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utopeian · 9 days ago

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the sudden surge of interactions on this post.. i take that everyone is like as horny as me rn then

holier than heaven

SUMMARY Bob’s religion is his chubby girlfriend.

PAIRING bob reynolds x chubby fem!thunderbolt!reader

GENRE smut (18+, mdni!), established relationship

WORD COUNT 2.4k

WARNINGS not proofread, my first time writing smut (bear with me), reader is comfortable in her own skin (as she should!), swearing, porn with absolutely no plot, bob gets a lil cocky, manhandling, light choking, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, minor tit and cum play, some making out, no Y/N mention. let me know if i missed anything!

AUTHOR’S NOTE thick girls save lives! it’s true, bob told me himself! super self indulgent because i yearn to be worshiped by bob. i have no shame in admitting that. this is very sloppy, but i had to get this out as soon as possible

Bob doesn’t care that you’re all soft and chubby and lovely. It didn’t even cross his mind negatively when he met you for the first time; all Bob thought was that you were fucking breathtaking and from that moment on, he knew he’d risk it all for you.

It’s about four months into the relationship and a little past a year of being teammates turned friends to lovers when you’re cuddled up on the common room couch. Supposedly another regular night at the tower. But that’s when Bob no longer held back, starting to see your body through a more lustful lens.

As you focus on whatever’s playing on the television, Bob glances down at your position beside him. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders, your plush body moulding perfectly into the side of his sculpted and chiseled torso. At first, he thinks it’s adorable how comfortable you allowed yourself to be around him. Though slowly, the thoughts evolve on their own. He lets his mind wander dangerously as to what you were hiding under your loungewear.

He short-circuits at the thought of gripping your full tits, your pudgy stomach, your thighs, your love handles. Fitting, he thinks to himself. He’d make love to you until you’d beg him to stop, until you’re physically pushing him away from you as your legs shake and give out, until you’re akin to a ragdoll below him.

He thinks about latching his tongue on your nipples, suckling on them until they’re slathered with his saliva, until there are dark purple and blue bruises branding your tits, thinking how it’d take weeks for them to fully heal, undoing all the progress once he notices them fade.

He thinks about how pillowy your boobs would be in his big calloused palms, how you’d sigh and moan at the feeling, unconsciously grinding down almost pathetically on his lap out of pleasure.

He tries to shut his eyes to stop his mind from going further, but it makes it worse for him.

You can feel Bob tense by your side, his breathing heavier and uneven. Just when you’re about to crane your head to check up on him, his nose brushes on the side of your neck. You get goosebumps at the feeling, his shuddered breath against your sensitive skin assisting the blooming arousal between your legs— or rather, your entire body. He likes the way your body responds to him.

His whisper comes out strained. “Y’still watching?”

You don’t notice how your breath syncs up with his. You shake your head, “...no. Not anymore.”

“Good.” The two of you barely make it back to your room, hastily turning the television off.

It’s better than he could ever imagine. He’s trying to find out if there’s a word holier than heaven.

Your brain fuzzes as he manhandles you like you weigh nothing. Bob grips your throat and pushes you on your wall, squeezing your neck slightly, but it’s enough to make your mouth drip with drool. Wanting to taste you, his lips intertwine with yours desperately. It’s messy but the shared spit only enchants the two of you further; all you both know is that you need more.

His other hand is busy caressing your clothed cunt, your body mindlessly shifting against it to get more friction. Your eyelids flicker with pleasure. You managed to whimper in his wet mouth, though disconnectedly. His lips detach from yours with a string of saliva keeping you intertwined; you almost cry at the loss of contact.

The hand wrapped around your neck quickly moves up to rest on your cheek, Bob slipping his thumb into your mouth mid whine. You suck it without him asking, eyes blown with want gazing into his own, an attempt to entice your boyfriend to escalate this further. He bites, of course.

He imagines that instead of his finger, it’s his cock shoved into your pretty dripping mouth. The palm that teases your covered pussy twitches with much more force and you lurch forward to grip on Bob’s biceps to keep yourself balanced.

“Fuck, Bob… please…” How can he ever deny you of anything when you’re so beautiful like this? Desperate, ruined, soft.

“Yeah? What do you want?”

