.

“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”

You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding your head.

“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?”

“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver.

When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.

“You gotta’ nigga?”

Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”

“It can’t be?”

His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm.

“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”

It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.

You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?”

“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?”

“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”

“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips.

“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”

“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”

His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”

That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit.

You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”

His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you.

He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”

“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”

“I heard you, Mama. Chill.”

You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”

“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.”

The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before.

The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders.

You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera.

You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form.

“You’ a good ass girl.”

Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.

His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips.

“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.

That’s all you needed.

He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back.

His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”

Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.

“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”

Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.

“You smell so sweet, Mama.”

You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point.

His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table.

“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.”

It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy.

You suck in a breath.

A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick.

Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back.

“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?”

You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…”

Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”

His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them.

“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”

“N—Onyankopon…”

His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.”

Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen.

“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing.

“Hold my hands.”

When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”

“You sound pretty, Mama.”

Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.

“You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”

“S—stay just like this…”

Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels.

“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”

His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.”

It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.

He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whine in return.

“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.”

The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”

“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.

You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”

“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew.

Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has.

Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever.

“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours.

He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.”

With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…”

You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for.

“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”

But it didn’t stop there.

He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick.

Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”

He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?”

You were lost.

“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements.

He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.”

You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.

“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.”

A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation.

You listen.

You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.

“You like how you look, huh?”

You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.”

“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.

You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears.

You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.”

“Fuck, girl.”

He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“

You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.

And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you.

You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss.

”You got another one in you?”

You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.

“You can.”

He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”

Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”

“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.”

Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.

You tremble, “Don’t stop…”

His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?”

“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own.

He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan.

He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room.

You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.”

“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.

You whimper, “You don’t mean that.”

His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.

You’re gasping in his ear.

“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?”

He’s fucking you with every word.

“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.”

That made you weaken.

“I’m’ cumming.”

You hold him.

“Ony, you got me.”

“I know.”

It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.

And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh.

And that’s when he asks—

“So, how Tokyo soundin’?”

#onyankopon x black y/n #ony x black reader #onyankopon fluff #onyankopon x black reader smut #onyankopon x you #ony smut #onyakapon #onyankapon #onyankopon x reader #aot onyankopon #aot x black reader #aot oneshots #aot smut #aot fanfiction #aot

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vatelixx · 7 months ago

Text

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone).

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid smut #sub spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #giving him the happiness he deserved #he is my roman empire #his excess trauma is also #my #roman empire #thank u and good night america #i’m not even american

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fairy-writes · 7 months ago

Note

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

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Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long.

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place.

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why.

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved.

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could.

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you.

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox.

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later.

Only to pause by the door.

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again.

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic.

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over,

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum,

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding.

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that.

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind.

She always did overthink things.

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that.

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling.

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for.

To Vi and Powder especially.

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door.

Vander was close behind.

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory.

Like… Really dark territory.

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind.

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi.

She wasn’t looking too hot.

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again.

At least until she saw you.

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders.

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears.

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting.

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children.

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before.

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought.

Were you a doctor deep in your past?

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it.

And that hurt his heart.

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads.

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you.

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands.

You looked tired.

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples.

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs,

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug,

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag.

Vi was going to be okay.

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum.

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said.

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair.

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher.

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces.

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces.

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased.

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so.

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths.

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter.

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked.

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared,

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother,

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them.

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door.

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys.

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on.

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing.

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed.

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care.

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly.

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer,

“On a date!”

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone.

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit.

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face.

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer.

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside.

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing.

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring.

#vander x reader #vander x you #arcane x reader #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #arcane league of legends #arcane: league of legends #arcane vander x reader #fairy writes

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outtathisworld-imagines · 1 month ago

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My only sunshine

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Reader

Warning: MDNI! 18+ content, smut, heavy kissing, fingering (fem!rec), Oral (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare, some fluff, Bob is quite into the dirty talk and just being an all round kind, slightly slutty gentleman, swearing, very mild voyeurism, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread 🙃.

A.N: This is a continuation of this fic because I cannot let go of writing for Bob 🥲 Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I’ll start to post soon 😊 and just let me know if you’d liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

—☀️—

When you were launched as ‘The New Avengers’, not everyone expected such newfound fame so fast. Some adapted well, like Alexei, most weren’t accustomed at all.

But in all the media circus, all the cameras, all the general PR chaos, you had one pillar of calm and that was Bob.

Since the moment two months ago shared between you both and the sunrise, the morning where you had both declared that the two of you had loved each other, the pair of you had been inseparable. Of course, you wanted to keep it as private as possible, to the point where you hadn’t even told the team yet- you hadn’t even told your brother. However you both loved your little bubble of privacy as the two of you started to find your feet in this relationship. Sharing a brief kiss every now and then, brushing hands and holding them under a blanket when it was movie night with the team. And of course, you had your nights where you held him close when he was fighting off demons in his nightmares.

“We are heading out for a couple of hours, some suspicious behaviour in Washington.” Yelena told Bob as everyone gathered themselves one late afternoon. “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Someone should probably still stay with him.” Bucky had spoke up, looking at you as he was zipping his coat. It instantly took you back two months ago to your conversation on the roof with him.

You cleared your throat “Y-yeah I can stay. I’ll stay with Bob. We can catch up with the dishes.” You smiled the group who agreed it was a good idea. They had all left and as soon as they did, Bob pounced on you, peppering your face with kisses. “I was serious!” You giggled “We should do some housework.”

Bob longingly sighed “Alright…I can always get my kiss fix later.” He kissed you again before pulling you to your feet.

The pair of you made fast work of cleaning the rooms of the watchtower where you all now lived before attempting the multitude of dishes.

“I don’t think Alexei realised you can wash a plate between each Doordash order…” you joked between scrubbing endless of plates and passing to Bob to dry.

“Let me take over for a little bit, save your hands from getting all wrinkly.” He scooted over and tried to take a mug from you, causing you to drop it in the water and splash over you both. You let out a shriek and looked up to Bob who had bubbles and water all down his front.

“Oh-oh I’m sorry!” You said between giggles. Bob looked at you with a sly grin, scooped up a handful of water and soaked you. “BOB!” You laughed and soaked him back. After a bit of back and forth spraying each other with bubbles and water he suddenly stopped and swallowed hard. “What? What’s up?” You asked, suddenly worrying that you had done something wrong, or worse…that a shadow was creeping back in. “Bob,” you grabbed his upper arms “What’s-“

“Y-your top…it’s wet…” he gulped again, swallowing hard.

“Well, of course it is you got me,” you looked down, your white top wasn’t probably the best idea to wash dishes in. Especially with no bra. “You, uh, got me wet…” you covered your chest with your arm. “I mean the water got me wet, that you soaked me with!” Your words spilled out, fumbled between apologies. You tried to turn away but Bob’s arm was tightening around one of your wrists.

His eyes were darting between your chest and your eyes. “S-sorry, I-I just- you know I think you’re so beautiful. A-and I know we haven’t had the chance to be…you know fully intimate with everyone always being here and-“ you silenced him with a firm kiss, one that he fully embraced along with you. You both stumbled backwards into the living room, lips still locked together.

You giggled falling back onto the large sofa as Bob hungrily kissed you. “You got me all wet too…” he retorts as he sat himself up, his legs straddling you as he slowly raised his t-shirt up and over his head. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip seeing his perfect form glowing in the light of the sun that was starting to set. He leaned back down and feverishly kissed you “But I can guarantee you’re wetter…” you gasped at his words.

“Bob…you might not be as innocent as I once thought.” You kissed and softly took his bottom lip between your teeth, pulling it just enough to tease and draw a groan from him. “Maybe you’re as innocent as me…”

Bob smirked, his fingers tugging at the end of your damp top. “Oh…? I always thought you were a ‘butter wouldn’t melt’, ‘sweeter than sugar’ girl, my sunshine…” his words, dripping with tease made you show how just how strong that serum had made you and you flipped Bob over, now you were the one straddling him. You smiled down as the boy with the curly, floppy hair that captured your heart was now catching his breath.

You pitching out of his misery and mirrored the actions he had done earlier and removed your top. A mixture of a groan and a gasp left his throat as his hands subconsciously reached for your waist and then up to caress the rest of your body. “Oh god, dear god, my god…you’re so unbelievingly stunning.” He watched as the sun shone on your chest, how the tiny droplets of water shone, and suddenly became jealous of the light. How it hugged and caressed every inch of you when it should be him. He sat up ever so slightly. “I need to kiss you everywhere. I need to touch you everywhere…” his hands were jolting in excitement from the sparks he felt from your skin. “Can I do that? Can I have all of you?” He asked. He begged.

“Of course you can.” You softly shared a kiss in the orange glow on the sunset before it turned more and more passionate. Bob nervously fumbled with the button on your jeans which you were happy to oblige helping taking them off. You wriggled out of them and Bob began kissing up your leg and then to the inside of your thigh.

“So, so perfect.” He said between kisses “You’re so fucking perfect, my sunshine.” You felt a flush rush up your chest and to your cheeks at his words. You suddenly felt him stop kissing and you looked down, find him completely transfixed on your underwear. You ran a hand through his curls and he glanced up, as if asking for permission without moving his mouth. You nodded and rest your head on the pillow behind you, feeling his head move closer to the other wet spot on you. Bob gently kissed it, a soft growl leaving his lips as he tasted you on them. You gasped hearing a rip and found your underwear between both his hands as his eyes bounced between them in surprise at himself. “S-sorry I just- holy shit.” He dropped the shedded material and sat backwards in awe at you. All of you. “You’re the most goddamn beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my whole life Y/N.” He then crawled towards you “I bet you’re even prettier when you come…”

“B-Bob!” You gasped in delight as his tongue explored every curve and fold of your wet pussy. You groaned and grabbed onto his hair tightly “Oh god baby, just like that, god YES!” Your sounds only encouraged him more and he added his fingers into the mix, gently pumping one hand in and out of your pussy sand the other rubbing your clit while continuing to eat you out. “God Bob!” You moaned “What did I do you deserve this?!” You could feel him smile as he continued sending waves of pure pleasure through your body. You both locked eyes, he watched you intently how your face and body contorted in the sunlight, what was just right and made a mental note of it so he knew what he could do again to draw these stunning reactions from you.

Bob pulled away and you just had enough time to catch a single breath before kissing you with his slick lips. He giggled as he wiped the rest of his face “You deserve that all the time, my sunshine.” He kissed you again “Believe me I’ll be doing that all the time anyway because you taste so fucking good.” His tongue found yours and danced across it, letting you taste your own sweet mess that he made. He felt you try to undo the belt of his trousers which made him gently laugh against your lips. “Someone is excited,” he teased and you playfully bit his lip as retaliation. “It’s okay,” his hand found yours and moved it from the belt to his already rock hard cock “I’m excited too.” He spoke so innocently and softly while doing the least innocent thing which made you even weaker at the knees for him.

Bob stood up and in one swift and smooth motion, his trousers and boxers were off. You propped yourself up on your elbows, jaw almost hitting the floor at the sight of him. “Y-y-you’re…wow. Just wow.” Bob bashfully swatted away your comments “I’m serious Bob, you’re so beautiful…” your voice could raise barely above a whisper.

“I think I’m pretty well endowed…” He jested and you raised a brow at his underestimated comment. He walked towards you “You look so pretty with your mouth open for me like that, sunshine.” You smirked and opened wider, causing Bob to chuckle. “As much as I’d love that pretty open mouth to take me…” his thumb swiped over your lips and tongue before brining it to his own mouth and licking it with a groan. “It’s that pretty pussy I need. I need to feel that tight, wet, pretty pussy swallow my cock, sunshine. Can it do that?” You practically throw him on top of you, passionately kissing him as he laughed between your lips and said “I take it that’s a yes?” You smiled and gazed in his eyes as he pulled back. “Let me just grab a con-“

“Bob, it’s okay. Being injected with super solider serum and all…” you hinted in a round about kinda way that it would be fine.

He almost choked on his drool at the fact and said it aloud “I-I get to come inside you? I can come inside you?”

“Yes…” you smiled and then dozens of kisses grazed your face and your neck and across your bare chest. You looked up and saw Bob, glowing in the last burning orange light of the day before his lips reached yours again and he gently moved his hips forward towards yours and slid himself inside you. You tightly gripped onto his shoulders as you both let out a groan in delight.

There was no denying the man was right, he was very well endowed. “C’mon baby, you wanna take me all? I can feel that little pussy of yours squeezing my cock so good,” you widened your legs a little more and he moaned “That’s it, take all of me, I wanna give you all of me.” He started moving his hips back and forth and you shuddered in pure bliss.

“Just like that, Bob, god please don’t stop!” You begged as you held onto him for dear life.

He kissed you “Baby if I had it my way I would never stop, I’d never leave this perfect pussy.” You moaned in his ear and he picked up the speed a little. “C’mon my sunshine, so goddamn beautiful, more beautiful as that sunset out there. I love you, I love you so much Y/N.”

