#can i.. come over and... clean your mirror for you?
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dozybeez · 24 hours ago
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Spin For Me (Pt. Ten)
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She's the quiet girl in class with a secret life after dark. He's the campus heartthrob who's used to getting what he wants— except her. When a class project forces them together, buried truths, blurred lines, and undeniable tension threaten to unravel everything they thought they knew.
→ part one → part two → part three → part four → part five → part six → part seven → part eight → part nine
→ part eleven coming soon
pairing: college au! kim mingyu x exotic dancer f!reader
word count: 4.6k
content warnings: slowish burn, smut, lap dances, adult club setting, derogatory language toward sex workers, internalized shame, emotional distress, subtle? size, possession, and innocence kink. drugs & alcohol. MDNI
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You wake up wrapped in warmth—the kind that sinks into your bones and stays there. Mingyu’s arm is draped around your waist, while you stir slowly, the soft weight of him pressed against your back like a quiet promise. His chest rises and falls gently, syncing with your own breathing, steady and warm beneath the cool morning light filtering through the curtains. You’re still tangled in his hoodie, the fabric loose and comforting, like a shield you never want to take off.
His breath fans across your neck, and you can feel the slow, steady thump of his heartbeat against your skin. You shift slightly, and he moves with you, a subtle, protective pressure that makes your heart ease into a calm rhythm. Slowly, your eyes flutter open. He’s not looking at you, face nuzzled into the curve of your neck, eyes closed. But the quiet rhythm of him breathing, the scent of soap and clean cotton, the way his warmth presses through the fabric—it’s enough to make your heart skip.
You shift just slightly again , trying to be careful not to disturb him.
But, he stirs, makes a low sound—half a groan, half a sigh—and nuzzles closer.
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You’re warm.”
You can’t help but laugh softly. “You’re clingy.”
“‘M not,” he replies, tightening his hold just a little. “You’re just soft.”
You glance down, realizing you’re still in nothing but his hoodie and the boxers from last night.
“Gyu,” you say softly, “I have a final in, like, thirty minutes.”
He groans again, dramatic and deep. “The world is cruel.”
You roll over onto your back, and Mingyu follows, curling around you like a sleeping bear. His hand finds your waist, fingertips tracing gentle circles as he presses a slow, tender kiss to your forehead.
Eventually, you sit up slowly, the warmth of the bed reluctantly leaving you. Mingyu pads ahead of you toward the bathroom, and when you step inside, he pulls open the drawer and hands you a new soft-bristled toothbrush.
You take it, smiling at him. The toothbrush feels simple and ordinary in your hand, but the way he looks at you—like this small gesture is the most natural thing in the world—makes your chest tighten.
He gestures toward the sink. “Go ahead.”
As you start brushing your teeth, he steps behind you, fingers threading through your hair. His touch is gentle, patient—tugging the strands back so they don’t fall in your face. The sensation is intimate and soothing, grounding you in a way you didn’t expect.
You catch his reflection in the mirror—a quiet, focused look you don’t often see—and it makes your heart flutter.
“This is nice,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice soft. “We should do this more often.”
You grin, toothpaste foam and all.
When you finish, you pull on the sweatpants he hands you next. Before you slip your legs in, he reaches out and lightly tugs at the waistband of the boxers peeking out beneath his hoodie.
“Only I get to see you wear these,” he says with a small smirk.
You blush but don’t argue. The fabric is warm and loose, swallowing your legs, but somehow it feels right.
You glance around the room, grabbing a pencil from his desk. Your bag is still at your place—you came here straight from the party last night—and your final is only minutes away.
Glancing at the clock, you panic a little.
“You’re corrupting me,” you mutter, tightening the joggers as you rush toward the door. “I only have a pencil, and I’m almost late. This is so you.”
Mingyu just grins, keys in hand.
“You’ve never looked hotter.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You’re welcome.”
You follow him out to the car, the soft fabric of his sweatpants brushing your skin as you move. He opens the door for you, his smirk softening into something warmer.
The engine hums to life, and the gentle vibration beneath you feels like a steady heartbeat in the quiet space between you. Morning light spills across the dashboard, painting his face in gold. You watch the way the light catches his lashes, the curve of his jaw, the steady calm in his eyes.
Your fingers twist nervously in your lap. Without thinking, he reaches over and rests his hand gently on your thigh—warm, steady, grounding—more a promise than anything else.
“You nervous?” he asks, voice low and careful, as if afraid to disturb the fragile quiet.
“A little,” you admit, eyes flickering to the soft light on your fingers before meeting the road ahead.
His smile is quiet but certain—like he’s believed in you long before doubt ever found its way in.
“You’re gonna kill it,” he says softly. “You always do.”
You want to believe him. You hold onto that thread of confidence, even as your stomach flips with the weight of the unknown. Just hearing him say it, so sure and steady—it feels like a lifeline.
He glances over, catching your gaze for a moment, then leans a little closer, voice gentle but firm.
“Come to mine at seven. It’s important.”
Your heart stutters, cheeks warming as you nod, shy and almost giggly.
“Okay,” you whisper.
The city blurs past the window, but inside the car, time slows. The space between you hums with unspoken promises—patience, trust, something delicate and real that words can’t capture.
You think about how perfect this morning feels—how easy, how quiet, how right. Everything about it makes your chest tighten with a warm kind of happiness, the kind you didn’t expect but now don’t want to let go of.
The thought of the day ahead still makes your nerves flutter, but with him here—steady and sure—it feels like you can face anything.
When the car slows and pulls up outside the brick building where your final awaits, the world outside feels sharper, colder, more real.
Mingyu reaches over and unlocks the door for you, fingers lingering on the handle as if reluctant to let go.
You go to step out, the cool morning air brushing your skin, sending a shiver through you. Your heart pounds—not just with nerves but because he’s there, steady and sure.
Before you can take a full step forward, his arms wrap around you in a quick, tight hug.
His warmth presses against you, anchoring you to this moment, to the here and now.
“You’re gonna ace that final,” he whispers, voice rough and soft all at once.
Then his lips find yours after cupping your jaw to face him—slow, sure, and full of everything he feels but can’t say.
You close your eyes briefly, letting the calm wash over you.
“Go get ‘em,” he breathes.
You nod, clutching the waistband of his sweatpants, your nerves dulling beneath the quiet strength he’s given you this morning.
Turning, you step into the building, carrying more than a pencil—you carry everything he’s given you in this quiet, perfect morning.
The rooftop always smelled like rain, even when the sky was clear. Concrete and wind and metal railings warmed by the sun — he’d always liked the solitude of it. But tonight, it didn’t feel like a place to be alone.
Mingyu set the last candle down and stood back, heart pounding. It looked… almost right.
The string lights he’d dragged up and taped along the low wall cast a soft, golden haze over the rooftop. He’d laid out a thick blanket and a couple of pillows from his couch. Your favorite snacks were tucked into a little picnic basket he’d borrowed from a friend and claimed was for a “film project.” The tea you always ordered. A tiny Bluetooth speaker that still had sand in it from last summer. A folded hoodie—his—just in case you got cold.
He stared at it all now, hands on his hips, trying to breathe through the nerves clawing at his ribs.
It’s just a question, he told himself.
But it wasn’t. Not really.
It was everything.
He sat down on the blanket, pulled out his phone, and typed:
“Upstairs. Come hungry.”
Then deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted.
He tried a couple times more. Settled on:
“Rooftop. Got something for you.”
He hit send before he could overthink it.
The message went out.
And then he waited.
And as the minutes crawled by, his heart started to race.
This morning had been perfect. You in his bed, curled into his chest, sleepy and smiling and teasing him about “corrupting” your finals prep. Him tugging on the waistband of his boxers that you’d stubbornly worn and saying, “Only I wanna see you in these.” You’d blushed so hard your nose went red.
He had drove you to your exam with his hand on your thigh the whole drive there, stealing glances at you like he couldn’t believe he got to be the one beside you. And just before you ran inside, you’d looked up at him, all nerves and brightness, and he’d cupped your face and kissed you—not on the forehead, but on the lips, soft and full.
“Come back to mine at seven,” he’d said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “It’s important.”
You’d giggled. “Okay.”
That smile had burned into his chest all day.
He’d spent the afternoon buying the snacks you liked. Setting up lights. Sweeping the rooftop clean even though his fingers were freezing. Rewriting how he’d ask you in his head over and over and over.
“I want this to be real. I want us to be real.”
“So... wanna be my girlfriend?”
“I know I’m already yours but will you be mine?"
Every version sounded stupid. But it didn’t matter. He just needed to say it. Out loud. To your face.
His phone stayed dark.
He checked the time. 7:08.
Okay. You were probably just changing. Maybe you stopped to grab something. He sat down, pulled his jacket tighter, and waited.
7:19.
The wind picked up, ruffling the corners of the blanket. One of the candles blew out. He relit it with shaky fingers.
7:33.
He texted:
“You okay?”
7:41.
“Are you still coming?”
8:02.
“Let me know if you’re running late. I’ll wait.”
No reply.
His chest tightened, something heavy and slow blooming behind his ribs. The city lights shimmered in the distance—familiar, but blurred now, like he was watching the world through glass underwater. From this rooftop, he could trace the skyline like a map of memories: the library where you two had lost entire afternoons, tucked between pages and whispered jokes. The quad where you’d run laughing through the rain, letting yourselves get soaked without a care. And farther still—the stadium, quiet and open beneath the stars, where you’d simply existed together. Just breath and warmth and the silent ache of something real.
The sky was so damn clear. It should’ve been perfect.
But you still weren’t here.
He sat in silence, phone clenched in one hand, the other gripping the edge of the blanket like he could steady himself through touch alone.
Maybe you forgot.
Maybe something came up.
Maybe…
His throat tightened.
Maybe you changed your mind.
8:45 p.m.
The rooftop was cold now.
Not that Mingyu noticed. Or cared. His fingers were red at the knuckles where the wind had kissed them raw, but he didn’t tuck them away. Didn’t move.
He just sat there—motionless—on the blanket he’d laid out hours ago, his back pressed to the ledge, the candles burned out around him like wilted stars.
You were late.
Over an hour late.
But some small, stupid part of him still believed you’d come.
Maybe you got caught up. Maybe you were curled in your dorm room right now, lost in a nap, phone on silent, having completely forgotten.
He'd forgive you. He would. He’d forgive anything.
If you just showed up.
He tilted his head back, eyes drifting upward. The night sky was hazy tonight, just a few stars blinking through the city light.
The food had gone cold. The little bag of snacks he’d packed—your favorites, all carefully chosen—sat untouched by the tea glasses. One had tipped slightly, and the tea inside was staining the edge of the blanket like an old bruise.
He didn’t fix it.
Didn’t clean up.
Didn’t have the energy.
What was the point?
The string lights he’d strung along the rooftop railing flickered softly. Still glowing. Still hoping. Just like him.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket again, though he didn’t expect anything even after his numerous calls and texts.
No little heart emojis or “on my way!” or dumb jokes about being underdressed.
Just the lock screen. Of you.
His thumb hovered over your name again. That little heart next to it.
He’d called four times. Texted numerous times. Left a voice message. Nothing.
Still, he didn’t leave.
Couldn’t.
He kept glancing at the door. The stairwell. The place you should be walking through with that apologetic grin, that lopsided laugh that always gave you away.
It was freezing now.
But he didn’t go back to his apartment.
Couldn’t bring himself to move.
He thought, What if she’s running? What if something happened? What if she shows up in ten minutes—fifteen—an hour—
He’d wait.
He would.
He’d wait until his bones ached. Until the wind turned his fingers numb. Until the wine froze in the glass and the lights dimmed out and the city slept around him.
Because if you walked through that door—everything would be okay again.
He could tell you it was fine. That he didn’t mind. That you could’ve come a mess and barefoot and breathless, and it still would’ve been the best night of his life.
But the door stayed shut.
The skyline flickered like it was trying to say something he didn’t want to hear.
Below, the campus buzzed softly. Somewhere, music played from an open window. Farther off, a car alarm blinked once and went silent. And Mingyu sat still in the quiet heart of it all, wrapped in silence and the memory of your voice.
You’re not coming.
He didn’t want to believe it.
Didn’t want to stand up. Didn’t want to fold the blanket. Didn’t want to blow out the lights or throw away the food or scrub your name out of his night.
So he stayed.
Even when his shoulders shook from the cold.
Even when the wind bit at his ears and his breath came out in fog.
Even when everything around him said go.
He stayed.
Because some stupid, stubborn, shattering part of him still believed in you.
Still believed that if he waited long enough, you’d appear at the top of the stairwell. That your voice would call out to him. That your eyes would soften when they met his. That everything would make sense again.
But you didn’t come.
Not at 9:00.
Not at 9:30.
Not even when the sky turned violet and the cold sank all the way into his chest.
And still, he waited.
Because if there was one thing he knew how to do—it was hold on.
Even when it hurt.
The rooftop was empty now.
Mingyu had finally packed it up—if you could call it that. The blanket stayed half-folded. The food, untouched, dumped into the trash bag with shaking hands. He left the lights strung, too tired to unwind them.
He walked down the stairs like a ghost, joints aching from the cold, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He couldn’t feel the key in his fingers as he unlocked his apartment door. Couldn’t feel much of anything.
Inside, everything was still.
Your hair tie that you left was still on the arm of his couch.
The hoodie drawer—his one full of the softest ones, the ones he hoped you’d steal—was cracked open. Waiting.
And Mingyu just stood there in the middle of the room, breathing like it hurt. What the fuck had happened?
He sat down on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees, phone clutched like it had answers buried inside it. Still no messages. Not even a "sorry." Not even a lie.
Just silence.
He opened your last text again—his message asking how your final went, your reply soft and modest as always: “it was alright.” So you. He read it like it might hold some hidden meaning now. Like if he looked hard enough, it would explain the silence. Undo whatever had gone wrong in the hours since.
It couldn’t.
The silence got louder.
And finally, his mind began to turn.
Was this too much for you? Did you know he was going to ask?
He hadn’t said it out loud. Not in so many words. But maybe you could feel it. Maybe you saw it in his eyes when he tugged your hoodie in place and tied your shoelaces before the two of you left his apartment that morning. Maybe it was written in the way he held your thigh in the car, soft and steady like he wanted to keep you anchored to him forever.
Just maybe you knew. And that’s why you ran.
He dragged a hand over his face.
“God, I’m so stupid,” he muttered.
He should’ve slowed down. Should’ve noticed the way you flinched when things got too serious. Of course it was too much. Of course you pulled away.
That’s what always happened when he let people in. They wanted the idea of him—the charm, the smiles, the version that looked good in photos. But not the real parts. Not the ones that were messy or too much or too soft.
But you weren’t like them. You saw all of it—him—and still leaned in.
And somehow, he’d still lost you.
A part of him wanted to be angry. At you. At himself. At how perfect the morning had felt, how safe you’d looked curled in his bed like you belonged there. At how everything pointed toward forever and now all he had was a text thread and a tea-stained blanket.
But mostly, he just felt… hollow.
Exhausted. Confused. Bruised in ways he couldn’t name.
He looked at his phone again. The screen stayed dark.
His thumb hovered over your name.
Then—he stood.
Because he couldn’t sit here anymore. Couldn’t keep staring at pieces of you and pretending they added up to something.
He had to see you.
He didn’t even know what he’d say. He just needed you to open the door. To look at him and explain. Or yell. Or cry. Or laugh in his face. Anything. Anything but this.
He knew the floor, the door, the slight tilt of the number plaque that none of the dorm maintenance ever bothered to fix.
He didn’t think about what time it was— just grabbed his keys and left.
Down the stairs. Into the street. Across campus.
His heart beat louder the closer he got. Faster.
He didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to crowd you. But he had to understand.
You didn’t look scared this morning. Or hesitant. Or unsure.
You looked happy.
Like he made you happy.
So where had that gone?
Where had you gone?
You were supposed to be at the dorm. You had to be. Mingyu’s feet carried him across the dark campus, the cold night air biting through his jacket, but he barely noticed the chill. His heart was pounding so loud it felt like it would burst free of his chest. Every step took him closer to the building where you lived, where he thought you’d be waiting for him. Where you were supposed to be waiting for him.
His hand shook as he reached for your dorm door, the wood cold beneath his knuckles. He knocked hard, then softer, then again, voice caught in his throat. “Hey, it’s me.” No answer. No footsteps. No sound at all except the echo of his own pounding heartbeat. He pressed his ear to the door, desperate for any sign—anything to tell him you were inside, alive and okay—but the silence crushed him.
His mind raced, trying to imagine where else you could be, why you wouldn’t answer. Had he overwhelmed you? Was he moving too fast? Was this all just too much? The very thought made his chest tighten painfully. You’d seemed happy that morning, so alive, so full of light. Why now? Why was he left standing here alone?
He swallowed the lump in his throat and pushed himself to leave from your door.
Mingyu’s phone was already burning a hole in his pocket, and as he called your number again, hope twisted into desperation. Straight to voicemail. Again and again. His fingers trembled as he left message after message—pleas masked as calm words, but every one of them soaked in worry. “If you need space, I’ll give it. Just please tell me you’re safe.”
Minutes stretched into what felt like eternity. He paced the empty lobby, his breaths shallow and ragged. His mind spiraled into worst-case scenarios, images flashing through his thoughts—what if you were hurt? 
The weight of not knowing pressed down so hard that his legs felt like lead. Finally, defeated and exhausted, he plopped down into a chipped chair of the dorm lobby, the paint peeling like forgotten memories peeling away with each passing year. The air was thick with a faint, stubborn scent of bleach mingled with mildew — that sterile, cold smell that clung to the walls, the floor, the very breath he pulled in. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the maze of worry and pain that twisted inside his chest.
He curled his fingers into fists, the rough material of the chair scraping his knuckles. His eyes kept flicking to the phone resting on the scratched laminate table beside him.
Please be okay. That thought had looped endlessly in his head, like a mantra trying to drown out the quiet.
Suddenly, a faint vibration cut through the silence. The phone buzzed against the table.
His heart jumped, wildly hopeful. Maybe this time, maybe this time, it was you. The weight of hours without contact lifted for a second as he lunged for the device, flipping it over like a lifeline.
But the screen didn't light up with your name.
Instead, it was a message from one of his friends.
The sudden burst of hope crashed, and the sharp sting of disappointment cut through his chest. His fingers trembled as he opened the message.
“Bro, you need to check the group chat. It’s blowing up.”
He swallowed hard. He hadn’t looked at the group chat in days — had muted it to keep the noise out, to keep you close in his mind, untouched by the chaos.
His thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating, before finally dragging open the chat.
The flood of messages hit him like a wave, crashing relentlessly. Hundreds of texts. Snide jokes, cruel taunts, unrelenting laughter typed out like daggers.
And then—there was the link.
His pulse hit a frantic rhythm.
The link that would change everything.
He tapped it open.
The screen flooded with neon light—harsh blues and pinks that glared against the dim dorm lobby like a spotlight in a dark room.
There you were.
Caught in the glow of the club’s pulsing lights, moving with a fierce, intoxicating grace around a steel pole. Your body curved and flexed with the rhythm, muscles flowing like poetry beneath your pale skin.
Every detail etched itself into his heart: the stray strands of hair falling across your cheek, your fingers gripping the cold metal with a mix of strength and delicacy, your body telling a story no one else was meant to see.
His chest tightened painfully. A raw ache settled deep inside him, twisting cold and sharp.
You wore the black mask, but it didn’t hide the way you moved, didn’t hide the energy pouring off you. Someone had posted a side-by-side: the masked dancer on stage, next to a photo of you outside the club, unmistakably the same person. Proof.
The comments below were worse than any punch.
“Stripping for Mingyu’s attention? Pathetic.”
“Bet she thinks she’s better than us because she has Mingyu. Newsflash: you’re just a stripper.”
“How does Mingyu even date this? Can’t believe he settled.”
“Everyone wants to be with Mingyu until they find out he’s with trash like her.”
“She’s using him to get ahead. That’s the real story.”
“Poor guy doesn’t even know what he’s got himself into.”
“Guess Mingyu’s taste is... interesting.”
“Since when was he into strippers?”
“Why’s he even with her? She’s just... entertainment.”
“Bet he’s embarrassed. Wonder if she even cares what people think.”
The laughter in the text was merciless.
His stomach turned.
His eyes tracked the username of the first comment — the same girl who had shot you that jealous, hateful look at the party. The one who never hid her contempt.
His fingers gripped the phone tighter, white knuckles pressing into the sides. His throat tightened so much it hurt.
The buzzing of the fluorescent lights seemed louder now, mocking the silence between his thoughts. The loneliness of the place swallowed him whole.
He pressed his forehead against the edge of the worn table, closing his eyes as memories cascaded over him—your shy smile the night before, the way your fingers had tangled in his hair, the softness in your laugh, the trust you’d placed in him on his couch.
And now—this. The pain was suffocating. He was supposed to be your protector. Instead, he’d been blind to the storm raging quietly around you.
His phone vibrated again—another message from the same friend.
“Dude, you’ve been ghosting the chat. We’ve been trying to get you to see this all day.”
Mingyu stared blankly at the screen, numb, the bitter taste of guilt and anger rising like bile in his throat.
The video had ignited through campus like wildfire, impossible to ignore. Everyone had seen it—watched you as if you were some sideshow, a spectacle to be whispered about and laughed over. What others thought of him barely registered anymore; that need to protect his own pride and reputation had faded the moment he met you. But you—he cared about you deeply. He knew the shame that clung to you, the guilt you carried like a secret weight every time you stepped into that club. And that made every mocking glance and cruel comment feel like a fresh wound. His chest hollowed. The weight of it crushed him, relentless and unyielding.
Even through the haze of pain and rising anger, one thought cut sharper than any blade, searing through the chaos and silence alike: you were out there—alone, aching in a way he couldn’t reach. He had no idea where you might be hiding, no way to know the depths of the hurt you carried in solitude. The old wooden chair creaked beneath him as he stood, every movement weighted with the heaviness of heartbreak and a fierce, unyielding resolve. His fingers curled tightly around his phone as he pushed open the heavy dorm lobby doors and stepped out into the uncertain night, swallowed by the cool shadows and the unknown.
// feel like im nearing a writers block and can't convey the details and emotions I want but oh well. also I wanted to wait longer till I posted this but whoops!
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camficdiner · 3 days ago
Note
May I please get [1.1] [2.5] [3.4] [4.3] with the Only One Bed trope? Thank you so much!
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☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 043
🍒 Thank you for your patience, angel — this one needed time to simmer and ruin lives properly. We went from fake dating to Luke Hughes scarred for life, and I wouldn’t serve it any other way.
💬 “Room for Two”
✨ Description and prompts:
– Character: Jack Hughes
– Prompt: fake dating at a wedding → only one bed (honeymoon suite)
– Word Count: 1.6k
– Type: fluff + slow burn + corruption kink smut + comedic aftermath
🛼🍒✨🧁
Luke bailed on the wedding at the last second. Work, school, something about flights. He texted you last-minute:
can you take my place? Jack needs a +1. just be cool.
You knew Jack, of course. Luke’s older brother. NHL player. Ridiculously hot in that boyish way that made you roll your eyes whenever he got too cocky.
You weren’t close, but you’d crossed paths enough. Joked around at family things. Talked shit about his music taste. He once told you your eyeliner was dangerous. You never forgot it.
So when he messaged you himself and said,
“Hey. You still in for the wedding? I’ll owe you.”
you replied:
“Sure. But I’m ordering room service on your tab.”
“Deal.”
He picks you up in a sleek black suit and a grin that makes your stomach twist.
“You clean up nice,” he says.
You smirk. “You say that to all your fake girlfriends?”
The wedding is beautiful. Garden lights. Outdoor ceremony. Jack’s hand on your lower back feels way too natural.
You sit beside him at the reception. Eat off his plate. Dance once, then twice, then three times. People take photos. One of them calls you “the cutest couple here.”
Jack just says, “Don’t correct them.”
By the time the music winds down and you’ve kicked your heels off, you’re buzzing. From champagne. From the lights. From the way he’s looking at you now like something’s shifted.
You don’t expect the room to look like that.
Rose petals. Dim lights. A massive bed with silky white sheets. Two flutes of champagne already poured. A heart-shaped mirror over the headboard.
“They gave us the honeymoon suite,” you say.
Jack blinks. “Of course they fucking did.”
You both laugh.
Then stop.
Then laugh again — a little nervously.
“You can sleep on my side if you want,” he says softly.
You glance at him.
He’s already watching you.
“Okay.”
You drink. Sit on the bed. Your thighs touch. The room smells like citrus and something clean.
You lean against him without meaning to.
He doesn’t move away.
He turns his head.
“You looked really good tonight,” he says. Voice lower. Rougher.
“You’ve said that before.”
“This time I mean it.”
You turn. Your knees brush.
He stares at your mouth.
You say:
“Kiss me.”
He does.
The kiss deepens quickly. You straddle his lap, tugging at his jacket. He groans when you press your hips down, pulling your dress up over your thighs.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
He pushes you back onto the bed, hovers over you, kissing your throat, down your collarbone. Your dress slips lower.
Then he stills.
“Wait.”
“Have you…?”
You shake your head. Nervous. Breathless.
His voice breaks.
“You’re a virgin?”
You nod.
“Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m gonna take my time. Gonna show you everything.”
He kisses you slow. Strips you gently. Talks you through every touch.
His hands on your thighs. His mouth between your legs.
You arch when he sucks your clit, moan when he praises you.
“So sweet. So wet already.”
“Doing so good for me.”
“Let me show you how good this can feel.”
You gasp when he finally pushes in — slow, deep, one hand on your hip, the other cradling your cheek.
“You’re so tight, fuck. You were made for me.”
“No one else gets to do this. No one else will.”
You cling to him. Whimper his name.
He fucks you gently, then deeper. Says your name like a promise.
You come first, then he follows, trembling, forehead pressed to yours.
After, he holds you. Strokes your back.
Whispers:
“You’re not just Luke’s best friend anymore.”
You fall asleep on his chest. Still naked. Warm. Safe. His arm wrapped around your waist.
You don’t hear the door open.
Jack does.
“What the fuck.”
You sit up too fast. Yell. Grab a sheet.
Luke’s frozen. In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide.
“LUKE?” you squeak.
“You SAID you were fake dating,” he says, voice cracking.
Jack doesn’t even flinch. Just rubs his eyes.
“Yeah, well. This part’s real.”
“Are you naked under there?”
“Don’t make it weird, man.”
“I’m leaving. I’m never speaking to either of you again.”
“Tell Mom I said hi,” Jack calls after him.
You fall back into the pillows, mortified.
Jack just pulls you back onto his chest.
“Told you he’d find out eventually.”
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honeyvettel5 · 3 days ago
Note
omg what you wrote about franky with alex's gloves...👁️👄👁️ 😵‍💫 👀 🥴 🔥 ...reminds me of a sebchal ficlet i read from when seb had that peaky blinders fit...
hi lovely anon. thank you for reminding him of that fanfic, i'm currently munching at metal bars as we speak. but since we're at it...... well, shameless alex/franky smut under the cut. enjoy
“i’ve never noticed you have such bigger hands than mines.”
alex comes out of the shower to find franky perched at the foot of his bed, one hand clothed by his racing midnight-blue glove he had left before on the table. alex has to swallow his own spit, too much saliva pooling in his mouth. “i have regular hands,” he deflects, pointless and casual, reaching to franky’s side. now that he’s looking though, the glove seems huge on the other, a dark carapace that swallows bone and wrist, up to half of his forearm. alex can’t stop looking at how the glossy leather glints in the light when franky flexes his fingers inside it.
“mh, i’m not sure.” franky reaches out, his gloved palm cupping alex’s cheek, still flushed and damp from the shower. “look. i could cover your whole face,” he muses, and there’s a tilt to his voice that alex has still to get acquainted to, something that demands recalibration after seven years of carefully, polite ignorance. “you know what they say about big hands,” alex teases, words wobbling on the brink. franky laughs, eyes crinkling, and then shamelessly leans in, mouth parting against the slope of his neck, padded thumb stroking the rise of his adam’s apple. “don’t i know it.” and his hand drifts down, down, down. he nudges the towel snugged around alex's hips, satin-slick leather reaching to cup alex’s balls with gentleness. the seams are ridged, architectural, textured just enough to make alex’s legs shift involuntarily. “you thought about it,” alex breathes, voice catching against franky’s temple. “the photo — ah—” the knuckle-guard drags over the stubble at the root of his pubes, a scratch on his freshly shaved skin that rips a moan from his throat. his knees threaten mutiny at that. he drops to the mattress with his legs like warm syrup, and franky follows, close as second skin, looping a leg around his calf. “too late,” franky purrs, sealing their mouths together, tongue pushing past alex’s teeth. “i saw it too late—two days ago, maybe,” and his hand finally wraps around alex’s half-hard cock, precision of an engineer’s care. the heel of his palm presses flat just beneath the head, and on the upstroke his fingers flex tighter—expert, measured—dragging each ridged seam over hypersensitive flesh. alex bucks once, twice, an animal chasing its own heat. “i should’ve sent it to you. before—ah, puta mierda—” franky’s leathered thumb circles around the head of his cock, and alex’s whole body jolts, arching clean off the mattress. the world behind his lids fractures into points of light—starry and sharp, like sunlight refracting off broken glass. he should have sent franky the photos he had taken after the shooting; regular, plain old nudes he sometimes photographs for his own sake. the glove hiding half of his soft cock. back to the mirror, his hips angled for the barest curve of ass. he had hovered with his thumbs over franky’s chat for some time. he had tried to imagine his face, caught around a smirk; maybe a message, even. but then something had coiled into his gut, hot enough to make him flinch at himself. he had deleted the photos from the camera roll before leaving gresini, buried his phone deep inside his bag, and then boarded on marc’s private jet without thinking about it twice. 
and now — franky is here, stroking him with that same fucking glove, like he knows everything.
“come on,” franky murmurs, nipping at the hinge of his jaw. “let me see you.” the leather is soaked, alex can feel it;  slick with spit and sweat and precome. his fingers scrabble blindly at the sheets until they find franky’s forearm —hot skin just above the cuff, muscle tight under the surface. the heat builds and builds behind his ribs, every nerve lit, overstimulated, and begging for more. alex drives into franky’s fist desperate, ragged, and franky lets him—guides him—matching each thrust with steady pressure. a lazy sweep of his thumb teasing the leaking head —once twice and then again— and that’s all it takes before alex breaks apart, thick white ribbons striping the black-and-blue glove. franky coaxes him through each shudder with softer, grounding strokes—palm warm, fingers easing, until the edge recedes. it’s a blissful second where alex feels dissolved into sensation, nothing but light and leather and franky’s scalding mouth on his face. his heartbeat is a dull roar in his ears, like the ocean caught in a shell. when the world comes back into focus again, franky is already shifting away, hand slipping out of the glove with a wet sound, like lips parting. he lets it rest on alex's torso, and alex watches it rise and fall with his breath, slow and uneven. he can sense franky looking at him looking at the glove, cheeks flushed and curls tousled on his temples. “you still owe me a picture, you know,” he says after a beat, voice gone hoarse. alex’s stomach does a big swoop at that, heat still sizzling underneath the skin. franky is fast to reach for his phone. he drags the device off the table, wipes the smudged glass once against the sheet, and then flips the camera. he rearranges alex’s towel until there’s the slightest peak of his softening cock against the stomach, and a slant of his flushed chest with the leather glove posed at the centre like a trophy.
alex feels suddenly, dizzyingly drunk on on this sight of franky above him — heavy-lidded behind the screen as he manhandles his spent body for the shot. that sour pulse of shame and embarrassment that had curled in his gut just days ago feels like a ghost now; washed away by this static hum of want and desire and need. he doesn’t even pretend to be shy. alex lets his legs fall open a little more, shifts just enough to curve into the image franky’s shaping. he meets the lens almost instinctively, pupils blown wide, mouth parted around a smirk. he wants to be looked at. he wants to be seen. he blinks and then the shutter clicks off. franky scrolls through the photos for a moment, slow and satisfied, then lets the phone fall to the mattress. he slides back down, nestles in until they’re chest to chest, skin humming where they touch. "sachsenring's in three weeks,” he says above alex’s head; his thumb draws lazy circles over his ribs. “long time to daydream.” alex lets out a soft huff, tries to keep his heart from swelling in his chest. “we’d better stock up on material," he whispers. franky’s laugh unfurls in the space like pulling a blade from its sheath. he brushes a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “next round’s yours to shoot,” he promises, voice all teeth and warmth.
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thatnightlamp · 1 day ago
Note
Hello ! I'm in love with you Primarchs NSFW Alphabet. Could I ask for Magnus, or Alpharius & Omegon please ?
ALPHARIUS&OMEGON NSFW ALPHABET
Tags: @incrediblethirst, @iluminatka16, @absynthe-mind
A = Aftercare Unnervingly efficient. One of them, whoever finished last will clean you up, soothe you, and tuck you in. The other? Likely watching from the shadows, silent, present. Their aftercare is gentle but clinical. Precise. Yet somehow, when they stroke your hair, you feel like the most cherished asset in the galaxy.
B = Body part Their tongues. Both identical, both lethal, whether used for interrogation or tracing lines down your thighs. They know how to speak, how to lick, how to manipulate.
C = Cum Slick, hot, and plentiful. They're trained not to waste a drop. Inside you, on your skin, over your mouth, they finish deliberately. Sometimes together. Sometimes one waits, watching the other fill you before claiming the same place, still warm and wet with his twin’s seed.
D = Dirty secret They’ve switched places mid-fuck. You didn’t notice. One slipped out, the other slipped in, and the only sign was a shift in angle, a breath you couldn’t place. They talk about it afterward, wondering how long they can keep fooling you. Sometimes, you know and let them.
E = Experience Unnatural. Encyclopedic. They know techniques from every culture, every era. But sex with them isn’t about practice, it’s about observation. They watch you. Every gasp is logged. Every clench filed away. You’ve never felt more studied or more desired.
F = Favorite position You between them. One beneath, one behind. Their hands overlap across your body. One holds your hips, the other your face. Their voices are low, synchronized: “Don’t move. Let us have you.”