“You,” his fingers push harder at this, “I need you. Please.”

He wastes no time as he lifts you up by the hips, your legs immediately slither around his waist. Your attachment is short-lived however as he tosses you on your bed, its hinges squeaking and headboard thudding against the wall at the sudden movement.

With the way he was taking his time to undress you, it would have made your heart leap out of your chest any other time. But right now, you were impatient. “Stop teasing me.”

“I wanna take my time with you.” And he means it.

Bob strips your top off almost delicately, every fibre of the cotton grazing your skin to reveal your braless breasts with a mouthwatering bounce. He instantly groans at the sight that shoots down to his solid dick. You bite your lips at his reaction. You knew you were hot as hell, but the validation you got from Bob felt… different somehow. He wanted you and he made sure you knew it. Like it was common knowledge.

He leaves a peck on your lips and a couple on your neck before littering a line of kisses along your sternum. The sticky and humid crevice upon his lips has him spiraling, having to grip on the plump flesh of your thigh like it’s his only lifeline, the other arm propping him up to hover above you.

After a painfully long wait, for both you and Bob, his tongue flicks up and down on your right nipple. Slowly at first, then he eagerly picks up the pace.

You’re breathing heavily, arching your back off the mattress, doing anything to get his body directly against his. He shuts your actions down by pushing you by your abdomen authoritatively, an imprint of his palm already manifesting where he holds you down.

He can’t control anything about himself around you.

Your mewling continues, doubles down even, when he forces himself to detach from your tit that now shines under the intimate lighting and goes onto the next. Bob greedily licks your left areola, your body jolting at the sudden action.

“God, f– fuck!”

He lightly smirks against your chest, proud of himself for pulling such intense reactions out of you in comparison to your usual demeanor. “Is that good, baby? Y’like that?”

“Mmm— yeah, yes… Feels good.” You moan, pleasure half-clouding your being.

He can’t help but teasingly bite your left nipple just to gauge your reaction. You screech out of surprise, hands flying up to grip his hair warningly. You’ve been dying to get back at him the moment you noticed that he’s gotten a little cocky for his own good.

“Bob—! Fu–fuck you…”

Your lover chuckles darkly, “you don’t mean that.” He decides he’s played with your desire enough.

You groan out of annoyed affection, but more evidently out of passion. “‘Course I don’t.”

He palms your unattended breast, almost coming at the fact that it overflows out of his huge god damned hand. The feeling of his calloused palm grazing your hardened nipple elicits another whimper out of you. You’re a goddess, and if he wasn’t already, you now had him completely wrapped around your finger.

Bob wanted to do all the things he just daydreamed about now that he has a hold of you like this, but he was just as impatient as you to have your cunt clenching around him. To be inside you.

With a pop, he hastily starts marking praises on your soft stomach, holding himself back from skipping any steps he made for himself. He bites, teeth toying with the flesh; he licks and nibbles on your stretch marks, kissing moles that you didn’t even know existed until now. It was almost as if he was afraid of missing any details.

He moves down to position himself between your legs to comfortably give attention to your lower region. Bob’s fingers curl into the garter of your shorts, letting the fabric feather against your jiggling thighs. You lift your ass off the bed to help him get rid of your bottoms.

He angles himself forward to trail his mouth down below your bellybutton, body shuffling even lower to ghost a breath just right above your clit. Bob gets right to suckling your pearl properly with his mouth like a man deprived of water. The room floods with occasional high pitched whines and heavy breaths along with the pornographic squelching sounds of Bob lapping up your slick.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you feel a knot ready to snap in your tummy. He’s so good with his mouth. “I’m so… close…”

“C’mon. Come for me.” He coaxes out, mouth wet, murmuring against your soaked pussy. The attention he gives it is as consistent as when he started, his serum actively keeping his stamina and libido high.

Your whole body involuntarily stutters and squirms as you reach your peak, hands gripping onto Bob’s now unkempt hair for dear life as he helps you through your climax, his own hands undoubtedly leaving bruises on your thick hips. At the same time you come back to your senses and loosen his hair from your abuse, you watch Bob sinfully drink up your cum through your heavy eyelids. It’s an image you want to permanently imprint into your brain.