“I love you too Bob,” you said between pants and moans. “God I think…I’m gonna come Bob.”

“That’s it baby, come for me, come all over my cock I wanna feel you come for me.” Your face and body contorted in a wave of pleasure and Bob wrapped his arms around you, gently cradling you through your orgasm while still thrusting. “Oh god that was so fucking hot, you’re gonna make me” Bob practically screamed out as he came inside you before landing on your chest panting and trying to catch his breaths. “Holy shit…” he tiredly giggled and you wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his head with a smile on your face.

“Good day?” You asked.

“The best goddamn day of my life.” He turned his head and let his lips lock to yours as he pulled out and then sat on his knees to look at his work. “I thought that pussy couldn’t get any prettier,” he lay back on top of you and kissed you again “Turns out it’s just as pretty with all of me coming out of it.” You bashfully smiled and burried your face into the crook of his neck. “Someone getting all nervous on me now? All shy after all that? You’re too cute.” He teased and you shuffled around on the couch so you were laying next to him you looked up and shared a soft, lingering kiss. The stars were steadily burying into the night sky as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

You lazily traced pattered on his chest while he held you close, your limbs intertwined and both your worlds in complete peace.

That was until the doors opened and you both tensely grabbed one another, Bob practically pulling you on top of him as if that would hide you both any more than you were exposed now.

“I told you not to do anything stupid Alexei! Next time you’ll have to get yourself out of your own mess,” Yelena complained.

“Hey guys we’re home!” John called out. “Y/N? Bob?”

You and Bob remained hidden behind the back of the couch, hoping that they wouldn’t spot either of you. “Hey Y/N? We’re back!” You heard Bucky called.

“Maybe there are sleeping?” Ava said “It’s pretty early though, but they could be in their rooms?”

“Whatever, it’s royal rumble tonight! The sofa is mine!” Alexei called out and ran towards the sofa before you called out.

“Stop! No I’m here!” You peeked your head over the back of the sofa. “Hi guys, how was the mission?”

Everyone raised a brow at the same time with a stunned silent look on their faces. “Um…yeah it was good. Are you okay?” John asked and you nodded your head yes with a tight, nervous smile. “Are you…” he looked at your exposed shoulders “Uh…are you…” Bucky snapped his head to John and glared at him, ensuring he chose his next words carefully. “Are you wearing…anything?” With the same tight smile you shook your head no.

Bucky groaned and held his head in his hands. “You’re shitting me. You didn’t. Not there.”

“Uh…well.”

“Where is he?” Bucky clutched his hands into a fist, everyone still completely dumbfounded to what was happening.

“Would you kill us if I told you he’s underneath me?” Bob slowly raised his head and turned to look at everyone.

“Hi guys, how’s it going?” He waved and you were trying to look anywhere beside the wide gawking mouths and even wider eyes staring back at you both. “We did the dishes.”

“Yeah and then did each other…” Yelena smirked and everyone, aside from your brother, stifled a laugh.

You groaned, trying to shield yourself with a pillow and a throw “You guys we, we love each other very much and we’ve never had a moment alone!” Ava and Yelena ‘aww’ed’ while John and Alexei were silently shooting Bob a thumbs up. “I’ll buy a new sofa!”

“Please god do it in a bed next time.” Bucky grumbled while walking away. “I’m getting a drink. A large drink.”

“Don’t worry there will be a next time and we will probably do it in a bed at some point.” Bob shouted out and you cupped his hand with your mouth, nervously laughing. The team had the decency to vacate while you both threw on your now dry clothes.

It was only when walking hand in hand with Bob back to your room did you notice your shredded underwear peaking out of his front pocket. You tapped his chest with a dropped jaw and pointed at it. Bob winked and held his finger over his lips, telling you to not let on.

“Gotta keep a memory of you and our first time together, my sunshine.”

—————

Tags are open! ✨

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reidmotif · 16 days ago

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birthday blues

summary: spencer hates his birthday. reader makes it a little better.

couple: spencer reid/fem!reader

category: fluff, no content warnings

wc: 1k

masterlist

Spencer Reid had never liked his birthday, plain and simple.

There were a multitude of reasons from which this sentiment spouted from, but the overarching theme was always the same. No matter what he put into the day personally, the rewards mirrored back were limited and shoddy at best.

It almost felt like fate, for the occasion to not be of his liking. His favorite holiday had always been Halloween, which followed shortly after the date. He supposed it was almost an act of mercy, a peace offering from some non-existent higher being.

“Your birthday’s doomed, but here’s Halloween, at least.”

No one really forgets Halloween. No one can really ruin Halloween. It was enough for him.

Which is why come the day of his 30th birthday, Spencer had expected nothing. He found it easier to keep his expectations low, as to avoid disappointment when it would inevitably come. He hadn’t mentioned the date to coworkers in passing, and never expressed interest in a celebration. When no recognition came, he wasn’t surprised. It didn’t sting. It didn’t bother him. Just another day.

Was it supposed to be special? Turning thirty? He reasoned that three decades lived on this Earth was probably worth something, considering you’d have something of a life made out by then. Some would be celebrating the families they’d created in that time, the love they’d cultivated by being here. Others would marvel at their success from when they began, at all the differences the time had brought to them. Maybe some would simply revel in the fact that there was a future at all to begin with, ready to live out the rest of it.

What did Spencer have? There was no family for him to share his joys with. He’d been working the same job since his 20’s, no end in sight. His future seemed bleak. A monotonous repeat of the horrors he’d signed up for.

Maybe it was good he wasn’t celebrating his birthday. He didn’t really feel like he had cause for celebration.

That was, until a sound broke him out of his thoughts.

“Spencer? I was hoping to catch you!” An unfamiliar voice called out to him.

He turned around, and was met with a girl. A girl holding a .. chocolate donut? A girl whose name he could not recall, for the life of him.

“It’s your birthday, right?” She asks, holding out the treat on a decorative napkin.

He nods, momentarily stunned into silence. His team members had forgotten. His mother had forgotten. Hell, he might’ve forgotten, but there she was. She remembered.

She continues, despite his silence. “You always reach for these ones on donut day. I thought it’d be a safe bet to bring to you.” She hands it out to him, a smile playing on her face.

He almost moves robotically, taking the treat from her hands and holding it, as if it was a precious jewel or maybe a ticking time-bomb. “Thank you.. Uh..” He freezes momentarily, realizing he’d accidentally revealed the nature of his forgetfulness regarding the figure in front of him.

As she realizes what’s happening, she speaks with a teasing lilt. “You don’t remember my name, do you?”

He sighs, nodding a bit sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I’m usually a little better with names.”

She grins. “I’d hope so. Or is that eidetic memory they talk about around here all just a hoax? I never really thought it was possible, anyway.”

Spencer laughs good-naturedly, his anxiety quelled by the easy-going nature of the woman in front of him. “No, no. It’s all real. I swear. I just.. have we met before? How did you know it was my birthday?”

“The office calendar.” She replies, pointing to a small, almost forgettable scrap on the wall. It was fashioned with everyone’s birthdays from the start, but rarely anyone ever looked at it. Everyone but her, it seemed.

“And to answer your question- we have met. In passing. I’ve seen you out and about the office.” She informs, smiling softly.

“And.. you just decided to give a gift? To a stranger?” He asks, continuously intrigued by the nature of events occurring to him at this moment.

“Why not?” She retorts, shrugging a little. “I like giving gifts. I like birthdays. It seemed a bit like a no-brainer. You’re not really a stranger, anyway.”

He smiles a bit at her admission. The straightforward nature of her words left him a bit delighted, almost giddy. While he still wasn’t magically convinced his birthday was a good thing because of a donut and a pretty girl, he appreciated her mindset. It was sweet. It made his heart flutter involuntarily as he took it in.

“Well.. I appreciate it.” He says slowly, holding the donut in its napkin. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

She seems to be disarmed by his words, understanding that somehow, this gesture means more to him than she anticipated.

“You don’t need to thank me. Enjoy the donut, and your day.” She says, voice sincere.

He nods in gratitude, now eager to dig into the delicacy in front of him. As she sauntered away, though, he realized he hadn’t gotten an answer to his first query.

“Wait, hold on! I never got your name!” He calls out, walking towards her, trying to stop her from leaving. He had to know, at least. To maybe have a chance at speaking to her again, to understand the sweet demeanor that had been bestowed upon him, and whatever was underneath.

She smiles, playfully, before shrugging and turning her head towards him. “Check the napkin!” She said nothing further, disappearing behind a corner to God knows where.

He carefully lifted the donut, and besides a few smudges of chocolate, he noticed a name and a set of digits scrawled in black ink. Another present. He bit his lip, a little gleefully as he carefully folded and tucked the cloth into his pocket.

It wasn’t as if Spencer’s birthday lost the connotation it had held for him for his whole life. The day still commemorated years of forgetfulness, from his mother, his peers, even himself- at one point. It wasn’t as if that would ever go away.

Eventually though, the day gained new meaning for him as he ventured more and more into the remainder of his life, as Spencer would eventually remember the date– not for the disappointments and apathy it had brought to him, but rather as a much more meaningful and joyous day. One meant to be celebrated.

The day he first spoke to his future wife.

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HATE THEIR BIRTHDAY! not me. love my birthday. but it was fun getting into the head of Spencer, who probably does <3. according to the google doc i pulled this from, i wrote this in the summer of 2024, so this is OOOOLD. i kind of never planned to publish it, however, i'm looking into cross posting all my works onto ao3, and wanted to make sure this one lived on, both on tumblr and ao3. so that's why this is here. also because this is an unserious post for crosspost reasons, i played around with the theming of the post. #html warrior. :nerd emoji:. anywayyyy like and reblog if you liked, ect ect, #support writers / reblogs are the lifeblood of Tumblr!!! YAYY!!! okay!!! bye!!!

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sortagaysortahigh · 24 days ago

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Loverboy | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

A/N: Ok yall i had to get Bob out of my mind ok, idk man, ive got some hurt/comfort cooking up in my drafts but i wanted something cutesy and loving ok!!! Plus im on a witch!reader high rn like sorcerer type shi, it's only really mentioned a few times, nothing too crazy fr, Contains Thunderbolts* spoilers

Summary: It started as a joke, but truthfully, you would be the only one riding Bob into space. (Somewhat established relationship)

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors </3, 2ND PERSON POV, Fluff!!!, cursing, mentions of violence, allusions to child abuse (bob/readers past), John Walkers a dick sorry guys im a hater, mention of Sam and Buckys divorce </3 smut: hair pulling, kissing (with tongue! o em gee!!), grinding, lowkey dry humping, handjobs, p in v unprotected secks (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk if you squint, praise!, switch!bob & switch!reader tee hee, oral (m receiving), spitting, hand holding

Word Count: 5.9k (shoutout to me for writing smth under 10k)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader

Idk bro id kiss him on the mouth fr, even if he has thin lips he can still get a kith!!

It was supposed to be a joke, something light hearted! Today was already stressful enough, you hadn’t meant to make things awkward or tense!

Typically the New Avengers base wasn’t that bad, sure everyone had their quirks, and you honestly couldn’t stand John Walker, but over the past year or so, things had been going relatively well.

Everyone had found a sense of purpose, something that most of the anti-heroes lacked prior to deciding to become the ‘Thunderbolts’. Of course there were still bad days at the tower, everyone had bad days, especially a ragtag group of ex-criminals that had initially been sent on a mission to kill one another.

But, the more missions everyone went on, the stronger their bonds became.

That wasn’t enough to distract from the elephant in the room, being the fact that Valentina’s introduction of you all as the New Avengers spiked a multitude of controversy and bad press. Yes, you’d done good things together, but you weren’t exactly good people, not going into this at least.

Then there was the ongoing lawsuit between the ‘New Avengers’ and the team of Avengers that Sam Wilson had been creating. Those were the people that were deemed as real heroes, they were loved and adored, meanwhile you all were questionable at best.

The newest Space threat had been stressing Yelena out for a few months now, and considering most of the people in the room were juiced up super soldiers, science experiments gone wrong, and former assassins, it wasn’t exactly easy to get the U.S. Air Force and NASA to agree to provide you all with adequate ships that would transport you into space.

So all everyone could do was continue to monitor the situation.

You didn’t necessarily agree with being forced into the New Avengers, not when the only reason that you’d been there for the entire Void fiasco was because Sam had sent you to Washington D.C. to help with Bucky’s political agendas. More specifically his lackluster ability to speak on camera and in interviews.

“He’s a dumb, litigious man” you scoffed at Alexei, throwing the water bottle in hand at him, the bottle hitting him right in the abdomen earning a loud groan as the older man winced while grabbing the right side of his body. “Seriously? Why are you attacking me! I am right, Sam Wilson does not know anything”

You rolled your eyes from your seat beside Bob, now standing and walking over towards everyone while shaking your head.