G = Goofy They’re not humorous during sex, they’re terrifyingly quiet. Smirks, slight huffs of breath, shared glances. They’ll tease you emotionally, make cryptic comments, ask things like “Which one am I?” while fucking you hard enough to shatter thought.
H = Hair They keep everything well-groomed, facial hair, body hair, pubes. You’ll never find a hair out of place. It’s uncanny, how alike they are even down there. Same texture, same scent. You’ve touched one’s abs before and been sure it was the other’s.
I = Intimacy Detached, yet consuming. They don’t romance you. They study you, invade you, map your body with hands that seem to already know your softest spot. But every now and then, when one cradles your face and says your name like a vow, it feels real enough to hurt.
J = Jack off Alone? Rarely. Together? Often. They’ve watched each other stroke off while imagining you between them. Once, they came in perfect sync—hands fisting their cocks while murmuring your name at the exact same moment. They talk strategy afterward. What you’d say. How you’d look on your knees.
K = Kink
Mirroring. They love doing the same thing at once. One on each nipple, one at your throat while the other licks between your legs. You’re always the center of a ritual they never explain.
Identity play. “Who am I?” They’ll ask. They’ll switch mid-session. They’ll whisper different names. And they dare you to guess wrong.
Overstimulation. If you can’t come anymore, they keep going. Until you’re sobbing, begging, gasping.
Double penetration. Whether it’s mouth and cunt, ass and fingers, cock and toy, you will be filled. By them. Completely.
L = Location Anywhere that feels secure. Sealed rooms, hidden chambers, blacked-out transports. They’ve fucked you on a cloaked ship during warp travel, in a bunker under Terra, in a mirrored room where your own reflection begged alongside you.
M = Motivation Control. Precision. The intimacy of power. But also the thrill of you knowing them, and not knowing them. Your gasps, your vulnerability, your surrender to uncertainty, that’s what turns them on.
N = No They don’t tolerate disrespect, mocking, or ridicule. If you try to play games that undermine their control, disobedience for ego’s sake, they’ll leave you shaking and unsatisfied. They punish, but not cruelly. They expect you to learn.
O = Oral Receiving. They guide your head, stroke your jaw, praise you. If you use your hands too much, they’ll gently pin them aside. They want your mouth, not your fingers.
P = Pace Unpredictable. Sometimes slow and reverent, just one of them, kissing down your chest. Other times they take you together, hard and fast and overwhelming. They pace themselves like hunters with prey that already surrendered.
Q = Quickie If time allows, yes. They’re efficient. One distracts the world, the other takes you behind a wall. You’ll come in minutes, shivering, body marked. They never say which one it was. You’re left panting, wondering.
R = Risk High. They thrive on the edge of taboo. Twin mind games. Experimental bondage. Sensory deprivation. Pleasure algorithms. They won’t hurt you, but they’ll absolutely make you question your reality, and who’s inside you at any moment.
S = Stamina Terrifying. Between the two of them, they can go for hours. One starts. The other finishes. Then they switch. And again. They never tire. You’ll be begging for mercy long before either of them breaks a sweat.
T = Toys Plenty, designed by Omegon, tested by Alpharius. Sleek, quiet, remote-controlled. Some only respond to their fingerprints. They’ll slide something into you in the morning and turn it on at dinner. One speaks calmly while the other watches you writhe.
U = Unfair Extremely. They edge you for hours. One brings you close while the other pulls away. They whisper conflicting instructions. “Touch yourself.” “No, hands behind your back.” You don’t get to cum until you’re in tears.
V = Volume Quiet. Too quiet. One breathes against your throat, the other moans low into your chest. The silence makes your own sounds unbearable, every gasp, whimper, or plea echoes like an offering. They drink in your voice like water in the desert.
W = Wild card They once fucked you in your own bed while disguised as you. One fucked “you” from behind while the other whispered praises from the front. You didn’t realize until later, there were two of your voices, but only one of you.
X = X-ray Identical. Long, thick, slightly curved upwards. Cool to the touch at first, but they heat up fast. Their cocks are designed for precision pleasure, slippery, veiny, flushed a faint pink. Sometimes they swap places just to confuse your body’s muscle memory.
Y = Yearning Constant. But they hide it behind blank faces, gloved fingers, and veiled words. Their desire is a need to consume. They don’t just want to fuck you, they want to become the only thing you ever crave.
Z = Zzz They never fall asleep beside you. But you always wake to find one watching. Sometimes it’s Alpharius, stroking your hip. Sometimes it’s Omegon, silent in the shadows. They never sleep when you do. One always keeps watch.
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asce-of-hearts · 2 months ago
Text
dilf!toji hates wearing his glasses
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"You're squinting again." That's the first thing Toji hears before an overwhelming sense of dread overcomes him. He mutes the television, turning to look at you from the sofa.
"How do you know? You're like a kilometer away inside that kitchen. Is dinner ready, by the way?" He tries to play coy, and you walk over to him. Hands on your hips, a favorite of his, means he's getting scolded. Which he finds hot for no particular reason.
"Where are your glasses?" You ask, your eyes narrowing into slits as you look into his mossy green irises. And he averts his gaze, a sardonic smile on his face as he avoids the question.
"Didn't even remember I had those things. God knows where they are."
"Toji."
"Fine, fine!" He groans, like a child who refuses who clean their room. "In the room, first drawer. Where I keep my underwear."
"I'll kill you if you're lying." You hiss at him, and search for the stupid glasses case and bring it to him. The marks of its non-existent usage visible by how the glass is completely clear, transparent and pristine.
"Great. Now can you go back to—" You grab his face, almost poking his eye out as you try and place the frames over his nose bridge.
"Stay the fuck still, you menace—" You growl as you finally manage to get him to wear the things. His eyes immediately adjusting, not looking uncomfortable anymore. He swears his headache dissapeared. And now he can look at your pretty face without it being slightly blurry. You even have pores now! "There... much better. Isn't it?" You croon, and he would agree if it wasn't for his pride. Sitting over his lap, your arms wrap around his neck as his own hands hold you by the waist.
"No. They make me look—" Smooooooch. You press a kiss to his slightly pouty lips, and you can feel Toji Jr. starting to wake up under his trousers. Fucking dog. "—Make me look old." You giggle at that sentence, and he hides his face in the crook of your neck, flustered. You smell like home, which is always comforting for the troubled man.
"They make you look handsome, in my opinion." You reassure him, and he perks up almost immediately at the praise. "It's the truth. They make you look... mature. Like a silver fox, specially with those grey hairs you've been getting lately." He grins, now flattered. You take pride on seducing him so easily.
"I'll have to wear them more often, then," How easily does he change his mind when it comes to you. "This silver fox can't let you become a cougar." He purrs, and you burst out in laughter, hitting him in the chest. Finally he lets you go, not without giving a good squeeze to your ass. Staring at you fondly as you walk back to the kitchen. At least he can see you, not just a blurry figure that moves around his home.
And has that stain always been under your fridge?
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EXTRA
"How do I look, Megs?" Toji asks his son as he looks at himself in the mirror. The boy doesn't even look up at him.
"Ridiculous." Megumi deadpans, and Toji feels like he's been shot.
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TAG LIST
Toji M.List
TAGGING: @sunnymmoon  @lilithlunas @imvivian @eroscastle @goldenglow149 @lurexin @stranger00001 @kitzusune @mizzhellsingsstuff @lakxcpsta @coolnekochan9961 @notreallyablogger @lilyalone @oliviathatgirl @hannas16 @mimihaitani @raxshall @ayn-yurbestie @janeisnotonline @architectofsuffering @mrstraffy @thatoneweirdkidattheplayground @poopooindamouf @samstrav @yutterfly @staarflowerr @nanamiswife @majissunshine
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talaok · 8 months ago
Text
Give up
Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader
Summary: Once again you've found an excuse to invite your neighbor over, except for once you might be able to make him look past your age difference and have a little fun.
Warnings: big ass unspecified age gap, Jackson!Joel is a softie and he's nervous and he's not so very sure about this bc of how old he is + he's out of practice. smut| oral (m and f receiving) and swallowing you know what. sub!Joel vibez all around
Pt. 2
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This wasn't anything new.
The fact that he was coming over wasn't at all surprising to either of you.
You always found a way to be around him, and no matter how he ignored your every attempt at flirting- he never said no.
It had taken all of two minutes.
You'd knocked on his door, your best little skirt and tight little top on, and faked a pout as you told him:
"There's something wrong with the shower again Mr. Miller"
To his defense, Joel really tried not to stare at your ass as you walked right in front of him to guide him to your house, but that fucking skirt seemed more of a joke than anything.
You both knew there was nothing wrong with your shower, the switch that granted the hot water had just mysteriously turned itself off once again.
This had been going on for months now, since he first arrived in Jackson... since you knocked at his door that one chilly morning to introduce yourself to your new neighbor-
All it took was one look, and you were hooked.
He was gonna be yours.
"there- 's hot" he nodded, shutting the water off once he'd made sure it worked properly again, before drying his hands on his pants.
"thank you so much Joel" you smiled wider than necessary "What can I do to thank you?"
And no, you didn't even try to make your words not sound dirty, quite the opposite actually.
He cleared his throat, his eyes breaking from yours in a nervous shift.
You always did that- had this annoying effect on him.
"'s nothing darlin'" he shook his head, "didn't even take five minutes"
"Still- I feel like I owe you," you said, biting down a smirk
Shitshitshit
"How 'bout some cake?" you suggested just as he was about to have a stroke.
"sounds good"
__ __ __
"'s real good darlin'"
"thank you" you smiled happily, watching him clear his plate in under a minute
Yeah... you were a great baker, what can I say
"you want another slice?"
"You spoil me sugar," he laughed, patting his belly "I can't"
"alright" You couldn't help but softly laugh as you placed his plate in the sink.
You caught him looking away just as you turned around, which made you smile to yourself, a smile that only widened when you noticed the chocolate on the corner of his mouth.
"Oh Joel"
"Mh?"
You sat beside him at the table, your legs brushing against one another as you leaned closer.
"You've got something... right here"
You swiped the chocolate off with your pointer finger, making a show of popping it into your mouth to clean it.
His eyes remained transfixed on you as your tongue licked your digit clean until you were finally done with a loud pop.
"Jesus"
"What?" you smirked, knowing exactly what  "that gave you some ideas?"
"babygirl-" he stopped you immediately, shaking his head
"Oh c'mon Joel" you pouted, your hand going to rest on his forearm "What's a girl gotta do to get you to give up?"
He blinked, looking at you intently and nervously altogether.
"Why do ya even care about an old man like me sweetie?"
You couldn't help but laugh "Have you ever looked in a mirror, Joel?"
You swore you saw pink flood his cheeks- the man was blushing.
"Plus you're kind... and funny when you want to.... and you make me feel-" you bit your lip, trying to find the right word "safe... you make me feel safe"
He scratched his beard, but you couldn't help but notice he hadn't used the arm your hand was still on.
"'m sure there's boys here that are funnier and kinder and make you feel even safer babygirl" he spoke gently "Pretty sure most of them are prayin' you give 'em a chance actually"
You hummed, raising a brow
"but what if I don't want them?"
"You want an old man instead?" he huffed out a self-deprecating laugh.
You rolled your eyes "How old even are you?"
"old enough to be your father darlin'"
God, maybe there was something wrong with you, but those words only made your need for him burn harder.
"so?"
"so I ain't even supposed to look your way babygirl- it ain't right"
"But why?" you pouted "Shouldn't I get to have a say in what's right and wrong for me?"
He sighed, not really knowing what to answer to that.
"What if I don't care?" you spoke softly, your pointer finger on his chest, circling his pec "What if I like you, Joel? what if I wanted to show you just how much right now?"
"sweetheart" he started, shaking his head
"You'd stop me?"
And there it was, the pause... your way in.
"Joel?" you called for him, your voice sickly sweet "Would you?"
He couldn't do anything but tell the truth when you were looking at him like that.
"I don't think any man in his right mind could or would ever stop you darlin'"
Satisfaction took over your whole body.
"no?" you teased, grinning like a cat "Not even if he's old enough to be my father?"
He sighed, what looked like resignation in his eyes.
"I'm just a man sweetheart"
And that- that got him the biggest smirk ever known to man.
There was no sound, it was like the word got quiet as you stood up, placed your hands on his thighs, and slowly kneeled between his legs.
He didn't know what to do, he was genuinely frozen, torn between guilt and attraction, the need to let go, to finally do this- that his brain was short-circuiting.
You took advantage of his silence, making quick work of his zipper, and pulling down his boxers just enough to free his cock...
All your speculations got proven right there- he was huge.
"oh wow," you bit down a grin as you watched your fingers struggle to wrap around his whole base.
You gave him a tentative squeeze, and the strained groan rumbling from his chest was just about the hottest thing you'd ever heard.
"y-you- f-fuck"
You stopped him before he could start protesting, your tongue sliding slowly on his tip before leaving a little kiss right on top.
"You're so big" you hummed, your tongue licking him up from base to head, feeling every vein and twitch of his member.
He was looking down at you just as you looked at him, and he seemed... mesmerized, like he couldn't believe this was really happening, that this wasn't another one of the dreams he'd get about you at night, and that it was really your lips wrapping around him.
Goddamnit
You had barely a little more than his tip in your mouth and he was already gone- and I mean gone gone.
He couldn't even remember why he'd spent so long ignoring your not-so-subtle hints-
Just a minute ago he wanted to tell you that no, you don't gotta do that, and ask you sure about this? - But now... now all he could do was throw his head back as he realized that his lack of practice these past few years had really gotten to him, and that he already had to grab at the chair beneath him with all his strength as he tried not to come embarrassingly fast.
You hummed around his cock, and he couldn't stop his hips from thrusting upwards, a small choking sound fleeing your throat.
"goddamnit, 'm sorry baby-"
But the moment he looked down at you, he saw everything but anger... you seemed happy- you were begging him to do it again with your eyes.
But he couldn't, and part of you already knew that.
He shook his head slowly, still trying to think as straight as he could given the situation, but while he was busy with that... you settled for the next best thing... you forced his manhood down your throat all on your own.
The groan he let out was damn near feral.
You couldn't actually get all of it down there, it was the biggest dick you'd ever seen in your life after all, but you swore that with a little bit of practice (that he'd hopefully grant you), you'd get there.
Still, he didn't really seem bothered or in any way disappointed by your inability.
It was an indescribable feeling seeing this tough, rugged man shiver with pleasure before you, his eyes shut and knuckles white with the effort of gripping onto something.
"I- fuck"
He didn't even know what he wanted to say, he just... it felt so fucking good
Your head was back on bobbing up and down his length, and what used to be groans had turned to moans coming out of his mouth.
"Y-you've gotta-" he swallowed, his sentence interrupted by the feeling of your fingers playing with his balls.
"Y-you've got t-" to stop
But you were choking on his girth again
"I-'m gonna-" come
You watched him struggle with his words, his breathing, and his self-control with what would have been a huge smirk on your face if your mouth hadn't been so preoccupied.
You knew he was about to come already, it really wasn't hard to understand,
You also knew that if you stopped now there was a chance you'd get to do more later- but really, this was something too perfect to leave halfway done, and besides... you feared that if you went with your initial plan of straddling his lap and riding the man to heaven, you'd leave him traumatized.
So you didn't stop, you kept massaging his balls as you worked his dick in and out your mouth, ever so often forcing him as deep as you could and choking while drool and saliva dripped down your chin.
"J-Jesus, sweetheart- I-"
All his words came out in rugged breaths, barely coherent- his eyes were back on you, shadows of lust and need darkening his iris as his right hand went to your cheek, a gesture almost too sweet considering what you were doing.
"F-fuck"
And that was it.
He groaned so loud you probably could hear him from outside the house as he reached his climax, rope after rope of his come filling your mouth and throat.
Joel Miller had come in your mouth... and it couldn't have been any more perfect.
You didn't take your eyes off him for one second. You greedily swallowed all his spent as he breathed heavily, eyes still closed.
His dick was softening in your hand as you pulled his boxers back on top of it, a little wave of disappointment washing over your gut.
It's ok, I'll see it again soon
Just as you were plotting exactly how you were gonna get in his pants in the future, his voice startled you
"I-I don't know what to say"
A soft smile pulled at your lips
"You don't have to say anything" you reassured him as you sat back on your chair, your eyes inevitably falling back to where his boxers peeked from the unfasted fly.
"now- I won't keep you hostage any longer, 'm sure you have important stuff to do back at your house"
The frowns on his forehead deepened as his eyebrows came together in confusion.
"What?"
Now you were confused.
"I'm just saying- thank you for... this" You bit down a smile "You know how long I've been wanting it- and you can bet your ass we're doing it and more, again and again, and again" his eyes widened an almost imperceptible amount and you had to stifle a laugh "but... I'm letting you free for tonight"
He took his time to say something.
Silence wrapped around you for a good minute before he was able to mumble something.
"sweetheart-" he cleared his throat to try and clear his thoughts "I-I dunno how you're used to... bein' treated, but this ain't over"
A spark of excitement ignited in your belly
He couldn't mean...
"unless you want it to be, of course"
Oh my
"I definitely don't want it to be" you hastily spoke, almost breathless "but I would like to know what you... mean"
I mean, not to be prejudiced, but you very much doubted he could get it up again so quickly given his... well, age.
He cleared his throat again and you finally realized it was just a nervous tic and he didn't actually feel the need to.
"You should be on a bed" he avoided your question
You couldn't help but smile as you got up
"Such a gentleman"
"that's the last word that comes to mind right now" was all he grumbled
__ __ __
"sit"
that's all he said, and now there you were, sitting on your bed as he looked at you with a mix of lust and uncertainty.
Until he finally did it- he crouched between your legs.
He cleared his throat again, and you felt on the urge of cumbusting.
he was gonna eat you out
You'd only ever done this once, and even then you had to basically beg the guy, just for him to be god-awful at it.
Somehow you had a feeling Joel wasn't gonna be bad at all.
"You sure about this, yeah?"
You fought the urge to roll your eyes.
He could probably ask you to put it up your ass and you'd say yes.
"Yes Joel, I'm 100% positive"
He gave you a little nod, and his hands- his big, strong hands- went to your thighs.
You watched him as if he'd disappear at any moment as he slowly- oh so very slowly- took your skirt off.
He swallowed tightly as his eyes fell on your clothed cunt.
If you didn't know any better you would have guessed he was holding his breath as he got rid of your panties.
"Jesus Christ"
I shouldn't be doing this- I really shouldn't be fucking doing this.
She's not even half my age- she's a kid for god's sake- I'm fucking disgustin-
Every single thought in his mind turned to dust the moment you spread your legs- the moment your wet, drenched, pussy came fully into view.
"Y-you-"
he didn't even remember what he wanted to say- and he didn't remember when his thumb had decided to find your folds, but it had.
He heard a whimper leave your mouth and he felt his cock twitch in his pants, hardening again.
It usually took him a whole fucking hour to get hard again
He looked up at you, and you looked hotter than ever before.
Your cheeks were flushed, your bottom lip was between your teeth, and you looked so... perfect.
"I haven't done this in a- while"
As he spoke those words he hoped you'd think he only meant this... as if you'd actually care about how he hadn't gotten laid in years.
"'s ok Joel" you nodded, smiling encouragingly.
He swallowed again, his gaze slowly lowering.
He couldn't believe you were this wet for him- a pretty thing like you.
His thumb moved, gently sliding up and up and up, until he found your clit, earning another little moan.
Fuck
He circled the little bud, and your cries got a little higher and he swore- he swore going to hell was worth it, worth this.
He had to taste you- fuck, he'd been dreaming about the taste of you since he first saw you- So with all the carefulness in the word, he bent down, his lips finding your soft thighs.
He could see your belly inflate and deflate with your exited breaths as he kissed his way closer and closer to your heat, until he was right there, and he couldn't help but leave a kiss on your mound, on the hair covering it so very nicely.
"Joel-" your voice was strangled "please"
If it had been twenty years ago he would have said something cocky like "'s ok baby, it's coming", his whole demeanor would have been very different too. He used to be in charge in the bedroom, always- he used to feel smug and sure of himself, but now... now he was old and out of practice, and he was... he was nervous.
But all it took was to look up at you, at those beautiful pleading eyes, to find the courage.
You wanted this. You wanted him.
And you tasted better than he could have ever fucking imagined.
A deep, feral groan rumbled in his chest as his tongue passed between your folds, as he gathered all your slickness on his taste buds, all that sweet sweet juice that felt like fucking heaven.
Yeah, now I remember why I used to love this so much
You were moaning like a desperate little thing above him, your thighs squeezing his face as your feet clung to his torso.
And he was gripping the outside of your legs, keeping you as close to him as humanly possible, his face as deep in your core as it would go.
His nose was rubbing against your clit in a way that made you see stars, and he was still lapping, not focusing on anywhere in particular, just aimlessly and desperately feeding off of you.
"Oh my god Joel-" you gasped as two of his fingers found their way inside of you.
His movements were slow, he didn't wanna hurt you, and he wanted to find what made you feel good, which is why he kept exploring until his digits curled up into that sweet cushy part of you, and he felt you squeeze him as you threw your head back.
"f-fuck!"
Your left hand had traveled to his locks, gripping them tightly as your hips frantically moved against his face to try and seek more.
His mouth was focusing only on your clit now, thoroughly sucking on it- and just when you thought this couldn't get any better, that this was the most pleasure you'd ever experienced and there was no way he would be able to top this- another one of his big, thick fingers pushed into you.
The cry you let out was something Joel would be thinking of until he was six feet under.
Three of his fingers were so much more than what you were used to.
"J-Joel" you whimpered actual tears staining your vision as you looked down at him "Oh my fucking g-god Joel"
Your gut had been right. He was really fucking good at this
He was watching you, studying every little face you made as the squelching of his fingers moving inside of you filled the room together with your moans.
"I-I'm coming"
You could barely finish the sentence that the world went bright, and the purest pleasure you'd ever felt erupted in your body with a million different blasts.
For a whole minute, you were in another universe- and Joel eagerly enjoyed the show, not stopping his movements for even a fraction of a second.
You feared the moment you opened your eyes you'd wake up in your bed after yet another dream about this man- and yet he was still here, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.
He couldn't help but steal another little kiss on your core before he leaned away.
"well... wow" you smiled like an idiot, your breathing still a little labored "You know what you're doing Mr. Miller"
He didn't say anything, but you saw pink flush his cheeks again as he let your legs go, robbing you of his touch.
You would have been disappointed if it wasn't for the fact he was very clearly having trouble not having his gaze fall down to your heat.
You smiled to yourself as you accepted the skirt he quietly handed you.
Seeing you standing before him with it on when he knew you were bare and wet underneath made Joel's brain freeze for a moment, but that was of course, until you stood on your tiptoes, and placed a kiss on his cheek.
"thank you for this Joel"
Your voice was so sweet it sounded angelic to his ears- but the sweetness was replaced by something very different very quickly.
As you stood back down to your normal height, your body, being flushed against Joel's, came in contact with something that very much piqued your interest.
he was hard- very fucking hard
"no babygirl"
he was already shaking his head, crushing all your dreams
"but-"
"I can't" his tone was firm, although you could still hear restraint behind his words, like it was costing him a lot to say no.
"It feels to me like you very much can" you rebutted, smirking softly.
"I- it ain't right"
Oh my god
It took a lot not to roll your eyes "I thought we were past that whole thing" you said, cocking an eyebrow "Do I need to remind you what you were doing just a minute ago?"
"that's different"
"How?"
"it just is"
"what if I beg you Joel?" you purred, your best doe eyes looking up at him "What if I told you about how much I'd like to feel your cock inside of me? How desperate I am for it, Joel- how much I need it"
He was gonna go home and punch himself in the face for what he was about to say.
But it was true, he couldn't. It wasn't right- he needed... to think about it at least
"darlin'" he spoke softly "I can't... not right now"
there it is
The smirk that pulled at your lips was the most mischievous thing in the world.
"right now" you repeated his words, biting your lip as you played with the hem of his flannel "I can live with that- but Joel...don't even think this is over"
4K notes · View notes
kurooh · 1 month ago
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☆ THAT’S BED CHEM ! — MHA
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⊹₊˚. featuring midoriya izuku, bakugo katsuki, kirishima eijirou, kaminari denki, & takami keigo showing you their habits in bed.
warnings: 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, squirting, dirty talk, handjobs, fingering, overstimulation, facesitting, mirror sex, cunnilingus, riding, creampies, rough-ish sex, not entirely proofread.
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MIDORIYA IZUKU + begging
izuku’s easy—it doesn’t take much to get him keyed up, especially when it comes to you. there’d been a shift in the air that morning, and yet he still headed to work, where he helped to apprehend villains alongside other heroes. he only pushed himself to clean up more on his own so he could stop popping so many random boners. even thinking about all might wouldn’t make him go soft.
so, when you decided to surprise him during your lunch break with a hot bag of his favorite takeout, he shut the office door behind you and immediately pulled you into a kiss. izuku swears it isn’t his fault—his dick is partially to blame—and before you know it, you’re perched on the edge of his desk with your hands wrapped around his cock and two thick fingers buried deep inside you.
“uh huh, that’s perfect,” izuku swallows a loud moan and chews on his lower lip, doing his best to keep quiet despite the very public predicament you’re both in. “mmngh, squeeze me a little tighter—yeah, baby.”
a subtle adjustment in your grip and placement of your fingers makes all the difference, and izuku’s lips round around a moan. it’s loud, even when it’s only halfway out of his mouth—you move fast, pressing a hand to his cheek as you kiss him hard.
he shifts, back arching off of the rolling chair with a squeak! he hates having to be quiet, especially when he’s pulling apart at the seams like this. heady, slippery squelches fill the spaces between your bodies where the moans can’t; glossy slick spills onto the papers beneath your ass as izuku maintains a sloppy rhythm, doing his best to keep you satisfied.
“w-we can’t make any noise, ‘zuku. we’re in your office, remember?”
a gooey string of saliva connects your lips to his when you pull away, and izuku finds himself going cross-eyed as he follows it to your mouth. you’re talking to him, breathily whispering something that he should probably listen to, but he’s too caught up in the way your thumb hits the sweet spot on the underside of his cock with every upward motion of your fist. oh, and then there’s the way he can taste the smeared lip gloss at the corners of his mouth in conjunction with the minty gum you were just chewing.
your sweetness turns sour with a light but deliberate slap to his freckled cheek, and it certainly gets his attention. izuku’s looking at you with wide green eyes, shocked not by the roughness but by how much he wants you to do it again.
“i’m sorry,” you say, grinding your hips on his fingers, “izu, are you hearing me? as much as i want you right now, i don’t want you to get fired and blacklisted—”
the word blacklisted bounces around in his head, but at no point does it actually land. “i jus’ wanna make you cum,” he says, feeling his cheek grow hotter under your palm, “i need to—ugh, it’s all that matters to me right now.”
izuku says it with enough fervor to catch you off guard, but it’s his fingers that really make the small speech on your tongue disintegrate. thick and strong, both digits pump into you without missing a beat—you inhale, feeling like the air’s escaping your lungs, and he pushes deeper, until he strikes gold.
“izuku!” you’re the one getting loud now, but with the way he’s hitting your sweet spot like a bullseye, it can’t be helped. “i don’t wanna get it all over your desk . . wait, the papers—right there, ohmygod.”
hearts swell in his pupils as he over-analyzes your reactions. your fist on his cock is much slower now, because of the major distractions, but it doesn’t matter, not when he could cum just from seeing you like this. your nice blouse is a little disheveled, but that’s nothing compared to the shredded pantyhose and soaked underwear he hastily tugged to the side.
had you not insisted on making him feel good too, izuku would’ve put you on your hands and knees on his desk and had his way with you, with the skirt still on. “let me make you cum first, baby. g-god, i wanna watch you fall apart on my fingers.”
you nod, biting down onto your fist. exhilarating euphoria is hurtling at you fast, and everything fizzles into static when it finally hits you, knocking the world off its axis. izuku’s fingers slow as he watches you ride the high, pussy squeezing him too tightly to pull out or away.
a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead catches the light once you come back to yourself, mind hazy with insatiable desire. izuku bites back both a groan and a whimper when you slide off the desk, leaving a glistening trail of cum shining on the wood. “what’re you gonna do to me?” he asks, feeling himself throb when you seat yourself on his bare lap, “‘m sorry, but i won’t last long en—”
in lieu of a verbal response, both of your hands envelop his cock and start to move smoothly. up and down, gently twisting from side to side—izuku’s head drops back, hanging off the edge of the chair. a litany of moans flows out of his mouth, and your eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat.
“oh, you have no idea how good you look right now, ‘zuku. i’ve never seen someone look this perfect just from a little—”
“keep talking,” izuku suddenly gasps, and you can feel his cock thickening in your hands, “tell me everything. whatever it is, don’t stop.”
he’s gotten so desperate it’s cute. like always, it never takes too long to get him like this, all hot and heavy and vocal. izuku might be shy sometimes, but even so, he’ll always tell you what he wants and how he wants it.
“yeah, you’re doing so good. i love to sit here and just take care of you, my sweet boy. god, it’s such a treat to love you.”
“oh fuck,” izuku’s chest heaves as it works to breathe, and his body abruptly straightens, allowing the viridescent green of his eyes to meet your own. “tell me you’re mine, baby,” he begs, voice breaking like he’s on the verge of sobbing, “p-please, i can’t get there without it—”
“you know i’m all yours, izuku. you’re all i want.”
with that, he cums hard, letting out a series of whiny moans of your name and desperate gasps for breath that are only silenced when you press a cum-stained hand over his mouth. between you, his cock is still shooting white ribbons of cum, all over his undershirt and onto the front of your blouse. you only notice the mess when he tugs his cock back and his eyes widen at the sight, a mix of guilt and arousal seeping into his expression.
“don’t touch it,” he catches your hands at the last second before you can investigate and get more on the fabric, “kick my pants over here, there’s a napkin you can—shit.”
izuku just watches in awe, jaw dropped, as you tilt your head down and lick the cum off of your skin, all while looking directly into his eyes. as much as it embarrasses him and makes him want to avert his eyes, he can’t—you’ve got him under some kind of spell, and he’s definitely going to cum again just from seeing this. wait, did something more leak out of his cock just now?
“gimme a kiss,” he sighs, closing his eyes as he tastes himself on your tongue. it’s bittersweet, mixed with the mint gum from earlier, and he pulls you into a hug, the cold takeout forgotten on the other side of the desk.
BAKUGO KATSUKI + torturing you
he’s generous—but only if you tell him exactly what you want, and in excruciating detail, much to your impatience and embarrassment.
“i’d keep that attitude problem in check if i were you,” katsuki smirks, seeming proud of himself as he looks at you through the mirror, “i could do this all fuckin’ night, babe.”
an ultra-hot mixture of frustration and humiliation simmers in your cheeks when you push yourself to stare back at him, stubbornly holding your ground. he’ll end up breaking you down, but it can’t hurt to be a brat for a small while—who knows, it might piss him off enough to fuck you like he hates you.
“oh, i could too,” you hiss out in reply, biting back the moan that nearly slips out of you as you feel the head of his cock grazing along your inner thighs, “you’re so greedy, aren’t you? drawing it out like you haven’t been making eyes at me all day.”
“you say that like you weren’t doing the same, if not worse,” katsuki’s tip lightly nudges against your soaked pussy, and he has the audacity to act as though he’s pushing it in, only to pull back less than a second later. “any chance you’ll stop being a fucking brat and use your words instead of grabbing my ass at every turn?”
you scoff, but the sound of disdain fizzles into a gasping breath, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. looking into the mirror, you see his chin tilted downward as he teases you, each movement more agonizing than what came before. “yeah, you just like being annoying, don’t you? lose the sass or i’ll fuck it out of you.”
“really? you’re not just saying that to sound all dominant?” at your sarcasm, his crimson eyes dart from his hands to your face. he just stares at your reflection crossly, half-turned on and half-pissed that your snark is getting to him. “not sure what to say, huh? if you’d stopped teasing me earlier, maybe you could’ve shut me up—”
in an instant, katsuki’s looming over you, sculptured chest pressed flush against your back. a hand snakes beneath your chin and angles it so that you can look at him in the mirror when he talks, his voice shifting to a low, commanding rumble. “oh, i’ll shut you up. you’re going to sit here and watch me wreck you.”
your hand threads into his soft hair, and you tug hard, enjoying the way his adam’s apple bobs with a barely held-back moan. “so make it fit, katsuki.”
rough palms navigate the planes of your back as katsuki positions himself behind you, lining up his aching cock with your hole. fuck, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s been dying for this—it’s evident in the groan of relief that escapes him when he sinks into your cunt, sliding in easily. his eyes crinkle at the corners as he fully notices just how wet and ready you’d been to take all seven inches of him; you’re wrapped around his cock and pulsing, too tight and velvety for him to handle.
“gonna move yet?” you taunt him, chin propped up on a fist while you watch him in the mirror. he’s got his lower lip flat between his teeth, and he practically spits it out with a huff, glaring at you.
“i thought i would’ve fuckin’ taught you to be a little more patient by now,” and katsuki goes from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, his veins singing with adrenaline. he sounds genuinely irritated now, but you could’ve probably gleamed that from the harsh smacks of his hips into your ass. “can’t ever listen, huh? all i was askin’ for was for you to—shit—to tell me what you wanted . . you knew i’d give it to you, like i always do, and yet you chose to mouth off instead.”
you weren’t prepared to feel his tip french kissing your cervix with each and every powerful thrust of his hips; it makes you squeal and try to run away, but to no avail. katsuki’s grip on your waist is bruising and leaves no room for any more resistance, especially after so much pettiness. “w-wait,” you stutter, pushing a pathetic hand between your body and his to curb the intensity, “‘m not ready yet—”
“keep crying,” he snaps, closing his fingers around your wrist. without missing a beat, katsuki tosses your hand to the side and keeps going, eyes burning into yours through the glass. “isn’t this what you wanted? seems to me like you should shut up and savor it, sweetheart.”
it’s cruel and merciless. just the way he’s being rough tells you you’ll be sore all over by tomorrow, but you simply can’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop, not when it’s starting to feel like heaven.
a breathless mewl of his name tears out of your throat, and the cracking of your voice is like music to katsuki’s ears. earthquake-like shudders rock your entire body, and he can’t help but coo at you, swiping two fingers through the mess spilling along your skin.