He’s on his knees again, this time admiring how the sheen of sweat and spit and arousal makes your pillowy skin glow under the evening light, how your hair halos around your head on your pillow, your chest rising up and down as you catch your breath.

While he’s too busy ogling at you, you take it as an opportunity to lean forward and grip the hem of his shirt to take it off. He finally snaps out of the trance you effortlessly put him in to assist you, undoing the knot of his pants himself as soon as his shirt was discarded. His bottoms and boxers joined the mess on the floor.

You salivate at the sight of his erected cock. Bob slightly falters out of shyness at the attention, he can’t help how it jumps under your hungry, half-lidded gaze.

He grabs his dick at its base, tapping it against your puffy cunt, precum dripping all over. The action suffocates you with nothing but lust. He starts rubbing himself against your inner lips, your shared liquids lubricating his movements. You can’t think at all with how good it feels to have him so close, but still not inside you.

You moan so openly, mouth and throat dry. “Y’feel so fucking good against me—! Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

He keeps going back and forth, side to side, clearly making it his top priority to try and make you come by tantalizing you with his fat, pretty cock. It takes everything in you to refuse right before your second climax. “Wait, stop. I want it inside.”

That snaps him back to reality. He’s about to ask where your condoms are but you beat him to it. “Just pull out. Wanna feel all of you, baby.”

Ever the sweetheart, he hesitates even if he’s going batshit crazy at the thought of hitting it raw during your first time. “A–are you sure?”

Pushing your lust aside as much as you can, you nod at him reassuringly. “I am.”

Though you’re back on your seductiveness the moment you make an offer he could never deny. But then again, he isn’t capable of turning you and your wants down.

“Come on my tits instead.”

He lets out a guttural groan. You’re driving him insane. “Fuck,” he lets out a pathetic attempt at a chuckle, “y–you’re trying to kill me.”

“‘Died doing what he loved’ doesn’t sound too bad, baby.” You reassure him with a weak pat on his cheek as he adjusts you to every girth and stretch of his dick, your hands resting on his shoulders. Having him in you feels so euphoric your eyes shed tears on their own; you only notice when Bob wipes them away with his hand. Everything about him is perfect, especially how he feels like he was made for you. He fits so snugly, hitting the squishy depths of your cunt, making you see stars every single fucking time he thrusts forward.

Your moans overlap each other’s, the sound of skin slapping sinfully against each other, your squeaking bedframe adding to your accumulated arousal, the thought of disturbing the others turns you on to the maximum. It usually doesn’t, you’re even surprised the idea turns you on right now, but you could not care less at this very moment.

You try to hold out for a little longer, but it’s futile. Bob fills you up so nicely, it makes you desperate to collapse at his mercy. You don’t want it to end, but your other hand flies to toy with your clit anyway. “Baby, I’m– hah– I wanna come… Please.”

Bob’s hands wander your body frantically, grounding himself so as not to release before you. He violently jackhammers into your poor pussy, the sound of your boobs bouncing beautifully against your skin sends him right at the edge that pains him to hold out. “Yeah? One more time for me baby, c’mon.”

You borderline scream as you release all over Bob’s cock, the wet sound more evident once more. Your lips latch onto his messily and needily. Your hands are clawing his strong back and shoulders, his muscles flexing beneath your touch as he gropes your tits, chasing his own high.

The sounds, the feeling, the rhythmic movement; it’s getting all too fucking much for Bob. He thankfully remembers to pull out before greed completely overtakes him. As promised, he pulls away to straddle your torso. He’s jacking his member off, decorating your chest with spurts of white, purposefully grazing his cum-slathered tip on your sensitive nipples while he’s at it. You arch your back at the unfamiliar sensation, his name spilling out of your swollen lips for the nth time tonight.

The moment he’s milked himself dry, he immediately reaches out to hold your body. His lips hover on the shell of your ear to whisper, “you okay?”

Your eyes are shut, but you nod, breathily replying. “Never better. You?”

“Amazing.”

You just lie together before he stands up to your personal bathroom, coming back with a damp washcloth in his hand.

As he gently wipes your body clean, it clicks; he’s figured it out. “You.”

“Mmm,” your attempt to open your eyes is miserable. His heart starts beating faster at your soft murmur. “What about me, my love?”

“You’re holier than heaven.”