“No, Sam Wilson is right, we were never supposed to be the Avengers, and I’m sorry but I don’t ever recall the Avengers working under the government. It makes sense that everyone ever is literally on his side, not ours”

Yelena sighed, now slumping over in her seat while looking down at the digital satellite report.

“If you were ugly and didn’t have super cool witchy magic, it would be so much easier to dislike you, you know?” you laughed at her, smiling as you took a seat on the large sectional beside her, glancing at the report, brows knit together in confusion.

“Your diagnostic scan is off, somethings interfering with the feed” Yelena looked from you to the tablet screen, then across the room at Bucky who looked miserable.

Everyone knew he wasn’t handling his ongoing fight with Sam well, and the fact that he was no longer a congressman as he didn’t get re-elected really damaged his ego.

You always told him he’d be fine, it’s not like he was turning into a full fledged brainwashed murderer anymore! A marital dispute wasn’t that bad. They weren’t even married, but the way they’d been bickering over the phone for the past six months, it sounded as if Sam and Bucky were in the middle of a heated divorce.

Then Alexei started on one of his rants about team, and unity, and the very eccentric jumpsuit he had on. He looked like a mediocre NASCAR driver, and the suit was way too colorful for you. Plus the velcro patched on ‘z’ at the end of Avenger was making it look even worse.

“I’ve got one for all of you!”

You shook your head, then glanced back towards Bob who was already looking in your direction, you smiled at him before focusing back on Alexei. It was easy to drown everyone out, you’d gotten used to their presence, most days it was like Walker and Ava weren’t even there.

Although, Ava liked to keep to herself, so that part made sense. But Walker? He was constantly flirting with you, especially after practically announcing to the team that he and his wife were splitting for a while, but he did get to visit his kid often. He was like a feral dog trying to chase whatever bitch in heat he could find.

Except you were not a bitch in heat, and you did not like that man whatsoever.

“If only we had the Sentry who could fly!” you sighed again but before you had the chance to give Alexei shit for talking about Bob, he’d already responded.

“Sorry guys, I can’t be the Sentry without, well y’know” you nodded at him, he’d spent countless nights telling you about it, his fear of becoming the Void again, his fear of hurting everyone, of hurting you.

Before Alexei could respond you waved a hand, now the man couldn’t speak, frustration evident in his expression while he shook his head, hands waving in the air as he glared at you.

“I did the dishes though” you laughed a bit, smiling while looking back at Bob, shooting him a quick wink. Then you waved your hand again, Alexei now being able to speak.

“Woman! I have told you to stop doing that to me!” he shook his head, hands on his hips like a disappointed father while you shrugged, exchanging a look with Yelena before the both of you laughed again.

Then John spoke up “What are we just gonna ride Bob into space?” you responded before fully thinking about it. It was just a joke afterall.

“I’m the only one riding Bob.”

The tablet Bucky was holding was now on the floor, having slipped and fallen face-first against the concrete floors, while Bucky looked utterly shocked and disturbed at the comment.

Yelena simply laughed, nodding her head while high-fiving you.

Alexei’s neck cranked back as he held a disgusted look “you are like daughter to me! Don’t speak like that in front of me! I do not need to know what you and Bob do!”

Ava’s eyes widened, looking from you to Bob, back and forth over and over again “Oh my god! Is that what you two are always doing?! Having sex?! I thought you two just like really liked to read and stuff oh my god!”

Then John scoffed, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Yeah right, we all know Bobby over there isn’t getting laid” your brows knit together at that, slowly turning to face John, who now held eye contact with you.

You were debating on smiting him, it wasn’t the first time either. Bucky had stopped you from fighting John Walker on several occasions, he was always a pompous asshole, sure he’d gotten a bit better, but it was like he never recovered from getting the shield and his military honors revoked.

Then Bob spoke up “Sounds like you’re just jealous man”

Your jaw practically hit the floor.

Yelena nodded her head a few times, a proud look on her face while she observed everyone’s reactions. “The Bob I met fourteen months ago would’ve never said that, I’m proud of you-” she then glanced back at you “-and you, keep doing your thing with him” then she winked.

Before you knew it you were on your feet, rushing over to him and practically dragging him away with you while the room was full of shouts and cheers. Yelena had even been clapping.

Once you were fully out of earshot you turned to face him, lightly slapping his chest, your face and neck were on fire, your skin felt flushed and you were a definitive mixture between embarrassed and turned on.

“Dude! What the hell!” he laughed, the same shy smile that you’d fallen in love with on his face while he shrugged.

“Baby he had it coming” you nodded at that, shaking your head again with another groan “we’re never living that down! Did you hear what Ava said! Geez, mister confident over here” he smiled again, nodding at you before shrugging.

“He’s just kind of an asshole, I had to defend you-or us I guess…wait is there an us?”

It wasn’t a secret that you’d both grown rather close, it initially began when everyone had settled into the tower, the team getting more and more missions, and because you believed in free will, anytime they’d try to make you join them, you would decline. This wasn’t something that you’d wanted, your job was supposed to be one of Bucky’s political advisors pertaining to public relations.

You’d moved past using any form of magic to fight evil, especially after what had happened to Peter, but the only people who remembered him were at peak stages of insanity, or from other universes. Then there was you, the both of you had practically grown up together at one point, but he Blipped and you didn’t.

But after nearly breaking the fabric of the universe to combat the idiotic spells that Stephen Strange had cast to prove a point, you swore off of sorcery. It had it’s helpful moments, small tasks here and there, but fighting crime or being a hero wasn’t something you wanted for yourself.

So you opted to stay at the tower on ‘Bob duty’, and at first it was awkward, a lot of silent exchanges, a few accidents pertaining to dropping things or jump-scaring one another, but then something changed one day.

He asked you to brush his hair, it was so soft and subtle, he said he’d tried, but he just couldn’t, that he was too tired, he’d even explained how difficult it was to leave his room. So you invited him into your space, had him sit between your legs, and you brushed his hair for longer than necessary, running your fingers along his scalp to offer some form of comfort.

Then you both started warming up to one another, you’d ask him for help with the dishes, he’d ask if you wanted to read with him, and the more time spent together, the more you’d both started opening up to one another. Hell, you’d even dragged him plant shopping with you several times under the guise that ‘Bucky said I can’t leave you alone’.

It wasn’t difficult to fall for Bob, he made it really, really easy.

Sure, he had his bad days, but so did you.

He was one of the few people to ask you about your childhood for genuine reasons, most just wanted to know where the whole ‘magic’ thing came from. He asked you about the good and bad times, it was comforting in a way that you hadn’t expected.

You’d both sit together for hours when the tower was relatively empty, some days all you would do was read, others you’d talk through the sunset, into the sunrise. He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with you, gradually giving you more and more details.

Bob had even told you why he hated when Walker called him Bobby, you weren’t there in the void with them at that point, they had to find you in your own shame room. It wasn’t exactly horrible for you though, by the time they’d found you, you were repeatedly punching your own father in the face.

Everything had felt so real that day, when Bucky dragged you away, you’d thrown him off of you at first.

It wasn’t until a few months ago though, that you’d both finally crossed the line between being just friends and something more. You’d been watching the sunset on the rooftop of the building, your head leaned against his shoulder while you both sat in a comfortable silence when he finally asked why you constantly rejected Walker.

At first all you said was ‘cause he’s an asshole’, but when you finally moved to make eye contact with him, he was already looking down at you, and when you caught him, he didn’t blush and look away like he usually did.

He did blush though, but then you’d made the first move, slowly leaning into his space more and more until your lips were on his.

That night pushed you two past just being friends, and since then, he’d been wrapped around your finger. But to be fair, you were wrapped around his as well.

Things had gotten heated relatively fast, a few nights of built up tension led to you falling into his sheets easily, of course the first few nights did involve a few shattered glasses, one broken plant pot, and a cracked window, but once he figured out how to fully control the overwhelming rush of emotions that went hand-in-hand with genuine intimacy, things got easier.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together while he stared at you, you weren’t fully focused on him, a distant look in your eye at his question. You were clearly zoned out, thinking about something and at this exact moment he wished he could read minds. He was starting to overthink things, maybe you two were just friends and he’d been thinking too far into it, people that were friends hooked up all the time.

But he wasn’t sure if they stayed together for hours after, holding one another while speaking in hushed voices about anything and everything.

“Uh it’s okay if we’re not y’know-a thing, uh” you shushed him, blinking a few times, then your smile was back on your face. You were quick to lean in and kiss him, it was a fast kiss, if anything, just a light peck.

But your smile was genuine and reassuring “Yes-there is an us”.

Then the door to your left slammed open, smacking the wall while Yelena and Ava fell to the floor.

Without thinking Bob had pulled you towards him so you were now standing a bit behind him, it was instinctive. Meanwhile Yelena and Ava rolled over, now on their backs while they caught their breath.

“You know, you two are so cute! I knew I was right about you guys! Ava didn’t believe me, can you believe that! Also why are the floors so hard here, that really hurt” you shook your head at Yelena, doing your best to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest as you grabbed Bob’s hand.

“Okay nosey rosies, we’re gonna be in my room! See you guys later!” with that you gently pulled him behind you, walking towards the elevators that led to your floor.

The elevator ride was relatively quiet, but it was a comfortable silence between the both of you, and once the elevator had stopped at your designated floor, without zero hesitation you grabbed his hand, dragging him behind you while heading in the direction of your room.

He didn’t protest, instead he walked right behind you, the same dopey smile on his face that he always had when you two were together.

Once you were both inside, you locked the door while he made himself comfortable on your bed, now laying flat against the plush mattress and pillows. Turning around made you laugh at the sight, he was surrounded by your several different pillows and blankets while he leaned his head forward a bit to look at you.

“You’re so pretty” your smile was bright as you approached the bed, easily slotting yourself beside him, pushing a few blankets to the ground in the process of getting comfortable. It wasn’t like the bed was small, but you’ve always been the kind of person to need twenty pillows.

Eventually you ended up on your stomach, one leg tangled between his, meanwhile you held your upper body up with one hand resting against your chin, the other tracing shapes into his chest. He was flat on his back, one hand resting against his abdomen, the other outstretched to make space for you beside him.

“Robert, do you wanna get married and run away?” his eyes shot open, he’d been enjoying your embrace, eyes shut while he relaxed, but the minute you finished your sentence his heart was practically pounding out of his chest.

“W-what?” you couldn’t hold in your laughter.

“Okay I’m sorry, bad time for random jokes, I just wanted to see if you were awake” he nodded his head, eyes still wide, facial expression emulating distress and shock.

“I’m definitely awake now, y-you can’t just say things like that to me” you raised a brow at that “why?” he sighed “because-you know why-what the hell baby?” The nickname made you smile again, now leaning closer to his face, a few inches away from him.

“I don’t think I know why, you think I’m like un-marry-able or somethin? I’d marry you, probably give it a year or so, but I would” the tone shift in your voice was evident as you spoke, starting off in a joking lighthearted manner, then flowing into a seriousness that you only reserved for specific occasions.

“But I think I’m okay with being your annoying girlfriend for now, besides, I love you” his fingers intertwined with yours, offering a gentle squeeze while his brows knit together, eyes studying your features as if he was looking for an ounce of doubt. He’d never heard you sound so sure of something.

“Y-you love me? You sure?” you looked taken aback by the question.

“Did you just ask me if I’m sure I love you?” he nodded at that. So instead of responding you took a second to sit up, then grasped his arm, pulling him forward slightly, using a tinge of magic to help. Now he was sitting up and you were resting on your knees staring at him.

“I mean I’m me, and you’re-well you’re you. I dunno, I just didn’t think you’d like let alone love someone like m-” you shushed him, jaw clenched slightly as you shook your head “don’t even say that. You’re perfect the way you are, and yeah you’ve been through some rough shit, but we all have. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undeserving Bobby”

There it was, the nickname that you’d only ever brought out in moments like these, private moments away from the world, when it was just you and him.

It was the only time that he loved the nickname, if anyone else called him it, it brought forward feelings of distress, anger, and shame, but with you, you said it so softly and lovingly. It was as if all of the bad had been washed away the second the word would slip past your lips.

He bit his bottom lip, glancing down at your hands, now noticing that you’d still been holding his hand, except now you held his larger hand in both of yours, thumbs carefully caressing his skin in back and forth motions. He took a few moments to look at you, the soft golden glow in the room highlighted against your skin, painting you like an angel.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone like you in his life, someone who cared so deeply and loved so passionately. Plus you were mean to anyone that was an asshole, so that was always a bonus.

“I love you. I don’t care if we’ve only known each other a year, I don’t give a shit if it makes me crazy, I don’t care- I love you” as you spoke, you straddled his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, resting your forehead against his.

“I love you too”

Then your lips were against his again and your hands were in his hair. You took the lead, your body was practically on auto pilot as your lips connected with his. The kiss wasn’t soft, but it was passionate, lips moving in sync, a bit of teeth clashing as you lightly tugged on his hair, then the kiss was filled with heavy breaths, tongue, and smiles.