“go ahead and look at yourself, girl,” sticky fingertips press past your parted lips and you start to suck, eyes rolling back at the taste of yourself. “yeah, who’s fucking you like this? tell me whose cock you’re going dumb on.”
you whimper sweetly, keening just as he expected you to. “yours, katsuki. ‘m all yours.”
laden with muscle and taut with fatigue, his chest heaves as he drags in huffs of air. he’s flushed from head to toe and grinning, undeniably proud of his handiwork. you must be drunk on him now, your easy admissions of being his a far cry from your attitude earlier. “keep your arch—ngh, you got it. shit, that’s my girl. taking it like a fuckin’ champ.”
as katsuki watches himself fuck you, no less primal than animals on a safari, amusement strokes through his body. why can’t you just tell him what you want to begin with? maybe the little arguments are part of your fun, he suspects. but, if you want him to be rough and mean, all you have to do is simply ask.
KIRISHIMA EIJIROU + #munch
“if you don’t just sit down and use me, i’m gonna red riot—”
“eijirou!” you whine, embarrassment working its way into your tone, “i’m really not sure about this. can’t i just lay on my back instead of risking breaking your neck or something?”
with a breezy laugh, eijirou shakes his head and lets his palms comfortingly circle your hips to keep you in place. since he’d suggested it in a rush during the ritual of undressing and positioning, you didn’t think too far into it until you found yourself hovering above his face. even with all of his insistence, you are unwilling to break your boyfriend’s neck or nose by sitting on his face—what an embarrassing explanation to deliver to the doctors in the emergency room!
“if it’s absolutely necessary, i’ll lift you up, okay? please, just sit down,” his ruby red eyes are wide and pleading; not even your nervous glare deters him. with a toothy smile, he adds, “c’mon, baby. you’re the one who’ll be in control anyway.”
you almost don’t notice the way he’s tugging you down, closing the gap between your soaked cunt and his mouth. eijirou tries not to get too excited—it might make you think he’s suffocating when he goes quiet—even though his feet are kicking happily at the end of the couch. thankfully, you’re facing away from the lower half of his body, so you also can’t see his dick trying to push out of his sweats.
“ei, oh my god.” the very first slurp of his eager mouth against your pussy takes your breath away and makes you squirm, rocking your hips forward and back. eijirou’s watching your every movement and sorting them by category for his spank bank, all while letting out low, incomprehensible groans.
“oh, this is—it feels so good,” and it does, much more than anything he’s made you feel before. before long, you’re more comfortable on his face and scantly riding his tongue, quickly growing drunk on the way he uses it. “eiji, y-you can’t stop.”
“baby,” he mumbles wetly, before raising you up to stare into your lidded eyes from between your thighs. a red flush has made its way across his cheeks and nearly matches the dyed shade of his hair, but he looks cute like this. “‘m all yours,” gravelly and devoted, eijirou’s voice reaches your pussy before your ears and makes it all the more messy, “you’re the boss now, babe. ride me, choke me, i don’t care. i only wanna keep tasting ya.”
swallowing a whimper, you settle back onto his face and unsurely plant your palms down on the couch for support. you’re a breathless mess, shaking on his tongue as you ride it to get off—eijirou just slurps and slurps, drinking you in without any care in the world. he loves to spoil you, even if it means making you do a little bit of work instead of just laying back. maybe you’ll cum so hard you only ever want to sit on his face again, and then he’ll never ever have any bad days if this is what he can come home to.
“eiji, you’re getting all messy,” you mewl, shameless eyes sweeping over the sticky wetness coating his face. you can see it glinting on his cheeks and even his forehead; he just moans out something like i know, baby and makes a show of winking before diving back in to lap you up like a creampuff. “hah, you—you’re so sloppy, fuck.”
in the moment that you’re trembling, positioning yourself to ride his tongue like it’s the first time you’ve ever had it, eijirou chooses to let his playful streak bubble to the surface. very lightly, his teeth nibble at your swollen clit and this sends shocks of electricity racing up and down your spine like an active power line.
earthquake-like tremors rock your entire body as you roll your hips, focusing on the stars streaking across your vision and the building pressure in your lower body. “ei, ‘m gonna cum pretty soon,” you squeal, digging a hand into his hair while your thighs unconsciously squeeze around both sides of his head. “h-holy shit . . cumming, ‘m cumming eiji!”
eijirou’s absolutely got the best seat in the house. your pinched expression melts into one of pure, unadulterated euphoria as you gush all over his mouth and completely forget about your worries about suffocating him. he helps you grind your hips harder when you chase the high, freefalling over the edge until the sensitivity eventually sets in.
“mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” lapping at your sobbing folds with renewed vigor, eijirou holds you in place when you try to squirm away, complaining about it’s too much, when in reality is isn’t enough. he could devour you for hours, and you want to be done after five minutes. “you deserve all this and more, don’t you think? can’t you just sit here while i get my fill of this pretty cunt? i’m just not done yet.”
KAMINARI DENKI + too greedy
if you were good house guests and even better friends, you probably wouldn’t be pinned under denki and working your hips along his cock in a bed that isn’t even yours! this isn’t a hotel, it’s hanta’s flat, and you’re defiling the place by being split open like a pomegranate while your friend is off on a grocery run (at least, that’s how hanta had described the whole incident involving some other friends—he walked into his living room after returning from a run to two people going at it doggy style on the carpet).
but it’s okay, right? it’s not like you’d been waiting for hanta to leave so you could have sex; it just happened naturally, stemming from an innocent cuddle session on the bed while you scrolled through instagram. this is different from the incident because you’re in your own guest room and denki set towels down in case of emergency.
“a-again, i’m gonna cum again,” you wail brokenly, manicured nails digging into his biceps for purchase against the sweeping euphoria, “denki, oh my god—”
“lemme feel it, c’mon. hah, don’t hold back, ‘kay? let it allll out—be a good girl.”
oh, and you do. all it takes are his filthy words in your ears to spark your high and send you right off the edge. denki swallows, feeling lightheaded, but drool still spills past the corners of his lips and runs down his chin in gooey trails.
“aw, sweets,” his chuckle dissolves into a ragged breath, and he tries not to sound too disappointed when he tells you, “looks like you pushed me out.”
denki’s exhausted, covered in sweat, and pink in the cheeks. between your thighs, he’s fumbling with his dick—which is probably purple with overstimulation by now—and trying to push it back inside of you, but to no avail. though you’re leaning back on the pillows and trying to catch your breath, you notice his lower lip wobbling just the slightest bit.
“i’ve got it, denki. there’s no need to cry, i’ll—”
“i’m not crying,” he corrects you immediately, but he sounds like he’s about to start when you grab his cock. your hands are soft and oh so warm as you handle him with care, loosely stroking his length to keep him hard. inch by inch, he watches himself disappear inside you, unable to stop letting out embarrassing noises that you just giggle at.
“on your back. i-i’ll take care of you for a little while.”
changing positions really shows you how sensitive he is, the way he’s barely holding onto his composure by a thread. all of the movement on the mattress makes the wiry bedframe squeak, high pitched and a little unsettling. there’s probably no chance of it breaking, but if it did . . to say the least, hanta would never let you stay over again.
“goddamn. look at ya, you’re so sexy.” you roll your eyes as you sort yourself out on his cock, flattening your palms against his chest for stability. clearly, a moment of respite has allowed him to regain tons of energy again; he squeezes the fat of your ass and whistles lowly, a nasty grin forming on his lips as he does so. “maybe you ride my face after this.”
“shut uppp, i liked you better when you couldn’t talk.”
denki scoffs, pretending to be affronted. “heyyy, that was rude. i don’t see a problem with catching a—nghh, shit . . o-okay, shutting up now.”
a creamy mixture of his mess and yours drips from your sloppy cunt, puddling all over his pelvic bone. he should definitely wipe it away with the nearby towel to prevent so much as a single drop from spilling onto the bed, but his quirk is going a little haywire and zapping his brain like he’s got a defibrillator pressed to his forehead. tiny yellow sparks fly off of the ends of his hair, harmless and faintly tingly against your skin.
“that good, huh?” you smirk, starting to ride his cock, and denki reaches for your bouncing tits with stars in his eyes. a bunch of slutty, debauched thoughts suddenly fly through his head and out of his mouth before he can control it.
“s-so soft. ooh, can i cum inside?” his golden eyes follow the glossy fluids pouring down your inner thighs, a clear hunger shining in them. despite the fogginess that’s set into every corner of his body, he can still form one coherent thought that trumps the others: more more more. he whines your name, nearly choking on it, and strokes his thumbs over your nipples eagerly. “please, can i fill you up?”
you suck in a shallow breath, mentally deciding that this is the final round. splotches of dried and drying cum are smeared across every inch of your naked body, with the most of it being between your legs. at some point, you’ll have to stop and clean up, preferably before hanta gets home. “just one more time,” then you smirk, leaning in close to see him explode. “ngh, fuck a baby into me, denki. flip me over and make me yours, won’t you?”
with a drawn out moan, he does as you ask and slots himself on top of your body, as if he’s trying to melt into you. he’s trembling, unsure of where to put himself in this moment, so he presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes. “t-this is supposed to be the best position for makin’ babies. oh, oh fuck, you’re so tight on my—haah, ‘m cumming.”
denki collapses on top of you, sparking and spasming in your arms. he’s still running his mouth, babbling out incoherent praises and whining your name so loudly his throat will be hoarse by the time he’s coming down.
“nobody’s answering their fucking phone!” a voice rings through the thin, shoddy wooden door and sounds both angry and flustered. “i came over here to ask for help with all the groceries and then the door was wide open. i’m never trusting you two alone in my apartment again.”
wheezing against your chest, denki takes it upon himself to speak out . . even though he’s just fried the hell out of his brain. “dude, hanta, it’s not that serious—”
“easy for you to say!” on the other side of the door, hanta blanches, feeling nauseous and awkward, “i had the misfortune of seeing you short circuit outside of battle.”
TAKAMI KEIGO + gets extremely pussydrunk
maybe it’s your smile, or the way your eyes light up with mirth when you touch him innocently. keigo thinks it may even be more than one thing—he’s just hopelessly in love with you and unable to find fault in anything you do. by the time you’re sitting down on his cock right after having sucked his soul out, a switch flips in his brain and everything completely shuts off.
all that matters is you; your presence commands his attention and silences his thoughts, even the ones that stress him out so badly his feathers start to itch. what will he eat for lunch tomorrow? can he finish the assignments dumped on him by the time they’re due? none of that matters now, not when you’re grabbing his chin and pulling him into a hot kiss.
“ugh, fuck – you drive me so crazy,” keigo mumbles as your lips crush against his own, effectively silencing anything else he had to say. and then, with his face in your hands, you start to bounce on his lap, fucking your hips down onto his cock at a pace that is astonishingly fast . . for you.
your lips part to let out a faint moan into his mouth, and he eagerly swallows it, making a similar noise once your tongue finally slides against his. wet and warm, it carries the bittersweet taste of his previous orgasm, the one that actually made you choke—keigo had cum so damn hard you could barely hold all of it in your mouth, and it just kept coming until it spilled down your chin in milky streams.
on either side of his body, vermillion feathers flail like flags in the wind, unrestrained in any way. you’re setting your clammy palms upon his shoulders to hold yourself up against the unstoppable barrage of his cock, the tight squeeze as you work it deeper.
“s-so good,” you babble dumbly, barely able to hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat, “ooh, kei! i love you, i love your cock—”
nodding furiously, keigo takes measures into his own hands—literally. trembling palms circle your waist, and once he gets a stable hold on your squirming body, he starts to move you up and down. he hisses impatiently, but continues to properly warm you up for what’s about to happen.
one particular stroke makes your back arch, akin to the shape of a banana, and keigo immediately knows what this means. he emits a low, breathy chuckle and pulls your hips down again, particular in the way he does so. “found it, babygirl.”
“right there,” you gasp sharply, and it feels like the air is being continuously punched out of your lungs when he moves you in a purposeful rhythm. it’s efficient and a lot less sloppy than what you had executed, hitting directly into your sweet spot every single time.
keigo draws in a breath, relocating one of his hands to your lower tummy and firmly pressing down. the pressure makes you tighter, and makes him go deeper—shockwaves resonate through both bodies. “yeah? right there, angel? you feel me here?”
collapsing into him allows you to tuck your face into his neck and breathe in his personal medley of natural scent and high quality cologne, which has faded over the course of the day. your arms are draped over his back now, fingertips brushing lightly against the downy fluff at the sensitive base of his wings, where feathers coalesce into skin.
your teeth are chattering and tears are starting to overflow past your eyes, “ah, kei, ‘s like i can feel you all over. i think – i think ‘m pretty close now.”
keigo grunts, applying more pressure; it’s enough to make you squeal with what sounds like delight. arousal burns through your body and pools hot and heavy in your gut, much like magma before a volcanic eruption. because his wings constantly show off his true emotions around you—especially in more vulnerable situations such as this one—the pinions at the apexes of each individual wing start to wiggle.
if he wasn’t being fucked to death—or using you to fuck him—he’d probably be a little more embarrassed about the blatant display of joy. a smile or laugh is one thing, but his feathers wiggling back and forth is another. without even the smallest shred of concentration, stopping the movement is impossible.
“make a mess for me,” molten gold eyes meet your own, crinkling at the sides as the inflection of desperation pushes through the words, “shit, i need to see you cum—” keigo cuts himself off with a hoarse groan, struggling to move your hips over his lap as the full-body tremors set in. “ngh, angel. be a good—goddamn, s-so tight—a good girl and cum all over this cock, ‘kay? you have to go first, it has to be you. i can’t, fuck, hold it much longer. just lookin’ at you makes me want to—!”
a feeble squeal cuts through the air like a knife through butter and you are temporarily frozen in place when you cum. sweat gleams along your skin, shimmering around your knitted brows, and your parted lips are sticky with a mixture of spit and drool. keigo wishes he could just see you cum like this again and again, going stiff on his cock—then the rush hits you like a freight train.
you start to cry as cum spurts out of you in copious streams, wetting the entirety of his pelvis. there’s so much all at once, and the spasming clenches of your cunt around him are enough to send his high crashing down over him like a tsunami wave. keigo’s wings instinctually wrap around you in a snug hold when he spills inside you, moaning your name until his voice breaks. his balls don’t feel quite as heavy any more, now that he’s filled you up with everything he had to give.
“relax, baby,” keigo coos, thumbing tears away from your cheeks. stars and spirals flash across his vision and he’s slurring his words, but the comfort feels better when he’s dazed like this. then he looks down, and his jaw audibly drops open. “wow! we . . made a mess, didn’t we?”
sharp and urgent, your nails dig half moons into his bare shoulders the second he starts trying to move. “not yet, kei. can’t you just stay inside me?”
keigo wants to make a pregnancy joke, but fortunately, he refrains. however, you see the idea pass through his mind—his flushed cheeks darken ever so slightly, and he smooths out an almost smile, fighting against its tug on his lips. “whattt? can’t a chef taste what was made with his recipe?”
warm embarrassment licks at the tips of your ears, but you try not to avert your eyes. “that makes no sense, keigo.”
his fingertips doodle obscure shapes into your skin, his touch featherlight. keigo hums meaningfully, allowing his hand to move just a centimeter closer to your ass. “all i’m saying is bend over or lay back with your legs open.”
as tantalizing as his suggestion sounds, your pussy still throbs with soreness. “kei,” you sigh out his name like you’re actually tired, “i don’t – i think i’m way too sensitive for that.”
the thing is, keigo doesn’t actually care if you end up cumming too hard or too fast, or if you cry from overstimulation. he intends to devour you not only for your pleasure, but for his own—he needs this in order to feel satiated. “please, angel? i think i’ll die if i’m not between your thighs in the next two minutes.”
you bite your lip, feeling hot and heavy all over. he feels you tighten around his cock and knows he’s successfully convinced you; he unintentionally matches you by twitching once or twice against your cervix. “fine, kei,” you relent, giving in as if you could’ve ever refused, “but only if you’ll let me mess with your wings while you eat it.”
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prosypepper · 8 months ago
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this is love ft. kento nanami
a/n: a few sappy slices of life with my main man :3 enjoy as i dig up motivation to finish kinktober. 18+ mdni!
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"honey?" kento's voice is muffled through the door as he calls out to you, "everything okay?" the door rattles as he tries to open it, knob jingling.
"uhm, yeah! everything's fine!" you nervously shout, much too loud, and rush to unplug the iron that had melted your husband's favorite shirt. you panic and yelp when the hot iron scorches the side on your hand, throwing the stupid device to the ground in a clatter.
"why is the door locked—are you okay?" he asks, voice becoming more concerned as he hears the movement inside.
"i'm—i'm fine! promise! just give me a minute!" you're rushing into your shared master bathroom to run cold water over your hand, and kento’s using a screwdriver pulled from thin air to break into your bedroom. tears well in your eyes when you catch the sight of kento seeing his favorite shirt burnt and melted to his own ironing board. "i’m so sorry…"
in reality, he doesn’t care about the shirt—he’s already at your side to inspect your burnt hand. after a few seconds, he speaks.
"did you try to iron my shirt for me?" nanami asks, a small smile on his face, "you didn’t have to do that." he turns off the faucet and takes a small towel to dry your hand off.
"i tried to, i’m sorry—i didn’t know it would do that." you apologize, looking down at the cold tile flooring in defeat.
"oh, honey." he coos, "it’s only a shirt."
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"have you seen your father?" you ask your son, yū, who’s sat at the dining table, eating breakfast. he shakes his head no, and when you look at your daughter, mayu, she does the same.
"jeez," you grumble to yourself, bedroom slippers pattering down the hallway as you go to search for your husband. saturday mornings were his time to sleep in, but realistically, he never slept past 9am. and currently, it was nearing 10am.
you check everywhere. he isn’t found in the bedroom, living room, his office, the garage, the patio or in the little garden he kept. upstairs, downstairs, everywhere, he isn’t there. and when you check in your bedroom for the last time, you hear a soft buzzing coming from the bathroom. upon entering, you see your husband bent over the counter, leaning close in the mirror as he shaves his stubble with an electric razor.
"there you are—when did you get that?"
kento had always been a clean shaven kind of man, going to a barber shop once every two weeks for his straight razor shave. it hadn’t even crossed your mind he didn’t go after work yesterday.
but when he looks at you—you burst out laughing. he’d shaven most of his beard off, but a few fuzzy patches remained on his cheeks, along with a mustache grazing his upper lip. peach fuzz and a few knicks litter his chin. this was the first time you’d seen him unable to do anything perfectly. and he looks ridiculous.
"is it really that bad?" he groans, pouting when you wrap your arms around yourself in a giggling fit. you shake your head, although your unforgiving laughs are a testament to the opposite.
"no—no, let me help," you say after calming down.
after gathering a new razor and some shaving cream, you sit atop the counter and your husband stands between your legs. kento is surprised how flawlessly you shave his face, without creating any more marks or cuts. you giggle and kiss him, getting some shaving cream on your face.
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"ken?" you shout from the kitchen, where you’re sat, working on your dissertation. it’s been a long road of blood, sweat, and many, many tears; but you’re finally getting towards the end. about to earn a doctorate.
"yes, darling?" kento replies, walking into the kitchen on queue, his timing impeccable.
"can you read over this paragraph, please?" you kindly ask of him, pointing to your most recent written paragraph. he leans over you, planting one firm palm on the table, the other on your back; his eyes read along the sentences and his fingers tap along your spine.
"ah," his finger becomes more focused on a certain word, "wrong 'there', honey."
"no it's not..." you instantly retort, squinting your tired eyes to read over your writing. and you're right, it was the correct one the first time. this was his version of teasing you. but kento couldn't keep up the face much longer before he's giving in with a shit-eating grin you didn't see that often. "you're funny." you groan as kento stands back up.
after reading over the paragraph for about the nineteenth time, you notice kento silently slipping you some tea before turning back around to keep himself busy with cleaning. you absentmindedly take a few sips, then some more...and you find yourself becoming more and more sleepy...
and you're out like a light, forehead pressed directly against the table as a puddle of drool forms on the papers below. kento already has a warm blanket straight from the dryer to drape over you, and you stir just enough to get comfy on your arms.
kento knows that his back will hurt in the morning, but he sits around the corner of the table next to you, settling his head into his arms to drift off to sleep alongside you.
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music of your taste plays rather quietly in the kitchen. you stir the pot of soup and inhale the flavorful aroma that wafts through the air.
kento sets two bowls next to the stove, then rummages through your silverware drawer to find two spoons. the kids are at their grandparents for the weekend, it's only you and your husband, converted into the duo you were long ago.
you step away from the stove to go fill up two glasses of wine, the brand kento had as his favorite had slowly turned into your favorite over time, too.
kento fills up the two bowls to the brim of the delicious food, grinning on the inside at the simplicity of it all. just you and him. he lids the pot with the matching glass top and makes his way over to the table.
you set out place mats for the both of you, then place the wine glasses in their prospective areas. kento places the bowls on top of the mats as you grab the spoons from the counter.
in the kitchen, your bodies subconsciously dance around each other. carefully, in perfect tune and pace. delicate steps of a routine formed over so much time together.
in the universe, your souls are tied, striding alongside one another in each lifetime repeated.
and this, is love.
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urfavfakeblonde · 10 days ago
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ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ ʙᴀʀɴᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ
hi loves <3 I have had such a writer's block lately, so I thought I'd share some of my favorite fics that I have read lately. shout out to all of these amazing writers-- keep doing what you love. you are all unique and thoughtful, putting a little twist into your work that makes it yours. enjoy <3
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𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷��!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴
obsession @barnesonly 18+ (he's so dreamy)
You don’t even really like Bucky Barnes — he’s grumpy, kinda mean, and totally clueless about how you feel. But damn, he’s so hot it’s driving you crazy. Every time he walks in, all you can think about is what it’d be like if he just took you right there. You try to play it cool… but yeah, that’s not happening.
𝘔𝘰𝘣 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘴! 𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴 (im such a whore for mob!bucky so pls send me fics <3)
sinnerman @aquaticmercy 18+ (OBSESSED W/THIS.)
Bucky Barnes is obsessed with a singer at his favorite jazz club.
sins and silk @magicaloneandmystery 18+ (don't have to force me babe🤭)
under the watchful eyes of his criminal entourage and your unapologetic family, you say your vows to the most powerful man in New York City. despite your doubts, your wedding night surprises you in more ways than one. AKA, Bucky knows how to fuck the reader right.
mad for you @marvelstoriesepic (I cried reading this like deadass)
You are a simple maid who cleans the mansion of the Bucky Barnes, always staying in the background. But when one of his men sees you as a target for assault, and manipulates you into taking the blame for something you didn’t do, you are pushed directly into Bucky’s focus.
𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴
something worth holding @cheekybarnes (I just wanna hug him)
You bring Bucky flowers for his birthday—something no one has ever given him before—and what starts as a simple gesture turns into something far more significant.
eating you out @ddejavvu 18+ (spread it open and flick the bean)
Literally just Bucky eating the reader out, and he hikes her up on his shoulders, with her legs wrapped around his head and she's leaned up against the wall.
manchild @houseofhyde 18+ (this might be the best fic I've ever read. like actually.)
bucky can't help but wonder why they always come running to you,, or your living fossil of a roommate disapproves of your taste in men and its totally not because he wants a taste of you.
gentlemen @buckysleftbicep 18+ (im so down bad for this man)
Like so chivalrous and respectful. But with him being feral and obsessed with you at the same time. Being obsessed with pleasuring you and treating pleasuring you like his life’s honor. NEED HIM
where the quiet lives @cursedheartsclub 18+ (this has a special place in my heart)
You were supposed to be on your honeymoon. Instead, you’re crashing at Bucky Barnes’s lake house—with his grumpy cat and no idea who you are without the man who asked you to give it all up. You went to the lake to forget your ex. You didn’t expect to fall for the man who owns the house.
spellbound @cursedheartsclub 18+ (sex pollen troupe ily)
You took the hit meant for Bucky—magic that curls under your skin like a fever, an ache that won’t ease no matter how many times you break. And the only thing that eases the fire is him.
bound to burn @cursedheartsclub 18+ (SO SO GOOD!!!)
You’ve never kissed Bucky Barnes—never even touched. Now you’re in his lap at a club in Romania, panties pushed to the side, grinding on his thigh while a voyeuristic arms dealer watches from the shadows. The mission said do whatever it takes—so you do. You moan for him. You beg for him. You come on his fingers in a mirrored room with someone else on the other side of the glass. And the worst part? None of it feels fake. Not his voice in your ear. Not his mouth between your legs. Not the way he says, “Eyes on me, doll.” And when it’s all over? You still ache for him. And he’s still carrying your panties in his pocket.
Falling/Drifting Series @probablybucky (this writer is so amazing. ily)
When you find yourself falling for Bucky Barnes (literally), you wonder if you can let go of the past enough to trust him. Set post TFATWS.
Drifting apart was never part of the plan—but neither was falling in love with Bucky Barnes. With a looming threat on the horizon, distance becomes a liability neither of you can afford.
high water @cheekybarnes (so angsty and personal love it)
You’ve stopped keeping track of the bruises. Bucky hasn’t—and he doesn’t say anything, not until the patterns start looking too much like his own, and it’s almost too late to pull you back.
have we met before? @aquaticmercy (sighs in cuteness)
America Chavez says that you and Bucky are together in every universe.
𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴
right this time @buckysleftbicep (as he should 😚)
after a disappointing date, bucky decides to show you what a proper date should be like.
creamy or crunchy @marvelstoriesepic (so cute, made my heart ache)
Bucky joins you grocery shopping to everyone’s surprise.
a love letter to stone @cheekybarnes (brb im gonna go cry)
You were Bucky Barnes’ fiancée, a love left unfinished by war, spending decades at his grave, never moving on. But when Bucky finally comes home—broken, free, too late—you’re already gone.
1940'𝘴!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴
his girl @cursedheartsclub 18+ (1940's bucky has my heart)
He called you his girl long before he ever kissed you. Long before he fell off the train. Before Hydra. Before the ice. Before he forgot your name—Bucky Barnes was just a boy who called you his girl. The two of you grew up tangled in the Brooklyn trio with Steve: fists and laughter, scraped knees and stolen glances, slow dances and so many kisses. You were never official. But everyone knew. He made sure of it. And when he left for war, he shouted it across the room for all to hear— “You know I’m gonna marry you when I get back, right?”
birthday boy @bratscave 18+ (<3 <3 <3)
thinking about how he doesn’t even fucking like celebrating it. the whole “another year, another number” bullshit. what’s there to be excited about? but you—oh, you—pretty little thing that you are, batting your lashes and telling him it’s a special day, his special day, and that you wanna make it good for him. real good.
𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺
always been you @bcksgirl 18+ (love it love it love it love it)
you’re fresh out of a break up, and your brother is determined not to let you dwell on your shitty ex. he thinks your annual summer trip with your shared group of friends should do the trick. you think a summer spent staring at his hot best friend will at least lift your spirits a little.
𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭 𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥!𝘉𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘴
lavender @aquaticmercy 18+ (usually I don't go for stuff like this, but I was like what the hell, why not, and it did not disappoint. very Game of Thrones I love it!!)
The princess is engaged to her childhood best friend, though her true love is her royal guard, James Barnes.
𝘤𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘰𝘺!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺
the cowboy rule @hanaridulsetcheese 18+ (as a Texas girl herself, I love it!! need more cowboy bucky in my life)
no summary, so here is my own! after arriving in Texas, you meet a charming cowboy named Bucky. When he offers to show you around, you can't help but notice how attractive he is. One night at a bar, he puts his cowboy hat on your head, which can only mean one thing..."You wear a man’s hat, you take him for a ride."
𝘋𝘢𝘥'𝘴𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺
honey girl. @violentdelightsandviolentends 18+ (this series is a masterpiece.)
The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.
 daddy's best friend @buckysleftbicep 18+ (“Next time, I’m riding you in your truck.” when is this gonna come out because...)
your dad’s best friend has been avoiding your eyes all night, until he’s got you pinned against the laundry room door, hand up your thigh. it’s everything you shouldn’t want, but you always do.
𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺
just for tonight, night out, stay for a fortnight @thyme-in-a-bubble 18+ (this series is so amazing--you have to read it. there is something so beautiful about sex meaning more idk)
bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, ex!peter parker x reader, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), forbidden romance, explicit sexual content, total word count is 10.7k
𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦!𝘣𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘺
change your mind @marvelstoriesepic (I love baseball boys <3)
Natasha drags you to an NYU baseball game. And despite yourself, one player catches your attention.
supposed distraction @marvelstoriesepic (it's so cute and movie I love it)
It’s Bucky’s birthday and you and your friends are planning a surprise party. That leaves you with the task to distract him while the others prepare.
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my masterlist <3
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helluvapoison · 1 year ago
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imagine leaving lipstick marks on lucifer
18+
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
imagine harmlessly kissing his cheek before he heads out to a meeting. you pull back and laugh to yourself. lucifer looks at you dreamily but when your giggles don’t cease he gets nervous
“what? do i have something on my face?”
“yes, actually.” you sigh out a final bubble of laughter, scanning your vanity for a wipe to clean his cheek
lucifer’s breathe hitched when he peeped in the mirror. whipping around, he snatches your hands thus stopping your hunt. his eyes are wild, he’s literally bouncing with excitement
“gimme more,” he breathes
“luci, you were supposed to leave already!”
“please? pretty please with a cherry on top? one more and-and i’ll go. yeah, just one more.” he sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than you
“you, lucifer, the king of hell,” you stepped closer and closer until he stumbled back into your vanity. he completely forgot he was holding onto you. “are gonna go to a meeting covered in lipstick?”
lucifer whined, a heavy blush erupting across his face. his fingers tightened and he swallowed thickly on nothing
“covered?” he peeped
“oh you poor thing,” you hummed, “you can’t think about anything else, can you?”
you slid your leg between his and felt the answer. with a moan, lucifer’s head dropped back but you were quick to catch and cradle it. his hat fell and rolled off the vanity onto the floor. nosing his exposed neck had him trembling in anticipation
“please?” he slurred
“this isn’t responsible, ducky.” you replied, pulling his bow tie loose and adding it to the ground’s collection
“no,” lucifer agreed breathlessly
he pathetically gripped your shirt, trying desperately not to grind against your leg
“but it’s what you want?”
you were already unbuttoning his shirt with one, adept hand
“yes.”
even though lucifer knew it was coming, his body jolted when you kissed his neck. he was always so sensitive, so responsive, so good
you gifted him loving bruises that would later peak out of his collar, and in return he sang for you. his moans and whimpers were your favorite to hear and he never failed to give you what you wanted. lucifer couldn’t stop himself from rutting against your leg as you painted him in a shade that was undeniably you
after successfully transferring the lipstick onto lucifer, you retreated. gods did he whine when you did. you pulled his hair to force his gaze towards the mirror
“look how pretty you are,” you purred in his ear, gently planting a kiss there too
out of the corner of his eye, lucifer could see the collar you gave him. it damn near drove him over the edge. his dick was painfully hard, it was a miracle he didn’t cream his pants
“gonna go to that meeting?” you teased sweetly
lucifer shook his head like you’d asked something ludicrous, “nuh-uh.”
“good,” turning his head back to you, you presented the tube of lipstick, “i wanna get messy.”
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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 months ago
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STITCHED TOGETHER
PAIRING: michael “robby” robinavitch x female reader
RATING: explicit
WORD COUNT: 6.1k
SUMMARY:
after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.
TAGS/WARNINGS:
no use of y/n, dual pov, mentions of blood/wounds, mentions of domestic/child abuse (a case at the hospital), hurt/comfort, neighbors to lovers, baked goods as a flirting mechanism, explicit sexual content (18+ mdni), vaginal fingering, edging, oral - f receiving, light choking, praise kink, dirty talk, kissing, begging, p in v, multiple positions - missionary and cowgirl, a sprinkle of domesticity
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Your hand pulses with pain. The dish towel you’ve wrapped tightly around your palm is now stained with blood. You raise your fist to knock on your neighbor’s door, hoping that he’s home. You don’t know much about Robby, but you know he works long shifts at the ER, always leaving the apartment with a thermos of coffee and coming home late with shadows under his eyes.
There’s no answer to your knock, no sounds of movement from behind the door, and you mumble a curse beneath your breath. You lift the towel from your palm to check the wound, the fabric sticking slightly to your skin and making you wince. It’s still just as deep as it felt and you’re pretty sure you need stitches but—
“Everything okay?”
You look up. Robby is standing at the end of the hall, the door to the stairwell closing behind him. He must have just finished at work since he’s still dressed in a pair of wrinkled scrubs, exhaustion dragging his shoulders down. You suddenly feel very guilty for bothering him.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, aiming for nonchalant. His eyes catch on your hand where you have it cradled close to your body. Something shifts in him, like a switch flips and suddenly he’s not Robby, your neighbor, but Dr. Robby.
“Did you hurt yourself?” He asks, long strides carrying him down the hall. He drops the backpack on his shoulder to the floor, all his attention zeroed in on your hand. “Let me see.”
You hold your hand out. He carefully unwraps the towel.
“It’s fine, really, I was just going to ask if you think I need stitches—“
“You do.”
“Oh, okay. Well, I guess I better—“
“I can do it.”
“No, no, that’s okay, I can just —“ Robby looks up at you, still holding your hand, and you feel your heart lurch at the sharp edge in his eye. The rest of your words fade away.
“Come on, I’ve got a suture kit under the sink,” he says, grabbing his bag and digging his keys from the front pocket. He unlocks the door to his apartment, leaving it open behind him in a clear invitation. After a second of hesitation, you follow him, shutting the door behind you.