#💭#I BLAME IT ON THE FULL MOON!

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utopeian · 21 days ago

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real love purified

SUMMARY Joaquin's obsessed with the fact that you were soulmates in your past lives, even more so that there's evidence of it: your moles.

PAIRING joaquin torres x fem!reader

GENRE slight smut (18+, mdni!), fluff, slight humor, established relationship

WORD COUNT 2.4k

WARNINGS kind of an abrupt ending (?), swearing, dirty talk that leads to banter, joaquin's horny for his girl and down bad again, he undresses her out of love, lots of kisses everywhere, reader likes teasing joaquin that he only loves her for her body, reader is called english & spanish pet names by joaquin, no mentions of Y/N

AUTHOR'S NOTES requested! title is from swv's use your heart <3 i would've written an actual smut scene, but this wrung me DRY so i might do a part two if i feel like it

You can’t remember the last time you dolled up like this for complete leisure. Sure, you always had fun getting ready for dates and galas as Joaquin’s permanent plus one and vice versa, but it was seldom in a “dinner out with friends” kind of way nowadays.

Initially, you weren’t a hundred percent sure about what you were wearing but Joaquin made sure you knew how much he loved your outfit. Simply put, you met your friends 30 minutes past the agreed time.

(You made it up to them by paying for dessert.)

The moment your alcohol-free friend— who insisted she didn’t mind being the designated driver— pulls up in front of your apartment to drop you off, it suddenly sinks in that it’ll be a while until you’re all available to have an evening like this again. You skew in your place to address your friends from the passenger’s seat, spewing borderline tipsy musings about how much you love them with your whole being.

They’re fully aware you’re capable of taking care of yourself even while intoxicated, but they had given your boyfriend a head’s up that they were on their way back to your place so that he could wait for you at the lobby. Until now, you’re glad they approve of him because he’s the only partner you’ve deeply considered your soulmate.

Soulmate.

A word as loaded as love; synonymous to it, even, depending on who you ask.

As you’re wrapping up your heartfelt piece, your friend behind the wheel sneakily peeks from behind your head to wave Joaquin over. From a distance, he tilts his head to get a good look at the license plate to confirm it was one-to-one to the details your friend had texted him before jogging lightly to open your side of the car.

The unanticipated action startles you, a shocked grunt unwillingly making it past your lips. Your friends giggle, pleased at the successful ploy to surprise you. Joaquin chuckles as he offers his arm for you to anchor onto.

“M’lady.”

You do a half-curtsy in your seat then latch your manicured hand on his arm to step out of the vehicle. “Mr. Torres.”

Before he shuts the door, he acknowledges your friends, beating you to bid them a safe trip home and asking them to message you the moment they arrive safely. If looks could kill, the side glare you gave him would have made him collapse.

A gust of wind passes, instinctively making you hug Joaquin’s arm with your whole body as you say your briefer goodbye; the way your chest presses up against his bicep has him swallowing his saliva to keep his cool.

When the front door to your place closes, you bend to zip your boots down but you stop when Joaquin protests. From your confused mid-bow, he puts his hands on your shoulders to straighten you up and redirects you to the couch. You protest, resisting his mild manhandling.

You turn around and put one leg behind the other to break the movement, hands gripping his arms to push him back. “Quino, I don’t want dirt on the carpet!”

“Okay.” His hands move down to your waist, lifting you up in the air.

You hastily cover your mouth in case your dinner and wine want to reappear in the form of vomit. It’s muffled when you scold him, “Oh my god! Warn a girl next time, yeah? Vomit is harder to clean up.”

He heartily laughs as if he didn’t just jostle your entire digestive system, making it up to you by gently settling you on the leather sofa. You, still refusing to dirty the gorgeous thrifted Persian carpet beneath you, hover your legs and land them on the coffee table.

You raise a brow, even more puzzled when he positions himself by your feet and starts removing your shoes for you. “And that was for what exactly?”

“I just want to help you out of your clothes. Is that so terrible, baby?”

“Which, I learned, is code for ‘I want to get into your pants’. Wow, Joaquin,” you overextend the last ‘w’ of your wow to exaggerate your faux disappointment, “here I was, finally singing your praises to my best friends, when you decide it��s time to show your true colors.”