Naturally your hips started slowly grinding against him, one of his hands on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, pulling you into him even further. The deeper the kiss got, the faster your hips moved against his prominent bulge.

When you pulled away for air you made sure to bite his bottom lip slightly, offering a sultry smile after, eyes moving from his now swollen lips to his hooded eyes, they were glazed over, a hint of gold shining through his pupils.

“I’m the only one riding you right?” he nodded his head, his dopey smile back on his face, then you leaned back into his space, except you were now trailing kisses along his jaw, your teeth lightly nipping at his ear before whispering “can I ride you today?”.

Then your lips were back on his throat, sucking and nipping marks into his skin, prior to his, you did your best not to leave any visible marks on him, but after certain comments today, you had a point to prove.

His breathy moans spurred you on, your hips still grinding against him, moving a bit faster while you focused on his throat, moving from one side to the other before lightly tugging on the collar of his sweater then slowly biting against his pulse point.

You looked at his throat like a piece of art, a satisfied smile on your face at the look of the pink and red marks covering his pale skin. Then your eyes found his and he stared at you with a sea of emotion, the slight golden flicker prominent while he bit his bottom lip, smiling.

“I think you’ve proved your point” you shrugged, laughing a bit “mmm, I dunno Bobby, I haven’t even gotten to take my ride” with that your hands moved to the bottom of his sweater, slowly sliding it up his torso until he’d pulled it off, tossing it aside somewhere, then you were pushing him back onto the bed again, lips back on his skin.

He let you do whatever you wanted to him, one hand behind his head, now watching your movements, his other hand grasping the comforter below.

You moved lower and lower, kissing along his defined abdomen, leaving a trail of wet bruising kisses against his warm skin, then you were staring at him from between his legs, eyes half-hooded, biting your bottom lip, while you dragged your fingers along his waistline, tracing the defined edges of his lower abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re gonna kill me baby” you smiled at that, nodding your head “if I wanted to, I would pretty boy” he practically whimpered, the sound made you giggle while unzipping his pants, taking a moment to lightly tug them down his hips a bit, giving yourself more access to him.

“Can I see you?” the question was so sweet and subtle, his mind felt hazy watching as you stared up at him, eyes on his own while you waited on his answer. He nodded his head a few times, letting out a low gasp as you slowly slid his briefs down, fingers grazing over the thick shaft of his cock.

Once you’d pulled his cock out of its constraints you moaned, the sound had him bucking his hips into your hand that was wrapped perfectly around him. Your movements were slow and precise, it was clear that you were teasing him, but before he could protest, you were spitting on his cock, pumping your hand along his cock faster and faster, giggling at his strained moans and whimpers.

You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the tip of his cock before kitten licking it a few times, then wrapping your lips around him, taking him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch until you’d gone as far as you could-gagging on him slightly.

Then you moved away, a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to the head of his cock.

“Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is Bobby? How pretty you are?” he nodded his head again, both hands now on his face while he leaned back into the pillows, muffled moans leaving his parted lips.

Your eyes moved along his cock from its base to the reddened tip, tracing the few prominent veins along his shaft, alongside the swollen head of his cock, all of it with a spit-slick sheen. Then your tongue was back on him, licking along the thickest vein, tracing it like a lollipop.

Beads of precum were leaking from his tip, you switched between using your tongue to gather it, and spreading it with your thumb. You were playing with him, and he was going crazy.

“Baby-please fuck-honey” you looked back up at him, tongue out as you tapped his cock against it, he was now looking at you, desperation evident on his flushed features. His entire upper body had a light red flush, his chest rapidly rising and falling while he moaned above you.

“Okay, I’ll stop teasing you” With one final kiss to the head of his cock you stood up, making a show of taking off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them, bending over and arching your back as you slid them down your body. Once they were off, you reached for your sweatshirt, taking it off and tossing it at him-earning a laugh in response.

You stood in front of him in just your panties and a fitted spaghetti strap tank top.

“You want me to do a little dance for you?” he smiled, shaking his head, now sitting up on his elbows, eyes moving along your figure, very clearly admiring you with a shy smile as if you weren’t just sucking him off. Then you spun around, laughing while jumping a bit, the fat of your ass jiggling at the motion-then you were bending over and his eyes were wide as he watched you slowly slide your panties down your legs.

The evident wet patch in the dark fabric had him biting his lip, but the way they slightly stuck to your slick cunt as you shimmied out of them had him groaning again. Then you were standing up again, facing him while tossing your panties directly at his face.

“Consider it a gift for later” you winked while getting back on the bed, easily slotting yourself above his waist, straddling him yet again, then you were reaching between your thighs, grasping his cock again, slowly sliding it along your cunt before sinking down. You were tired of the teasing, and truthfully, you’d been soaked the entire time.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Bob, one of his hands now on your waist, the other intertwined with your own while you did your best to focus on riding him, your hips rising and falling, bouncing against him, enjoying the fullness.

Your moans were getting louder, and your pace was faltering.

While you usually took the lead, you didn’t exactly have the best stamina, not when it came to riding him especially given his size. It wasn’t an easy adjustment the first few times you’d slept together, but now you were used to it, and it drove you mad.

He knew you were already getting tired, offering a love-drunk laugh as you leaned down, forehead resting against his shoulder while you bounced on his cock. He slowly started meeting your movements, hips lightly rising into you, the new movement made you whimper, teeth grazing against his skin.

“You’re doing so good baby” you nodded at his praise, moving to place open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “Just like that, ‘s okay, keep going honey” you whimpered, doing your best to keep going, but your thighs were burning and the pleasure was overwhelming.

Then he wrapped his arm around you, and in seconds you were on your back and he was above you, the sudden movement making you laugh while looking up at him, you squeezed his hand, smiling at the sight of your intertwined fingers.

“Figured you needed a break” you giggled again, rolling your eyes, voice a bit raspy as you mumbled “was it that obvious?” he nodded his head at that, now laughing with you.

Then he was using his other hand to push one of your thighs back slightly, adjusting the angle of his hips before he started slowly thrusting into you, both of your moans blending into one another while he built his own rhythm.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow, the perfect inbetween that had your nails scratching along his back, while you moaned his name, over and over again-enjoying every second of this.

Once he had the perfect angle, he used his free hand to gently pull your tank top down, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sight had his mouth watering. He was quick to lean into your space, lips on your chest, kissing along your breasts, tongue trailing your hardened nipples one at a time, earning several moans.

While he nipped marks into your skin, he moved his hand to hold your thigh in place, using it to better leverage himself.

Your hand was in his hair now, tugging at the chestnut locks while you moaned his name. The coil in your abdomen was tightening, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

“I’m gonna cum” he nodded his head, now moving his hand from your thigh to between your legs, fingers quickly finding your clit, rubbing half-moons into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he listened to your high-pitched gasp, your walls fluttering around him at the added pleasure.

You started rolling your hips into him, using your free hand to pull him closer to you, lips back on his, struggling to kiss him as you whimpered against his lips. Your nails dug into his back while you held him close, feeling the coil in your abdomen getting even tighter to the point that you were practically panting against his lips.

Your words were clear as you moaned “I fuckin love you-oh shit”, your back arching into him, hand pulling him closer as your orgasm washed over your entire body, legs shaking slightly at the feeling of him fucking you through it, cock still rocking into you, prolonging your orgasm.

Then as you slowly started coming down, you felt his hips tense slightly, then he was pulling out of you with a low moan, and in seconds he was coating your stomach with thick ropes of cum, the sensation making you giggle.

“Y’know, you could just cum inside of me” he groaned, head now resting in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath, then he slowly moved back, resting on his haunches while you lifted yourself with your elbows, glancing down at the edge of your now ruined tank top, and the evident strings of cum coating the soft pudge of your stomach.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a kid” you were laughing again, hazy smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Seriously pretty boy? I’m on the pill y’know” he shrugged at that, slowly tucking himself back into his briefs as he stood up, adjusting his pants for a second before walking towards your en suite bathroom. He was back within a few minutes, now holding two small towels, one wet, the other dry.

He took his time cleaning you up, he always did. “Even if you’re on the pill, we uh-gotta work up to that. I think I might shatter a window the first time I do that” you smiled, shaking your head, now glancing over at the window on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the glass to check for any cracks.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything-I already looked around” he spoke as he walked towards one of your dressers, opening the second drawer from the top, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top for you, he then threw them at you, smiling while you caught them, tossing your ruined shirt on the ground beside your shared pile of clothes before pulling the new top on.

After freshening up in the bathroom, and putting the new shorts on, you joined him in bed once again, except this time he was in pajama pants without a shirt on, clearly waiting for you to join him.

“Y’know maybe John’s always an asshole cause he’s totally jealous of your abs” you wiggled your brows while you spoke, climbing into the bed beside him, easily propping yourself up beside him, fingers back on his chest and abdomen while he wrapped an arm around your shoulders knowing that it would most likely be numb within ten minutes.

“Or he’s an asshole cause he’s just as asshole” you nodded at that “yeah, probably huh?”

Then you kissed him again, a light peck “I love you Robert” he laughed at your serious tone, followed by you wiggling your brows at the mention of his full name.

He said your full name, winking “-and I love you too”.

The two of you had fallen asleep shortly after that, you were nuzzled into his side and he was flat on his back, embracing you and your warmth.

It wasn’t until several hours later that the hushed commotion in the room had woken the both of you up, well that combined with the large overhead lights that you hated turning on, being on.

“See! I told you it was real! I mean look at Bob! He looks like he was attacked by a vampire! And look how close they are! Plus the pile of clothes! They’re clearly dating and having sex!” Yelena’s whisper was more like a hushed shout as she motioned around the room, then at the two of you in bed together.

“Yel, invading their privacy isn’t being good team members or found family members or whatever your dad calls it!” Ava groaned, her hands on her hips while she looked from Yelena to you and Bob’s resting figures. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed you shifting around, and in turn, Bob moving as well.

“God damnit, here Yelena” John was clearly irritated as he handed Yelena two twenty dollar bills, shaking his head at the sight of Bob’s hickey-covered skin, and you nuzzled against his skin. It didn’t help that you were both also sharing a blanket, and you looked so calm and comfortable, the exact opposite of how you typically looked.

“Can you all shut the fuck up and get out?” your voice was raspy and hoarse as you squinted your eyes, sitting up slightly at the sight of them. Then Yelena shushed everyone else, mumbling out ‘sorry to interrupt! Please go back to sleep and being in love and stuff!’ then the lights were off and the door slammed shut.

Bob laughed, leading to you lightly slapping his chest.

“Don’t encourage them before they try to ride you into space” he snorted at your joke, shaking his head, a sleepy smile on his face.

“I thought you were the only one riding me?”

Thanks for reading secksies <3 MWAH

#bob reynolds x reader #bob sentry fic #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds smut #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #robert reynolds fluff #robert reynolds fic

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lowkeyren · 10 months ago

Text

TWO CAN PLAY THAT GAME!

in which — sunday, realizing he fell head over heels for you, tries to push you away, only to have his efforts backfire, which leads to a heated confession.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

wc: 2.3k, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, woooo tension!!!, takes place before penacony quests, sunday fumbles everyone cook him rn, apology scene ib maxton hall, reblogs r much appreciated! from event req: here + art by @/hanahanayart on x

the first thing sunday noticed about you was how you consistently avoided meeting his gaze, how your eyes seemed to wander, frequently darting to the ground.

even now, as you’re sitting across the table from him, you’re fidgeting with your hands, fingers nervously twisting the small charm on your bracelet. your eyes flit from the patterned tablecloth to the rim of your teacup, never settling on him for more than a moment.

you’re tense, he notes.

as you both go through the marriage contract, he finds himself distracted by the way your eyebrows furrow in concentration, and how your fingers fidget with the edges of the document; a soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he observes your gestures.

the moment you notice him staring however, you stiffen and abruptly shift in your seat. he watches as the flush on your cheeks grows more pronounced, and your words come out in awkward stammers as you try to continue the subject.

though he catches on, quickly averting his gaze to spare you any further embarrassment. the corner of his mouth twitches as he shakes his head slightly.

right, you must be the type to be easily swayed by looks and status.

of course he’s aware of his own charm, and even more so, the effect he has on others —evident by the multitude of pursuers vying for his hand in marriage.

but something is different about you, different enough to intrigue him, different enough to distinguish you from the rest of the crowd, different and compelling enough for him to entertain the idea of marrying you.

sunday is a busy man.

his schedule is packed with a myriad of tasks ranging from managing various negotiations to organizing the upcoming charmony festival. his desk is cluttered with intricate sketches of the festival’s layouts, post-it notes with scribbled annotations, stacks of detailed itineraries, and reminders of… you.

you have a knack for surprising sunday with unique gifts that inevitably end up on his desk.

for instance, the delicate keychain that’s shaped like a tiny halo dangling just of reach, or the hand-knitted coaster he sets his mug on, or a handwritten note reminding him to take a break with a small doodle of him in the corner, or the sleek pen he’s using right now, personalised just for him (he complained about pens having grips that were too slippery or uncomfortable once.)

somehow, you never fail to invade his thoughts at every given chance. the worst part? he actually started looking forward to your presence —much to his dismay.

he doesn't know when exactly it started, but he’s certain “it’s all your fault” because he finds himself checking his phone much more frequently, eagerly awaiting your messages. he’s also become attuned to your daily visits, recognizing the distinct sound of your footsteps as they approach his office. heck he even finds himself rearranging his schedule to make sure he’s free during your usual visit time.

you plague his mind to the extent that it distracts him, where he finds himself unable to focus on his work without your voice suddenly echoing in his thoughts; the sound of your infectious laughter, the warmth of your smile like a siren’s call, and the endearing stutter in your words when you say his name —which all seems to linger and sway with every thought.

sunday fears that he may have loved you more than he will ever allow himself to.

sunday gazes at his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his hair. his brows are furrowed, and a deep sigh escapes him as he tries to calm his turbulent thoughts, gripping the edge of the sink for support.

his current dishevelled appearance bears a striking resemblance to that of a fallen angel; stunningly attractive, yet marred by a decadent edge that whispers of turpitude.

as the head of the oak family, he shoulders countless responsibilities and maintains a careful distance from those around him. so is it wrong when he feels a twinge of insult, almost as if it's shameful to be powerless to resist you, when you entered his life with a mere marriage contract but seamlessly wove yourself into the deepest, darkest corners of his heart?