Robby’s apartment is a mirror image of yours. Open concept, with the living room blending into a dining area that opens up to the kitchen. There’s not much in the way of decoration, but it’s clearly lived in — a stack of magazines on a low coffee table, a comfortable looking leather couch with a blanket draped over the back, and a small collection of empty coffee cups on the counter by the sink.
“Sorry for the mess,” he says, crouching down to fetch the aforementioned suture kit. “Bring your hand over the sink for me.”
You do as you’re asked, unwrapping the towel and setting it on the counter. Robby washes his hands and dries them with a paper towel before pulling on some blue gloves, his motions steadfast and efficient. He picks up a squeeze bottle with a long, curved tip and holds out a hand for yours.
He squeezes the contents of the bottle over your wound, using it to wash away some of the dried blood. When it’s clean, he sets the bottle down.
“Good news is that you didn’t manage to hit any tendons,” he says. “Bad news is that hand injuries hurt like a bitch.” He picks up a syringe, uncapping it and sticking it into a vial of clear fluid. “Some lidocaine will help while I stitch you up. When it wears off, you’ll need some Tylenol. You got any at your place?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
He sticks the needle into your palm and you resist the urge to flinch. Each time he repositions it, you hold your breath.
“You gotta breathe for me. I know it hurts, but when it kicks in you’ll feel a lot better.”
You take a deep breath, the exhale shaky. Finally, he finishes with the needle. The pain has eased considerably as the anesthetic begins to do its job.
“Have a seat at the table for me,” Robby says, tilting his head toward the dining area. You settle into one of the chairs and he drags another close to you, setting a sterile bag on the table before taking a seat.
Peeling the bag open, he methodically removes the contents. First the blue sheet that he unfolds and lays on the table, followed by the tray of utensils. He pats the sheet and you set your hand, palm up, on it.
“So, you gonna tell me how you did this?” He asks, opening a swab stained with brown liquid that he runs over the edges of your wound.
“You’re going to think I’m an idiot,” you reply, heat rising to your cheeks. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a little smile.
“I’ve seen some stupid stuff. Promise this won’t even phase me.”
You sigh. “I was cutting an avocado.”
“Did you mistake your hand for it instead?”
“Hey!”
“Sorry.” He rips open a small package, pulling out a curved needle with a length of string already attached. “Finish the story.”
“I was holding it and sliced a little too deep. Went straight through the avocado skin and right into mine.”
“I wasn’t too far off. First stitch,” he says, sticking the needle through the edge of the cut. “Good thing I got home when I did.”
“I would have just gone to the ER if you didn’t.”
“Yeah, and you would have been waiting a few hours to get seen.”
“I feel bad. You’re off the clock. I’m sure you had things you wanted to do.”
“Had a hot date with my shower and some pizza rolls. I think they’ll forgive me for being late.”
You laugh and his eyes flick up, watching you for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand. A comfortable silence settles between you and you take the opportunity to really look at Robby.
He’s older than you by a few years if the grey in his beard is anything to go by. His dark hair looks like it’s grown out a bit from a shorter style and is a little messy, like maybe he’s run his fingers through it a few times. There are faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes that grow deeper when his lips curl up in a smile. He’s handsome, you’ve thought as much since introducing yourself when you moved in, but up close and hunched over your hand, helping you with a gentle touch, he’s nearly devastating.
“Done,” he announces, reaching for the surgical scissors on the tray and snipping the end of the suture. “These are meant to fall out as the wound heals, so unless you notice any signs of infection, you shouldn’t need any follow up.”
“That was fast,” you say, looking over the neat row of stitches appreciatively.
“Years of practice.” He wraps a roll of gauze around your palm. “Keep the bandage on for at least twenty-four hours. After that, you can take it off but keep the area clean. Don’t soak it in anything. Try not to move your hand too much so they don’t pop. Alternate between Tylenol and Motrin for the pain.”
“I really can’t thank you enough,” you tell him. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I try to be.”
Though he’s trying to make a joke, his tone sounds despondent. He clears his throat and busies himself with cleaning up the table, avoiding your gaze. You decide not to press him for an explanation. He hardly owes you one.
Later, back in your apartment and lying in your bed, you replay every moment of your interaction with Robby. The way he gently held your hand to check the wound, the confidence with which he moved, the sadness in his voice. You decide that you have to repay him for his help and you know just the way to do it.
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Robby is half asleep on the couch when there’s a knock at the door. He checks his watch and frowns. It’s just after eight, the sky dark outside the window, and he’d taken an unexpected nap after his shift. His stomach grumbles, the aching hunger he’d felt when falling asleep returning with a vengeance.
He stands and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck as it cracks and shuffling down the hall to open the door. You’re standing across the threshold with a plate in your hands and a bright smile on your face.
“Hey! I hope I’m not bothering you,” you say, smile faltering as you take him in. “Did I just wake you up?”
“Just from a nap,” he replies, willing himself to look less grumpy. Based on the way your smile dips into a frown, he’s probably not doing a great job. “It’s fine, I promise.”
“I brought cookies. As a thank you. For fixing my hand.” You hold the plate out toward him and he takes it. The bottom is warm. “Chocolate chip.”
The scent reaches him and he nearly groans. “Thank you, but I can’t take these.”
“Are you gluten free? Shit, I should have asked before making something.”
“No, I just mean you don’t need to thank me.”
“Of course I do!”
At that moment, his stomach betrays him, audibly announcing his hunger. You raise an eyebrow at him, hands on your hips, and he knows he’s lost this argument.
“Fine. If you’ll come in and eat one, too,” he says. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, turning to head toward his kitchen and hoping you’ll follow. When the door shuts and the soft sound of footsteps grows louder, he fights back a victorious smile.
He sets the plate on the counter and pulls off the aluminum foil on top. A small pile of golden brown chocolate chip cookies sits on the ceramic. You stand on the other side of the island, watching him. He picks one of the cookies up and takes a bite, groaning at how delicious it is.
“Christ, that’s good,” he says, punctuating the compliment with another bite. “You made these?”
“Yep. Even used the good chocolate. The real secret is a sprinkle of fancy sea salt.” You reach across the counter and pluck one of the cookies from the pile for yourself.
“How’s your hand doing?” Robby asks. You hold the hand in question out towards him. It’s been a little over a week and some of the stitches have started to dissolve, two of them still hanging on near the deeper part of your wound. “Looks good.”
“Thanks to a good doctor,” you say. He snorts, the sound self-deprecating even to his own ears. You frown, but don’t try to dig, which is nice. He’s so used to being around people who want him to be an open book when he’d rather sit quietly on a shelf, handling things on his own.
“I need to order dinner.” He turns his back to you, rifling through his junk drawer for the menu of the Chinese place down the street.
“I’ll just—“
“You wanna stay?” He asks, cutting you off. Your eyes go wide with surprise and he begins to internally berate himself when your expression shifts, going soft and warm.
“Sure. What are we ordering?”
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It becomes a thing.
The first batch of cookies was a thank you. The second batch was a recipe test. Your excuse for the third batch was that you just made too many and would he want some?
He never turns you away, even if he looks dead on his feet from a long shift. He perks up when he spots the plate in your hands and invites you inside, singing your praises as he tries the recipe of the week. At the rate you’re going through sugar and butter and flour, you’ll need a membership to one of those bulk stores by the end of the month.
Robby doesn’t knock on your door, never seeks you out himself, but he does ask you to stay whenever you stop by. Over dinner, he’ll ask you about your week and listen as you talk about your job or the plans you made with your friends. He doesn’t talk about his own work much, not unless he’s got a funny story to share. You have a feeling he keeps the difficulty of his job close to his chest, shouldering the concern on his own.
That changes on a Friday night.
It’s late, nearly midnight, and you’re reading in bed, a half drunk glass of wine on your nightstand. A sound breaks through your concentration and you pause your reading, listening for it again.
It’s a knock. Soft, so soft you can barely hear it, three taps against your door, followed by silence. You scramble from your bed, nearly tripping on the duvet in the process, and rush down the hall.
When you open the door, Robby is there. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you, and you know without asking that he’s had a tough night. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw, the way he’s staring at you without really seeing.
“Come inside,” you tell him. He nods and walks past you, pausing in your living room. Compared to his apartment, yours exudes personality. Mismatched furniture and bookshelves full of memories, photographs and art on the walls.
He takes it in while you head to the kitchen, pulling together a sandwich from the contents of your fridge and filling a glass with water. You bring the plate of food and the glass to the living room, placing both on the coffee table and settling yourself on the couch, legs crossed under you. When he doesn’t move, you pat the cushion next to you.
“Eat,” you command.
Robby does as you ask and starts with the water. He drains the glass in a few desperate gulps and you refill it for him while he starts on the sandwich. You turn the TV on to fill the silence, putting on a nature documentary. You watch the show, your attention half on the eating habits of pangolins and half on the man beside you, concern creeping up your spine.
He still hasn’t said anything.
When the plate and glass are both empty, you start to get up to clear them away, but a warm hand on your wrist holds you in place. Your gaze locked with Robby’s, you slowly sit back down. He releases your wrist and you bring your hand up, settling it on the back of his neck and gently tugging him towards you, urging him to lie down. His head is on your lap, pillowed on your bare thighs, and he brings his knees close to his chest to fit the rest of his body on the couch.
You run your hands through his hair, fingernails scratching lightly against his scalp. The tension eases from his body, like a balloon slowly losing air. His eyelids flutter and his lips part on a contented sigh.
“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask.
“Not really.”
“Because you don’t want to or because you think I wouldn’t want to hear about it?”
He sighs. “You don't want to hear this shit. Trust me.”
“We’re friends, Robby. You can talk to me.”
“Friends, huh?”
“Yeah. Friends,” you reply, despite the sudden dryness of your mouth and the racing of your pulse. He’s quiet for a long moment and you think maybe he still won’t open up but then he takes a deep breath and clears his throat.
“Lost a patient today. A teenager who got between his mom and his piece of shit dad that was wailing on her. The guy pulled a gun on his own son and ran.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He turns, lying more on his back. His eyes are wet with tears that have gathered but refuse to fall. “We did everything we could do. I know that. But I had to look that mom in the eyes that her husband bruised and tell her that her baby was gone.”
There’s nothing you could say to take the pain away, so you don’t. But, you sit through it with him.
Sometimes, that can be enough.
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Robby paces the length of his apartment from the door to the kitchen. It’s been a week since that night in your apartment and he can’t get it out of his head.
First he was stuck on the way you took care of him, how you knew what he needed without having to say anything. You were the calm to the storm in his head, the one that raged despite every strong command given to his team in an effort to save the boy’s life that day. He tends to shoulder the responsibility and, subsequently, the guilt on his own but it had been surprisingly helpful to let someone else in, someone who wanted to be there for him without a shared trauma bond. He felt lighter when he returned to his apartment that night.
Over the last couple days, however, the fixation shifted to the way your hands felt on him. The memory of your fingers dragging through his hair, though soothing in the moment, has morphed into something more. It’s no longer a gentle caress in his mind, but a sharp tug while he’s got his face between your thighs, tongue diving deep and desperate.
Despite these thoughts, he’s hesitant to reach out again, especially with these new ideas for how to spend his time with you in his head. But you also hadn’t come over in a week and he worries that maybe you view him differently now that he’s let the wall down a little, he probably should have just—
“Achoo!”
Robby pauses, his attention gripped by the sudden sound that came from the direction of your apartment. He drifts closer to his living room wall.
“Achoo!”
Another sneeze, followed by a pained groan. Are you…sick? Is that why you haven’t come around yet? Before he can overthink it, he’s leaving his apartment and knocking on your door.
When you answer with a blanket held tight around you and a tissue clenched in your hand, he feels a conflicting rush of relief and concern. You sniffle loudly.
“Robby? What are you doing here?”
“I heard you sneeze.” You blink at him, wobbling a bit on the spot. He reaches out to steady you, hands on your shoulders. Gently, he urges you back inside your apartment. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”
He leads you to your room, the same as his but infinitely more comfortable. While he furnished his apartment, he didn’t take care to really make it a home, not when he spends so many hours at work. He didn’t see the point. Stepping into your room, it’s the opposite, facets of your personality in every corner.
He sits you down on the edge of the bed. A pile of tissues has taken up residence on your nightstand and he gathers them up while you make a feeble attempt to stop him.
“That’s gross, don’t touch those,” you whine. “I can clean them up.”
“Lie down,” he commands.
“Bossy, bossy.”
Robby hides his smile by leaving the room to throw the tissues in the trash. While in the kitchen, he finds your cabinet of mismatched cups and fills one with water. Rummaging through the pantry, he finds an open box of crackers that he brings back to your room.
“Where’s your medicine?” He asks. You gesture towards the bathroom and he digs through the cabinets until he finds a bottle of Tylenol. He shakes out a few into his palm and brings them back to you. “Take these.”
“If I had a nickel for every time you told me to take Tylenol, I’d have two nickels.”
He laughs as he watches you swallow down the medicine and drink half of the glass of water. He hands you a sleeve of crackers.
“Eat a couple of those so that you don’t end up with an upset stomach.”
When you’ve finished, you set the remaining crackers on your nightstand and wiggle down the bed, bringing your blanket up to your chin. Robby sets a palm on your forehead and you watch him with an expression he can’t name.
“Am I gonna be alright, doc?” You ask. He smiles.
“Yeah, I think you’ll pull through.”
“Will you stay with me?”
Rather than respond, he walks around your bed to the other side and toes off his sneakers. He gets on the bed, staying on top of your blankets as he makes himself comfortable. You turn on your side to look at him.
“Thanks for coming,” you whisper.
“That’s what friends do.”
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You wake to a heavy weight around your waist and warmth at your back. At first you’re confused until the memory of asking Robby to stay with you comes into focus. You remember him getting in bed with you, keeping himself on top of the covers while you snuggled underneath to fight off the constant chill your fever brought on.
You turn over slowly, careful not to disturb him. He’s still on top of the covers but he’s curled himself around you, his head nearly on your pillow in an effort to get closer. His chest rises and falls with deep, even breaths and his features are soft with sleep.
The shrill beep of an alarm breaks the silence and Robby wakes with a sharp inhale. You quickly close your eyes, pretending to be asleep as he moves around, presumably trying to get his phone out to shut off the alarm. The noise abruptly cuts off and you hear him let out a deep breath.
He shifts beside you. A palm is pressed to your forehead and his touch lingers for a moment, his fingers tracing your cheek as he pulls away. You fight to keep your breathing slow and even despite the fierce pounding of your heart against your ribs.
Robby gets up from the bed, the mattress creaking as his weight lifts from it. You hear his light footsteps around the room, followed by the quiet click of your door being shut. With him gone, you turn onto your back and stare up at the ceiling.
You know he had to leave, he probably had to get ready for work, but you wish he didn’t. A fantasy plays out in your head, one where he gets to sleep in and you wake up before him, sneaking into the kitchen to make coffee. He wakes up while you’re waiting for it to finish brewing, strong arms wrapping around your waist and his beard tickling your neck when he kisses your neck. The image fades as sleep catches up to your exhausted body, pulling you back into its embrace for the rest of the morning.
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“Dr. Robby?”
Robby shakes his head free of his thoughts and looks to his left. Mel’s got a clipboard in her hands and a question in her eyes.
“Are you okay?” She asks in that blunt but empathetic way of hers.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks in return. She blinks.
“Oh, uh, it’s just…you seem distracted?”
He is distracted. There’s been a restless fire in his veins ever since he woke up beside you, holding you close. He hasn’t seen you in a couple days now, giving you the space to get over your cold, and it has him growing a bit desperate, though he would never admit as much out loud and especially not to one of the med students.
“Everything is fine, Dr. King. Whatcha got for me?”
Mel launches into a presentation on a twenty-three year old female that was triaged for abdominal pain. Robby listens attentively and joins her at the patient’s bedside as she delivers a diagnosis and describes the treatment plan. One patient turns into…somewhere around thirty, he thinks. He lost count.
Finally, he finishes his shift and heads out into the night. Back in his apartment, he showers, changes his clothes, and brushes his teeth for good measure. He’s rushing through the after work motions, an energy in him that he only feels when he’s making a split second call that could mean life or death in the ER.
Basic needs met, he gets his shoes on and leaves his apartment. Five quick steps have him knocking at your door. His pulse kicks into high gear when he hears your footsteps on the other side.
You open the door and your smile lights up your face when you see him and he knows you’re saying something but his focus is entirely zeroed in on your lips and how he desperately needs to feel them against his. He reaches out, framing your face between his palms. There’s a flash of surprise in your eyes but then he’s kissing you.
Finally.
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“Hey! I was just about—“
Your words are cut off by Robby kissing you.
Robby is kissing you.
With his hands on your jaw, he urges you back inside your apartment and kicks the door shut behind him. One large palm moves cradles the back of your head, cushioning the blow when your back hits the wall and he presses his body close to yours, chest to chest and a thigh between your legs.
You’re in sensory overload, overwhelmed by the feel of his broad shoulders beneath your hands, the smell of his shampoo, and the faint taste of mint when his tongue tangles with yours. His hand settles on the side of your neck and you wonder if he can feel the way he makes your heart race beneath his palm.
When he pulls back, he traces a thumb over your lips, open admiration in his gaze. He presses down on your lower lip and you obey the silent command to open up, let him in, give him more. His breath stutters when you close your lips around his thumb and suck. He pulls it free with a lewd pop, dragging his hand down your neck, squeezing lightly at the base of your throat. Before you can react, his touch ventures lower and you gasp when he roughly palms your breast. Your hips flex against his thigh in a bid for friction.
All of a sudden, Robby steps back, taking your hand in his and leading you down the hall to your bedroom.
“Get on the bed,” he says, voice low and rough. You hurry to comply, crawling up the mattress and lying back on the pillows, anticipation and the hungry look on his face making the ache between your thighs nearly unbearable.
He joins you on the bed, on his knees between your legs, and runs his hands over your thighs and beneath the fabric of your shorts. You arch your back when his thumbs dig into the crease of your thigh, so close to where you want him, but not close enough. A whine escapes you.
“What do you want, baby?” He asks.
“Want you to fuck me,” you tell him, lifting your hips.
“Can’t do that yet.”
You frown. “Why not?”
Robby’s fingers curl into the elastic of your shorts, pulling the fabric down. You lift your hips again so that he can pull them off and toss them to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. His hand presses one of your thighs to the mattress, keeping you spread open for him as he drags his thumb over your pussy, starting at the damp spot near your entrance until he reaches your clit.
“You have to cum on my fingers,” he presses down against your clit, “and my mouth first. Think you can do that?”
When you don’t respond to his question, the deep pressure of his thumb is replaced by a light smack of his fingers. You gasp at the sharp contrast in sensation and try to close your legs instinctively, only to be blocked by his body and the firm grip of the hand still on your thigh.
“Answer me,” he demands, removing his hands from you and raising an expectant eyebrow.
“Yes,” you tell him. You’re pretty sure you would do anything this man asks as long as he touches you again. The corner of his mouth tilts up in a smirk.
“Good girl.”
Those two little words are like a bolt of lightning straight to your core and he knows it, his knowing gaze making you feel hot and flustered. He removes your underwear and with the last barrier gone, he drops to his stomach and brings his face mere inches from your soaked pussy.
His breath fans across your heated skin and that’s the only warm up you get before his mouth is on you, his tongue circling your clit and lapping at your entrance. Your hands are drawn to his hair, fingers gripping the short strands. He looks up at you as he sucks your clit between his lips and groans when you pull sharply on his hair in response.
If you thought Robby would finish this quickly to get on to the main event, you were incredibly mistaken. The man between your legs brings you to the brink of release before dragging you back from the edge more times than you can count, to the point where tears gather in the corners of your eyes and you let out a pained groan of frustration.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” He asks, lifting his head but keeping up steady circles of his thumb against your clit. Not fast enough to bring you off, just enough to keep your need simmering at the surface. You glare at him.
“Let me come already,” you say through gritted teeth. He laughs.
“You could try asking nicely. Say please.”
You stare at him, mouth opening and closing around words that won’t form. He brings his mouth back to your abused bundle of nerves, licking with broad circles that have you seeing stars. You’re so close, just a little more—
He starts to pull back. The pressure of his tongue grows lighter. You drop your head to the mattress and one of those trapped tears finally escapes, rolling down your temple. You’ve never begged a man for anything before but there’s a first time for everything.
“Please, please, please,” you gasp. “Robby, please.”
Two fingers press against your entrance and slide inside, the sudden stretch making you gasp. He curls them against your inner walls with each drag of his hand from your body. The pressure and speed of his tongue on your clit increases. Your thighs start to shake as the thread of tension in your core tightens until it finally snaps and you come with a strangled shout of his name.
Robby doesn’t stop touching you. He keeps his fingers buried in your cunt and his mouth busy by gently licking you through the waves of your orgasm. Finally, he sits up. You watch as he takes off his shirt and stands up quickly to remove his shoes and sweatpants. His cock bobs free and your mouth practically waters at the sight of it. Not excessively long but he is thick and if you thought his fingers were a stretch, his cock might just split you in half. A bead of precum has gathered at the slit and you watch him smooth his thumb through it before dragging his fist over his length with a groan.
“Condoms?” He asks.
“Top drawer.”
He grabs a foil packet and tosses it on the bed before crawling over you, settling his body over yours. He kisses you, deep and slow, grinding his hips into yours and dragging his cock through the mess he’s made of you. His lips deliver the taste of you to your tongue, earthy and erotic. You moan into the kiss when he drags against your clit.
Keeping himself balanced with one elbow on the bed beside your head, he uses his free hand to hitch your leg over his hip, opening you wider and bringing you closer. His lips find your neck, lavishing your sensitive skin with kisses and nips of his teeth. You need this man inside of you now.
“Robby, please.”
He nods against your neck, sitting up only long enough to roll the condom down his length before his weight is back on you, pressing you into the mattress. He flexes his hips against you but this time, the thick head of his cock catches against your entrance and he starts to ease inside, achingly slow. His eyes stay fixed to yours as he does.
“You feel so fucking good,” Robby says, face buried against your neck. You clench around him in response and he chokes on a groan. “Don’t do that, I’m trying not to embarrass myself here.”
You do it again for good measure.
He lifts his head, eyes narrowed at you, and pulls his hips back, his cock dragging against the same spot that made you come on his fingers. He thrusts forward with a sharp snap of his hips that punches the air from your lungs.
He sets a pace that has you seeing stars and moaning his name like a prayer. Your orgasm builds, coiling tight in your center, but you’re not ready for the release. You push against Robby’s shoulder and his expression grows concerned, a deep crease forming between his brows as he pulls back, allowing you room to sit up.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks.
“No, no,” you assure him. “I just…can I get on top?”
A boyish grin chases the worry from his face and he flops onto his back in the empty space on the mattress. You laugh as you straddle his hips though it turns into moan when you sink down onto his cock. The angle is deeper and there’s an added friction to your clit with every roll of your hips. Robby’s hands are everywhere, squeezing your ass roughly or pinching a tight nipple between his fingers.
“That’s it, baby,” he groans, head pressed back into the pillow, the long line of his neck on display. “Just like that.”
You place your hands on his chest for balance, the dusting of coarse hair tickling your palms. When you lean forward, he meets you in a kiss that’s mostly shared breath. Your pace slows and Robby takes over, his feet planted on the mattress to thrust up into you.
“Come for me,” he says against your lips. “I need it, sweetheart, come on.”
You drop your head against his neck, licking at the sweat damp skin as your orgasm returns, no longer a slow building wave but a tsunami that floods your nerves and leaves you drowning in sensation. Your walls tighten around his cock and he groans, dragging you down onto his lap and holding you there as he pulses inside of you.
Sweat cools on your skin. Your breathing slows. His hands trail up and down your back, the gentle touch and cold air of your room making your skin prickle. You lift your head and press your forehead against his.
“Jesus Christ,” you mumble.
“Just Robby is fine,” he says.
You lift your head so that he can see you roll your eyes before slowly getting up, a satisfying ache in your muscles and between your legs. You go to the bathroom and Robby comes in as you’re washing your hands, tossing the condom in the trash and washing his hands as well.
You return to bed, crawling beneath the blankets. Robby joins you, lying on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest, your eyelids already heavy with exhaustion.
“Will you stay with me?”
“You don’t even have to ask.”
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Robby wakes to sunlight and the smell of coffee. He stretches before finally rolling out of bed and finding his sweatpants on the floor, pulling them on to follow the scent of dark roast straight to the kitchen.
He finds you at the counter, your hips swaying to a song that plays at a low volume from a bluetooth speaker on your dining table. A pan sizzles on the stove and you pour the contents of a bowl into it. He steps up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your neck. You turn in his hold and kiss him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He could get used to mornings like this.
When you turn back around, you pick up a knife and reach for the basket of fruit on the counter, plucking something from the pile.
“I hope that’s not an avocado.”
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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or commenting 💕
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swordgrace · 19 days ago
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❝ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞
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┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it’s a soft morning with bob, until he needs you.
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𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bob reynolds x fem!reader.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni) , porn with little plot, cute shower antics/fluff at the beginning, yearning & needy bob, switch!bob, breast sucking, making out, hair pulling, bob’s praise kink, spit kink, unprotected p in v sex, missionary position, breeding kink, overstimulation, cockwarming, creampie. this fic is filthy.
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: wrote this on a whim because I’ve been missing bob a lot (and I was freaked up ngl). not gonna apologize for how freaky this is. anyway. i hope you all enjoy! 🫶
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Loving Bob is easy — it’s gentle, clean.
It’s the sort of love that murmurs from your heart, calling his name, a song that you continue to loop somewhere in the recesses of your mind.
There’s a safety you find within him, even through the darkness he keeps caged, a warmth that reminds you of a thousand splendid suns. A shared sanctuary; he finds it in you, too.
At the root of your relationship, it’s two hearts, craving to touch, craving one another, intertwined. It’s built upon an initial friendship that had spiraled into something more, something warm.
He’s attentive, compassionate, selfless — for his numerous qualities, you find yourself infinitely grateful for him, for how lucky you are to have a partner as good as he is. Bob has a wonderful heart, and despite his past, it’s still just as good.
You think about him often, especially when you first wake up, left smiling to yourself at the thought of how much you adored him. It left a lightness in your heart, one that you hadn’t experienced in years.
Within the gentle hours of morning, you feel the sparse indenture beside you, the bed left empty where he’d slept. It wasn’t common to find him absent, a twinge of concern sinking into your chest.
Swallowing the thickness present within your throat, you turned, listening to the gentle trickle of water from the shower. Relief followed soon after, inclined to follow the sound.
Dawn’s first sigh whispered through tinted window panes, slivers of an ember-orange pooling over the foot of your bed, passing over marble floors. It struck beside your head, causing you to tilt away from the glow.
It spread over the skies with tendrils of vibrancy, veiled through darkened glass. Twilight began to dissipate, with not an ounce of haste, dismal darkness giving way to violet, the celestials clinging to the horizon.
In a gentle clamor, you slither from your bed, still ensnared in a haze of half-sleep as you make for the bathroom. Nudging the door aside, you make your presence known with a stirring of your throat and a yawn.
“Morning, Bob,” Stretching, you can see him somewhat through the fogged pane of glass, and he perks up, even then. “Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, a lazy smile molding to your features as the shower door creaks open.
He’s there, soap still lathered into his crown, flushed and pink, musculature glistening as if he’s spent entirely too long marinating beneath the water. “Hi,” He greets, smiling when he sees you. “Oh, ah — Yeah, come inside.”
Bob’s brows furrow when he realizes how strange that sounded, countenance one of mild embarrassment. Nevertheless, he shuffles over to make room for you, throat thick as he swallows the sudden swell of excitement.
The nakedness is something you’re more accustomed to by now, having been together for several months. Though, whenever he sees you, it’s like the first time all over again — you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.
Undressing, you’re shedding your clothes outside of the shower door, kicking the remnants of your underwear aside. Steam floats in tepid wisps, clinging to the mirror, coating the bathroom in a humid haze.
Once inside, streams of hot water splash over your skin, body brushing against his. It sends a muted buzz through your spine, running a hand over your face as you reach for your shampoo.
“How did you sleep?” He asks, tone saturated with an amiable warmth. Bob is often one to inquire about your wellbeing, and he’s attentive when he does, gaze trailing over your visage.
“Good,” With a soft hum, you feel his hands ghost over your spine, the gesture fleeting, enough to make you shiver. “What about you?”
It’s idle conversation, affectionate murmurs spoken through the haze of the shower. Bob stepped back beneath the spout, water cascading through soap-laden tresses.
“Fine,” Lashes kissed the skin beneath his eyes, washing the existing suds from his scalp. Spitting water aside, Bob cleared his throat. “Sorry for not waiting on you. You looked so pretty, I didn’t want to wake you.” He murmured, smitten.
Through a tender smile, you dismiss his apology, gazing up at him, mesmerized. He’s so handsome — pretty when he’s doing anything and everything. “It’s okay,” You mused, nose wrinkling. “I think I needed the rest.”
Relaxation was crucial for you in the downtime between missions, and you were appreciative that Bob had let you sleep for a little while longer.
His countenance softened, lingering on the curve of your mouth, over the bridge of your nose. He soaked you in as you splashed water over your body, droplets rolling over your chin.
Sluggishly, Bob dips down to plant a chaste kiss to your lips, reluctant to pull away; thankfully, you’re eager to tilt inward, reciprocating. It’s sweet, gentle — you often feel a sense of comfort, never uneasy whenever he kisses you.
Warm water sticks to your crown, tresses glued to your skull as you run a palm over his bicep, feeling goosebumps beneath your fingertips.
Bob only draws away when you’re reaching for the soap, hoping to clean up. He’s gentle, digits tracing along your spine, gooseflesh spreading like wildfire over your flesh.
Steam ripples over his musculature, wisping through the taut grooves of his abdomen, over broad, freckled shoulders. Content, he seems more relaxed than usual, drawing patterns into the small of your back.
“I can do it,” Bob offers, gentle yet pitched with a twinge of nervousness. “I’m happy to do it for you.” He perks up when you offer him the shampoo bottle with a smile, seemingly receptive to the idea.
“I’d like that,” Through an idle hum, you stand in front of him, partially shielded from the barrage of water, patient as ever. “Thank you.”
Fingers massage over your scalp with a disarming gentleness, handling you with a care that you’d grown intimately acquainted with. Eyes flutter shut as you relax beneath his touch, letting him lather soap into your crown.
Any initial distance becomes thin, swallowed by the closeness of bodies, his chest brushing against your back. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, a pang of excitement, but you keep yourself docile.
His embrace is kind; it makes you feel coveted, seen in a way that transcends everything else. Bob is focused on the task at-hand, dark-blue hues fluttering across your physique, drinking in every detail, committing it all to memory.
Digits rake over the base of your skull, working in the shampoo with ease, satisfied with his handiwork. “Here,” He awkwardly shuffles aside, and you jolt when you feel his cock brush your backside. “I’ll let you finish.”
Admittedly, the brief embrace sends electricity through your veins, scorched by want, but you’re unwilling to ruin the moment.
Rinsing the shampoo from your hair, soapy remnants and all, Bob quietly appraises you from where he stands, jaw slack, his visage blotched with a bright shade of rose. Water rolls over your chest, down your navel, lower.
Some sliver of him gnaws with desire, but he’s never been good with asking. Instead, he resorts to ogling you as if you’re the sun itself, warm and glittering.
His lungs fill with sweetness whenever he’s near you, tender gaze following every dip, every curve of your body, as if you’re a river worth wading through. He’s clean, content to watch, only looking away when your eyes flutter open.
Scrubbing the last of the product from your tresses, you give yourself one final rinse, body washed clean, prepared to start your day. “Finished?” You asked, hand hovering over the switch.
“Yeah.” Bob speaks as if he’s clawing for air, chest burning from the sight of you, tongue absentmindedly wetting his bottom lip.
As the shower fizzles to a crawl, he steps out, steam clinging to him. You follow suit, towel dragging over your warm flesh, collecting any bit of water left behind.
In a similar fashion, you’re watching him, tendrils of warmth snaking over the back of your neck, damp tresses disheveled around you. He’s beautiful, handsome in a way that makes your knees wobble, heartbeat pounding away.
“You okay?” The innocuous nature of your question leaves Bob flustered, even still. With a towel slung low around his hips, there’s little left to the imagination — and your thoughts are rampant.
He nods, lashes flitting, lips pulled agape as he marvels at you, the difference in height more apparent now, in the rawness of things. “You’re so beautiful,” Bob utters, awestruck. “It’s mesmerizing.”
The sincerity of his compliment makes you preen, a smile creeping onto your features. He’s called you beautiful a thousand times — this one carries weight, as if he’s reminding himself that you’re real, that what you have together is real.
“Mesmerizing?” Echoing his statement, you do little to suppress the sheepish smile that curls at the corners of your mouth. “I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” You muse, reluctant to accept the compliment.
Bob stares, visage tinged with scarlet, throat thick; he swallows and steels himself, hand reaching to cup your jaw. “You should hear it more often.” He concedes, tone disarmingly low, enough to make you shiver.
Whenever he wants something, he gets this way; a little flirtatious, still attempting to formulate his own wants into words. Sometimes he feels undeserving, but you know that isn’t true, and so does he.
Something charged splinters the air, desire thinly-veiled, want echoing in his eyes, screaming. Emboldened, he initiates this time, dipping dangerously close, eyes flickering over your mouth.
As his large palm cradles the delicate slope of your face, you’re drifting closer, body bundled in a towel, standing flush against him. A slight hitch forms within the bottom of his throat, and it’s his turn to become bashful.
“You think so?” You hum, tone warping into something sweet, desirous. Bob gawks, shuddering when your hands splay flat over his ribs, tracing circles into his abdomen.
With a lackadaisical nod, he’s getting flustered, soothed by the caresses lavished to his skin. You’re still smiling, nails ghosting over his flesh, goosebumps erupting in the wake of it.
The distance is closed by the both of you, dipping halfway, meeting in the middle. Mouths connect in a sudden flurry of passion, and you can taste the desperation on his tongue, even then.
He is a chiseled adonis, and you can’t help but marvel at him as if he’s molded from marble, made flesh and blood beneath your hands.