The back of your hand dramatically hits your forehead, your head whipping to the side.

Joaquin sighs tiredly, yet affectionately, leaving a kiss in your inner ankle. He’s about to defend himself, but you panic again when your peripheral catches him dangerously lowering your boots to the ground.

“Baby, be careful! The rug!”

He sighs once more, standing up from his crouched pose.

Your boyfriend’s sock-cladded feet patter on the wooden floorboards as he goes to the shoe rack near the entrance. While waiting for him to put your boots back in their place you give the apartment a once-over, noticing that Joaquin did some cleaning here and there.

The kitchen counters were clear of any clutter, the dining table wasn’t covered in work documents and folders as it usually was, the floor had a polished shine to it that wasn’t there when you left. You hum to yourself in approval. No wonder there was a tinge of something fresh in the air.

When he comes back to see you distracted in your own thoughts, he’s fast enough to use this advantage by suddenly carrying you again.

“Joaquin Torres, I swear to fucking god!”

“What? Are you still going to whine?” His minty breath fans your features as he unbuttons your blouse, obstructing your view of the full-length mirror in your bedroom. He had already stripped you down to your underwear, miniskirt and stockings neatly discarded in the hamper.

You’re bashful at the undivided attention Joaquin is giving you, but a part of you is still curious as to why. “No, unless you give me another reason to.”

“Yeah?” The tone that comes out of him is boyish; you roll your eyes at the implication.

“How mature of you, baby.” You sarcastically retort while playfully shoving your hand in his face to push it away, making him laugh.

Joaquin’s palms slide under the cotton fabric hanging off your shoulders to push it off, making the top pool by your feet. Before you scold him again, he quickly snatches it from the ground to perch it properly on the back of the vanity chair beside the mirror.

He hungrily attaches his lips on yours the moment he faces you again, making you moan at the sudden contact. Your twirl a finger on one of his curls and lightly tug on it to deepen the kiss. Joaquin groans into your mouth and grips your hips like you’re his lifeline.

He’s not afraid to say that it’s the absolute truth.

Much to his dismay, you pull away first to breathe. “Seriously, what’s this about?”

“I told you, I just want to.” He leans to rest his forehead on yours, a ghost of a smile on his lips. You aren’t fully convinced, but you say a hesitant “okay” to give it up for now.

That’s enough for him to start leaving stray kisses on each of the apples of your cheeks, the left side of your nose, your forehead, and one below your jawline. You notice that he kisses those spots specifically any time he gets the chance to, but you don’t dwell on it right now.

He moves to position himself behind you, figure no longer blocking your reflection. His hands roam all over until they’re at home under your bra-covered breasts. Your breath hitches as you watch him do as he pleases with you.

Joaquin’s lowered voice rumbling beside your ear raises goosebumps on your arms. “I like it when your makeup’s a little worn in,”

“‘Cause that’s exactly what it looks like after I fuck you.”

You whine involuntarily, eyelids fluttering closed at an attempt to ground yourself, “Jesus, Joaquin.”

The feeling of his thumb and index finger lifting your chin forces your eyes open, immediately searching for his own pair in the reflection. “There you are.”

“Quino.” You purr, a decibel above a whisper.

He hums in question. He lifts his head up ever so slightly from his ministrations to look at you through the mirror, peering at you through his lashes. Why is he using your usual moves against you?

A corner of your lip quirks up, throwing your lust in the backseat to make room for some teasing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what, baby?” He goes back to his lovesick actions, kissing specific areas on your bare neck and shoulders. When you don’t respond right away, his attention flickers back on you the same way from seconds ago; the only difference was he continues with his affection while maintaining eye contact.

“Like that. Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Depends, is it working?”

“No.” You deadpan as he kisses the sensitive spot behind your ear.

He flinches away from you like he got burnt by a splash of boiling oil, clearly taken aback by your response. Any ounce of sexual tension he had tried building up has evaporated. “I— hello?! ‘No’?!”

You snicker at his overacting, pecking his lips as consolation. “It’s not working ‘cause you're using my techniques.”

“And what would you prefer me to do?” He challenges lightheartedly.

“Be yourself, baby,” you pat his head. “That’s how I fell in love with you in the first place.”