“sunday, are you okay? you’ve been in there for a while!” your voice echoes from the other side of the door, tinged with worry and care.

he’s confounded by your unwavering concern, unable to fathom as to why you continue to pour your heart into him, even as he remains cold and indifferent. he appears detached to you, often aloof and devoid of any intimacy —yet you never seem to mind.

you make him want to tear down the carefully constructed barriers he’s built around his heart and hold you close. even now as you soothe his back and gently preen his wings, he finds himself lost in thought, contemplating the possibility of abandoning his old ways and allowing himself to be vulnerable with you.

but he thinks you don't have to be so insistent on winning him over, really. because he has already belonged to you in a way that’s intrinsic, a devotion deadlier than hell.

perhaps he just hasn't come to accept it yet.

walking along the streets of golden hour, sunday is painfully aware of the stare you fixate on his figure, even though you try to be discreet about it. when his hand lightly grazes against yours, you freeze momentarily, your body tensing before you quickly adjust your pace to match his long strides, positioning yourself at his side.

you notice that his face is etched with a grim expression, lips drawn tight; he appears visibly stressed, a noticeable contrast to his usual calm demeanor.

“ahem…” you clear your throat, “y’know,” you begin, your voice soft with an attempt at comfort, “whenever i feel upset, i've found that treating myself to something nice to eat always helps lift my spirits.”

your words hang in the air as he remains silent, his gaze fixed ahead; undeterred, you continue speaking.

“there’s a new restaurant robin told me about yesterday, would you—”

“—stop talking.”

his words seem to have escaped louder than intended, drawing the attention of bystanders who now stop to observe the scene. murmurs ripple through the crowd as they exchange curious glances.

“oh… well i just wanted t—”

“just, leave me alone for once,” he interrupts sharply, each syllable from his lips like a drop of acid, eroding the walls of your heart until nothing is left but a hollow ache.

a flash of regret crosses his face the moment he sees your face drop. he watches in silence as you nod curtly before pushing your way through the gathering crowd, the haunting image of your hurt expression only further exacerbates the stress he’s already grappling with.

you gaze at the chat screen with sunday’s name, your fingers hesitantly hovering over the send button; his words from a few days ago echo relentlessly in your head, replaying over and over again.

you sigh before putting your phone down. he probably doesn’t want you bothering him, right?

in that case, even if he was 'annoyed' by you, why did he have to say it in front of everyone? sure he was cold to you at times, but you thought he cared for you at least a little. and if he intended to push you away, why accept your gifts in the first place?

regardless, you’re not about to forgive him so easily. your dignity demands that you maintain your distance for now, not merely out of pride but also to give him a taste of his own medicine.

sunday hasn’t received your usual “good morning” text today… the day before, and the week before. actually, he hasn’t seen you at all either. (but robin has, she mentioned that she noticed you seemed a bit down. when she asked about it, though, you didn’t give her a clear answer.)

his office feels eerily quiet without your timely “interruptions”; his desk, once cluttered with your little gifts and notes, now sits noticeably emptier. most importantly, your absence only serves to distract him more than your presence ever did.

he has lost count of the times he’s run his hand through his hair, a familiar gesture of frustration that has become all too common lately. what he said that day, was purely “in the heat of the moment”, a lapse into uncharacteristic harshness he now deeply regrets.

he envisions the hurt in your eyes, the way your expression crumpled as his words pierced the air, the weight of his own words gnaws at him, and he feels a pang of guilt so sharp it almost physically hurts.

he may have been reserved with his affection, but he never intended for his words to wound you so deeply. ultimately, he was only trying to guard the vulnerability he rarely reveals; but now, his facade has crumbled. and even he can no longer convince himself of the cold indifference he once tried to project.

it’s a bitter irony that he thinks you shouldn’t try so hard to win him over, when he tries just as hard to resist you.

his efforts would have paid off,

—if only his heart is as cold as he pretends it is.

he hears your footsteps for the first time in two weeks.

as you enter, he tries to mask the relief on his face, but his eyes betray him, softening as they lock onto you; his pulse quickens, and he rises from his desk almost instinctively. as usual, you keep your eyes averted, but today, the familiar shyness has been replaced by a palpable tension that he can’t ignore.

you set the stack of documents on his desk before turning to leave in silence, but his hand reaches out and gently grasps your wrist, halting you in your tracks.

“—wait, please,” his voice trembles.

you turn around, finally meeting his gaze. the steady rhythm of his heart quickens into an erratic flutter, almost like a caged dove desperate to escape.

“i apologise… for what happened that day.”

“a simple ‘sorry’ would suffice for the embarrassment you put me through, but it doesn’t erase the sting of your words or the way you belittle my feelings,” your voice quivers slightly.

you shake your head and let out a frustrated sigh. “listen, i’m not a pawn for you to play with. just tell me how you really feel, not what you think i want to hear.”

you pause, searching his face for any sign of genuine emotion, but all you find is the same frustrating distance. “i mean it, i’m truly sorry, please let m—”

“you can’t just say you're sorry and expect everything to be fine." you scoff and wrench your hand away from his grasp with a sharp jerk, “cut the crap, you’re seriously driving me insane!”

there's a pause before he responds. “im driving you insane?” his eyes narrow, his expression growing intense as he steps closer. with each step he takes towards you, you retreat until your back hits the edge of a bookshelf, the cool wood pressing against you.

“but do you know what you do to me?” his hair tumbles messily and hangs over his forehead. “do you think it’s easy for me to keep my composure when everything you do makes it harder for me to hold it together?”

his hands, which were previously clenched at his sides, now grip the edges of the bookshelf on either side of you, closing the space between you even further.

“maybe i’ve been distant,” his voice, though strained, holds a desperate edge. “but it’s not because i don’t care, it’s because i'm terrified of what i might feel if i let myself get too close.”

“it’s because you drive me insane —and i can’t get enough of it.”

you pause, taking in his raw confession before burying your face into his shoulder; a damp patch forming on his clothes. “but it’s not fair, sunday.” your fingers dig into his shoulder, but he couldn’t care less.

“you can’t push me away and then pull me back in with your words.” your words are muffled; he tenderly runs his hand along your back, his soothing touch calming you down.

he sighs before saying, “i know i’m sorry, please give me some time, i’ll make things right.”

“promise?” you ask, lifting your gaze to meet his. he gently cups your cheek with his hand, his thumb softly caressing your skin.

he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “i promise.”

and this time, he lets himself sink in your embrace, holding you tighter than before. it’s then he realises just how much he had missed out on.

extra:

“darling...”

“hm?” you gently stroke his wings, smoothing out the feathers with delicate care.

his wings flutter slightly under your gentle hands, softly rustling as you brush through the layers of plumage.

“why were you delivering documents to me that day?” he asks, voice laden with curiosity.

you let out a soft chuckle as you recall the nervous expressions of the staff on that day when sunday walked into his office. his wings had fluttered with every tentative step someone took toward him, a clear sign of his agitation.

“i don’t know,” you reply with a hint of amusement. “maybe none of your staff dared to come near you, so they asked for my help.”

he subconsciously leans into your touch, a soft smile playing on his lips. “well i’m grateful you came by,” he murmurs, though he can’t quite hide the way his wings quiver in response to your tender caresses.

“it turns out, i got more than just a set of documents that day."

you raise an eyebrow playfully. "oh? and what might that be?"

he leans in closer, his forehead gently touching yours, “a reminder of how much i need you."

MASTERLIST ; EVENT M.LIST

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literatooru · 1 month ago

Text

❝ 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 ❞

pairing: f!reader x oikawa tōru

“Why don’t you just go talk to her?”

“Hm?” Oikawa hums, and somehow manages to tear his eyes off you to look at his best friend, nonplussed.

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, shaking his head softly.

“Man, you’re down bad. You’re so busy drooling over her that you didn’t hear a word of what I just said.” The room is mostly dark apart from the colored lights dancing over the multitude drunken, swaying bodies, and the music drums loudly in Oikawa’s ears. He could use that as an excuse; tell him the music’s too loud and therefore he hadn’t been able to hear him. With his brows knit together and feigning feeling offended, he opens his mouth to tell him just that, but Iwaizumi interrupts him before he can get a word out. “Don’t even try to deny it. I can practically see the hearts in your eyes. Really, it's disgusting.”

“I am going to deny it, because it’s a blatant lie,” he says, his own words making his stomach lurch a little. “If anything, she should be drooling over me. You know, like any other girl.”

His best friend stares blankly at him, letting out a soft, incredulous scoff after a moment.

“You’re so full of it.”

“And you’re being unnecessarily mean, Iwa-chan. Why would you even think—?”

“I don’t think— I know you like her. You have since high-school.”

Oikawa looks baffled for a second, scrunching up his nose a little and averting his gaze, which automatically finds its way back to you. He wishes you weren’t so far away.

“I don’t have silly crushes. I am the crush.”

Iwaizumi stares at him for a second with a deep frown on his face. He looks like he’s about to punch his friend... knowing him; he just might.

“She obviously likes you, too. Go do something about it.”

Oikawa arranges his face into what he hopes is a puzzled expression, his own frown a little over exaggerated.

“There’s nothing to do,” he says with a light, nonchalant shrug.

Iwaizumi rubs the side of his face with the palm of his hand and lets out an exasperated groan. “You really are trash.” And before Oikawa can reply, he continues. “I’m going to get another drink. You just keep lying to yourself or whatever.”

Oikawa watches him until he disappears among the crowd, wondering if his best friend has noticed—and the obvious answer seems to be yes. And how could he not? Iwaizumi’s not stupid, and Oikawa has always been pretty obvious; at least to him.

But Iwaizumi had noticed, all right. The lingering touches, the way Tōru would always make sure your shoulders brushed whenever you walked past each other, or how he would interrupt your conversations with unnecessary possessiveness (and pretty evident jealousy) whenever you were talking to other people. But the biggest giveaway was his smile. It seemed brighter when you were the person on the receiving end—bigger. It was one of the few times it was genuinely authentic, and he always seemed to save those specifically for you.

Oikawa gives a heavy sigh beforetaking a sip from his cup, keeping the cool liquid in his mouth for a second before swallowing, eyes fixed on your frame. Anyone who saw him would think it strange, because Oikawa Tōru doesn’t stare at just anybody. He wasn't wrong when he said it was usually the other way around.

But there you are, and there he is... so close, and yet so far away from each other. All it takes is a couple steps, ten, maybe fifteen. Somehow, the distance seems much greater than that.

His eyes follow you as you head to the balcony outside, which he assumes is empty. He leaves his cup forgotten on some table, walking with long strides towards the very same door you jusy disappeared through—towards you. When he reaches it, he hesitates for just a second, hand hovering over the doorknob. He gives a quick glance behind him and, when he makes sure nobody’s really paying attention to him, he steps outside silently.

And there you stand, hands resting on the cold metal of the rail as you take in the stunning view of the city spread out before you. It’s nice; he won’t deny that, but he’d much rather look at you.

He steps close enough that you become aware of his presence, but you don’t turn around to face him. Instead, you smile softly.

“You’re going to get cold,” he murmurs, shrugging off his jacket and placing it gently over your shoulders.

“Careful,” you whisper, quirking up an eyebrow. “Someone might be looking.”

“All they’d see is me being the gentleman that I am.”

Your snort makes him smile; he likes hearing your laugh, whether it comes out as a light giggle or a sudden, weird and unnecessarily loud bark.

“Why aren’t you enjoying the party?” you ask him. Your voice is quiet as though you’re sharing a secret with him. You’re used to using that tone with Oikawa. “Shouldn’t you be impressing all the ladies with your fabulous moves?”