Bob kisses you as if he’s racing against time, digits flexing over the nape of your neck. A sharp exhale stings his lungs, pushing through his nose as you press closer; the towel tempts him, able to be ripped apart with ease.
The crass knot of fantasies that jump around within his brain makes him blush, neediness unfurling from deep within his stomach, his bones.
All it took was one glimpse of you, kissed by dawn, visibly enamored with him — and he collapsed.
Lips carry on, eager; you’re kissing him with an overwhelming sweetness, fingertips tracing upwards until they’re hooked beneath his arms. He shivers, holding steadfastly to your jaw, thumbs circling your cheeks.
Stirring against your navel, his cock strains beneath the fabric of his towel, prompting you to gasp whilst kissing him. It snares between lips, and he immediately slows to a crawl, doing little to mask his embarrassment.
“Sorry, m’sorry.” Bob mumbles, flesh hot with embarrassment as it ripples through him in waves. Neediness follows suit, a gnawing desire to hold you, root himself inside of you.
Burying his face within the crook of your shoulder, his breath emerges in warm, winded sighs, hips ghosting over yours. The friction simmers within your blood, a jolt of electricity that sets your nerves ablaze.
“It’s okay,” Soothingly, your nails lightly grace the muscle of his abdomen, stroking in circular motions as you keen into his embrace. He cages you in, nose tickling your throat, lips sealing to your jugular. “Bob.”
His name is sharp as it spills from your mouth, pitched with a twinge of exhilaration. Hushed, he lavishes kisses over your neck, open-mouthed and wet, groin grinding haplessly into your own.
Even the towel does little to veil his obvious erection, and you can taste the urgency as his hands mold themselves to your hips.
Pathetically, he ruts into you, grinding bodies tangled into an amalgamation of limbs, and he’s still huffing, noises tapering off into a whimper. “Need you,” He pants wantonly. “Please — I want to be inside of you.”
Hunger reveals itself viscerally, and Bob falls victim to his own baser instincts, stomach pulled taut into a coil of excitable heat.
He’s always been one to yearn silently, wanting you in hushed gaps and longing glances, but this time, his desire is screaming. Bob isn’t particularly good at being blunt about what he wants, but this time, he takes action.
Arousal pools between your thighs at his confession, sending tingles of bliss throughout your body. Fingers hook into your towel as you peel it away, a shiver gripping your spine when you press closer.
Pupils dilate, expanding with black as he traces the shape of your physique, breath hitching within his throat. “So pretty.” He sighs, reverent as he feels your hand close around his wrist.
Guiding his hand to the warmth coalescing along your cunt fills his brain with static, a violent hum that only rouses his desire further. Two fingers find the heat present over your cunt, swiping over weeping folds.
“That’s what you do to me,” The whisper that leaves your tongue is enough to offset his balance, heady — your stomach gnaws with heat. “That’s all for you.” Tempting him further, he pushes a sharp exhale through his nose.
“For me,” Bob repeats, tone tapering off into a pitiful half-whine. There’s a sense of guilt he feels, undeserving of you, but when your hips push into his fingers, it proves a worthwhile distraction. “God, you’re so — so beautiful, you’re mine.”
The sudden claim of possessiveness stuns you, but it isn’t unwelcome; you like it, and you want him to take what’s his. “I’m yours?” It’s posed as a curious inquiry, one that Bob perks up at.
“Mm-hm,” His mouth skirts over your jugular, planting kisses there as his digits idly rut over your cunt. Crass noises reverberate through your steam-laden bathroom as he fingers you. “You’re mine.”
There’s an inherent sweetness to his cadence even when he’s attempting to be assertive, and it makes your stomach erupt with butterflies.
Clinging to him, your thighs twitch when he picks you up, gait one of exhilaration as your legs kiss the foot of your mattress. He lays you down, towel still bound around his hips, riding dangerously low.
Veins course from his navel toward his groin, accompanied by a still-damp abdomen, water glistening over raw muscle. Golden tendrils of morning curl around his body, and he’s beautiful.
He’s more god than man, but he’s yours — and that means everything.
Cerulean hues sparkle with excitement, jaw slackening, hands coiling together when you begin to move toward the pillows.
He’s enraptured, the image of a man enthralled, preparing to crawl to you if that’s what it takes. A pink tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, gaze never wavering from you.
“I need you, Bob.” Through the hush of labored sighs and crackling tension, you tell him softly, accompanied by a look of affection. Bob’s throat jostles as he swallows, tilting forward to join you on the bed.
Damp, brunette ringlets frame his face, mouth agape, irises eclipsed by black as he surges forward, slotting himself between your legs.
As his musculature parts your thighs, he abandons the towel, hovering above you. Mouths clamor for one another, messy and desperate, a clash of wet tongues and lips.
Bob openly moans into your kiss, rutting into your leg as if he’s in heat, flushed cock gliding over the silky flesh of your inner thigh. A gasp snares within your chest, hands gripping his biceps, tugging him close.
Pearls of precum ooze over your skin, slick across your thigh as you kiss him hard. It’s open-mouthed, wanton as bodies tangle together, nails digging light crescents into corded muscle.
A scarlet flush blankets his features, as if he’s been burning beneath the sun for too long. Bob can feel the coil settle within his belly, a tangle of heat that’s pulled tight, something visceral and real.
Beneath him, you’re stunning, heartbeat one of erratic excitement, a lullaby that he can hear. Kisses continue to devolve into a mess of want, sloppy and wet as your back arches from the mattress.
The brush of your nipples ghost over his chest, a shiver simultaneously gripping the both of you. It gives him pause, gaze trailing to your breasts as his lips untether from yours, kissing a scorching trail toward your chest.
Hips urge forward, cock incessantly grinding against your thigh, followed by a string of breathy whines that catch in the open.
“So handsome like this, baby,” Your tender praise makes him groan, keening beneath sweetly-spoken compliments. One hand rakes toward the nape of his neck, fingers scraping over brunette waves. “So perfect, feels s’good.”
Lips passionately brand themselves to your throat, collarbone, sternum — Bob leaves no inch of your chest untouched. He worships your body, loving you so viscerally, so deeply.
He kisses his way to your right breast, breathing in your saccharine scent, senses swimming in you. He’s drowning, but it’s something he welcomes, mouth slipping over your nipple.
Taking the pebbled peak between his lips, Bob lavishes your breasts in attention, gingerly kneading at the other, keeping his mouth busy. He’s whining, flushed cockhead drizzling with precum.
It’s akin to torture, waiting to be inside of you — but he does it anyway, tending to you before anything else. He softly sucks at the sensitive bud, drawing preening moans from your mouth, and he shivers.
Trembling fingers quiver with excitement as you push them through his hair, still slick with water, fisting into damp waves. “Bob,” You moan, back beginning to arch, following his mouth. “S’perfect.”
A muted buzz shoots through his cock as his hips jerk forward, hot air pushed out through his nose as he teases your breasts. He’s passionate, never resorting to anything harsh, and he’s needy.
Through a half-lidded stare, his eyes find your face, contorted into one of bliss, lips parted, jaw slackening. Bob moans around your breast, cock throbbing incessantly.
“Mm, you’re so pretty,” He groans, the sound throaty, husked as it curls deliciously around your ears. His lips are eager, never ceasing as he kisses a wet trail between your breasts. “Please, I want to be inside of you.”
He’s talkative, attempting to vocalize what he wants without reproach. Each keening whine and desperate plea sends shockwaves of bliss through your belly, arousal hot and slick over your cunt.
With a jostle of your head, you’re nodding, welcoming him closer as he continues to kiss his way back to your mouth. As lips collide, you’re absently rocking into him, feeling his body tense.
“Please,” It’s all that needs to be said, and he’s crawling, thoroughly and utterly razed as he presses close. “Need you so bad.” Your cadence is disarmingly tender, something that scratches at his brain.
The flushed head of his cock slips over your cunt a time or two, gathering the slick that’s permeating there, pulling a groan from his chest. He steadies himself on one hand, the other caressing your ribs.
Even when he’s snugly on top of you, he’s entirely subservient, a wanton mess, needing you more than anything else.
A shiver grips his spine when his hips fall flush against yours, cockhead splitting past your folds, still oozing with precum. He grinds himself into you a time or two, letting that friction tug at the coil in his stomach.
Bob’s visage contorts into a look of sheer want, the face of someone who’s desperate to be needed, wanted — and you do, more than anything else.
Shifting closer, you suck in a sharp inhale as his hips urge forward, cock sinking into you. It’s a brief adjustment, cunt clenching around him with ripples of bliss.
Hands fall toward the nape of his neck, threading through still-damp, brunette tresses, giving them gentle tugs. Coaxing him closer, Bob groans at the sudden influx of pleasure, pace somewhat erratic, to start.
He likes it messy, sloppy — it’s all an amalgamation of limbs, bodies clawing for one another as if you may never touch again. Mouths meet in a snare of tongue and ardor, spit slick over swollen lips.
Bridging the gap, you let your tongue slip through his parted lips, tangling with his own in another bruising kiss. A low moan catches in Bob’s throat, swallowed by another barrage of kisses.
As he draws his hips back and pushes forward, the rhythm he sets is needy, quick; a glistening string of saliva connects his mouth to yours.
The wet tendril falls over your chin, a sheen of intermingled spit that Bob greedily kisses over, pulling a moan from your throat. Crass noises emanate from between bodies, your cunt taking him perfectly.
One hand shifts to grab your leg, smoothly hitching against the back of your knee, caressing the skin there as he pushes it toward your abdomen. It isn’t uncomfortable, the new angle allowing him to fuck you deeper.
A tremulous moan splits your diaphragm, shuddering as your cunt pulses, clenching around his cock. He fills you up, leaving no room for space, heat exuding from him like an open flame.
He’s strong, capable — there’s something steady beneath the erratic slam of his hips as he pushes his cock further, bottoming out. Ringlets of brown brush over your brow, foreheads coming to press together.
“I love you,” Bob groans through another snap of his hips, and you’re dizzy from the pleasure, body tangled into a knot of bliss. It sits heavy in your belly, wanton and waiting. “Love you so much.”
The bulk of his musculature blankets you, larger, each urge of his body bristling with an enthusiastic passion. You take it all gleefully — every kiss of his cock to your cervix, every breath that feathers over your mouth.
As he lavishes you in half-whimpered confessions, you hold tightly to him, his cock lewdly slapping away at your pussy. His eyes are closed, mouth slack, making room for throaty, husked groans that cause you to shiver.
“Doing so well for me, Bob,” You croon between thrusts, the wind ripping from your lungs, exhilaration stinging your nerves. “Love you.” It’s all you’re able to force out before he’s kissing you again.
Bob shivers at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of his hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.
Kissing you hoarse, it’s all passion — bleeding heat that coagulates in the pit of your stomach, coil wanting to unfurl. Arousal slicks your cunt, noises crude as he fucks into you, eager.
He isn’t rough, but he’s fast, cock pounding away at your aching core as if time is nonexistent. You never sway him from it, hitching your other leg up around his hips, knee pressing to his ribs.
Despite his position, caged in around you, contorting you in ways that allow him better access to you, he’s subservient, still. His lips untether, face coming to nuzzle beneath your chin.
“So tight, all mine.” Something shadowed eclipses his voice, something possessive; it makes you shiver with delight. He finds his footing, and that husked purr makes your head spin.
A myriad of throaty groans, whines, and hot sighs plume over your neck, allowing you to fist at his brunette crown. “Bob, Bob,” You moan, leg constricting his hips as he fucks you deep. “Please don’t stop.”
Bob shudders at the praise, cock lewdly clashing against your slick cunt, wound up into tight knots that seem on the precipice of bursting.
“I — God, m’close,” He huffs into your collar, knowing that he can’t hold himself back for much longer. His voice is stretched thin, frayed — it’s ragged with desire, splintering at the seams as he pushes into you again. “Please!”
His cock pulses inside of you, stretching you out, every ripple of your cunt sending him into a borderline frenzy. Every sensation is electrifying, addictive — he’s lost within you.
He’s had flings before, something to fill the gaping hole within him, something distracting just to feel; with you, it’s everything. Bob can feel how much you love him through touch alone, how much he needs you.
He kisses the drool shining against your chin, tongue warm as he laps it up, prompting you to kiss him again, bruising. Moans snare in the mouths of another, and he’s hammering away at your pussy.
Through excitable half-babbles, Bob groans about how good you feel, how pretty you are, how you make him feel alive.
Wisps of brown stick his temples from mere exertion and anticipation, lips ghosting over one another as he presses his head to yours.
Each urge of his hips sends him deeper, cock nearly kissing your cervix. His mouth is wet with his own spit, pooling within his maw as he continues to piston into you with a raw excitement.
“Y—You’re drooling, Bob.” You whisper, sweet breath pluming over his lips. He gets somewhat bashful when you point it out, but he can’t help himself, features scarlet.
“You feel so — so good,” Bob huffs, overwhelmed with ecstasy; everything feels hot, as if he might explode into a thousand pieces. “Yeah.” He chokes, still bitten by the sting of embarrassment.
The incessant pulse of his cock warms your cunt, filling you up, his ministrations beginning to slow in intensity. “I want you to share.” You whisper, broken and hoarse, strung-out with desire.
There’s something intimately razed about your cadence, the wanton ardor that seeps through the cracks, and Bob moans your name. He knows what you’re asking, and he’s wrecked.
With a fervent nod, he’s visibly charmed as you open your mouth, tongue warm and pink. Bob’s hips stutter, jagged and strained.
Saliva gathers in his mouth as he spits into yours, watching it fall like sticky tendrils onto your tongue. His body shudders from the sight, eyes impossibly wide, eclipsed by desire.
A twinge of possessiveness swells within him, tying you to him, binding both of you together. He watches as if his gaze might burn through you, thoroughly mesmerized.
Open-mouthed and half-lidded, you swallow his spit, feeling his hips draw back and push forward again.
“S’good,” Through a soft purr, you lavish your boyfriend in sweet praise, carding your fingers through his hair. “Keep going.” You croon, planting a wet kiss against his jaw.
Bob nods, shaky and exhilarated, pushing his cock back into you with a sudden haste. He starts again, hammering into you like a man starved, face flush against the side of your neck.
He’s blanketed in a delicate shade of crimson, lips parted, pressing open-mouthed kisses over your throat. Each urge of his hips sends you soaring, cock lewdly slapping into your pussy.
“Tight, you’re — Mm, you’re perfect,” Bob pants, his release hot and fervent as it trails after him, preparing to crash into some exploding star. The coil in his belly unfurls; messy and wanton. “Close.”
“Bob!” A throaty moan rips through your throat, cunt tight and pulsing around him, causing the both of you to shiver. He’s needy, clawing — something ravenous consumes him.
He doesn’t deserve to breathe your air, and yet he’s inhaling your scent, the sweetness of your flesh, the perspiration that licks over your jugular.
“Need to — I need to …” Bob pants, knowing that he’s being torn apart, splintered into slivers. His cock throbs incessantly, and he’s crescendoing with a plethora of grunts and whines.
“Stay,” You weren’t asking — you were telling. A husked, simpering groan echoes through his diaphragm, hips erratic, hand clenched into the sheets beside you. “Stay, Bob. Cum in me.”
Something snaps — that coil he fights against comes undone in one devastating wave. He gasps, nerves ablaze, body teeming with a buzz of ecstasy that pulses through him.
There’s something else, something dark; for a moment, he envisions you, full of his seed, something he’s never dreamed of.
That fantasy spreads like a festering plague, saturating the corners of his mind, feeding into something lustful. Bob’s release is messy, excessive — his hips surge again, fucking you full of his cum.
He paints your cunt with hot ropes of his spent, spasming, tense; his lips lavish your jaw in a myriad of sloppy kisses.
It oozes out of you, smattered over the insides of your thighs, his cock, your cunt. Your name burns his tongue as he says it again and again, desperate.
“Jesus,” Bob huffs, brows pinched together, countenance warped into a look of sheer bliss. He looks content, as if his release brought him some semblance of comfort. “Sorry, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” A sigh of elation escapes you, digits sweeping through his tresses, planting a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “That was amazing, Bob.” You hum, mouth twitching into a smile.
“I’m not finished,” With a peculiar grit sinking into his voice, you bend to him, breathing hitching within your throat. He’s half-hard again inside of you, jaw slack, eyes wide. “Please — please, just let me.”
His hand drags over your leg, caressing and squeezing, hooking around the back of your knee. The other digs into the pillow beside your head, fisting until the fabric begins to tear.
With a lackadaisical nod, you’re delighted to let him continue, heat pooling within your belly, oozing between your thighs. “B—Bob,” You whine, grasping at his shoulders. “Bob!”
A wet, glistening sheen of white sticks to his groin, your arousal intermingling with his cum as he pushes into you again. A moan escapes you, body tingling with waves of pleasure.
Bob looks as if he’s soaring, at the pinnacle of ecstasy, thrusts beginning to mount in pace. As bodies collide again and again, the lewd clash of flesh reverberates, wet and filthy.
He’s beautiful like this — beautiful when he’s unraveling, coming apart above him.
Readjusting your position, Bob places your legs up against his broad shoulders, bending you, but not breaking you. He doesn’t manhandle; he moves, touch tender and rapturous.
The newfound angle sends you into some white-hot snare of pleasure, back arching, head rolling back against the pillows. He fucks you deep, cock pistoning away at your pussy, groaning with each thrust.
It was almost overwhelming, fraying your nerves, making you delirious as he hammered into you, mumbling a string of apologies and half-sentences.
“B—Bob, it’s too much,” Your cunt clenched around his cock again, rippling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Everything feels too sensitive, as if you might wither away. “Slow, slow.”
Bob moans, fucking another rope of cum into you before stopping, meeting your gaze with a heated one of his own. He slows, knowing your stamina is only a fraction of his.
He nods, swallowing the lump within his throat before he comes to a crawl, gently setting your legs back down onto the bed.
He stays inside of you even still, coming to lay his head against your collarbone. “I love you.” He murmurs, content and no longer wound-up, a lazy smile glued to his features.
For a moment, you’re too blissed-out to say anything, chest heaving with labored sighs. “I love you too,” You hum, shivering as his mouth idly travels over your chest. “You’re so perfect.”
The bulk of his musculature covers your body, bleeding with heat, eyelashes fluttering as you caress the base of his skull. “Wanna stay here, like this,” He exhales. “Is that okay?”
“Mm-hm,” His cock twitches inside of you when you give your consent, and he’s elated. “Stay here with me.” You exhale, the noise finally beginning to climb down from your peak.
Bob feels your chin tuck over the top of his head, and while the gesture is sweet, he’s grasping at your waist with an obvious possession.
“I think we should get back in the shower.” You suggest, a soft chuckle escaping you. Bob seems a touch flustered, peering at you with a placating smile.
“Yeah,” He agrees, leaning in to press a kiss against your lips. “After you.”
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julymusings · 3 months ago
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AND A KISS FOR GOOD LUCK !
i only have you. take care of yourself for me. i take care of myself for you.
cw: descriptions of scars/bleeding/wounds
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Leaning closer to the mirror, Jason picks at the skin of his cheek until he feels that familiar dry sting on his face and the thin stickiness of blood under his nails. It elicits barely a wince, he’s so used to the feeling. He watches blood flood inside the abrasion, the flushing, half-healed pink turning to a watery red. 
He hears your footsteps approaching softly, but doesn’t look away from his reflection. He moves his attention to a fresh mark on his chin where the raised, jagged edges of the new scar have just started to scab— an undercover job; one where he had nothing but a thin layer of armor underneath his clothes, his helmet stashed away somewhere in the rafters. The skin is peeling at the corners, and he tugs at the bits of flesh. 
“Jay.”
He finally tears his eyes away from the mirror; you’re standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms. Your lips droop into a frown, teeth biting on your bottom lip. 
“Hey,” he says. He focuses somewhere between your forehead and eyebrows.
“What are you doing?” Your voice is neutral, gentle.
“These fuckin’ cuts,” he mutters. “They’re itching like crazy.”
It’s a half-truth; yes, they do itch like crazy, and it does make him want to claw his skin off sometimes. But that’s not why he’s doing it.
It has become second nature for him, scratching and tearing and aggravating the wounds on his face. Something he does when he’s antsy, or idle, or deep in thought. Just as every other time you find him like this, you shuffle forward and place your hand over his.
Reflexively, he interlaces his fingers with yours, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Can I help?” You ask, softly, while leaning against his side. You place a kiss on his shoulder, over the fabric of his sleeve; the shine of your lip balm leaves a mark.
“It’s nothin’ to worry about, baby. It’s almost midnight. I have to head out soon.” The back of his hand haphazardly wipes a single swipe across his cheek, but all it does is smear the blood over his face. His jaw tightens momentarily, and you can tell it burns. 
“Come here,” you say, sliding yourself between him and the wash basin. You cup his face between your hands, dragging your thumb along his chapped bottom lip.
“You chew on your lips too much, Jay.”
He exhales slowly, sagging into your hold. On another day, he’d chuckle or playfully roll his eyes with a kiss to the pad of your thumb. Tonight, he can’t even meet your eyes.
You hop up unto the bathroom counter and pull him close to stand between your legs. There’s a clean washcloth hanging from the towel hook, and you run it under warm water, then wring it out. Jason flinches slightly when you reach out to his face, but settles back into your touch without argument. With soft strokes, you wipe away the thin line of blood, then drag the cloth across the rest of his face, careful not to aggravate the fresh mark on his chin. He remains still the whole time, gaze fixed on the mirror behind you.
“Does it sting?” You ask. He shakes his head.
“Can you look at me?”
Reluctantly, he raises his eyes to yours.
He doesn’t say it, but his eyes say enough, say the harsh assault on himself that sits on his tongue, fighting to break through his teeth.
“You’re so beautiful, Jason.” You trace your fingers along the lines of his features.
“You don’t have to do that.” He turns his face to the wall, trying to hide the frustrated tears that threaten to spill over. It cracks your heart in two, seeing the loveliest person you know blind to his own beauty.
“Jason,” you whisper, voice filled with desperation for him to hear all the words he won’t let you say. “Baby.” It’s a wish; a plea.
He’s never been good with words like these, starving for kindness with a mangled stomach. You learned this the hard way, after trying to force-feed him the intensity of your affection, thinking it would help him when it only made him sick. Now you dole it out in silent, digestible amounts; a squeeze of his hand here, a kiss to the forehead there.
He says nothing, but turns his head back to you. For now, it’s enough.
“What’s that for?” He nods to the bottle of opaque white water you plucked from your side of the sink.
“Rice water. It’s good for your skin, especially if you’re marinating under a sweaty helmet for hours,” you tease.
He grumbles out something along the lines of it’s well-ventilated, but nonetheless, he places his hands on either side of you to lean down towards your eye-level. You rub the solution between your hands and massage it into his face. He always seems to relax when your hands are on him; his eyes flutter shut and his lips part with a relieved breath.
You can’t help yourself—he really is so beautiful—and you steal a kiss to his nose.
“What’s that for?” He opens his eyes at the sound of you unscrewing yet another bottle.
“Oil. For the scars,” you say, tentatively.
His fingers twitch against the counter, but after a moment, he nods. You dab some of the pink oil onto your fingers, and carefully rub it into the jagged marks that decorate his chin, his cheeks, his jaw. He stiffens when you make contact with them, and you’re not sure you hear him exhale until after you pull away.
The bottle is replaced by a small tube of lip balm, and Jason tilts his head. “More?” One of his hands rests on your thigh and strokes up and down.
You tsk at him. “Can you just trust me?” You don’t give him a chance to argue before squeezing the tube and spreading the balm across his lips. His protests are muffled behind his mouth, which he keeps shut so you can work.
“Now I’m done.” You hop down from the sink, and he trails after you into the hall; you know he needs to stop at a safe house before starting his patrol, so you don’t let him linger in the bathroom with his hands on you— similar situations have made him very late in the past, and you’re not interested in getting another earful from his team.
His duffel bag of weapons and gear is already on the living room floor, ready for him to grab and go. A familiar thread of nerves and lonely pining run through your body.
“Okay, I’ll be back in a few hours.” Jason lifts the bag with one hand, and pushes a stand of hair behind your ear with the other.
“You better.”
He leans in to peck your lips, but you throw yourself at him for a fiery, desperate kiss straight out of a Hollywood movie. It surprises him enough to make the bag hit the ground as he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss you back with matching fervor.
He’s panting when you release him, face burning red and chest rising rapidly. Try as he might, he can’t hide the shy, flustered grin stretching across his face. “And what was that for?”
You shrug. “For good luck. Obviously.”
He blows out a breath, shaking his head. “Obviously.”
You run your hand up his arm and squeeze on his bicep. “Stay safe. Please.”
He smiles, leaning down to kiss your forehead.
“I will.”
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heyyyyy guys. so lots has happened. we hit 1k😱😱I feel like a real life influencer now. Hey what’s up you guys welcome back to my YouTube channel, today’s video we are going to be fantasizing about emotionally unavailable men!!! U should totally check my recent post and participate in the celebration
This is based on this ask , read it for some more background, and the quote is from gabriela mistral’s letters to Doris Dana 👍🙏also this was not proofread don’t judge me🙏🙏
Thee divider is by cafekitsune I don’t feel like finding the post to link it I’m SORRYYYYY
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dakusan · 1 month ago
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A F T E R C A R E .
stray kids ot8 x reader | eight men. one ritual: aftercare, done their way.
🖤 synopsis: 8 doms. 8 dynamics. 1 aftermath. They break you—roughly, reverently, recklessly. But this isn’t about the scene. It’s about what comes after. Warm cloths between your thighs. Praise whispered into your skin. A hoodie pulled over your trembling frame. A hand tracing your spine while you sleep. This is care, wrapped in filth. Tenderness, post-ruin. Love, spoken in bruises and bathwater. eight versions of aftercare—from gold-standard to quiet obsession.
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💌a/n: I FINISHED THE MINI SERIES: BASICS. aftercare edition. in the NSFW masterlist. BABYYYY. this entire filthy love letter was birthed from the BDSM profiles (link here, yes i know you’ve read it twice) where each member got a tiny slice of aftercare—but this? this is the full spread. wrote this half-possessed, half-hydrated. cried once. spiritually spooned by chan. working on a few more songs (because the grind never stops and neither do the intrusive thoughts). p.s. if you tell me in the asks which member you want, I will write you a filthy little mini fic p.p.s. if you don’t reblog… seungmin will edge you and leave. reblogs = love p.p.p.s welcoming asks that have ideas on what i should write next. unleash thy inner sin or... the fluff. pick your poison
⚠️warnings: NSFW 18+ 🔞| minors dni — jeongin will call your mum. | dom!skz x sub!reader | BDSM-coded dynamics | detailed aftercare → consensual rough sex, degradation + praise, overstimulation, soft choking, mirror play, brat taming, impact (light), dumbification, collaring language, somnophilic sleep intimacy (soft/safe), rope use (Hyunjin), service & control dynamics → heavy focus on aftercare: bathing, caretaking, cuddling, affirmations, emotional support → crying during sex, pet names, subspace, praise kink, reader emotional vulnerability
🎶now playing: "Love Me Harder" – WOODZ
📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune
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Bang Chan // 방찬 Title: Aftercare King | Service Dom | Praise Addict Core Archetype: Gold-Standard Lover ⟡ Obsessive Worshipper ⟡ Ruins You Just to Repair You Vibe: “You’re my good girl, my sweetest mess. Let me hold you.”
⟡ He doesn’t just give aftercare—he plans for it. Water bottle filled. Towels warmed. Your favourite snacks set out next to the bed like a reward for surviving him.
⟡ Wrecks you first—face in the pillow, tears on your cheeks, overstimmed and begging. His voice like gravel dipped in honey: “Give me one more. Just one more. You can do it, baby.”
⟡ And the second you break? It’s all hands and hush now. “Breathe for me. I’ve got you.” He wipes you down gently, fingers shaking slightly from how hard he just came, but still prioritizing your comfort over everything.
⟡ Tucks you into his hoodie like it's a sacred ritual. Wraps your trembling legs over his lap, rubs your thighs while whispering, “That’s it, angel. You did so well.”
⟡ “I hurt you?” he asks softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “Color?” You whisper green. He kisses you so gently it makes you want to cry again.
⟡ Runs you a bath even if you say you don’t need it. Adds essential oils. Low lighting. Sits on the floor beside the tub just to watch you breathe. Helps wash your hair, rubbing slow circles into your scalp until your eyes flutter shut.
⟡ Gives you options: cuddles, massage, food, sleep, another orgasm if you want one. You lead now. He’ll do anything you say. “Whatever you need, love. I’m yours.”
⟡ Kisses every mark he left—collarbone, hips, wrists. Praises you like worship. “So perfect for me. Took everything. My good girl. My best girl.”
⟡ Holds you all night. Skin-on-skin, one hand flat on your belly, grounding you with his breath and soft murmurs like: “You’re safe now.” “Still mine.” “Still so beautiful.”
⟡ In the morning? He’s already been up. Cleaned the scene. Made you breakfast. You wake to kisses on your back and his voice against your neck: “Let me take care of you today too, yeah?” Like he didn’t already give you everything last night.
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Lee Know // 리노 Title: Cold-Handed Caretaker | Soft Sadist | Precision Dom | Brat-Tamer Core Archetype: Silent Possessor ⟡ Rough-Hands, Velvet-Actions ⟡ Worships You Quietly Vibe: “Didn’t I tell you what happens when you act out? Now hush. I’ve got you.”
⟡ Wrecks you without raising his voice. Slaps the attitude out of your mouth with two fingers and a knowing smirk. Fucks you face-down, tears streaking the sheets, but you’re still cocky until he pins your wrists with one hand and says, “Count for me, brat.”
⟡ Aftercare is clean, controlled, and quiet. He doesn't ask how you're feeling—he just knows. Wipes between your legs with warm cloths. Pulls your shirt over your head and his hoodie over your shoulders like you’re a doll he’s dressing again.
⟡ His hands are cold, but his touch is reverent. He rubs soothing circles into your hip with one hand while holding your jaw still with the other, kissing your eyelids like they’re made of silk.
⟡ Doesn’t say “I love you.” Says: “You’re trembling.” “Drink this.” “Scoot closer.” And it means the same thing.
⟡ Pulls you into his lap post-cleanup, arms tight around your waist, chin on your shoulder. You’re barely coherent and he still mutters: “Told you not to act up. Look at you now.” But his fingers are brushing your hair back with care.
⟡ He won’t ask for praise, but he’ll melt if you give it. Kiss his neck and whisper, “Thank you,” and his grip will tighten just slightly.
⟡ Sleeps wrapped around you, one leg hooked over yours, hand always under your shirt. Not sexual—possessive. Like if he lets go, you’ll vanish.
⟡ The next morning? There’s breakfast. Painkillers. Clean sheets. Fresh water.
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Changbin // 창빈 Title: Dom with a Devotion Kink | Bodyworshipper | Pillow Overstimulation Enthusiast Core Archetype: Tender Bruiser ⟡ Human Weighted Blanket ⟡ Soft Daddy Vibes Vibe: “You did so well, angel. Can I hold you now? Please?”
⟡ Fucks you like he’s trying to fold you in half, grip iron-tight on your hips, your back arched off the bed as he groans, “You can give me one more, can’t you, baby? Just one more—fuck—you’re so good for me.”
⟡ You’re crying into the sheets by the end, wrecked and boneless, his name punched out in sobs—and that’s when he slows down. Instantly. “Hey. That’s it. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
⟡ Picks you up like you weigh nothing. Doesn’t ask if you can walk—just carries you straight to the bathroom, his hand never leaving your thigh, murmuring sweet nothings into your hair the whole way.
⟡ Washes between your legs so delicately you almost whimper again. “Shhh, I know, baby. I know you’re sensitive. I’m being gentle.”
⟡ Pulls you into his lap after. Chest to chest, forehead to forehead, his hands stroking your back while he whispers: “You were so good. So perfect. I love watching you fall apart like that.”
⟡ Feeds you with his hands—fruit, crackers, little chocolates if you’re still floaty. Calls you pet names in a voice that’s lower and softer than it was in the bedroom: “My angel. My good girl. My favourite mess.”
⟡ Tucks you into bed under three blankets, cuddles you like a bear, and still asks: “Is this warm enough? Want me to grab the heat pack?”
⟡ Sleeps with one arm locked around your waist and the other between your thighs, not to start anything—but because it's warm. Because it’s home.
⟡ In the morning? You wake up to the smell of food—he made your favourite. Shirtless, hair tousled, big grin: “Still mine?” “Because I’m definitely still yours.”
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Hyunjin // 현진 Title: Rope Top | Sensual Dom | Mirror Play Specialist | Praise-Soaked Obsession Core Archetype: Devotional Artist ⟡ Soft-Spoken Destroyer ⟡ Ritualistic Lover Vibe: “Still so beautiful. Let me worship you the way you deserve.”
⟡ He ties you up like a gallery piece—all form, all intent, all control. His knots are precise, pressure intentional. And when you fall apart for him? It’s with your wrists bound and tears streaking your cheeks in the prettiest fucking way.
⟡ The moment you go limp, he switches modes like a light dimming to candlelight. Loosens the rope slowly. Rubs your wrists with warm oil. “Still breathing for me? That’s it, love. You were perfect.”
⟡ Doesn’t let you stand—carries you to the bathroom with your legs over his arms, kisses your shoulder the whole way there. Draws a bath before the scene starts. You just didn’t know it yet.
⟡ He wipes between your thighs like it’s delicate calligraphy, murmuring, “So messy. Look at you.” But it’s never degrading. He says it like you’re a work of art he got the privilege to ruin.
⟡ Fixes your hair while you sit in his lap, barely awake. Braids it if you’ll let him. Rubs circles into your back and makes you drink water from his hands like you’re his spoiled little deity.
⟡ Says things like: “You sobbed so beautifully for me tonight.” “My pretty doll. You’re glowing.” “Do you want your thighs massaged before I lotion you?”
⟡ Sleeps face-to-face with you, one hand on your cheek, the other over your heart. His forehead pressed to yours like a quiet promise. He doesn't just hold you—he anchors you.