Joaquin admires how you managed to take control of the situation; how he was undoubtedly using unwinding hours to prioritize your pleasure, yet here you were, effortlessly making the moment around to make it about him.

The desperate kiss he pulls you in is one of appreciation. Through your intertwined lips, he pours out everything that has accumulated in his being; his feelings for you that were beyond words, how he’s somehow aware that you were cosmically connected, like he was born with the knowledge that he was destined to be with you in every lifetime.

He’s breathless when he pulls back, nudging your nose with his.

“Damn you, woman. Why can’t you just let me love you the same way I did in our past lives?”

It’s your turn to look up at him through your lashes with a contemplative furrow of your brows. “Huh. I was thinking about that earlier.” The grin on his face is bright enough to light the entire city. “See? We’re soulmates, it’s undeniable.”

“You’re such a sap,” you coo, pinching his left cheek like a baby. “But you know, I honestly feel it too. What makes you say we’re soulmates?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. While he’s carefully trying to construct his thoughts, your arms loop around his shoulders. Even deep in thought, his hands rest on your hips second naturedly. You suppress your laugh at the fact that you were nearly naked but he was somehow stressing over a simple question.

A few moments pass until he’s visibly exasperated because he can’t verbalize how you rewired his brain for the better. Instead, he settles with a simple, “Because being with you feels right.”

You pout fondly at the confession. Right when you’re about to say your own reason, he adds more. “And your moles.”

“What about them?”

He can’t help the loving expression on his face as he recalls, “Remember when you mentioned that moles were where your soulmate kissed you in your past life? The more evident they were, the more kisses they left there?”

You give him a nod to affirm that you do remember, not wanting to halt his train of thought.

Joaquin’s fingers lightly play with the flesh of your sides, as if it helps him think (it does, unsurprisingly). “After you told me that, I realized that all the places I love kissing— aside from your lips— already have moles on them,” he pauses for a bit before he continues.

“So I was thinking ‘might as well make them bigger for our next life’, right? That’s why my kisses are so specific, in case you haven’t realized it.”

He chuckles nervously when you don’t say anything, looking at him with an indiscernible expression on your face. “N–not that I don’t think that you haven’t caught on, of course. But, yeah. That’s why I—”

“Always kiss both my cheeks, and forehead, and jawline, and the little spot beside the bridge of my nose?”

His head to the side like a little puppy, nodding. “Yeah, exactly. And the back of your ear, the one on the right slope of your shoulder.” As he recites your mole placements by heart, Joaquin pats his own back in advance when he suggests, “What if I show you where all your moles are?”

It’s vague and understandable enough to keep you intrigued. “I’m all yours, lover boy.”

He wastes no time dipping his head to kiss the valley of your breasts, leaving one above your heart, another on your collarbone. You let out a sweet, lustful laugh. “Of course you go for my tits first; you really put the boy in boyfriend.”

It wasn’t that he was ignoring you, but he was too focused on his mission that he forgets to respond. Further proving your point, Joaquin gives your boobs a squeeze, making you jolt at the unexpected warmth.

Still unrecovered from his previous motion, you’re pleasantly surprised when a wet and delicate kiss graces your skin under the lacy underband of your bra. You tilt your head back in pleasure, eyelids struggling to stay up. Joaquin’s whole being was overflowing your senses and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It’s quiet, but you hear a muted thud and feel a familiar waft lingering on your abdomen. You tilt your head down.

Joaquin is on his knees in front of you.

The sight alone has you fucking wet, your imagination running free at the obscene position.

“Joaquin…”

His hands rub up and down your outer thighs while pressing his lips dangerously close to your clothed vagina, just below the crevice of where your leg connects to your pelvis. The way he drags his lips across your left inner thigh to your right fogs your brain with desire.

Your lover nibs on your skin, eliciting a needy whine out of you. In the midst of your haze, you manage to sneak a jest in, “Y–you were freaky as fuck even in our past life, huh, babe?”

“Why are you surprised, cariño? I love biting your thighs.” He smirks and you can feel it against the fat of your leg.

You sigh at him teasingly, brushing his hair away from his face. “I guess my moles are proof you only loved me for my body.”

Joaquin bites the skin again as a warning this time around, making you choke on a giggle.

“That’s not true!”

#icymi!#joaquin torres x reader

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