He puffs up his cheeks, mimicking your pose. His right hand is so close to yours that he can feel the warmth radiating off your skin, a nice contrast to the chilly weather outside. If he moved just a bit closer he’d be able to touch it, maybe even hold it. It’s absolutely stupid and unfair that he can’t.

Oikawa’s quiet for a second, pursing his lips, deep in thought.

“Well, the only lady I’d like to impress decided the party was not up to her standards.” He shifts his hand a little to the right, and his pinky makes contact with yours, and he lifts it to place it on top of it. “Got too boring for you?”

You hum, hooking your finger with his and your smile broadens.

“I just needed some fresh air,” you answer, giving him a sideways glance. Anyone who saw the two of you outside would think that you were just holding a casual conversation. “What about you?”

He chuckles, eyes downcast as he flexes his fingers around the cold metal.

“I just needed an excuse to end up in a lonely balcony with you.”

Your heart does a summersault in your chest and you look away to impede him from seeing you’re actually flustered. He’s barely touching you, but you feel oddly warm. It’s funny how, after all these years, he still has that effect on you.

His eyes dart to you for just a second, and the urge to lean into you is so strong that he has a hard time fighting it. It’s a real struggle to keep a respectful distance between your bodies. Despite that, each hushed word between you two makes you both inch closer to each other.

Next thing you know, your faces are a breath away, and you’re mesmerized by the intense emotions in his eyes.

“I love you,” you whisper. And, suddenly aware of how close you’re standing and how much you like it, you force yourself to take a wide step back. He curls his fingers around your hand with a strong grip before you’re able to back away too much. Your brow is furrowed as you look down, trying to pull away from his grasp. He doesn’t budge. “Tōru, what are you doing?” you mumble frantically, glancing furtively around. Though no one seems to be looking your way, you make a feeble attempt to free your hand once again.

“I’m done pretending,” he says, his voice low, the warm whisper of it sending shivers up and down your spine. Oikawa allows his fingers to trail up your arm, and you drag your gaze up to his. His eyes are so full of longing and desperation that you freeze in your spot. “I can’t do it anymore.”

Saying those words allows him to finally breathe, it’s a huge weight that has been lifted off his shoulders. It had taken him weeks to muster up the courage to tell you, but seeing you tonight had made something in him crack. Oikawa’s tired of pretending that he isn't utterly and madly in love with you, and according to Iwaizumi, he had already failed at it anyway.

Pushing his feelings down is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do. Acting like you’re just another person in his life with no bigger importance than a good friend, stealing kisses behind curtains and underneath bleachers, sneaking around to stay the night just so that he could hold you for just a moment as you fall asleep in his arms.

And he looked at you and simply didn’t care anymore—about what people say. That he’s a hopeless romantic, that he’s reading too much into things, that he’s still too young to know what real, actual love feels like. But if that’s true, then what is it that he feels when he’s with you?

It’s not just his heart racing and his knees growing weak or his loss of speech. It’s the calmness that comes with you; the feeling that he’s complete, like he’s finally found his place in the world—which is next to you. Wherever you are is where he belongs.

“I love you. So much,” Oikawa breathes out, and he touches you gently under the chin, prompting your gaze to meet his. His eyes gleam with earnest sincerity, and you suddenly find yourself at a loss for words. “And I don’t want to hide it anymore. It’s torture, pretending you don’t mean everything to me. I’d be nowhere without you. I’m tired of all the secrecy; of not being able to hold you in public, to kiss you and… be with you. I just want to be with you,” he repeats, shining eyes falling to your lips.

Your mouth parts open upon hearing his confession, your previous struggle long forgotten. And you really don’t know what to say. It’s okay though, he knows.

His heart pounds loudly in his chest when your faces inch closer, and Tōru swears time stops when his lips finally meet yours. Your knees grow weak and your eyes flutter shut, fingers curled against his chest, around the fabric of his shirt. His lips are soft and warm; he instantly invades all your senses, and the taste of him silences all your thoughts. There’s raw emotion in the way his fingers dig into your lower back to hold you as close as humanly possible. Heat rises from Oikawa’s stomach to his chest, and he feels like he could combust any second just from the sweet feeling of your lips on his—he nearly forgets how to breathe. He’s sure his whole body will catch on fire if he doesn’t stop.

When he reluctantly breaks the kiss, his breath comes out in short, ragged pants. He presses his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut. He can feel people’s eyes on you both, but frankly, he can’t bring himself to care. It feels as though it’s only the two of you in the entire world.

Oikawa opens his eyes, which glimmer with admiration when he looks at you, almost like you’ve just given him the entire universe. In a way, it’s true. You gave it to him when you gave him your heart.

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idolomantises · 10 months ago

Text

Wasn't sure when it would be the best time to discuss this, but since the ending is drawing near... yes, Bugtopia is ending.

It was a decision I really wrestled with myself for months over it, before finally concluding that letting it end after 40 episodes was the better option. Just to be clear, webtoons did not force me to end the series. They even offered to give me a pay raise to continue the series. It was my decision due to a multitude of personal factors. I'll just repeat what I said on my patreon:

I just want to say, first of all, thank you all so much for patiently waiting for my series to release and for supporting my work as I began developing the series. Bugtopia was a series I genuinely loved and adored and it made me feel so incredibly happy that people were turning their heads towards a series about weird bugs and their natural lives.

However, as you can probably guess, it pains me to say that I am concluding the series after season 1. I had 4 seasons planned with new characters to introduce, but unfortunately, I cannot see myself continuing to work with Webtoons and I want to pursue other projects.

This decision was due to a compiling number of issues with the company, the final straw was when they had a mass layoff, fired my editor that I've been working with for two years, and did not inform me for a week, leaving me in the dark until they randomly assigned me with someone else. My new editor is great and I'm glad I'm working with someone so patient and understanding, but this decision to fire my previous editor, the one who got me the job to begin with, without prior warning made me feel disrespected and disregarded, and it killed all motivation I had for properly completing the series.

I also felt incredibly overworked, I was spending vacation days working on comics and avoiding time with family just so I could get something done for webtoons once I come home. I feel like so much time was being wasted away for a company that paid me so little that I had to work twice as hard building up funds on my patreon. Bugtopia just ate up so much of my time. The pay also didn't make up for it. It's commonly assumed that webtoons authors make about $800 for the episodes they do, but that's not true. In fact, you can make far less depending on the amount of panels expected for your contract. It doesn't help that the artwork i did for banners and promotions were all things I had to draw and didn't get paid for, and the work I gave was either tampered with or scrapped, making me feel like I spent more hours of my day wasting time. There were also comics I had to censor and scrap, likely due to another series being in hot water for its racially insensitive content. But it was just extra work I wasn't being paid for. It also frustrated me because I was seeing other series with far more explicit content getting away with a slap on the wrist (turns out you can't say "fuck" anymore without it being hit with a mature rating, disappointing!)

In all honesty, it just felt like webtoons needed me more than I needed them. I was making more money from patreon in a week than I was making from webtoons in a month.

Personally, while I don't really regret my time with Webtoons and met some great people along the way, I honestly don't think any artist should work with them. You will be severely overworked and underpaid, and will barely be featured in ads unless your series becomes an instant hit immediately. It doesn't really matter how successful you are, you're just a product to Webtoons, put yourself above the corporation.

I have tried my best to provide you all with a satisfying conclusion to Bugtopia, even if some episodes may feel rushed or incomplete, but I completely understand if the conclusion isn't to your liking and I do apologize, but I could not continue working on this series if this was the mistreatment I was going to continuously get. I owe a massive thank you to my editor and assistants for helping me complete the series, I truly don't think I could have ever finished it without them.

Though I am done with Bugtopia, that does not mean I want to stop projects entirely, so please don't feel bad for me. I have a lot of upcoming projects and ideas in the works, and I'm still continuing the Monsters and Girls series.

Will Bugtopia ever return... possibly. I retain complete ownership of the series after a few years, and I wouldn't mind continuing the canvas series (or possibly starting over). Unfortunately I don't think I can continue the Webtoon Original as it belongs to webtoons now, but never say never I suppose!

#txt #bugtopia #sorry for the very long post but i wanted to be thorough

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sleepyjuice · 11 months ago

Note

Omg imagine everyone outside watching the fireworks but you and JJ are fucking in his room and the lights from the fireworks illuminate him beautifully through the window 😩

PHEW!!! i have a few filled requests sitting in my drafts but i had to write this and get it posted today for the 4th! thank you pookie for this!<3

warnings: 18+!!! unprotected p in v sex, creampie, think that’s it!

“Ah, fuck, JJ, they’re gonna hear us.” You spoke between moans, face smushed into JJ’s pillow as he slammed his cock into you from behind, the loud sounds of skin slapping against skin (even louder than usual in this position) filling the room.

His grip on your hips was tight, his rings cool against your skin creating the perfect contrast to soothe the slight burn from his grip.

“It’s loud as shit out there, baby, the whole fuckin’ island lightin’ off fireworks right now, no one’s gonna hear us.” He assured you, not stopping his movements as he spoke, his voice shaky from his relentless speed.

He was right, it was loud as fuck outside. Fireworks had been going off for at least an hour now and they would surely continue throughout the evening, so you two weren’t missing much.

You didn’t plan on sneaking away with JJ, but apparently he did. Something along the lines of how you were “struttin’ around in that thin ass bikini all damn day.” But you had no complaints.

“I’m close, Jay, oh god.” You whined as his cock continued to hit that perfect spot inside of you, your stomach tightening by the second.

“Yeah? Let me see that pretty face.” He breathed, his hands quickly sliding up your waist, cock still deep inside of you as he flipped you around so you were on your back and you were looking into each other’s eyes.

He had only stopped his movements for maybe three seconds, quickly continuing where he left off, his strong arms planted on both sides of you head as he kept himself up, his abs contracting with every thrust. He was so fucking hot.

Through glossy eyes, you took a moment to really take in the sight of JJ above you. His blonde hair and tan skin was perfectly illuminated by a multitude of different colors that seeped in through the window from outside, fireworks in the distance as well as many that were much closer sparkling in the night sky. You were a done deal.

“Shit— I’m coming, don’t stop, don’t stop…” You whimpered, your orgasm exploding through your body, similar to the fireworks just outside the window.

Your pussy clenched hard around his cock as his thrusts grew more and more sloppy by the second, his gaze transfixed on your face, flushed cheeks and parted lips as a sequence of soft curses and moans fell from your lips as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“God, you’re so perfect, takin’ my dick so good. Fuckin’ Christ, gonna cum, baby.”

That was more than enough to bring him to his end as well, stilling inside of you as you felt his thick cock twitch, his balls now wet with your cum pressed against your ass as he bottomed out and released inside of you, long hot spurts filling you up.

He grunted loudly as he spilled inside of you, slowly thrusting his cock inside of you a few more times, fucking his cum deeper into your pussy.

You gasped at the feeling, not missing the loud squelching sounds made from his movements, a pool of both of your releases dripping out of you once he finally pulled out.

You were panting, your naked chest rising and falling rapidly as you worked to catch your breath, properly and perfectly fucked.

“Shit,” JJ breathed, dipping his head to kiss your swollen lips sweetly before leaning back and grabbing a towel to clean you up.

“God bless America, ain’t that right?”

“JJ, shut the fuck up.”

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #jj maybank prompt #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank smut

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moonlight-prose · 10 months ago

Text

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 01. IN DREAMS WE REST

a/n: i've been stressed about this fic probably more than any other i've ever written. not because it's logan per se, but because wade wilson makes me want to rip my hair out. i love that bastard, but writing him feels like pulling teeth. i'm in love with this concept solely for the angst, so if you see more throughout and wonder if they will ever get a happy ending, please know i'm dead inside. enjoy!

summary: stuck in another universe and unsure of where he stands, logan expects things to even out as they always did. but when you cross his path and you have no idea who he is, he's in for a rude awakening.

word count: 5.9k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: not explicit, wade wilson breaking the fourth wall, angst, cussing so much cussing, alcohol consumption, grief, pain, a broken man pretending he's not broken, chance encounters, awkward conversations, hope.

NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

He can hear it when he sleeps.

Their screams.

The constant ring of agony that chimes out like a bell, an alarm he never set for himself. A joke once told to him in the midst of World War II, as bullets flew by him and soldiers lost their lives each second of each day. There's no escape from hell. No running from the devil that nipped at his heels the faster he went, the longer he tried to navigate a way free.

There's no escape from the memories that ate away in his mind. Multitudes of them, of the faces he once called family, the people he used to love. They were his punishment. The boulder he continued to roll up the hill, day after day after day. Until eventually...he was crushed by his own self-hatred.

"Logan." The voice whispered long enough for him to grasp who it might be, yet never louder than a mere breath of air.

He clung to it some days. Sunk his claws into what little of his past remained good and allowed it to fill him with some amount of peace. At least then he'd be able to bear this weight, this grief he could never quite name.