⟡ In the morning? He wakes you up with slow kisses on your shoulder.
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Han // 한 Title: Switchy Dom | Brat | Exhibitionist | Degrader with a Praise Problem Core Archetype: Chaos Dom ⟡ Hyperverbal Power Bottom Energy ⟡ Clingy Corruptor Vibe: “You’re my dumb little slut… and my favorite person in the world.”
⟡ Fucks you stupid, then immediately panics. You’re still twitching on the bed, legs spread and slicked up, and he’s already halfway to tears like, “Shit, did I go too far? Baby? Hello??”
⟡ Overstimulates you just because you were mouthing off. Hand over your mouth while he grinds into you, sweat dripping down his neck, growling, “Gonna talk back now? Huh? That mouth still got something to say?”
⟡ Melts the second you start whimpering. The moment you break? He’s whispering, “Fuck, I’m sorry—no, you’re okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” and gathering you into his arms like a baby koala on caffeine.
⟡ Can’t stop touching you. Kisses your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Rubs your back like he’s trying to memorize your spine. “You were so good. So fucking good. You still like me, right? Like, emotionally?”
⟡ Talks way too much while wiping you down. Half-filthy, half-frantic. “God, you’re dripping… wait, is that all me?” “You came so hard, babe. Like full-body possession.” “Hydrate. You need electrolytes. Do we still have those grape ones?”
⟡ Wraps around you like a blanket burrito. Doesn’t let go. Like at all. Sweaty, clingy, arms and legs tangled with yours, breath hot in your ear.
⟡ Needs praise as much as he gives it. If you whisper “You did so good for me,” he will physically glitch. Eyes wide. Blush deep. Starts nuzzling you like a kicked puppy who just got a treat.
⟡ Says shit like: “Still wanna be mine after that?” “You’re so fucking pretty when you cry.” “If you let me hold you for the rest of the night I swear I’ll never edge you again… okay maybe once.”
⟡ Sleeps on top of you. Full weight. Full snuggle. Probably drools a little.
⟡ The next day? Acts smug like he didn’t almost cry into your chest four hours ago. But if you say “Thanks for taking care of me,” he’ll turn red and mumble, “Anytime, baby. I’ll wreck you again tonight.”
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Felix // 필릭스 Title: Sunshine Dom | Praise-Soaked Obsession | Soft Restraints Enthusiast Core Archetype: Golden-Hearted Handler ⟡ Gentle Dominance ⟡ Devoted Protector Vibe: “Let me love on you now, angel. You were everything.”
⟡ Fucks you like he’s in awe of you the whole time. Voice thick with need, but gentle at the edges—like he doesn’t want to break you, just push you past soft limits with love.
⟡ Holds your face while he ruins you, his forehead pressed to yours, whispering between thrusts: “Still doing okay for me, sweetheart?” “Taking me so well. So proud of you.” “You’re glowing, baby. Absolutely glowing.”
⟡ The moment you go quiet? He’s already holding you. Pulls out slow, eyes wide and tender, hands immediately sliding over your stomach to ground you. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe.”
⟡ Carries you wrapped in a towel straight to the bathroom. One arm under your knees, one around your shoulders. Kisses your temple the whole way there.
⟡ He wipes you down with pre-warmed cloths, humming softly while he works. Praises you through every step: “You did so well.” “I love how sensitive you are after.” “You let me take such good care of you.”
⟡ Cuddles you into his lap in the bath—your back to his chest, his arms over your tummy, his voice a lullaby against your ear. Gently washes your thighs, rubs your calves, presses kisses to your shoulder until your muscles stop twitching.
⟡ Feeds you tiny things—a strawberry half, a bite of cookie, chocolate on your tongue. If you whimper from the sugar or overstim flush, he just smiles and kisses your forehead.
⟡ Says things like: “My perfect girl.” “My angel, my blessing, my favourite sound.” “Let me brush your hair. Please? You look like a dream right now.”
⟡ Sleeps fully wrapped around you, head on your chest or tucked into your shoulder, one leg thrown over yours, arms like vines. Murmurs in his sleep. Curls tighter when you shift. Doesn’t let go.
⟡ In the morning? You wake up to soft kisses at the corner of your mouth and his voice like sunlight: “You okay, my love?” “Wanna stay in bed today? I’ll hold you as long as you want.” And he will. Forever, if you let him.
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Seungmin // 승민 Title: Soft Service Dom | Degradation with a Leash | Pillow Over Dom Core Archetype: Clinical Protector ⟡ Emotionally Repressed but Obsessively Attentive ⟡ Silent Worshipper Vibe: “I said you could fall apart. I didn’t say I’d let you go.”
⟡ Fucks you like it’s a routine check-up. Calm. Controlled. Devastating. Uses your body like he owns the patent—knows every reaction, every nerve cluster, every exact tone your voice hits when you’re about to snap.
⟡ You’re a trembling mess under him and he’s still muttering things like: “Mm. Knew you’d be this easy tonight.” “Can’t even think, can you?” “Pretty thing. Always trying to take more than you can handle.”
⟡ Finishes with his hand around your throat, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked as your orgasm hits like a wave—and then, silence.
⟡ Switches gears instantly. One hand on your cheek. One on your chest. “Still here?” he asks softly, like the scene never happened. But his voice has gone low and tender, like something private cracked open.
⟡ Cleans you up in silence. Warm cloth, antiseptic wipes, his hoodie pulled over your head while you’re too dazed to move. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t need to.
⟡ Tucks you into the blanket like a burrito, lips brushing the crown of your head before he even realizes he did it. Rubs slow circles on your hip while your breath returns to normal.
⟡ Doesn’t speak until he’s sure you’re okay. Then—barely audible: “You did well.” “I’m proud of you.” “You’re not allowed to leave the bed for the next hour.”
⟡ Sleeps beside you, not wrapped around you but facing you. Eyes half-open in the dark, hand stretched across the bed just barely touching yours. He won't admit it, but he’s staying awake longer than you—watching you breathe.
⟡ In the morning? He doesn’t ask how you’re feeling. He already knows. Brings you tea just how you like it. Places painkillers by your pillow. And murmurs, “Don’t expect me to baby you today. …Unless you ask nicely.” Which you will. Because no one babies better than Seungmin when he pretends he doesn’t want to.
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I.n // 아이엔 Title: Baby Dom | Reverent Ruiner | Praise-Sensitive Brat-Breaker Core Archetype: Gentle Sadist ⟡ Earnest Destroyer ⟡ Wholesome Aftermath Prince Vibe: “You’re okay. I’ve got you now… thank you for letting me do that to you.”
⟡ Talks big before the scene—leans into the cocky lines like, “Gonna make you cry for me, baby.” “You think I don’t know how to handle you?” And then proceeds to absolutely rail you, one hand fisting your hair and the other pressed over your mouth to keep you quiet while he whispers filth in your ear.
⟡ But the moment you break—when your body goes limp, tears streak your cheeks, and your voice cracks on his name? Everything shifts. His tone softens. His grip loosens. “Wait—shit—are you okay? Hey. Talk to me, please.”
⟡ Untangles your limbs like you’re made of glass. Kisses your shaking thighs. Pulls the blanket up over you even though you’re both still sticky. His voice breaks a little when he says, “You did so good. So, so good for me.”
⟡ Carries you to the bathroom even if he’s exhausted. Holds you while the water runs, forehead against yours like he’s still grounding himself too. Wipes between your legs, swiping slow and careful. Tries to hide his own shaking hands.
⟡ Cleans you up while murmuring his guilt into your skin. “I didn’t mean to make you cry that much.” “Next time I’ll slow down. Promise.” “But you looked so beautiful falling apart…”
⟡ Wraps you in his hoodie and pulls you into his lap like he needs you to breathe properly again. Makes you drink water. Feeds you tiny bites of sweet things like offerings. Kisses your forehead between every bite.
⟡ Praises you like it’s confession. “My good girl.” “My favourite person.” “You let me see all of you tonight. Thank you.”
⟡ Sleeps like a koala on your back—full body contact, arms wrapped around your middle, legs tangled with yours. Breath warm against your neck, murmuring soft half-sentences like he’s dreaming about you even in sleep.
⟡ In the morning? Blushes. Hard. Won’t meet your eyes at first. But brings you breakfast in his own hoodie and says: “...You still want me to hold you?” And when you nod, he climbs back into bed faster than you can blink. Because yeah—he wrecks you. But he worships you after.
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1K notes · View notes
websterss · 2 months ago
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THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS
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REQUEST: reemoony asked: loveeee your writing and I hope this request reach you. Can you make Bob and y/n are liking each other but they never say it but everyone is well aware of their feelings. One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her. Angsty angsty but with happy ending please. Sorry if this complicated, just change it into what you feel right and easier.
WARNING(S): SPOILERS?? me trauma dumping on page 24 for the plot (google doc verified) ANGST AND MORE ANGST, mentions of toxic relationship, someone dies, Bob needs a hug, and a kiss, and lots of reassurance, and probably therapy, happy ending I swear!! I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this one, folks. I hope I hit everything, this should've been two parts lmfao. I am not responsible for your therapy bills.
WORD COUNT: 18,593 (don't kill me I was on the roll)
PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader
A/N: I hope you enjoy it! :) Feedback is always welcome! I was truly second-guessing posting this. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the writing means to handle Bob with such care like some of y'all do.😭 but here we are. This took me a week y’all, ya girls tired <3
MASTERLIST
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The evening had come around the corner faster than Bob could grasp. Alexei was making last-minute calls to use their time wisely so that they might show up to the event at a cordial time. He would have if he could get his hair to cooperate with him.
"Knock. Knock." Yelena announces, tapping on Bob's ajar door. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of his room. His black tie attire contrasts with the baggy, loose-fitting hoodie and sweats he wears around the place. The fitted tux does nothing to hide his trained physique.
Yelena exclaims with earnestness. "Wow! Look at you!" She's whistling for effect. Impressed by how well he cleaned up. "Do I smell cologne on you, sir?" Her smile grows.
He stood straight, his eyes widening in the mirror as he turned to face her. His gaze softened, taking in her all dolled up and out of her usual tactical gear. The green was different from the black she wore. He thought then and there that she should wear more colorful outfits. He nods once, dipping his chin to nuzzle his nose into the collar. He inhales deeply.
"It's the one you gifted me for my birthday…Thought I’d give it a try…Thanks…You're not so bad yourself. You...You look beautiful." He smiles sheepishly as he spares her another once-over, bashful.
Yelena grins, thoroughly pleased to hear Bob’s compliment. In the best of ways, it was pleasant to have her efforts noticed.
“Why, thank you,” She responds with genuine gratitude. She spins in place, the skirt of her emerald green dress flowing flawlessly with the motion. She sits on the edge of the bed, flopping down, grabbing one of Bob’s pillows to hold onto. “You look good in a suit, bud. Almost ready?"
"Yeah...Yeah, just need to finish up with my hair. That's all. It’s not...responding well to the hairspray you lent me, though." He pulls at a strand. Bob’s hair was relatively problematic. No order, flow, or movement that made sense to the careful eye.
Bob turns back to the mirror. Messing up his hair, parting it to the left, before parting it to the right, trying to maintain its order, but he’s made no progress, thus far.
She smirks, amused by his struggle. "Ah, the woes of getting ready. I should have given you gel; it works miracles better than that stuff. Why don’t I take a look, huh? Maybe I can offer my expertise. We do share the same hairstyle, after all." She rises from the bed, approaches him, and notes the tousled locks that stick out at various angles.
“I don’t wanna take up more of your time…”
“Nonsense.” She motions for him to come here to begin her work. "So….trying to impress anyone?"
Bob glances down at her before focusing back on himself. He tilts his head, feeling the way the suit hugs him. The jacket stops at his waist, not swallowing him whole like his hoodies, which secure him like a blanket. Everything fits justly. He feels exposed. Yelena pauses her movements, watching the uncertainty take over his frown, as though he’s weighing something significant. The tension is all in his shoulders.
"No...not really…Just–trying to make myself look the part." His response was vague, not giving away the reason for his meticulous grooming.
Yelena quirks an eyebrow. She’s perceptive. Nothing gets past her, especially when it comes to her teammates. She hums as she moves behind him, scrutinizing his hair from a new angle. "Really? Just trying to look the part?" She questions, her tone filled with skepticism. She playfully runs her fingers through his hair, testing its resistant nature. "So, you're not trying to impress a special someone? Not even the pretty lady getting ready across the hall from us?"
Bob pauses momentarily, caught off guard by her direct assumption. He turns his head towards her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. He can't completely mask his surprise at her astute comment.
"N-No." He shakes his head a bit too quickly.
Yelena smirks, her keen insight confirmed. She can see right through Bob's attempts at nonchalance. His sudden denial made it even more apparent that he was trying to hide his infatuation. There was no hiding behind it though. They all knew.
She steps closer to him, her gaze never wavering. "So you got all dressed up and started messing with your hair for an hour, just for the sake of looking the part?" Yelena cocks her head slightly to one side.
"Yes." He nods his head stubbornly. "Just trying to look the part..." He swallows nervously before he fixes his attention back to his appearance.
Yelena lets out a faint laugh at his repeated insistence. Her eyes narrow playfully; she ruffles spots of hair here and there. She moves over to the other side of him before continuing her touch-ups. "Y'know, Bob..." She starts, her voice low and light. "You're not a very good liar." She places a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “I’ve thought you better than that, sir.”
"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.
Yelena continues to fiddle with his hair from the new angle. Her touch is gentle. "S’alright… You try to hide it, she tries to hide it. You both are not very good at this thing. But we all see the way you look at each other." She speaks with a soft but knowing tone. As if she's been patiently waiting for him to acknowledge his feelings. "You see her like she’s the quiet that fills the void inside you, all the noise goes out and she’s there, bringing you that peace, and she sees you like you’re the sunrise she’s always been eager to see after she’s been living in the dark her whole life."
Bob laughs, the sound nervous, mixed in with a scoff. He's in denial. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."
Yelena chuckles at this, her smirk growing. "Oh, come on, Bob." She moves around him again, standing before him, her eyes meeting his gaze pointedly. "You think we haven't noticed how your eyes light up whenever she enters a room? She stumbles over her words when you ask her a simple question. Your gross motor skills somehow fail you when you see the tiniest hint of her smile? And she spews weird little facts that no one can make sense of." She shakes her head slightly, amused. "You're in love, as is she, and we can all see it. Last week, you fumbled a book when she spoke to you in the kitchen."
"I slipped..." Bob looked down, shrugging his shoulders, feigning indifference to your past interactions.
"You were sitting down. The book was closed."
Bob begins to teeter back and forth to try to calm himself. "Are…Are you done?" He meets her gaze through the glass. His eyes flitted up to his now messily but organized hairdo. His eyes crinkle at the sight. "It looks the same."
Yelena chuckled, her eyes gleaming. His words felt like a cover, a desperate attempt to deflect from the truth. She playfully patted his shoulder before moving closer, standing directly behind him again. She perched her chin on his shoulder. "You shouldn't fuss so much, you look great. As for your unruly hair, I only messed with it a tiny bit." Yelena pinched her fingers. "Figured some part of yourself should remain true tonight..." Yelena reached up to tousle it for show. "Also, I have it on good authority that a certain birdy has told me she likes it when it resembles a bird's nest." He doesn't miss her wink through the glass.
He still can't help but release his doubts to the widow. The way his self-esteem remains low. “I don’t feel great, Yelena. This…This isn’t me. This suit, my hair, and the nice shoes. It feels like I’m putting on a mask.”
"Bob, listen to me," She says, squeezing his shoulder. "I know it might feel weird. It is a bit weird. You're wearing a fancy suit with your hair slightly combed and shoes that aren't sneakers." She lets out a faint laugh. "But you're not hiding yourself away. Putting yourself into a box approved by Valentina." Yelena gently turns him around to face her. "You're just allowing yourself to be seen in a different light.” She squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly. "You deserve to feel great about yourself."
"I feel good in sweatpants." 
Yelena laughs heartedly this time; she loves how adamant he can be. "We all do." She gives him a light, playful nudge. "But that's not going to fly tonight. You're going to wear the suit, you're going to go out with your friends, have a great time, all while looking good." She grins, her tone light.
"I don't feel good though..."
Yelena senses his unease. She meets his gaze again, her expression serious yet compassionate. "You are incredibly good looking, Bob. You're just not used to feeling that way, seeing yourself in that way. We've all had these moments. Hell, I've had my share," She admitted, her smile briefly fading. She quickly catches herself and tries to uplift the mood again. "It's just one party. How bad can it be?" She nudges him again, this time laying a playful punch to his chest. "Just this once, humor me. Let yourself experience something out of your normal routine." She reaches up to fix a strand playing stubborn. "Also, the little birdie has told me she loves the sight of a man in a crisp suit, too." She nudges him twice with her elbow.
"Okay." He laughs at her incredulous antics and light teasing. A beat passes before his brow furrows. "We have a bird?"
Yelena bursts into laughter at his question. "Oh my god- No." She grabs him on the arm to ground herself. Her voice filled with mirth. “Bob, no. We...We don't have a bird." She shakes her hands and head. "It's just a figure of speech. It means I have inside information. It's- Oh Bob." Yelena's shoulders slump in defeat. Bob offers a timid grin before he laughs lightly with her, finally understanding what she meant.
"Oh right...Y/n’s the bird. I-I get it now." Bob rocks back and forth with a solid nod.
Yelena playfully rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at Bob's delayed reaction. "Yes, she's the bird.”
Bob glances back at his reflection, still weighing his options. "Is it too late to change into my robe?"
Yelena chuckles at his attempt to escape the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t show up to a gala in pajamas. Sorry, buddy. No PJs tonight. You're stuck in the suit until the party's over." She grins at him, her tone playful but filled with determination. "And I'm also eighty-eight percent sure Valentina will kill you if you set foot into the venue looking like you just rolled out of bed, so the tux stays on."
“It wouldn’t be the first time…” He avoids her gaze, his cheeks still dusted with a slight tint, a mixture of embarrassment and reluctance. A bit of his inner turmoil was still cracking through the surface. "I… I should stay home tonight."
Yelena's eyes soften once more as he suggests excluding himself from the event tonight. "No, no. You're going, Bob. Don't even think about backing out now." She steps closer to him, her gaze steady and firm. "You look great! Listen to me; we want you to get out of your robes and that blue sweater you always wear. Take you out for once since you're always here at the tower. Bob, surely you wouldn't want to miss the chance to see how stunning Y/n looks in her evening gown, would you? Gorgeous." She emphasizes.
Bob falls quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. His mind drifts, picturing how you might look all dressed up. Your hair done all nice, maybe some jewelry, nothing too flashy, since you preferred decorating your fingers and ears with simplistic pieces. He can't help but wonder what color might adorn your perfect smile. Red, maybe orange, perhaps that color you told him was called mauve, with your lips lined.
I...I bet you look pretty. He thinks.
Yelena grins, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She can see the thought of you in his mind, the vivid image of you dressed to the nines igniting a spark in his expression. She catches his brief moment of daydreaming before he catches himself, his gaze snapping away from the pillow to meet hers. 
"Bob..." Yelena's voice edges amused.
"I just..." Bob starts, then lets out a frustrated exhale. "I'm not really... I'm not the party type, you know. I always stayed indoors growing up. I never went out much. I never had this. Friends who wanted to be around me. This gala is far from my normal routine. I don’t think letting me go out so soon would be a good idea. It’s been a year. You guys said it yourself, you don't want to risk Void getting out again. You...You guys would be better off going without me. I can stay behind…I don’t mind."
She understands that he harbors doubts and fears about his place among them.
"Bob..." Yelena tilts her head, staring at him pointedly, her voice gentle yet firm. "We aren't keeping you locked up to contain 'Void'. It's not about that. Not anymore." She reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not a ticking time bomb, you never have been. We want you there with us. Even Y/n, alright? If it puts your mind at ease, even for just one second. She was the one who suggested we bring you along with us. Not because we feel it’s our obligation, and no one can watch you. But because we genuinely want to see you out of this place, cleaned up! We don't want to see you holed up in this tower forever, okay?"
Bob's heart skips at the mention of you wanting him there, too. He fidgets momentarily, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his shoes. The polished shine on them reminded him that he could have these things now. The privilege of owning nice things.
Nice things never last long. In his life at least.
“Okay…” His mind whirls with the never-ending feeling of being a bother and a burden. He's hesitant, torn between his desire to attend and his habitual tendency to keep to himself. He bites his lip, the urge to decline the invitation was tempting against the subtle want of not wanting to be stuck at the tower…alone. "I just..." His hands lingers over his naked collar. 
Her voice is gentle with a hint of encouragement. “You what, Bob?” She waits for him to verbalize his concerns; she’s patient.
"No...It's stupid." He brushes it off with a laugh.
"No, say it!" She encourages.
"No. I should stay home-"
"Bob, tell me." Yelena dipped her head to meet his eyes. He gives in after a moment. 
"...I don't know how to put a tie on." He laments, lamely gesturing to the fabric he had tossed on his bed moments earlier, having given up on trying to do it himself. His father was absent from teaching him how to put one one. He never did get to bond over a silly thing, such as a tie with him. The rite of passage, or whatever they call it. The transition into becoming a man, knowing how to tie one yourself.
Yelena chuckles softly at his confession, her amusement tinged with empathy. Her eyes flicker towards the abandoned tie on the bed.
"Oh, Bob..." She gently pats his shoulder this time. "Don't worry; we can sort it out, alright." She takes his hand and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed. She picks up the tie, draping it around his neck. "You know... You could have just asked me." She says gently, wrapping the tie around his neck.
"You already helped with my hair." He shakes his head.
Yelena playfully rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, carefully ensuring one end is slightly longer. This difference would account for the tie’s eventual knot later. Yelena crossed the longer end over the shorter one, then pulled it under the shorter end and through the loop around Bob's neck. She continued folding the shorter end at the widest part to create a bow shape.
"Yes, but that's no excuse. You could have asked. Nothing wrong with asking for more help." With the bow shape firmly in place, she brought the longer end directly over it. Pinching the bow shape and the longer end together, carefully threading the longer end through a loop she had opened in the back of the bow. She then pulled both ends to tighten them in place.
"See? Sorted out." She pats his chest, stepping back to look over her handiwork and adjusting the fabric until she is satisfied with how it sits at his neck.
"Thanks...I was never taught how." Bob trails off, not wanting to bring forth thoughts of his father. They were never pleasant.
She notices the hint of melancholy in his voice upon mentioning not being able to put on a tie, but she chooses to move past it, not wanting to dampen the moment. Instead, she pats his chest once more, grinning. "Don't worry, Alexei doesn’t either." She winks at him once more. 
He nods out of curiosity before he even registers what he's asking. "Does…Does Y/n know how to tie a tie?"
Yelena raises her eyebrow at his question. She tries to hide a smirk, realizing where his mind is currently at. "Hmm...You know, I'm not entirely sure. But..." She pauses, enjoying the moment. "If I had to guess, I'd bet she would. She's got an endless amount of skills hidden beneath the surface. Surely tying ties is a secret she has, wouldn’t hurt to ask her about it."
"I-I wouldn't put it past her…She's great at everything." His admiration was not lost on her.
"That she is..." Yelena smirks. “You should tell her you know. That you’re in love with her.” She nudges his foot with her heel.
He wrings his hands together, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees. As tempting as it sounds, he wouldn't be able to gain the confidence to execute it. Confessing to you how he felt. The feelings he harbored. "No…It’s better this way. If I keep it to myself."
Yelena's expression softens at his reluctance. She sits next to him, considering his words. "Bob, listen to me. Life…it’s too short to keep something like that to yourself. I've seen you around her, the way your worries fade. That sense of security that she brings you. That you bring to her. It’s all in the risk worth taking." Yelena continues, choosing her words with care. "Don't let fear keep you from telling her how you feel. You'll never know what might happen if you don’t take that chance."
He meets her gaze. His locks falling over his eyes, hiding him. "What if I mess it all up?”
“I don’t think you could.” 
“And if I do…I don’t want to hurt Y/n.”
“Relationships get messy, Bob, it’s part of growing together. Do you think we’d be here today, as the new avengers if we continued to butt heads every time?”
“No…”
“You have nothing to lose.” Yelena encourages. “Trust me. Just be yourself. Tell her how you feel, and before it’s too late, alright.”
“I'll think about it…" Bob stands up as Alexei's voice rings out from the hall, indicating it was time to head out. With a sigh, Bob steps out of the door frame, ready to face whatever the evening has in store.
-
Bob had a completely different idea about how the night would go. Surely, there would have been busybodies intrigued by his presence and would approach him. Possibly ask him about his powers, his involvement, and what he brought to the table, but that was not the case as he continued to stand in the corner of the venue. Alone. His hands were messing with his cuff links to help pass the time. He raised his hand occasionally, sparing a timid greeting to the passersby who gave him a side eye. He wasn’t aware how much of a wallflower he was being, but he was nonetheless immune to the judgeful stares. He might've guessed that his longing gaze also made people whisper and gesture towards him. The fact that he was staring in one particular direction caught everyone’s curiosity. 
He was looking at you, mingling and laughing with people he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop staring at you since you met the group in the living room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said you looked gorgeous.
It felt like time itself stopped and nothing else moved, nor mattered, except you. Walker didn’t fight the shit eating grin on his face when he heard Bob’s sharp intake. The kid was so far gone that he had to nudge the man after you had complimented his appearance. 
“And here I thought you were reluctant to go out with us. You look good.” Your sweet grin was making him visibly malfunction. You gave a nervous laugh, looking down as the minutes passed without him saying anything. Heat warms your cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?” Your eyes crinkle with embarrassment. 
“No, he–“
“–Oh!” Bob stumbles to the right from Walker’s nudge. “T-Thank you! You don’t look nice- No you do! You look nice…I meant to say you look nice. You’re beautiful…You look beautiful!” Bob grows flustered. “T-Thank you.” 
“Geezus.” Walker scoffed, walking away from you both. 
“You know you can take your eyes off her for a second, right? She’ll still be there, I promise.” Bucky comes up to him from his peripheral vision. Bob’s face flushed with embarrassment, having been caught. He dips his chin before he locks eyes with the soldier. “Here.” He offers a rounded glass—a golden liquid swirling in its confinement. 
“Thanks…” He carefully encircles his hand around the glass and takes a sip. A loud cough erupts from his chest, making him lean over. Bucky chuckles briefly before helping him back upright and patting his chest. 
“Scotch on the rocks. Thought you could use some liquid courage. Get some hair on your chest.” Bucky pulls away. Bob watches as the man’s eyes avert, inspecting the room. He blended in well, unlike himself. No one looks twice at Bucky. No one suspects him of anything bad. 
“F-For what?” Bob cleared his throat, trying to get over the burn. 
“You’re gonna ask her to dance.” Bucky declares.
“I’m…I’m what?” Bob whips his head to peer at him. Then, back to you, you hit a man with your hand across his chest, throwing your head back. How could he ask you to dance when you looked to have been having a swell time across the room?
“Gentlemen…What are we talking about over here?” Walker chimes over. A hand in his pocket, a rounded glass tucked into his palm, faced down. 
“I told Bob here to go ask Y/n to dance.” 
“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests. 
“Ha– That I want to see. Do you even know how to dance? Can you dance?”
“Well, no… I can do the Charlie Brown in the cha-cha slide though…” 
“You don’t say…” Walker closes his mouth. He shakes his head at Bob’s enthusiastic confirmation. “Maybe teach the kid a step…or two.” Walker lifts his drink to his lips. Bucky pats Bob comfortably against his back, his chin face down, embarrassed that he admitted his lack of dance skills. “Before he asks her.”
“I should’ve stayed home…” Bob muttered to himself. 
“No you shouldn’t have. You just need a wingman.”
“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease. 
“Yeah, someone who can help you get the girl. That gives you advice on how to look good in front of her.” Bucky's words cause Bob to look down at himself.
“What more could I do to look okay? Y-Yelena already helped me do my hair and tie.” 
“This will have nothing to do with your appearance. You already got the face and the build, kid, don’t worry about that. I just meant more of teaching you how to hold yourself confidently and how you speak to a woman.” 
“But Yelena told me to just be my-“
“Forget everything Yelena has told you. Let us help you, alright.” Walker butts in. Bob wrings his hands, he wasn’t too sure about the whole ordeal. Yelena told him to take the chance, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, to be himself, because that’s who you were drawn to. Now the guys were telling him he had to work on himself, on their way to giving him tips on how to bring out his confidence, it didn’t make sense. 
“I don’t know…I wanted to do it on my own terms. N-Not right now…She’s busy.” 
“She’s networking.” 
“I don’t want to pull her away to tell her how I feel…” The idea felt selfish. He didn’t want to be the one to tamper your fun night.
“Trust me, kid. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s miserable.” Bob turns, inspecting your joyous body language. If your discontent looked like you were happy, then so was he. 
“Maybe we should wait-“
“Oh.” Walker draws their attention. Bob turns to him before looking back at you. “Trouble in paradise.” Walker quips, gesturing to the new fellow that caught their attention. Your smile disappears when you turn around to face the hand that tapped your shoulder. 
“Who’s that?” Bob glances back at the troubled expression of his teammates. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Nervously waiting to know of the man, who brought you displeasure from what he could tell. He watches you shake your head no, turning and walking away from him and the group you mingled with. An unsettling torment rumbles in his chest, when the guy grabs your upper forearm, halting your retreat. 
You quickly turn your head around; a quiet disagreement begins. A few other guests glance over at you both.
"Sadly that is Y/n's former partner. His name is Ryker Stride.” Bucky reveals the information about your ex-boyfriend that you failed to talk about. To him at least.
"I had no idea she was with someone…" Despite the fact that he didn't look like your ex, Bob couldn't help but let his wandering thoughts get the better of him. He felt insignificant compared to how Ryker held himself.
“They weren’t together for long, they hit month six before she ended things with him.” 
“Is it ‘cause he’s an asshole?” He didn’t like the way he grabbed you. You pulled your hand back, before you walked away, Turning a corner out of sight. 
“Unfortunately.” Bucky sighed. Walker watched the scene unfold, before an idea struck him. 
“Go save her.” Walker urges, noticing Ryker following after you. 
“What?”
“I didn’t stutter. Go!” Walker nudged him a few steps forward, but Bob only shakes his head. 
“I-I don’t think it's a good idea…Walker, Yelena told me to not get into trouble before she left me here. I-“
“Oh my god! It’s not like you’re gonna kill the dude, you're just gonna follow them, make sure she’s okay. And if he so much lays a hand on her, then you slightly intervene, use a bit of that strength of yours to show him you don’t mess around when it comes to her. It’s completely harmless dominance. Show how much of a gentleman you are. Trust me, she’ll be kissing you by midnight, you’ll thank me later. Promise.“ Walker steps up to him, pats him on the chest. 
“I don’t know…I think we should get Yelena. Get her opinion on this.” He reels into himself, not believing he could carry it all out. He was a gentleman, he thought so, so did Yelena and you, why would possibly getting a man’s hands off you further highlight the fact he’d never do such a thing as lay a hand on a woman. It felt risky…but was this the risk Yelena encouraged him to take things with you further?
“I think it could work.” Now Bucky, mauled it over. 
“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s risky…” Bob kept insisting.
“No. It’s not. You should go save her.” Walker persisted. “This is your chance and you’re seriously not gonna take it?” He scoffs. “If you’re not gonna do it, then I will. The guy’s a prick anyway.”
Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First, the guys suggested he should ask you to dance, and now they want him to barge in like some knight in shining armor? Did they seriously expect him to just waltz over to you, interrupt your conversation with your ex, and play the hero? But what really caught him off guard was the fact that he actually considered it. Sure, he didn't think much of your ex when he saw his hand on you, but to intervene?
Walker and Bucky continue to implore him, emphasizing the importance of this moment. Telling him to man up. He knew this was the opportunity to act, but as usual, his nerves get a hold of him. With a hesitant look at the super soldiers, he nods once and moves with small steps in the direction he saw you go.
-
Bob felt nervous when he came to a stop around the corner. Your anger evident with every grit of your teeth. It was daunting to see you so worked up. His brows furrow as he saw Ryker hold you in the exact same position.
You wished you hadn’t walked away from the crowd. Crowds kept you safe, they granted you witnesses if something were to happen to you. Much like so. 
"Let go." You grit your teeth at the man preventing your exit.
"Let's talk about this-"
"There's nothing to talk about. I gave you your answer. I ended things with you for this exact reason. Your aggressive, abusive, and right now a real pain in my ass. If you can't be a grown-up about it, that's a personal issue. Not mine. Let go." Your voice lowers, firm in your conviction. 
“No come on, give me a chance to explain myself. I told you I was going to work on myself-”
"Ryker if you don't take your goddamn hand off me so help me-"
Bob was torn from the sidelines. He understood it wasn’t his place to interfere, but his heart began to beat faster as the conversation between you and your ex grew more heated. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a few steps towards the altercation. He had to say something, but he also didn’t have a clue how to approach.
"She...She said let her go." A dark, low rumble emits behind you. The rasp in Bob's voice usually sent a tingling sensation down your spine, but upon seeing how intensely he glared at your ex, and the way his shoulders curled in around himself. It did nothing but give you goosebumps. Bob's gaze settled on his hand, the one currently leaving impressions of his fingers on your skin. Your gaze stays on him as you catch a flicker of amber in his eyes. No. 
"She said, let go." Bob’s gestures with a pointed finger. A nervous laugh emits past his lips. It does nothing to ease the tension.
Ryker's hold on you tightens at Bob's words. The defiance in the man's demeanor only fueled his determination to maintain his grip. "Mind your business, freak. This doesn't concern you."
Your heart hammers as Bob’s eyes go full gold. “She said let go…”
You turn back to the stubborn fool with cogs and nuts for brains. "Ryker, let go of me now." You push against his hand, which doesn't let up at all. "Terco! Suéltame!" You curse at him. "You have a death wish. Surely, that’s the case!" You feign sudden revelation to his unrelenting grip. You shove against his chest, before looking back at Bob, exclaiming frantically. "Bob, I'm fine. Go find Yelena!"