Something light brushed across his cheek. Tickling the skin enough to send a flare of irritation down his spine, but the dreams held him in their grasp. What came next never surprised him. He expected it at this point—longed for it. The distant pain of losing what once made him whole; the entirety of his life now defined by one single moment he could never change.

"He sleeps so sweetly. I just want to curl up in his arms and have him read me bedtime stories."

"He's not gonna like that when he wakes up."

"Zip it Al. If I wanted an opinion, I'd go see a Hollywood therapist."

A scoff echoed in the background. "No therapist wants you on their couch."

"Not true. I hear Ryan Reynolds has a great one."

"Who?"

"Not the point." The feather dusted across Logan's face again, soft enough to keep him asleep yet annoying enough to bring a smile to Wade's face. "I wonder if he's dreaming about killing bad guys. They say it's good for the soul."

"Who the fuck is they?"

Wade laughed. "Oh you know. Them. The readers. And boy howdy do they love their blood."

Every day he was forced to listen to Wade's voice became another day Logan dragged his claw through a tally mark of his sanity. "Do you ever shut the fuck up," he growled, gripping Wade's wrist until he heard the satisfying crack of bones.

"Only when I swallow."

"I'll tear your fuckin' arm off."

The smile on Wade’s face only added another tally. "Nice kitty. No need for the claws."

Anger washed across his skin in a familiar wave as he released Wade's arm, watching it go limp. Trying to kill the unkillable walking irritation was like trying to swat a fly that never quite died. It still buzzed incessantly. Until eventually madness was the only viable option of dealing with it. In his case, he seemed to be driving head on with no brakes.

Logan wasn't sure he possessed enough sanity left within him to keep dealing with this. Sleeping on the couch didn't help the way his body never rested; always stuck in that permanent fighting mode. He'd give anything to find some peace. A small sliver of it carved off the past that continued to call him—that begged him to come back and try again.

Swinging his legs off the couch, he planted a swift kick to Wade's chest that sent him across the floor. The lack of caffeine in his system left everything hazy and half coherent. If he focused he might have caught the keys thrown at him, but being exhausted and sober didn't make for a good combination with him. An empty whiskey bottle lay discarded on the floor from last night; the memories of how he passed out barely tinged on the edge of his mind.

He could recall stabbing Wade in the leg.

Nothing beyond that.

Dried blood—now an ugly brown—stained his white shirt. He nearly stripped himself of it, prepared to throw it in with whoever was washing next, but his flannel being chucked at his head caught him off guard.

"Fuck off," he snapped, stumbling to the kitchen.

Wade sighed, following him. "Get dressed, peanut. We have to go do human things today."

"Human–”

"Food," Al retorted. "We're out."

Even in a new universe, he couldn't see himself acting normal. For so long he did what had to in order to survive. Yet now...he wasn't so sure. Accompanying Wade Wilson in order to complete household chores left a bad taste in his mouth. But the thought of fresh coffee and an unopened bottle of whiskey sounded like sweet silver bells in his head.

With reluctance, he buttoned up half of the flannel before he became annoyed with the small size of the holes punched into the fabric. There was only so much he could do with the life he had now. And sometimes shit really sucked.

"Don't scratch my fucking car," Al pointed her words towards Wade, thankfully ignoring Logan's existence for a brief moment.

"Is it safe for her to own a car?"

The door shut behind him with a bang, echoing down the vacant hallway. He was surprised people actually lived here given Wade's antics. They could hear the loud mouthed fucker across the street—if the angry notes in the mail were anything to go by. He didn't bother asking if he should be concerned with any of it. Not when he had no say in how the house was run. And choosing to insert himself where he wasn’t needed, rarely went well for him.

"God no. But I give her the benefit of the doubt. She hasn't killed anyone. Yet."

He yanked the keys out of Wade's hand. "Yeah well I don't trust you either Bub."

The car didn't leave room for his legs as he squeezed into the driver's side. His body practically folded in half as he turned it over—the rumble of the engine rattling against metal. How Blind Al managed to pay for this vehicle went beyond even Wade's knowledge, and in all honesty…he was too fucking scared to ask.

Too much seemed to be happening for him to ever catch up. While this Earth felt similar to his, small things were different. And when they began to add up...he began to wonder if he was drowning.

"Turn left to merge onto the asscrack of traffic."

He barely heard the directions as he drove, his mind drifting the further they went. Part of him sensed the grief from earlier begin to claw up the back of his throat. It begged him to fall, to be swallowed whole by the darkness he'd been stuck in before. And he nearly gave in; could feel his body shift into its constant mode of fight or flight.

The steering wheel cracked under his white knuckled grip as Wade's voice became an afterthought to the war he fought in his mind. Terror trapped itself in his throat and he slammed his foot on the brakes a foot away from a parking spot in retaliation. The car lurched forward, his claws descended. A snarl rumbled in his chest the longer he sat there thinking.

"Woah..." For the first time in days, Wade fell silent. "You alright?"

Logan ripped himself free, shoving his body out of the car before he even threw it in park. He gulped in breath after breath and did his best to wait for this fucking feeling to leave his system. The nightmares only came as he slept. A constant familiar horror show after two centuries.

Yet now he was left like this. Leaned up against a car, his eyes closed shut, and heart racing.

All because he couldn't do his fucking job.

"Logan–"

He snapped, shoving past Wade and his pity that choked him with a vengeance. He didn't deserve anyone's pity. He didn't want it. But people couldn't help but hand it over unconsciously. As if they could see the layers of broken pieces beneath his false expression of strength. Logan never pretended to be okay. Why bother with something people could see right through?

He merely wanted others to ignore he was there. Walk past him, look through him, do whatever it took to pretend that him and all his tragedies weren't standing before them. Because one day he would die and fuck how he couldn't wait for that time to come.

A small hole in the wall dive bar sat in the corner of the shopping center. He barely caught sight of it. But the unmistakable scent of alcohol poured out the door as someone stumbled out—their eyes squeezed shut against the harsh brightness of the sun. He could understand them in a way.

His world didn't have sunlight this bright. Or perhaps he never noticed it ‘til now.

Maybe his body wasn't acclimated yet; unsure of what the fuck was still happening. Everything seemed to be turned up to eleven for him, yet no off switch existed.

The dark hazy glow of the interior sent a wave of calm through him as the door swung shut with a soft thud. Four people sat scattered around the place and a bartender with white and graying hair stood cleaning a glass so foggy it was probably better to throw it out. He found himself letting out a breath that'd been trapped in his chest since that morning. Finally some peace before he had to listen to Wade yap about bullshit he didn't in fact give a shit about.

"What'll you have?" the old man asked, his face screwing up in a wince as he limped towards Logan's spot at the end of the bar.

A quick glance down let him see the brace wrapped around the man's knee. "Whiskey on the rocks."

He nodded, slowly heading towards the center of the wall—a lonesome half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the counter. Logan shifted, taking the center seat directly behind the man.

"I can't say I've seen you around before son."

He grinned, his finger tracing a random carving that'd been placed in the wood. "I just moved here. Living with a coworker."

"Coworker huh?"

The word didn't sound right to Logan, but he couldn't exactly call Wade his friend. Although they were more than people who fought together, more than men who shared blood during the same battle. That was the thing about Logan though. He'd never be able to put a label on something like that. To him...things weren't one or the other as much as he wanted to pretend they were. There was nuance to his life.

Complications which made living that much harder.

The man turned, surprised to see Logan so close, but didn't make note of it. Logan could see the gratitude in the way his drink was slid carefully to him. The small silent thank you in the bowl of pretzels placed beside it.

"You look lost."

Logan grunted, biting into the salty and dry snack. "Do I?"

"More than some of the others that come around here."

"And who comes around here?"

The man laughed. "No one as of late. You're the first young man I've seen in a while walk through those doors."

He bit back his laugh at the word young. The stories he could tell would leave the man baffled. About wars that no living person had witnessed. About when the world was far different than today—when mutants were freaks of nature and humans were far less forgiving. He could list it all and then some.

But whether or not someone would listen was another thing entirely.

"This place that old?" he inquired, sipping on the amber liquid with a contented sigh.

"Oh you bet." A weary laugh filled the space. "I bought this place in the sixties. When my wife was still my girlfriend. She almost left me because of it."

Logan huffed, his lips curling slightly. "She wasn't a fan?"

The man shook his head, tossing a cloth over his shoulder. "Still isn't. Well she...wasn't." He pressed his thumb to the worn gold band on his left hand. "When she was alive she used to host a book night. Helped bring in the men's wives. Kept them outta trouble."

"Book night huh?"

"She loved to read."

Before he could down the final sips of his drink it was topped off. Logan nodded his head in thanks, his thumb digging into the thumbprint shape of the glass. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost see himself coming here every night. He pictured a life far different than his own, a past where he might have been happy. With someone who might have even made him smile.

"I'm not much of a reader," he replied, his voice hoarse and eyes fixed on the ice that floated to the surface.

"Ah me too," the man laughed. "I just liked seeing her smile."

A soft remark was on the tip of his tongue before an entirely new image began to take shape. The face of someone lost. Of a smile he'd known better than his own. Hands that once held his face with the tenderness of a lover—a voice that sent the hair rising on the back of his neck. He could see it as clear as he did the man.

You in all your beauty. Lost to a past he could no longer rectify.

He swallowed thickly, beating back every emotion that crawled under his skin. "What's your name?"

"Travis."

Raising his glass, he tipped it towards the man with a tight grin. "Logan." The alcohol went down with a quick and biting burn. A feeling he'd grown familiar with. One he counted on.

"Nice to meet you Logan."

"Yeah you too."

He dug out some cash and tossed it on the bar as he stood with a slight grunt. He may heal quickly but the ache in his bones still existed. As if something resisted against how his body moved with each slow shift.

Fighting meant he could ignore it.

Existing is what made it worse.

The sun practically burned his eyes when he stepped out, the heat of the day encompassing his whole body quicker than he would have liked. For some unknown fucking reason, summer here felt worse than on his Earth. Then again the alcohol didn't help. He stood in the shade of the building next to the bar, searching the parking lot for any sign of Wade.

Going into the store wasn't an option and as much as he wanted to leave the annoyance behind, he didn't want to feel like a piece of shit. That is...even more than he already did.

"Fuck," he hissed, leaning against the brick wall. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

One option would be taking a walk to work off the energy that ran through his veins. At least then he'd be able to sleep at night. And the temptation almost worked. If it weren't for the shop doors that opened to his left, effectively distracting him from the chance of leaving. He could have ignored the person, probably should have given everything he'd been through.

But then his heart dropped to his stomach as you walked out. He'd never seen you in such a soft sundress before, the off white fabric draped off your curves in a way that floored him. As if you were an angel floating by without a care in the world. You were busy shoving a small piece of paper in your purse, your face furrowed in frustration, and Logan smiled. Because he'd traced each line of that face before, he'd kissed those cheeks, your eyelids as you slept.

He'd loved you in ways that would scare a normal human.

And there you were.

"Honey?" he called, unconsciously following you quicker than he intended to. "Honey."

You glanced to the side, completely unaware of the giant lumbering man trailing after you with a soft look on his face and hope in his hands.

That alone tore him in two more than the memories from before.

"Baby, it's me."

The breeze finally went through the air, pushing the skirt of your dress a bit higher on your thighs. Except that's not what he latched onto. Your scent was different. Unlike any he'd encountered before. Honey still sweetly caressed his senses, but flowers overlayed that—peonies if he guessed. Delicious enough to have his mouth watering; his body already aching for you to be closer. To look at him in the way you used to.

He wanted to call out to you—gain your attention properly—but your name wouldn't leave his tongue. Because you were there and you finally caught sight of him and you were looking at him as if nothing bad ever happened between the two of you.

You saw him as a man.

Not a disappointment.

He willed himself to stop and breathe. Take in his surroundings; realize that you weren't who he once knew. You weren't even the same fucking person.

But before he could think straight, he'd already followed you halfway to your car. His eyes were dazed, heart nearly throttling him alive as he stood there dumbly. Waiting for you to finally speak.

"Oh..." Your heart rate spiked quicker than he expected. He couldn't find it in himself to feel bad though. "Hello?"

"Honey," he sighed, the weight on his shoulders lifting ever so slightly.

He caught the way your fingers tightened around your keys, the defense mechanism an instinct by now. And Logan realized what he looked like. A strange man standing too close for your liking. So he took a step back and gave you some space. In the hopes that you wouldn't see him as a threat. That maybe...you'd listen to what he had to say.

"Can I help you?" you asked, eyes darting around the parking lot in case you needed help.

What he wouldn't give for the opportunity to reassure you. To explain that he wasn't here to hurt you. That he'd kill himself before even laying a hand on you. Yet the correct words were lost and all he seemed to get out was an incoherent babble that had him wanting to dig his own claws into his chest.

"You smell different."

You straightened your spine, eyes narrowed into a glare he felt burn across his skin. "Look, I don't know who you are. But fuck off."