"He's bruising you..." His gaze was unmoving from Ryker's grip. “He shouldn’t be hurting you.”
Bob steps to move closer, but your desperate attempt to keep him away from the impending situation stops him in place. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ryker’s tight hand on you and the sight of your growing distress.
"Bob, it's fine!" You curse under your breath, as you try to hide the pain you begin feeling, etching your features. "Ryker!" A disheartened chuckle slips past your lips, but it's not joyous. Bob didn't misplace your whine. "You're drunk, go home. You're making things worse-"
Ryker's grip on you persisted, his drunken state only fueling his stubbornness even more so. He ignored your attempt to diffuse the situation; a scoff left him. "The only one making things worse is this pri—" His words were slurred and then interrupted. Bob stuck a hand out before Ryker's grip lifted off of you, and then he flew towards Bob. 
Bob didn't hesitate to grip the intoxicated man's neck.
"You were saying?" Bob's raspy growl was not missed.
Ryker croaks, his airway being cut off by Bob's hand around his throat. He tries to form words, but only a strangled gasp leaves him.
"Bob..." You step closer to them. His cerulean eyes meet yours, and a speck of hope fills you, thinking he's not far from being helped. "Bob, can we talk about this?"
His grip doesn't loosen on the guy. Bob's eyes are locked onto yours for a split second before returning to Ryker, the grip on his neck more harsh than what is necessary. His demeanor had changed; his usually soft-spoken words and timidness were gone. He stands straight, shoulders squared. A subtle but commanding aura emanated from him. He was losing an eternal fight that the eye couldn't see, but you saw the signs. His lack of empathy, dissolving, a rugged exterior slamming down like a shutdown protocol. You didn't like the man who wanted to take over.
"Bob?" Your heels click softly with each approaching step. "Listen I know Ryker's a piece of shit okay. It's why I broke up with him..." You put your hands out to show him you mean no harm. "I thought I wanted him gone at one point in my life too, but contemplating about the asshole in such a way didn't feel worth it anymore." Ryker pays you a glare. "Bob, he doesn't deserve one second of your time." Bob clenches his jaw as he peers down at your darkened marks. He twitches as he tries to think through his inner turmoil.
"No, no. He shouldn't have hurt you. He put his hands on you." Bob's voice cracks. "I don't like it when people hurt you..."
"Yeah, well, people do stupid things when they're drunk. He's an idiot." You give Bob a pained smile. "I'm fine. Nothing serious." He still had Ryker in his grip. The man was turning red.
"He-He deserves it." With one final tightening of his grip, Ryker falls limp. You barely register the crack, surely his neck. The sound haunts you as the hairs on your arms rise again.
You watch as Bob releases Ryker. The man flops to the ground, unmoving. Your heart picks up as you realize what he's done. Your eyes go wide before you swallow the lump in your throat. "Bob, you...Did you-"
Bob's gaze was locked on Ryker's unconscious form, and he finally turned to look at you, noticing you had backed up. A flicker of realisation passes across his expression at your reaction and withdrawal. Bob's gaze remains steady, his eyes devoid of the softness you're used to, replaced by something else. Hatred.
"He had it coming." Bob's tone is firm, his voice still hinting at his usual timidness, but tinged with a hardened edge. "He hurt you. What gives him the right to do that to you? To anyone? I did him a favor." He nods more to himself.
"You didn't need to kill him."
Bob's gaze intensifies as he keeps your gaze, the look unyielding. The gold in his eyes is more prominent now. The tension was dense, the moment hanging in the air, thick like fog. "He deserved it." Bob's tone, confident and cold. No remorse. "He hurt you."
"Oh my god…No it wasn’t necessary.." You release a sigh.. "H-He just held my wrist."
Bob's eyes narrow. He scoffs in disbelief. "And you were wincing, were you not?" He steps closer to you, closing the distance. You never liked his gold eyes. Not when he was looming over you.
You hold your head high, trying not to let your gaze waver from his intimidation. "I'm fine. Killing shouldn't have been your first choice. It never should result in death unless the situation requires it. I could have knocked him out, Bob..."
"Maybe you're too kind." The intensity in his gaze was unbroken. "Sometimes, people like him don't understand anything but violence."
"I don't think you do either..." You wished you could have taken it back the second the words fell past your lips. "I didn't mean that-" You close your eyes. Regret hitting you.
Bob recoils at your words, flinching as though you hit him. "I think you did." His gaze sharpens, hurt and confusion flashing across his features.
"No." You insist.
The intensity in his gaze doesn't let up, even as you try to retract your statement. "No. You did mean it." His tone is stern. Grim. It cuts through the air like a knife. "You think I'm as violent as him, is that it?"
You only keep shaking your head, even as he corners you against an adjacent wall. "No. I think-"
The weight of his body is imposing, shadows slowly casting over him starting from his shoes as he corrals you into the wall. His hands find the space beside your head, trapping you in as he leans in close, his voice low and sharp. “Why shouldn't I use my full potential, especially when a damsel is distressed? I'm strong, so why wouldn't I try to help someone in need? Though I'm starting to think this damsel wasn't worth the time or energy anymore. Since she's yet to thank me. I came here to save you from that asshole.”
Your lip trembles as you reach for your gun. You act fast on impulse. Switching the safety off your weapon with precision and speed before a shot rings out. Surely someone's heard it go off.
Bob's reaction was instantaneous as pure adrenaline surged through his veins. He acted on instinct, seizing your wrist in a firm grip. He holds your gun-wielding hand steady. The weapon was aimed at a spot just past his right ear. His voice is eerily calm. “You missed.” 
Your outcry was real this time as the gun slipped out of your hand. Out of reach now. Bob held your wrist, much like Ryker had. Only this grip was severely cruel, whereas Ryker's was bruising you, Bob could easily break your wrist with slightly more pressure applied. "Y-You're hurting me-" You shove against his chest. He was unfazed by your attempts.
"And you were going to shoot me....God, why do we even keep you around?" Your eyes widen as the shadows reach up to his torso.
"'Cause I'm one of you..." You arguably strain.
He doesn't allow himself to give in to your words; he doesn't soften or falter. You press the left side of your face into the wall as he sneers and breaths heavily into your cheek. "You sure about that?" His tone was condescending. He pulls you into his chest, dragging you away before you know it.
-
A yell breaks out when you're thrown across the venue’s dance floor. Your body hits the ground roughly, sending you rolling before you stop face down into the ground. You lay there trying to gather your bearings.
He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.
"T-That hurt..." You mutter to yourself as you take note of the crowd, stepping back and away from the center. Separating a path as Bob, halfway transformed into Void, approaches with steady, slow footsteps.
"Y/n!" Yelena makes for you, but you shake your head.
"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. Your face fell when you noticed them reach for specific spots on their attire. Weapons. Hidden from wandering gazes. Had they anticipated this to happen? "Stay back!" You warn, pushing off the ground with shaken legs. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to push through the pain of being thrown like a rag doll.
"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.
Bob's eyes remained fixed. Golden. The shadow within him, consuming his being. His expression was almost feral. He stops in front of you. He had no hesitation and no mercy. No, not for you. No more.
Bob watches you stumble forward with an unsettling lack of regard. Even though he had been rougher with you than he'd like, his demeanor didn't soften. He begins stepping towards you. "You're a drawback." His tone is harsh, lacking the usual warmth he holds towards you.
Your head falls into your shoulder, defeated and solemn, as Bob's demeanor doesn’t change. Black overshadows his delicate features. He is no longer the timid and awkward man you thought you knew. Now, he is Void—a twisted, broken force to be reckoned with. The two white dots for eyes stare back at you hauntingly.
No trace of warmth or familiarity in his eyes. Just a tormenting, head tilt directed at your vulnerable state. "A liability." His head tilts to the other side now.
Yelena steps closer to you. A hand was held out in front of her, ready to shove you behind her. She was all too familiar with the Void's dislike for you. He hadn't been too kind to you in your shame rooms. Giving you hell the most when the group rejoined in the attic. He hated you, hated how you made things quiet for Bob. You provided a sense of comfort and a safeguard for him to fall back on. Void wanted you gone. Now more so than ever.
"Bob?" Yelena gives it a go before she reaches for you.
Instantly, you're yanked by your wrist, slamming into his chest, forcing you to meet his menacing stare. You watch his wickened grin grace you, the white dots for his eyes reflecting the sliver of hope within him. Barely there.
"No!"
"Let her go!"
"Bob, let her go!"
"Bob, if you can hear me. Stop this!"
Multiple safety clicks are echoed all around the room. You turn briefly, locking eyes with Ava, Yelena, and Walker, directing their pistols' ends towards the shadow man. Bucky is on standby with his weapon of choice. You lock eyes with him, shaking your head. Their hesitance to shoot is noticeably painful.
"You can't be trusted." Void continues speaking slowly, calculatingly, each word falling heavy and deliberate, as the shadows consume you from your heels. "You act impulsively based on your emotions. You're a waste of time. You're only making him weaker."
The shadows wrap around your ankles, coiling around them, consuming them in darkness. You feel the shadows creep up your legs, snaking their way up your body, now to the halfway point of your waist. It didn't take a genius to know what was happening. "Then get it over with already..."
He chuckles darkly before you see your friends and various guests begin being turned into shadows. Void's gaze flickers around the room. People start to scream and flee, while others begin to try to fight back. He remains unfazed by the panic as he lifts you to his eye level, the shadows reaching your chest now. "You don't matter...you never will." You release a gasp, your eyes closing as the shadows curl over your head like a hoodie. Then your body's gone from his grasp. No shadow in sight.
-
Bob sat up, startled. His eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and ragged as he shook his head and ran frantic fingers through his now messy curls. His heart raced in his chest. "What..." He muttered, trying to shake the remnants of the horrid nightmare from his mind.
"Bob?" He whips his head up fast, causing him a sudden dizzy spell, before he locks eyes with Yelena on the ground. He begins to register not only her disheveled state but also various other bodies, sitting up from the ground as well.
"What the hell..." Ava curses as she goes to stand. Yelena followed suit, as shadows started to disperse from each figure that had stood in the room a while ago.
"What happened here?" Bob, nervous, stood up, trying to find his bearings.
"Great, you don't remember."
Bob's confusion grows as he takes in the sight of everyone around him. He rubs his temples, trying to make sense of what's happening. "I...I don't know..." He shakes his head, feeling dazed and disoriented. "I was... dreaming, I think. It was a nightmare. But, I can't remember much."
"It's fine, Bob." Yelena waves him off.
Bob rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. The group is gathered in the venue, their surroundings in disarray. Chairs toppled, tables were knocked over, and the floor was littered with shattered glass. "What happened here?" He asks again, taking in the state of the room.
"Void." Bucky sighed.
Bob's heart sinks at the mention of Void. He knew all too well the damage and chaos the other guy brought with him. "Void did this?"
"Yeah..." Walker nods. "But from the looks of it, you only maintained it here, so I call progress." Bob was lost.
"I did? I don't remember anything. I only remember seeing Y/n talking to that Ryker guy, before everything got fuzzy again."
The mention of your name had them freezing. Yelena looked to him before her body swirled around in search of you. Yelena's eyes widen with realization. 
"Y/n... Where's Y/n?" The room falls silent as they begin to realize the absence of your presence in the venue.
"What's with the long faces?" Bob wrings his hands together, not understanding the concerned glances everyone threw his way. He turns his head like they do, eyes darting around, falling onto multiple strange faces, searching but never really finding what they looked for. "What's wrong?... Where's Y/n?" His body tenses, dread seeping in.
"What do you mean, where is she?" Yelena's heart plunges. "Bob?" She inched closer, trying to get a read on him. "D-Do you remember anything?"
"No, I told you all that I know. I saw Ryker with Y/n before everything got dark." Bob glanced over to Walker and Ava's hardened gazes. He curled in on himself. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong and that he was at fault. "W-What do you mean? Where is she?"
"Alright, kid, quit messing around. Where'd she go? We all came back, so why didn't she?" Walker rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his oblivious antics. "Where is she, Bob?"
"I-I don't know where Y/n is? What did I do?" Bob frantically shrugs his shoulders.
"No." Dread fell over Yelena's face. "No, no, no." Yelena cupped her stomach.
Bob noticed Yelena's expression, confusion etched on his face, "W-What's going on? What did I do?"
The group looked at him in pity, their faces riddled with worry, fear, and confusion—all except Bucky, who remained silent and stoic. Everyone waited for Yelena to speak. Yelena's voice was shaky, her words softly spoken.
"You didn't do anything." Yelena's eyes started to water, her body trembling. "No..." She looked around the room once more. Nothing. "Okay...Okay. How do we get her back?" She highlighted.
"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.
"You're asking us?" Bucky pointed to himself. "How would we know?" He perplexes.
"I...I don't know!" Yelena's breathing grew ragged, on the verge of tears. She blew raspberries. "She can't be gone...we all came back, there's that!"
"Yeah, but she didn't." Walker voiced everyone's dread. His tone grew sharp and impatient. He pointed to Bob, "Why is that Bob? Why didn't she return like the rest of us?"
"Surely there's some reasonable explanation for this-" Ava tried leveling the situation.
Bob's expression turned somber, his eyes darting to each person searching for an answer. He stuttered, "I...I don't know why. I swear, I don't know. I...I'd never ever hurt her, I promise. I'd never hurt her." 
Yelena's voice was shaky, her words barely above a whisper. "We know you wouldn't, but she's gone. Maybe still in the Void, and we need to get her back."
"The question is how, though?" Walker queried.
Yelena shrugged, her eyes reddened and puffy. "I got nothing...." Everyone remained quiet.
Bob wrung his hands together before a suggestion conjured up in his mind. "W-What if you knock me out?"
The group froze, all turning to look at him in disbelief. 
"What?" Yelena furrowed her brows, confused by his reasoning. 
Ava chimes in, disagreeing. "That doesn't even sound plausible."
Walker let out a scoff. "Knock you out? Are you out of your mind? What good would that do for us?"
"We risk the Void escaping again!" Alexei voiced his concern. "It is a no from me!"
"Sorry, it was just an idea. I thought it could work- Sorry." Bob shakes his head, letting his head fall to the ground again. Bucky, the more level-headed of the group, weighs the idea before speaking.
"Bob..." Bucky steps forward, his gaze fixed on the distressed male. "What do you mean by that? Why do you suggest that we knock you out?"
A spark of hope ignites behind his eyes. Someone's taking a chance on his idea. Bob nods before saying, "Maybe if you guys knock me out. I could find her...in here." He peers up through his lashes at the soldier, gesturing to his temple. "It was just an idea..."
Bucky's gaze remains locked on Bob, contemplating his proposal. Yelena moves from her spot, placing her hand on Bucky's arm. "Bucky, you can't be serious."
"You got a better plan… We don't have anything to go from. It's better than nothing. It could work..." Bucky shrugs at Bob, who straightens. Bob stares at Bucky, surprised that he was on board with it. He turned to the others, waiting for their opinions.
"But how can you know for certain... that it will work?" Yelena counters.
"It's a stupid idea," Ava mutters, shaking her head.
"Alright, how hard do I have to hit him?" Walker begins removing his blazer, rolling his white dress shirt up to his elbows. 
"Woah woah woah! Let's think this through, there are other ways we can do this!" Yelena cuts in frantically.
"She's right, punching him won't phase him."
"Then how the hell are we supposed to knock him out?" Walker complained.
"You could..." Bob swallowed back a lump. "You could choke me..."
Ava whips her head over to Walker's baffled gaze. She nudges him with a shit eating grin. "Choke him!" She urges.
Bucky places his hands on his hips, and a heavy sigh leaves him. "You sure about this, Bob?"
A mixture of nervousness and determination washes over Bob's face. Bob nods, trying to seem brave. "Yeah...I'm sure. I have to try…For her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know?" He lets out a faint laugh, but his smile only lasts a few seconds.
A grimace is on Yelena's face as she watches the scene begin to unfold. Bucky places a firm hand on Bob's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t kill him, Walker. Do it quickly, just enough to make him unconscious. Got it?” 
Walker shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He approaches Bob, hesitant about his decision. He grabs Bob’s forearm before making him turn around. His back now faces him. "Sorry in advance, kid..." Walker swallows hard before he wraps his arms around Bob’s shoulders. It's not long before his arms tighten around his neck. Bob protests, raising his hands to where Walker's hold reduces his oxygen. He knew he had to give in, for your sake, but he'd be lying if he said the whole plan was terrifying.
Bob tries to resist even as he meets Yelena's pained expression. Bucky's head turns away so as not to look, but he thinks twice before looking back, to be there as his source of comfort as he starts tapping against Walker’s arms.
"You'll be fine, kid. Just relax, alright? Don’t fight it." Bucky tries to reassure him. Bob feels the pressure build up in his head and lets out a gasp before he nods. His eyes flicker back and forth between gold and blue. His throat feels like it's being crushed, not the most pleasant thing he's experienced, but what's worse is the way Yelena is watching him. Not at all okay with this. She never liked seeing him hurt.
His eyes meet Yelena's, and her eyes are filled with dread. He manages to mouth his words with a weak smile. I’ll. Find. Her.
Bob's eyes start fluttering. His expression starts drooping as he's on the verge of passing out.
The world blurs as he starts to feel the rush; his head starts pounding. Then his surroundings turn dark. The pressure becomes too intense, and he goes limp. His body falls into Walker’s arms. Walker sighs, letting his arms unravel from his neck before he walks backwards, gently laying the man on the floor. He stays crouched next to him, hating this more than anything. “Now what?”
"We wait." Yelena chimes in solemnly. Grabbing a discarded chair, planting it before her unconscious friend, and plopping herself down on it. “And hope this work.”
-
Bob didn’t know how long he had been roaming through his shame rooms before a particular doorway appeared. The brown door, sticking out like a sore thumb from the white walls of his childhood home, his shame room, where his dad was screaming at him, asking him where he was going. He gave his father one more glance before he rushed towards it. Opening and slamming it shut behind it. But as he put his force behind the shove. The door itself caught on the doorframe. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving behind the hope that it would close, but a thin space between the doorframe and the door prevented its enclosure. 
“It doesn’t close…The floor is sunken there.” A high-pitched voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He pushes himself from the door before he swivels in place. A small child greets him on the floor. 
"Y/n?" Bob inched closer to what he presumed to be your younger self. You were donning a pink and purple sweater, a sequined puppy plastered on the front of it. A few sequins turned over like you had run your hand across them. Black leggings worn out and fuzzy purple socks on your feet. A mirror of your adolescence.
Your younger self looks up as he approachs. He met her gaze before she pointed to the other end of the room. “She’s over there.” 
He swiveled around, scoping the room's entirety, until his gaze settled on his goal. His search concluded as he saw you curled underneath a desk. His shoulders slumped at the sight. Your face was dazed, staring straight ahead. Eyes barely blinking. You, too, donned the puppy sweater and leggings. Different from your dress, which you looked lovely in tonight.
You hadn't even bothered to acknowledge his presence as your younger self kept trying to build a puzzle laid out before her. An image of a snowman, in a forest surrounded by trees. A few pieces were chipped, and one, unbeknownst to him, was missing, lost, meaning you'd never fully complete it over the years of trying to, in this room.
"Y-Y/n." He reveled in saying your name out loud.
"I don't want to talk to anyone." Bob turned to look back at the child, placing another piece in its correct spot. 
Bob crouched down to be eye level with you under the desk. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of reaction. For a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. No response.
"I-I didn't mean for you to be trapped in here." His voice shook.
Bob's expression twisted into one of deep regret. He reached out to touch your knee but stopped himself, his hand hovering a few inches above as it trembled. His gaze flitted to your younger self. She seemed focused on the puzzle piece in her hand, utterly oblivious to his internal torment. The sight only intensified his agony.
"I–" He opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to reassure you, but no words were forthcoming. "C-Can I join you?" Bob fell back on his bottom and gestured gently to the center. Your younger self looked up.
"Sure." She barely peers up at him, unbothered by his request, but holds out a piece to include him all same.
Bob accepts the piece, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he takes it. He turns it over in his grasp, examining the surface of it before looking back at the puzzle. He slides his piece into place, his movements careful but precise, ensuring a perfect fit.
"Thanks." He murmurs, his gaze drifting back to your younger self. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite muster. He lets something out for now. "I've never been good at these..." Bob confesses, "Could never finish them. Sit still."
"It's okay...We've never finished this one, but we keep trying to." The child's disheartened smile makes him want to break down.
Bob nods curtly, his throat tight. The sight of your indifference nearly unravels him. He turns his attention back to the puzzle, trying to ground himself in its simple but comforting task. He picks up another piece, turns it over.
"I’m... I can't-" Bob stops short, clearing his throat as it threatened to close up. He tries again. "I can't believe I did this to you." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I wish I had more control over my powers. I could have saved you the pain."
"We're not mad at you for it. We promise." Your younger self reassures. Handing him another piece after placing another perfect fit down.
Bob's breath hitches in his chest. Your reassurance is like a balm to his wounded soul. Hearing those simple words from you, from her, eases some of the guilt that has been consuming him. He accepts another piece from you, gently placing it into the puzzle again.
"You… You should be." He mutters, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "I put you in here." His gaze flicks back to her face, taking in her innocence, how calm she remains. It's infuriating. Why are you not raging at him? Shouting? He deserves it.
"The Void put us here." You corrected him. "What's being upset over it gonna accomplish?" Your younger self hovers her hand over a certain area; uncertainty flashes behind her eyes. You're hesitant. Bob, conflicted, reaches forward and guides her small hand over to a spot he thinks it will fit. It does. "Thanks." She’s appreciative before enthusiastically grabbing another, ready to advance in the puzzle's completion.
Bob's heart clenches as you respond rationally. It's eerily shocking how mature you are for your age. The way you forgive so easily is at odds with the guilt he feels. Yet, somehow, your words have an undeniable power over him. He can feel the grip of the Void's hold on him loosen ever so slightly. He helps you slide in the next piece as it clicks into place. Your giggle warms his heart. The corners of his lips curl up at the sound.
"How can…. How can you be so calm about this?" Bob can't help but ask, his voice tinged with disbelief mixed with awe.
"I-I have to..." Your younger self falters. Her composure glitched before she blinked and continued as if nothing had happened. She avoided his gaze, looking back down at the puzzle. "We have to be. Otherwise, what comes next would be unbearable."
Bob's brow creases with concern at the glitch. A ripple in your memory, the imposed calmness that he couldn't miss, faltering. The way you had been referring to yourselves as we, never as I. He was getting somewhere. At least he hoped he was.
"What…" He hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's coming next?"
"Ya estoy harta!" Your younger self flinches as a glass breaks in the distance. "Vete con tus pinche putas! Ya no me importa! Largarte! Largarte!"
"Ya no puedo! Ya basta. Pinche loca ya no puedo!"
Bob immediately tenses, ready to protect you and your younger self from whatever threat looms, but as the shouting continues in the distance, he recognises something familiar in the language. Spanish.
"Is... Is that...?" He whispers, knowing the answer but hoping he's wrong.
"S-Spanish." Your body convulses and twitches as the vulgar language is spoken. Feeling gross. You try to block them out, pausing your puzzle making, your hands harshly slammed against your ears. Tears form in your eyes as the screams only continue. You run over to the door, banging and kicking it. The kick makes the door widen, before you push against it. 
"Shut up!" Bob flinches as your small body screeches. "Shut up! Ya cállate!" Your outcry only intensified. Your body shaking with sobs. "Shut up! Shut up!" You turn the lock, knowing it serves no real purpose. Your bedroom door barely closed. The doorframe stopped it from entirely shutting. You've never been able to lock it, not once. You turned and walked over to a corner where a dresser sat. You go to push it until it starts sliding across the floor. Pushing with everything you had in your tiny body, until it sat in front of the door. Blocking them from entering. You didn't want them near you. You kick the wall next to it in anger. To have them hear just how upset they made you. Hoping your meltdown would cause them to stop, to see how much they’re hurting you. You go far as to grab something heavy launching it into the wall too. The bang as agressive as your parents anger. 
It's not long before you move to where you remain under the desk. Your younger self crawls underneath with you. Scooting herself next to you as your older self ticks and shivers at the language exchanged. Your younger self cups her ears and lets out an ear-piercing scream. All the while, yourself sheds a tear. It's only then that he finally gets a real reaction from you. You turn to your younger self wanting to save her the pain. You wrap an arm around her and tuck her in close to your side.
Bob is frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him. The sheer desperation in your voice is gut-wrenching; you just want it to stop. He watches with staggered breaths as your younger self curls into you. The shouting and screaming continue in the background.
He wants to move, to grab the dresser and shove it through the wall, to put an end to the shouting and the pain taking place on the other side of that door. But he remains where he is, watching yourself try to help your younger self find solace. His eyes dart to the blocked door, listening to the muffled yelling from outside. He grits his teeth, anger bubbling within him.
When he turns back to look at you both. Your younger self is nowhere to be found beside you. "Here!" His head turns to the child sitting before him again on the floor. Another puzzle piece was offered to him once again.
How long did you relive this before he got here? The memory had reset again, he realized.
Bob's hands tremble as he gradually accepts the puzzle piece. Peering down at the upright face, snow-like texture painted on the piece to help him determine where it could go. He stares at it, guilt slowly seeping into his bones as he lifts his head to watch your younger self concentrate on the image the pieces were curating.
"How...How many times has she-you-" Bob can't even fathom how long you've been sitting under your desk, to appear so numb to everything. "How long have you been in here?"
"This is loop ten." Younger you, spares him a pinched grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.
Bob's stomach churns at the revelation. Loop ten? You've had to face this same scene ten times over, stuck in an endless cycle. He wants to scream, to tear everything apart, to make it stop. But he can't. He's just a participant in this twisted nightmare. His eyes shift between the puzzle and your younger self, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. He had to try; this was you he was talking about. You'd done so much for him; he owed you that much. To push past how scared he was of screwing things up even more.
Your younger self looks up, halting her movements. "I-I can't finish it." You finally refer to yourself in first person. You look down at the puzzle. "I just wanna finish it."
"You want to finish the puzzle?" Bob questions, his words tinged with both confusion and understanding. He glances at the puzzle, taking in the incomplete image. It's beautiful in its own way, even without all the pieces. But the thought of you stuck in this repetitive loop, trying to complete it, it's unbearable. "You... You don't have to finish it." He says softly, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he can even change your mind within the confines of this memory.
"I want to." Hope. A small spark ignites within Bob as your younger self expresses her determination. He picks up on the subtle changes in your expressions, the way your younger self glitches and gives way to glimpses of your older self. He clings onto this as a sign of change, that he can somehow alter this loop. 
His back straightens. He looks back at you under the desk. You were still there, but a sliver of hope had him realizing you wanted to crawl from underneath there. "I... I get close, and then I never do. There's always a piece missing." The child's brows furrow with frustration. You go to place the remaining six pieces before pulling your hands into your lap.
"Missing piece?" His eyes flick back to the puzzle, taking in the image, searching for what could be amiss. Then there it is, the center spot, vacant. His gaze darts around the room. "Maybe it's somewhere else? In a drawer? Or under the bed?" He muses, his mind racing with possibilities, until the screams of your parents have him glancing at the door. He glances down at you, then at you under the desk. 
"Hey!" You peer up at him. "Just... Just focus on me. Listen to my voice…not theirs. Okay?" With labored breaths, his grin grows as he tries to reassure you from the shouting behind the door. "Where would you look first?" Your younger self gets up and heads for the door, when suddenly you appear criss-crossed before him. His eyes widened, trying to gain your attention this time. "Y/n? Hey!" He exclaims, reaching forward, touching your shoulders. "Hey. Hi, oh my god hi!" You turn back to face him after having peered over at the door.
"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.
"Yes!" Bob lets out a sigh of relief. He can't help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "Yes, it's me. Me Bob. That's me!" He gives a firm nod, still holding onto your shoulders. He leans down to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry. The team told me what happened and how Void got out and ruined everything. How everyone came back, but you never did. I... I should've stayed home. I knew it was a bad idea to go to that gala, but the team insisted, you insisted, on getting me out of the tower, and...I screwed everything up again. Like I always do. But I'm here. I'm here and I want to make things right. I'm gonna get you out of here." His conviction bled through.
Your eyes glisten. You looked so small compared to the confidence you carried around him and the others earlier in the evening. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder as another vulgar word reaches your ears. "D-Don't listen to them." Bob turns your chin back over to him.
Bob forces a pinched smile as your attention returns to him. He squeezes your shoulders, his fingers gently kneading into your flesh, trying to ground you. "You want to finish this puzzle…We'll finish it." He says firmly, his eyes never leaving your face.
You muster a nod before looking at the blank spot, mocking you from its completion. Bob pulls back. Your younger self begins screaming and pushing the dresser towards the door. Your eyes close as a tick rakes through you. Bob takes note of your reaction, how the side of your ear hit your shoulder blade. Your younger self finishes under the desk, before she appears beside you and Bob. The puzzle resets back to its previous state of incompleteness once again. 
Loop eleven.
He shifts his eyes down to your hands, something you twirled around mindlessly, catching his attention. His brows furrow as he reels in the object you acquired, the thing you fiddle with, it was the piece you needed to finish the puzzle.
You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.
"It seems almost selfish..." You concur.
His mouth parts as the realization dawns on him. "You..." Bob whispers, his words lost in awe. "You had it this whole time?" His gaze switches from the piece in your hand back to your face.
Your younger self's determination and stubbornness faded, replaced by the realization that you were holding onto the very thing you sought all along. He's struck by the simplicity yet irony of it all. You were so close to finishing the puzzle, but blinded by what was literally in your hands to do it. He shifts and turns to your younger self, peering up at you, expression expectant, waiting, filled with melancholy. She goes back to adding the six final pieces again. 
"This stupid piece…That I could never find. I threw the puzzle away when I couldn’t finish it. It’s so stupid…"
Bob looks at the puzzle piece, a mix of emotions roiling within him. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing how long you'd been trapped here, the endless loop of trying to finish the puzzle without realizing you possessed the very thing needed to complete it. Your younger sits back, wringing her hands together, a mirror of his timidness. It brought him a sense familiarity, something he weighed on now, that you both had something in common. He reaches out, gingerly taking your younger self's hand, before looking back at you.
"It's not stupid." He reassures you. "Sometimes… we search for things so hard we forget to look in simple places." He pauses, his gaze lingering.
Your inner turmoil was evident. You dig a hand into a side pocket of your sweater, he hadn't known was there. "It was in my pocket..." You scoff. Shaking your head. "This whole time!"
Bob watches you, the realization settling in for both your younger and older selves. Younger you then mirrors your actions, stuffing her hand in the pockets, only to pull them out and be left empty handed. It was a poignant moment. "You-" Bob can't even finish the sentence, words momentarily lost on him. It was so simple.
Bob couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a bittersweet sound. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. You had been carrying the solution to your problem all along, hidden in your pocket. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. "I-I once lost my phone…It was in my hand the entire time." A lopsided grin took over his features. ”Though I’m pretty sure it was the meth that hindered my senses from realizing it was there the whole time...” He trails off, noting that his attempt to offer a similar experience did nothing to comfort you.
"It’s not the same…" You shake your head. 
Bob breathes a faint laugh at your pouting, the sound of it reverberating across the room, a stark contrast to the ongoing shouting and aggression outside the room. "I think...I think you'll be okay." He chides gently, trying to bring light to the situation.
“How do you know that?”
“‘Cause you guys helped me…Help me still.” He corrects
Your hesitance was not lost on him. You peer up through your eyelashes, then back down to the piece. "What if this doesn't fix anything?"
Bob pauses as he takes in your question. The weight of it hangs in the air, his earlier optimism faltering for a moment. Hearing your apprehension only solidified the concern. Bob's smile fades into a serious expression. He takes in your younger self’s small form, then to you, the way your shoulders are slumped, and the anxiety settled in your eyes. "I don't know if it will." He admits earnestly, his voice soft. "I just...I just really, really hope it does. It has to."
"Is this all it takes…To just fix it?" You twirl the piece around mindlessly. "This single piece my ticket to getting out of here?"
Bob looks at you, really looks at you. The piece of paper board between your fingers spinning in a rhythmic motion, your eyes filled with a mix of peace and anguish. He sees the way your breathing picks up and the way your eyes dart around the room. He can see how much this effects you, the battle between your logical side and the part of you that's been trapped here for who knows how long, trying to meet in the middle. Conclude a final resolution.
"I...I don't know." He replies eventually. He tries. "I...I mean, you all saved me with a hug." He laughs, its nervous but light, then lets it die out. Bob wants to reassure you, to tell you that this piece will fix everything, but he can't because he's never been great at it. You were the one always putting him back together. You always had the right thing to say and knew when to apply it in your heart to hearts. "So what's to say you can't be fixed by a puzzle piece?"
"Just like that?"
Bob nodded. "Just like that." He affirmed. He knows the simplicity of it, the absurdity, the notion of such a simple thing being the key to your liberation, could probably be seen as laughable. But he didn't see it as such, it might’ve been laughable—yes, but it wasn’t to him. Hope flared in him, a spark of optimism that the solution was so simple, so ridiculously easy. "Yeah…just like that." He repeated, his voice resolute, putting your worries and fears to rest.
"Just like that..." You shed a tear, echoing his words. You take a deep breath, hearing your parents argue once more before you reach forward and place the piece in the center. Your body convulses as you begin to sob hysterically, your younger self sighing as you finish it for once. Bob's lip trembles as he pulls you into his chest.
He holds you tightly, your body trembling against his. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he's there. His heart aches as he listens to your sobs. The sobs wrack your frame as your emotions come out, a tidal wave of relief and frustration breaking through the surface after what feels like a lifetime. He rubs small circles on your back, whispering soothing words into your hair, as his own eyes glisten with unshed tears.
"I’m sorry I put you in here. I’m sorry." He whispers into your hair. "It's okay. I've got you. I-I got you."
-
“Guys.” Walker alerted the team as a shadow appeared beside Bob’s body—a dark silhouette, mirroring your form. 