Something akin to pride flared in his chest at your tone, your words. But he couldn't show it externally. How would he explain that your fight—your fire—is what drew him to you in the first place? How could he tell you about a version of yourself you'd never know? A person he thought would be with him until his last breath exhaled into the world.

"I'm not here to hurt you." He raised his hands in an attempt to prove his point, but like your variant counterpart you were willing to bite first and ask questions later.

"Yeah. Sure asshole." The shopping bag in your other hand was lifted up, until you had a tighter grip on it in case something happened. You didn't know him. You probably never would.

But Logan had to try. He owed it to you to give it all he had this time around.

Otherwise...what was the point of living?

"My name's–" He made the wrong move stepping forward and knew it the second his boot hit the gravel. With a wince, he watched you stumble back against your car, your arm coming up to protect yourself. "No. Look I'm not gonna do anything–"

"Get the fuck away from me," you spit.

He moved back as if approaching a wounded animal—his body finally on edge in a new way. The fact that you didn't know him wasn't what broke off another chunk of his heart. He could handle that. He'd been through that.

You were afraid of him.

That realization dug in too deep for his body to heal.

That...he couldn't live with.

"WOAH hey!" He'd never appreciated Wade's irritating ass more than in this moment. He jumped between the two of you, the cart of groceries forgotten as he blocked Logan from your sight. "Step away from the nice lady wolf boy." Wade regarded you with a smile. "Hi! Sorry. This is my uncle and well as you can probably tell he's lost eight of his lives. So we're going on little old nine. And well the mind just goes to shit first."

Seconds passed by like minutes and Logan watched you visibly deflate. "Wade," you greeted him, visibly calmer than before. Logan felt his stomach twist violently at the thought. "It's good to see you. How's the job?"

"Oh yup you know. Left that. But I'm really pushing through. I've got an Etsy store where I sell miniature paintings of Michael Angelo's David's penis. So there's that."

Your laughter sent a hole through his chest and Logan bit back the growl that rose up the back of his throat. What the fuck was Wade doing making friends with you? Why were you laughing at his humor?

He couldn't count how many days he'd spent longing to hear your laugh again, the shine in your eyes that always came around when joy flooded your bloodstream. He could smell the honey off your skin, the warmth of what no doubt lay beneath your thin dress. And he wanted to rip Wade to pieces knowing that he was the one making it happen. That you were comfortable with a man who's mouth ran at a mile a minute.

"Did your sister have the baby yet?"

You brightened and Logan felt his heart stutter. "She did! A boy."

"Named Wade I hope."

Another peal of laughter had Logan's claws itching to descend as you ignored he was there. "Theo actually. A cutie."

"Aww." Wade moved closer, head bent to see the small polaroid you pulled out of your wallet. "Wow, he looks like you'd find him in a Gerber's advertisement."

Your eyes drifted up, past Wade's shoulder, until you finally caught Logan's gaze. And he felt like he could breathe. Every ounce of fear was wiped from your face; interest now creeping in as you dragged your eyes down his form. Past the slight peek of chest hair and down to how his jeans hugged his hips. Logan stood taller for your benefit, as if he needed to make a good impression.

He wanted to linger in your mind for days. Until the curiosity ate you alive.

"We're gonna go," Wade announced, after grabbing your bag and placing it in your trunk for you. "Someone has to feed the blind woman in my apartment. She tends to root through everything looking for food." He gripped Logan's arm, shoving him back a good few feet. Even as your eyes still remained glued to his face. "Glad to see the Hyundai is still working. You know you could take the fattest fucking nap in the back of that puppy. Makes you feel like an Egyptian mummy."

"Bye," you said, a dazed look in your eyes as Logan smiled in your direction. At ease with the knowledge that even in a different universe, he could still fluster you with a look.

Dragging himself away from you was hell, but Wade's grip remained unbreakable as they clambered to the car. The groceries stacked in the small backseat.

He could glimpse you driving off and suddenly the nightmare from earlier was the last thing on his mind.

Wade's back hit the wall with a crack before the door could shut properly. The groceries in their hands toppled to the floor. He barely had time to duck before Logan's claws were aiming for his head—a snarl ripping from his throat.

"What the fuck?" Wade shouted, grabbing the paper bag and gently setting it on the table. "Next time just say you need to stay home and find some joy in an empty room and your hand."

"How do you know her?"

Wade smiled, assessing the furious state of chaos Logan was now left in. The tatters of his stability falling to the floor around him. For as much as he held himself together, it certainly remained easy enough to tear him a part.

"Got an eye on someone, do we honey badger?"

Logan grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Would you just fucking tell me?"

"Let me bask in this Logan. I'm about to watch a romcom come to life and need some popcorn." He rummaged through the bag, yanking out some chips. "Salty and sweet. That'll do."

"Wade," he bit out.

"Stick with us girls, we're about to get to the good stuff."

"WADE!"

He tossed the bag to the table, eyeing the way Logan never quite settled. "I'm gonna take a guess and say we know her more than just friendly hellos."

Logan couldn't answer because his grief did it for him. He did what he could to catch his breath, to stop seeing his version of you. The disappointment on your face, the pain in your voice. You'd been so angry with him. To watch the person he loved be reduced to a screaming crying mess wasn't something he wanted to relive, but Wade's question seemed to send an avalanche toppling to the ground.

"She's..." He sucked in a breath. "On my world. I...knew her."

"Knew her? Or knew her."

He reached for the bottle of whiskey Wade threw in with the rest of the groceries and popped it open before he spoke again. "It didn't end well between us. None of it did."

Wade fell silent and Logan found himself loathing the quiet more than the sound of his voice. If he was joking Logan could ignore it. He could pretend nothing happened. That you weren't here, you couldn't be hurt by him again.

You were safe from his destructive tendencies as long as you were in another universe.

"She lives across the street." Logan's head rose and whipped to see the window that faced the building across from them. "The old uncultured shit whistles that keep complaining about WHAM! the greatest thing to happen to music. They're her neighbors. Live right next door."

"Neighbors."

Wade nodded, offering him a chip. "She found their note and angel that she is, she very sweetly threatened to get them evicted. I offered to let her borrow my katanas but was rejected like younger me on prom night. You've really got yourself a catch there buddy."

Logan didn't need Wade to tell him how fucking lucky he was. He knew that the second you walked out of that store. You were everything good in his life at one point, everything he couldn't save. There wasn't much keeping him going on his old Earth, but having you made all the suffering he went through—all the pain he endured—worth it.

If you were waiting for him at the end, he'd do it all over again.

"So you want to take a dip in that honey huh? Taste that rainbow?"

His claws would have sunk into Wade's throat if a knock hadn't sounded at the door. With a huff, he stepped into the kitchen, the bottle clutched tightly in his hand. Whoever decided to give Wade some luck was of no concern to him.

Or so he believed.

"I didn't mean to accidentally take your groceries," you laughed, handing over a overpacked paper bag.

Stuffing the bottle under the sink, he met you halfway to the living room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you still in that dress. Still delicate enough for him to rip if he tugged it right. Heat curled along the base of his spine when your eyes met his, wide and glimmering with your laughter. He felt himself crumple at the sight of your lips parting, the surprise at his size still enough to make you speechless.

"Good to see you again," he greeted you, voice low and soft.

You didn't mean to grow flustered in his presence, but something about the way his gaze devoured you within seconds left you breathless. The swooping sensation in your stomach became too much to handle. Desire and attraction weren't unknown concepts to you. But this felt like more. You could sense him right down to your bones and it scared the shit out of you.

"Oh right!" Wade scooched past you to swing an arm around Logan's shoulders. He did what he could to not stab him in the stomach. "This is Logan. My hunky new roommate."

Logan groaned. "Alright–"

"No, no it's good. You remember when I was declared basically the savior of the universe?"

Your face screwed up in confusion. Logan had never wanted to kiss someone more.

"Marvel...Jesus right?"

"I prefer MJ. Since I've got a Peter." Wade's head whipped to the side. "Suck it Tom Holland." His grip on Logan tightened. "This walking People's Sexiest Magazine helped. We're talking big claws, abs you just want to lick whipped cream off of–"

Logan's elbow slammed into Wade's stomach—crimson slowly tinting the tips of his ears. "That's enough."

"AND the Wolverine."

Surprised etched itself onto your face even further. Until you finally regarded Logan with a look he'd seen once before. Awe. When you first met one another in the halls of the mansion, you stared at him that exact way. As if you couldn't quite believe that iconic figure the X-Men made him out to be actually existed.

He couldn't tell if he liked it. Or if he'd rather you view him as a stranger.

"Logan," he said, offering his hand to you politely. Your skin remained as soft as he remembered.

Warmth bloomed in your body at the feeling of his calloused palm overwhelming yours, the scars across his knuckles old and ancient. Yet you found yourself wanting to trace them over and over, until the sight of them seared in your mind. You fought the urge to press your lips to them, etch your own mark into his skin. Something told you he wouldn’t mind.

Logan could see the intrigue on your face—the distracted gaze he wanted to keep in place. You were still curious. Still willing to learn about him. To pick him a part with soft words and even softer touches.

"Logan," you murmured under your breath, your eyes catching his. He felt his stomach leap at the sound of your voice whispering his name. Memories flooding his mind quicker than he expected. Of mornings spent in bed, your skin pressed against his. Of nights alone in his cabin—your stories lulling him to sleep.

Everything he willed himself to forget, yet could never truly let go of.

"I've got to head back." Disappointment filled your heart at the thought of not getting a chance to talk to him more. He had yet to let go of your hand and you found you liked his touch on your skin. "I'll see you soon Wade."

"Logan will be more than happy to walk you back," Wade replied, waving drastically behind your back. "Can't have you getting hurt now can we? Right peanut?"

You smiled. "I'm just across the street."

"I don't mind," Logan cut in, glaring at Wade to shut the fuck up.

"Okay," your voice was soft. Happy.

Logan would have done anything to keep it that way.

The walk back wasn't long enough for him to explain his actions from earlier, but you seemed to be just as smart as your variant self. Shutting the building's door, you turned to him—your dress fluttering in the breeze. Logan choked on his spit at the slight peek of your ass before you pushed the skirt back down around you.

"Did you know me?" You lead him to the corner, waiting for the traffic to die down. "On your Earth."

He paused, his eyebrows pulling together, and for a moment you wondered if you asked the wrong question. Wade told you bits and pieces of what happened since you last saw him, but Logan's background wasn't a discussion you tried to seek out. All you knew was that Wade acquired a new roommate. Not even a name.

Certainly not that he was Wolverine.

"Yes," Logan muttered, glancing at the change in lights.

You started to walk. "In what way?"

His hands curled into fists—echoes of his past rising to the surface. "We were...friends. You're a professor."

"A professor?" you exclaimed, a smile tugging on your lips. "Am I a mutant?"

He nodded. "You're able to bend time. Or control it." He snorted, following your lead towards your building. "I could never understand it. But Charles did."

The walk up to your apartment was silent, your thoughts filled with the new information he'd given you. And no matter how hard you tried to picture it, you couldn't see yourself as a mutant. A powerful being that held the ability to manipulate time who just so happened to be a professor. Somehow even thinking about it made you wonder why Logan was bothering to entertain this version of you. When the better one existed on his Earth.

"You said were."

Stopping at your door, he nearly knocked into you. "Hm?"

"Were friends. What happened?"

The answer he couldn't give you. The words he wouldn't even admit out loud to himself.

He felt his heart twist as if a knife slowly carved through his spleen. "We uh..." He coughed. "You..."

"I don't have to know." Grasping gently onto his arm, you offered a warm smile he felt down to his toes. A look he hadn't seen in quite some time. Logan could picture the last day you were happy in his head. Laughing with Charles in his office as you shared dinner, working on theories of your powers late into the night.

A week before they came.

"It's good to see you like this," he breathed, his hand reaching out to touch your cheek before stopping midair. "Happy."

Your eyebrows knit together. "I wasn't happy?"

"No." What he wouldn't give to take that information back, but it was out in the open, and as always—he remained too late.

"Why?" you asked, your hand sliding down to his much to his delight.

"I made you a promise." He sucked in a breath, his body begging him to start running. You'd be better off if you never knew. If you never remembered him in the first place. "I couldn't keep it."

I'll always keep you safe.

Words he refused to say again.

How could he promise this version of you that? How could he look you in the eyes and lie again? Breaking his Earth's you would haunt him for the rest of his life. He couldn't fathom doing it all over. It would kill him.

Except you weren't the person in his mind. You weren't the mutant who hated him with every fiber of your being. You were you. A continuous surprise that left his heart stuttering in his chest each time you looked his way. An enigma he found himself wanting to unravel.

"Maybe this time around you can," you said softly, letting him go with a smile as you entered your apartment, effectively opening the wound in his heart so wide there was no saving him.

Although he now knew something he didn’t know before.

He didn’t want to be saved.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #logan howlett x f!reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine x y/n #my writing

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