The team looked over, frozen at the shadow's sudden appearance. Bucky took a cautious step forward, and Yelena rose from her chair.
It felt like you had woken up from a deep slumber when you came to. Everyone watched as your tar-like self was slowly revealing itself, like a sheet unveiling you. The shadows released you, shedding away from your form down to your heels. A sigh escaped from you as you pushed against the floor. Your dress draped around you like a blanket as you peered up at your team and the guest who lay witness. You hear a grunt to your right, you turn and watch Bob come to as well. His eyes were trying to settle amongst the warm lighting surrounding the gala. His suit was wrinkled and left in disarray as he sat up. Yelena's heels clicked closer as she reached down to help you stand. "Oh my god!" She pulled you in closer for a hug. You were still finding your bearings. "Thank god. I thought we lost you!" You peer over to see Bob take Bucky's arms appreciatively.
Bucky pulls Bob to his feet, and a sigh of relief leaves him as he sees him finally become aware of his surroundings. He pats Bob on the back a few times, his grip on his palm tight.
"I knew you could do it, buddy." Bucky greets him with a small smile, his expression slightly worried as he observes his disheveled appearance.
"Thank you?" Bob blinks a couple of times, a forced smile on his face, before it fades. "Do what exactly?"
"You don't remember-" Bucky confirms. "You brought Y/n back from the-" Bucky's words were interrupted by the touch of Alexei's grasp on his upper arm and the sound of Walker's words.
"Bucky...Let's debrief him later. Not right now." He suggested. "She's back and safe. We'll deal with it at home. Not here."
"Is everything okay?" Bob's gaze flickers over to see you surrounded by Yelena and Ava. They were checking you over, making sure everything was okay.
Were you hurt?
He looks back at Bucky, his expression hardening. "I brought Y/n back from what?"
"Not here, kid." Walker reached forward to pat his shoulder. "You did great, that's all that matters-" Walker inhales deeply as Bob's hand tightened around his wrist.
"Don't- Don't call me kid." Bob closes his eyes, his irritation getting the better of him as his eyes glow amber for a split second. He gestures a pointed finger at Walker. "From what?"
Alexei steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s tense shoulders. "Easy there." He cautiously speaks. "Everything is fine now."
Bob's face remains stern, his gaze steady, irritation clear in his expression. "Tell me."
Walker and Bucky exchanged a worried look, both of them noticing the change in Bob's demeanor. "Not now," Walker repeated, his voice firmer this time, his grip on Bob's hand that held his wrist, not letting up either. Bob sensed the clear indication that Walker wasn't going to elaborate, not in the middle of this venue. The commotion from earlier was probable cause for them to high-tail it out of there. Bob’s stubbornness didn’t help their favor.
Bucky leaned in, his tone low, hoping to diffuse the situation. He closed his eyes before giving in.  "Look, Void got loose, okay? Something happened. Everyone came back, Y/n didn't." Bob's grip falters, his eyes softening at the information. "Later, okay? We'll explain everything later. But we should probably leave, head home."
"What do you mean she didn't come back?" Bob's confusion only grows. His eyes shifted over to where you were reassuring people that you were fine, who asked if you needed a doctor.
"No, no. I'm okay. Really." He heard your voice bellow out from the short distance between you.
Bob couldn't help but watch as you shook your head, waving off any worried busybodies, and he found himself torn. Part of him wanted to let it go, to leave it be as Bucky and the others insisted. But there was another part of him that yearned to understand. He couldn't leave without answers. He pushed against Bucky's arm, which was trying to ground him.
"Yelena-Yelena!" He called out to her. She waved off another guest, who couldn't mind their business.
“Yes, yes, fine. All is good and well now.”
"Oh my god, what a mess! Is she okay?" Valentina's voice became apparent. Where did she come from? "Y/n, dear, the second you don't feel like yourself, say when. I got medical on call, alright."
"Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need a medic to come-"
"Oh my god, Valentina. She's fine. I promise. Don't intervene." She grew annoyed with Valentina's facade of sudden concern. She wasn't worried about your well-being, just worried about maintaining your image in the public's eye. Valentina continued with her rambling about how much she cared and would prefer it if you were checked over. "Oh my god, we don't need a medic here, ТЫ УПРЯМЫЙ МУЛ!" Yelena cursed. Who knows how Valentina would settle this mess with the press? She double-takes at the sound of her name being called before her attention settles on Bob's concerned one.
"Is she okay?" He mouths.
"She's fine," She waves him off. "Promise." She then nods before rolling her eyes as Valentina rants about having let him out of the house. He reciprocates her nod before his shoulders relax briefly at her assurance, his worry slightly lessened. But something still gnawes at him. His gaze drifts over to you again, his expression turning solemn as he sees the fake smiles and the feigned concern that some are displaying. You didn’t need their fake niceties.
His gaze lingers on you, trying to garner any sign that you weren't fine, but it wasn’t long before you locked eyes.
You catch his gaze, then begin excusing yourself from the small crowd, as a sense of anxiety overcomes you.
"Excuse me-" You politely muttered as you made your way toward him. It was as if a gravitational pull was urging you to him. The room, the people, everything else faded into the background as your focus solely centered on him.
Bob straightens at your approach, taken aback as you nestle yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him.
Startled, he initially freezes for a few seconds before his body relaxes, molding into you. His arms naturally encircle your form, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin perched on top of your head. Your scent and warmth enveloped him, a sense of comfort washing over him. You felt like home.
"Hi…" Bob's voice, a soft whisper, reached your ears as he greeted you. You feel his hands mold more firmly around your waist, a gesture that makes your heart skip.
"Hi..." You return the greeting, your own voice just as soft, finding solace in the familiar sound of his breaths. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah..." His response short. “Are you okay?" He emphasizes, a hand gently stroking your exposed back.
"I'm fine." You wave it off.
Bob's eyebrow raises, his expression doubtful as he peers down at you. "You sure...?" He questions further, knowing you're prone to downplaying. But so was he.
“Yes and no.” A nervous laugh resounded from you.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offers, even though he’s not sure what he’s saving you from. He’s caught glimpses of your past before, not that you’d ever truly forego the idea of talking to him about it. He was much alike you in the manner of only giving surface levels of his ugly past. You both only knew what you allowed to be seen.
“You did. You helped me.” Your words, their simplicity, but all the more effective, affectionate, sure. He helped you? How could he have helped you, but have no recollection of it? You smile sweetly as you reach to place a kiss on his cheek. Was this your thankfulness wrapped up in an act of endearment? “You might not remember it, but you were enough, and you were there." You nod suringly.
He looks at the way you're molded against his chest. How his hands fit and embrace your figure like he's ready to protect and shield you from harm's way. The way your softened eyes perceive him in this lightheartedness. Like he's somehow hung the stars in your night sky. He can't help but wonder what he's done. What he's done to be truly worth being perceived delicately. You look like you're scared he'll disappear right before your eyes, when he's the scared one, thinking you'll break under his touch.
"Bucky’s saying Void got out again..." He looks down between your bodies. "I should have stayed home- I made everything worse-"
"You did nothing wrong, okay." You reach up, cupping his face gently, lifting his chin so he'd meet your gaze. "You did nothing wrong." You insist. He places his palms over your hands. Leaning into the warmth your touch brings him.
“I remember him..." He nods at his sudden recollection. It comes to him in bits and pieces. "Ryker." His hands slide up your wrist to the purple indentations marring your wrist, contrasting your skin's original shade. He opens his eyes, hoping he's wrong when he peers at the discoloration. But your hurt wrist only brings forth the truth. Telling him everything he didn’t want to be true. He feels guilty for even letting the asshole execute the action, he tries to conjure up ways he can make the injury vanish. Would a kiss heal your wounds? Take away his mistakes? He opted not to, but he was tempted to do so. "He bruised you." He nods, firm and sure.
"Bruises fade, Bob." There you go again, downplaying someone's unforgiving behavior.
"A bruise might...The memories won't." You shake your head at his trepidation. "Why didn't you fight him? You...You're capable of defending yourself?" Bob looks into your eyes.
"I didn't want to escalate the situation..." You shrug dismissively..
"But he hurt you? He hurt you, and I couldn't stop him in time, I-" He pauses, when it hits him like a tidal wave. The way various shouts echo through his head. Your voice bellowing in anguish. A flash of your face painted with pain.
You had been thrown across the center of the venue's dance floor. You rolled and then landed awkwardly on your stomach. Your once neat hairdo was disheveled in your sudden state. You pushed up with your heels and palms.
"Y/n!" Yelena made for you, but you shook your head.
"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. "Stay back!" You warned.
"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.
"I hurt you..." Bob's eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull your hands away from his face. It was as though he were the Flint Striker and you were the one caught on fire. He was burning you. "No, no, no..." His eyes close as he gently grips your palms and lowers them to your waist. You didn't want to let him go. "I make everything worse. I should have stayed home- I didn't mean to hurt you-"
"Bob." You begin your reasoning. “No, I’m fine. You saved me! You got me out of there, everything’s better now.” You reach for him when he flinches. He hates how your face falls, even more so, when he denies you proximity.
“I-I should’ve stayed home.” He accepts before making his way back to Bucky, asking if they could leave.
“B-Bob!” You call after him, your dam cracking, hearing faint clicks approach your form from behind, you look up.
“Come on. Let’s get you both home before Valentina makes an ever bigger show.”
Yelena.
You peer at her, eyes glistening. She tilts her head, an apologetic smile on her face.
“Come on.” She wraps a blazer around your shoulders. One that smelled oddly like the shaggy-haired man. You were dreading the car ride home, that much certain.
-
“So you instigated him?” The drive back to the watch tower was nothing short of an unbearable experience. Your scowl and crossed arms giving way to how pissed off you were. Bucky and Walker avoided your harsh, directed stare. Bob had sat to your side, curling in on himself as the tension only intensified. His hands were warm, a mock of how close your skin was to touching, but he’d more than likely pull away.
Dreadful.
Now you all had made it out of the elevator with the team hot on your trail. Your heels clicked heavily against the floors. Bob stood off to the side slowly discarding the tie Yelena had done for him. He looked down at the fabric. Messing with it idly to distract himself from the fight he knew would break out. His shoulders reflected that of a small child anticipating his parent’s anger, slumped over on his tall frame.
“I wouldn’t say that? It was more of a friendly bit of teasing. All we did was give him the nudge he needed to confess the undying love he has for you.” Walker sighed as he went over to the bar. “We saw how pissed Ryker was making you…told the kid to go save you or to stop bitching about how much he wants to be with you.”
Asshole.
“So you hazed him and made Void come out.”
“Well, when you put it that way…” Walker trails off.
“You’re unbelievable!”
“Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen-“
“Didn’t mean-“ You laugh incredulously. “Spare me, Walker. No one can function properly, when you’re down everyone’s throat with childish antics. What were you even thinking?”
“Y/n, you don’t need to stick up for me-” Bob tried to create space between you and the Soldier.
“He wasn’t.” Bucky stepped in. Running a hand down his face tiredly. “We thought it’d be harmless, Y/n. Why would we ever intentionally put him through that sort of thing?”
“I told you we were gonna get him out of the house so he good have a fun night. Did I not tell you I wanted no weapons for tonight? To not wound him up to the point of his other self being unleashed. I was gonna come back after I handled Ryker. I had it handled.” You sneer at the man. Tears forming in your eyes, shaking your head at his ignorance.
A scoff to your left makes everyone’s head turn. Bob fiddles with his tie, his head shaking, a half smile settled over his face. “He bruised you…that’s not handling it.”
“Bob-“ You sigh.
“It…It wasn’t their fault, Y/n. If anyone’s to blame, blame it on me. I went after you…”
“No-“ You protest.
“Bucky and Walker only brought the idea up to me...It was my choice alone. I made the decision…to check on you. But now…I-I should have stayed home-“ Bob shakes his head. “Valentina was right…I shouldn’t have been let out.”
“Valentina can dig her grave and lie in it. I’m tired of her trying to keep you locked up here. You’re allowed to go outside when you feel like it! You’re not under house arrest, she can’t confine you to this place-”
“I just make everything worse.” Bob's brows pinch together. You cup your stomach as tears begin to spill down your face.
“No. You don’t. Don’t think like that. You don’t, I promise.” Your protest further escalated his self-loathing.
“Void took hold of you from what everyone is saying, and for whatever reason, felt the need to keep you from getting back to us. He hurt you, I hurt you.“
“But that’s not on you! That wasn’t your fault! It was mine. For thinking I could somehow bring you back down from in there.” Your eyes meet his temple. “I made things worse. I mean—I shot a bullet at you! I could have knocked him on his ass, but I didn’t and it wasn’t the right call for me to make.” You argue.
“We’re one whole. How is it not my fault?” His shoulders slumped, looking at the team’s conflicted expressions. “Am I wrong?” He breathes a laugh out. “Nothing ever turns out great when I’m around.” He slowly retreats towards the stairs. “I told you guys I should’ve stayed home...” 
“Bob please…” You call after him.
“Let him go.” Bucky orders. You turn back to look at your teammates. 
“D-Did I just ruin this things between us?” You let your arms flop down to your sides.
“No…it’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault at all.” Bucky reassures you. He walks over to you and squeezes your shoulder.
“Why didn’t you knock him on his ass?” Walker questions.
“I was going to,” You snapped back at him. “-but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don't know...It felt like I was back there again, enduring his abuse when he grabbed me...I guess I froze." You shrug nonchalantly. "Then Bob showed up...and I couldn't think straight. Couldn't think of a way not to escalate things further, but I only made it worse, and it cost Ryker his life in the end...Cost Bob a fun night."
"He killed him?" Walker closes his eyes; your turmoil didn't do anything to hide it. He didn't miss the coms from the authorities either, claiming one casualty earlier on their way out of the venue.
You looked at the floor. "He did...and he doesn't need that put on him. So don't fucking tell him." You warn.
"I think Bob should decide that for himself, no?" Bucky raised a brow at you. "What happened to letting him make his own choices from now on?"
“Well, he wanted to stay home, but we all kept insisting he go out with us. So I don’t know anymore! And I'm not deciding for him..." Your hands were balled into a tight fist. "He should decide, yes, but when he's ready. He doesn't need to know about it right now...It just happened and a part of me isn’t too upset with him about it, but he's in such a vulnerable state right now...I feel like it’ll only do more harm than good...It'll be another thing for him to hate himself over...He doesn’t need that right now.” You say softly. “You guys should have seen him when we were in the void…He’s so capable and we take his gifts for granted.”
“We never thought he was incapable, it's why we agreed to allow him to make his own choices, decide what he eats for dinner, allow him to find his own hobbies. Tonight was just a one-time incident where we peer pressured him into leaving his room, when he didn't want to."
“Well, that peer pressure backfired, didn’t it?” You said under your breath. You run a hand down your face in frustration. “God, he didn’t even want to leave his room...Did you see how uncomfortable he was at dinner? You said it yourself, we coerced him. And I’ve never seen him more upset about it...” You turn your head, peering at the staircase. "Was it stupid of me to think we could show him a fun night out?"
"No. We all wanted the same for him." Yelena shakes her head. "It's not stupid."
"Then why does it feel like it is? He's probably up in his room beating himself up for even stepping outside."
"'Cause you love him..." Yelena gave you a pinched tired grin.
You look away from her. Your shoulders slumped as your eyes burned with unshed tears. It was quiet. No one was sure of what to say. You closed your eyes as that familiar pain in your chest returned. "I do. I love him..." Your voice broke. "But this isn't about how I feel. It's about him." You shake your head. "He was just starting to feel a little more secure with himself in public...He's gonna hate himself for thinking he ruined everyone's night. I could see it in his eyes...The last thing he needs is to feel guilty over something he has no control over." You continue.
"It's not fair to him...He's had it rough for so long, and every time there's progress, something bad happens that takes him thirty steps back." You let out a small scoff. "Maybe I never should have brought up the idea of a night out in the first place...How can he forgive me after a night like tonight?"
"'Cause he loves you too." Yelena tilts her head at your self-deprecation.
You look at her. Your body stiffens, and your chest tightens as you let her words sink in. "But what good is it to love me if it only brings him pain? How long before that love fades to nothing because of my negligence?"
Yelena shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. "You can't doubt yourself, or his feelings for you. I know it's difficult, but the last thing you need to do is start putting yourself down and feeling sorry about tonight." She squeezes your hands.
Bucky stood next to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded in agreement. "You know that you mean a lot to him right?"
“And he only agreed to go out because you wanted him there with us.” Yelena admits.
“Also, we might’ve encouraged him to confess his feelings for you, but he wanted to do it at his own time…I should have stopped then and there, kid. I’m sorry.”
Bucky’s admission only added to the weight that sat heavy in your chest. You look over at him and nod slowly, unable to form words.
Yelena gently rubbed you on the back. “You know he can’t stay inside that room forever. You both need each other." Yelena chimed in. “Plus he can’t go a day without his cereal so there’s that…”
"He'll come to his senses..." Walker gives you a faint grin. “He’d be stupid not to.”
“T-Thanks guys…” You step back from Yelena’s hands. “I’m gonna be outside if you need me…gonna clear my head.”
“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.
“N-No I’m okay.” You brush her off before you head out to the roof.
“Take the time you need, little one.” Alexei chimes after you. You raises a thumb in the air in your exit.
When you're out of sight, Walker asks. "What time is it?"
Bucky checks his watch. "Just a quarter till midnight. Why?"
At the realization, Walker takes off towards the staircase. "Walker, what are you doing?" Yelena called after him.
"Keeping my promise!" He called from over his shoulder. “You'll see!” Bucky, Yelena, Ava shared a look as he ran up the stairs and disappeared.
"What the hell is that about?" Yelena gapes before shaking her head. “Whatever, I’m going to bed. Someone make sure Y/n doesn’t jump off the roof.”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that…” Bucky shakes his head.
-
You hadn't fully registered how the cold breeze stung you until you felt a jacket fall over your shoulders.  You had been so caught by New York's optics that you missed the metal door creak open. You jump at the sudden contact, thinking you'd see someone beside you, but you had to turn further around to see the man of the hour, who had been running through your mind, stood at the door. You take note of the hand he lowers back down to his side. Putting two and two together about how the jacket made it to you. He made it float. "Bob..."
“Walker said you might be cold…” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"Right…I-I was...thank you." You turn your head, nuzzle your nose into the fabric as you insert your arms through the arm holes.
He nods his head. “Welcome…” His chest feels tight watching you snuggle into his jacket. His gaze settled down in front of him. Neither of you say anything. The sounds of New York City echo throughout the night air. Car engines, taxi cabs, faint horns in the distance. Time did seem to stop up here, whereas life continued down on the streets. It was oddly comforting. "C-Could I join you?"
You look back at him, surprised by his suddenness. "Yeah...Yeah of course."
He nods then takes the spot next to you; awkwardly fidgets with his fingers in his lap. He turns his head, looking at you in his jacket. It was a sight for sure...He tried to ignore the way his heart palpitated in his chest.
He tries to focus on the sound of the wind and the city in the distance. But his eyes linger on you, taking in your form. How the evening sky envelopes you in its darkness, distant lights from neighboring buildings causing a warm hue to make your face visible to him, the way the wind nipped at your nose, and your sniffles took over you...He couldn't deny it...You looked beautiful, so carefree.
You turn at the right time and catch him gazing at you. Your eyes crinkle with a hint of heat that rushes up to warm your cheeks. You both emit a nervous laugh, settling your eyes onto your laps. His hands wring together, yours fiddling with the jacket's sleeves.
The silence continued, but this time, there was an obvious tension in the air. The both of you were hyper-aware of it. His eyes continued to dart between you and the city lights. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything..."
His heart stutters in his chest. He takes a shaky breath, his nervousness building. He looks back at you. You look at him reassuringly, like you genuinely meant that one word...Anything.
It makes it difficult for him to get the next words out. "...It’s a stupid question." He rubs the back of his neck. 
“That’s okay.”
"I-I just-" He sighs, his jaw clenching as he looks out at the city again. "This might sound weird...But do you know how to tie a tie?" He swallows down any anxiety, forcing his gaze back on you.
“Oh.” Your eyes widen at the peculiar question. “Do I know how to tie a tie?” You ask again to ensure you heard him right. Bob nods yes. 
“Sorry...I warned you it was a stupid question. Just...Forget I asked, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck again, looking away.
"No, No...It's okay. If you really want to know. I do."
His eyes flicker with curiosity, meeting your gaze. "You...You do?" He quirks an eyebrow.
"Yeah. Why do you ask?"
He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an underlying hint of something in his eyes. "Oh, I was just...I was just curious, that's all...I can’t put one on myself...Yelena did it for me, but I…" He trails off, looking back at the city. "I just thought maybe...You could-" His words die in his throat, cutting himself off before he lets any more words slip. He shakes his head, his hands continuing to fidget in his lap.
You register the implication. "Teach you?" You try.
His breath hitches in his throat as you finish his sentence. He looks back at you, his eyes a mix of vulnerability and relief. He could sense the anticipation in your gaze, waiting for him to respond. "Y-Yeah...Teach me." He finally manages to rasp out. "So Yelena won't have to anymore..."
"Yeah, I can. Tell me when okay." You grip his hand. He nods.
"O-Okay..." He looks down at his lap. Your touch is soft and warm. He can't help letting the guilt eat at him. You were being so gentle with him when he was anything but. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."
"Don't-” You shake your head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize." You squeeze his hand gently. "It wasn't your fault...You weren't in control."
"But that doesn't change the fact that my other half hurt you!" He snaps back, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening. You both look down at his hold, his shoulders lose their tension before he's holding you like you're made out of porcelain.
"Look at me, please." You request softly. He raises his head, trying to avoid eye contact. His chest tightens, knowing he can’t hold your gaze for too long. "It wasn't you."
His jaw clenches, his eyes stinging. "I should've stayed here...Then I wouldn't have ruined the night." His breath shakes, the words leaving him in a broken whisper. His eyes meet yours, tears blurring his vision. He hated this—all of this.
Tears sting your eyes as well. Your free hand reaches up, brushing his cheek gently. His eyes flutter at your touch. "You didn't ruin anything..."
He shakes his head, refusing to accept the comfort you try to offer him. The guilt is too heavy, weighing him down like a thousand-pound weight. He feels so undeserving. "I did...I always do. I-I..." His voice trails off, tears spilling down his cheeks.
"No-" Your hand cups his face, forcing him to look at you. "No, you don't. You might make mistakes, but you don't always screw things up. You're a good man, Bob. You're so much more than what you think of yourself..." You lean your forehead against his. “You’re good.”
He tries not to melt at the way you say his name. His face falls forward, leaning his forehead into yours. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your touch, your words. "How can you say that? Especially after tonight..."
"Because it’s true.” You softly run your thumb over his cheek, catching another tear that slips down. “You are such a good man.” You take a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through a lot…You’ve been beaten down many times…but you keep bouncing back up.” He’s still against you, his breathing ragged as he lets the comfort of your proximity soothe him. “You brought me back from the Void, you didn’t leave me…You’re so good!” You breathe out a laugh. "I wish you'd see it yourself."
He can’t speak, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so. Instead, he closes his eyes tighter, relishing in the sound of your voice. He’s desperate to soak up every word you say, to have them sink in, become second skin. He’s been deprived of something so simple for so long, to hear the one person he cares about say those words…It’s making him unravel at the seams. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?” 
The question hangs in the air like the sound of a church bell. You take note of how he’s looking at you. The way he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of human contact that he’s been deprived of. Your hand gently cups his chin, your other moving to rest over his heart. His gaze is fixed on yours like an anchor, waiting for you to respond. You can read the desperation and need in his eyes, the vulnerability that he's trying so hard to conceal.
You see a man wanting, no, begging to be loved. To be told that he's worthy of it despite believing otherwise. You look at the way he's clutching your hand, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He's hurting, still so damn broken, but not loving him with every fiber in your being would hurt you more. "Yes…God, I’d be stupid not to." You breathe a laugh.
Your words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart stutters in his chest, the grip he has on your hand clenching involuntarily. His eyes search yours again, looking for any sign of deception, anything to tell him you don't really mean it. But all he sees is complete honesty looking right back at him. He shakes his head; a broken laugh escapes his lips as his chest tightens at the confession. "Yeah…You really mean that?"
His questioning. It only hurts you further. So you cup his face, bringing him closer so you could look into his eyes. “I do. I mean it...I love you.” He flinches. He’s frozen, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to take it back. You don’t. 
You run your thumb over his skin, gently brushing your nose against his. You see tears form in his eyes again, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Gripping the material of the jacket he gave to you, pulling you close. “Can you repeat it?” He finally croaks out.
“I love you…” You’d tell him three thousand times if he asked.
He shivers; the tremble of his chin is barely noticeable. “Again?” You’re suddenly pulled into his lap with a soft force. The grip he has on you is tight, not rough, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
"I love you." You trace his jawline. He lets out a shaky breath. It's not long till you're leaning in to capture his lips with yours.
The first touch of your lips against his has him releasing a low groan. His eyes flutter as he melts into it before he suddenly pulls you flush against him, desperately trying to savor it—savor your touch. His lips move against yours in a frenzy, his hands gripping you tighter on your hips. The kiss is filled with need, a longing he can barely contain.
He can’t get enough. The taste of you was so sweet and warm. He’s been deprived of such a simple thing that now his body screams for it. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his hands exploring every part of you he can reach. He can feel your body against his, its heat, that only adds fuel to the fire. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate than you expected from him. When you pull back to gather your bearings, to allow oxygen back into your lungs, you can’t help but cry. Bob, already second-guessing the little make-out session, feeling he's done something wrong, was relieved when your words deterred his troubled thoughts.
“You're good, you're worthy, and you are so loved…” You wipe the remaining tears with the back of your hand. "If you ever take anything from this conversation, Bob, let it be those three words. You deserve to be wanted. To be happy, to be loved…"
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alinathinkstoomuch · 2 months ago
Text
LAP IT UP
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18+ MDNI
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: tweezing your boyfriend’s eyebrows is a totally valid excuse to make him come in his pants, right? warnings | an: dry-humping, power play, dom-ish reader / sub-ish hotch, hotch jizzes in his pants, hotch is a munch and a simp because it’s simply not possible for me to write anything else other than hotchypoo worshipping the ground u walk on!!!established relationship, mentions of sugar baby/daddy dynamic word count: 2.2k
✧ masterlist
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“Can I do yours?” you asked, not bothering to shift the mirror as you cleaned up the stray hairs around your left brow.
There was a pause of silence, followed by the rustle of paperwork. Not nearly a sufficient response, so you gently kicked Aaron’s thigh in protest.
“Do my what?”
“Your eyebrows,” you answered, tilting your head as you inspected your reflection, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight streaming through the window. One brow was cooperating. The other looked like it had wandered off and joined a different face entirely.
“They’re not twins,” you muttered. “Barely sisters. Maybe even distant, resentful cousins.”
He made a quiet sound that might’ve been a laugh. “And what exactly are you implying about mine?”
“They could use a little TLC,” you argued lightly, leaning back to look at him over the mirror in your hand. “When was the last time you did them?”
He looked up from his files, one brow lifting—ironically. “I don’t make a habit of grooming my eyebrows.”
“Yeah…I can tell.”
That earned you the famous Hotchner scowl, though it had stopped working on you several scowls ago—right around the time you realised he was all bark and no bite. Or, at least, never with you.
Without another word, you dropped the mirror onto the coffee table and swung one leg over his, settling into his lap like it was your favourite seat…because it was. He stilled beneath you, body going just a little tense, like he wasn’t entirely sure where this was heading, but had no intention of stopping it.
“You’re not serious.”
“Deadly,” you replied, fingers already threading through the front of his hair. You tugged just enough to guide, making sure his head tipped back against the couch cushion. “Oof. Would you look at that, Hotchner, I think you’re starting to grow a monobrow.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
“She needs to go. Quickly.” You leaned in, squinting like you were about to perform life-saving surgery and plucked a hair right from the middle of his brow before he had a chance to respond.
He flinched.
“Baby,” you teased, barely bothering to hide the laugh building in your throat. “You’re fine.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Obviously. I’m in your lap, holding tweezers, and making you nervous. This is my peak.” Just as you plucked another hair, you felt his hands tighten slightly at your hips.
“Just be quick,” he muttered.
Yeah. There was just one small problem with that. Quick wasn’t in your plans tonight. Aaron might be the boss at work, but at home, it was you who got your way. Always had. And truthfully? You didn’t care all that much about his eyebrows. Or yours, for that matter.
You just really, really wanted to be in his lap.
You let the tweezers hover his face again as you pretended to search for another target.
“Hm…nope, that one’s got character. Can’t lose it.”
He huffed. “You’re not even trying anymore.”
“I am,” you insisted, all sickly-sweet innocence as you adjusted your grip on his shoulders, letting your fingers toy with the collar of his polo. “Just want to make sure they’re perfect.”
He cracked one eye open. “Mh-hm.”
“What? You want me to do a half-assed job? You want uneven arches, Aaron?”
“You’ve got two minutes left.”
Silly man. As if you were on his clock.
You said nothing, just hummed like the consummate professional you clearly were, smoothing out his right brow with the pad of your finger. And then—because comfort was key, obviously—you shifted. Absolutely not intentionally aligning yourself with the zipper of his jeans.
You caught the half-shaky exhale he tried to hide and decided it still didn’t feel quite right.
Goldilocks might’ve had a point.
So you adjusted again, this time with a little more pressure. For once, you were grateful for the humidity that made you choose a dress—and the skimpiest, thinnest pair of underwear you owned.
All, of course, in the name of practicality.
His hands twitched at your waist, fingers flexing like he was stuck between wanting to grip you tighter or stay neutral. (Spoiler: he was failing at staying neutral.)
“This all part of the grooming experience?”
“Me taking my time? Absolutely. You know I give a hundred percent to everything I do, baby.”
"I know, honey," he drawled. "You've called me baby twice in the last three minutes. That's usually when you want something."
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
He smiled—subtle, smug, and, annoyingly, entirely correct. Because, yes, okay, you did want something. Just... nothing that came with a price tag. This time.
"What is it?" he asked, utterly unbothered because he was synced up to you in that way that meant nothing you said, did, or asked of him could really surprise him anymore. "Vacation days? Shoes? I told you, you don't have to ask. The wallet's in the drawer."
You gave his hair another tug, guiding his head back to the couch cushions like you were placing something delicate. “You know there’s actually a government term for what you’re implying right now.”
“Yeah?”
His eyes drifted closed again, and he looked so… soft. Almost unarmoured. Breakable in the gentlest way. The tension that usually lived in his jaw, his brow, his posture—gone. Off choosing a different victim for the day.
Lit by the delicate setting sun, he looked—
Angelic.
Almost too pure for what you had planned.
Because while he was just trying to finish a stack of paperwork, you were trying to survive the throb between your legs. And your dress, as helpful as it was in theory, wasn’t offering enough friction to solve anything. So you decided to do what any self-respecting sinner would.
You were going to drag him down a little closer to your level.
Make him less divine, and a little more yours.
“Sugar baby,” you blurted, remembering you were mid-conversation and should probably at least pretend you were behaving. “That’s the term. Is that what you’re implying I am?”
He grinned.
And then he was the one to adjust—lifting his hips just as his hands pressed you down harder against him, guiding you into him.
You clamped your mouth shut, eyes fluttering as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.
He opened his eyes then, and you did your best to keep a straight face. (Spoiler: you were the one failing this time.)
“You think I’d reduce you to that?”
You reached for the tweezers again, if only for something to do, dragging a lazy finger across his brow like you were still pretending to care about symmetry. “You did say the wallet’s in the drawer.”
“I did.” His grip tightened just enough at your waist to make your thighs instinctively clench around him, something you knew he felt. “But that’s because I’d give you anything you ever wanted without expecting anything in return.”
You pouted, feeling the buttons of his polo brush against your nipples, because, yes, humidity had also declared it a no-bra day, and yes, you were prepared to weaponize it. “So you don’t want my sugar?”
“I want all of you,” he corrected.  “Every part.”
Of course he was still angelic about it—still saying all the right things, still making it a priority to remind you of your worth, even while you were actively plotting how to make him finish in his jeans.
Rude.
But also righteous.
And still better than you deserved…which will only make this all the more satisfying.
You blinked down at him, lips parted, a slow breath pulling into your lungs as the weight of his words landed somewhere deep between your legs.
“You’re really not going to let me be shallow for five minutes, huh?” Your fingers slipped from his brow to his throat, thumb brushing his pulse just to feel how not calm he actually was.
“No,” he said simply, shaking his head. “You’re not shallow. Just a little needy.”
You hummed like that wasn’t already obvious, like the need hadn’t soaked straight through your panties and probably left a trail somewhere along your thigh by now. Still, for the sake of appearances you brought the tweezers to his brow again.
“Hold still,” you murmured, right as you bucked your hips into him.
You felt his hands slip beneath your dress, rough and warm against bare skin as they roamed—up your thigh, your lower back, your spine.
“I said hold still,” you repeated, the smile in your voice completely ruining the authority you hoped to fake.
He did the opposite.
His hands kept traveling up your back, and you dropped the tweezers altogether, your hands settling on his shoulders as you forced yourself to grind against him, feeling not just the zipper, but the outline of his hard cock, straining like a sin he hadn’t meant to commit.
“Fuck,” you breathed, the word breaking apart in your throat like glass.
Your lips latched onto the skin beneath his jaw, feeling his skittish pulse under your tongue as you sucked and smoothed over the sting. Aaron’s grip on your neck tightened—a weak, almost pathetic attempt to tame you, to reel you back in, just so he could reclaim a fraction of the control you had stolen.
“This was never about my eyebrows, was it?”
You didn’t answer. Didn’t care to. Instead, your teeth scraped lightly over the hickey you were hoping would linger, hips working against him like the truth being unveiled—not the sweet thing he thought you were, but a wicked woman who knew exactly how to get what she wanted.
“You’re not even listening,” he said again, a breathless laugh ghosting across your temple, cut off by the groan that followed when your hips met his just right. “Too busy getting yourself off.”
“Pretty and smart,” you mumbled lazily, the friction turning sharper, your clit throbbing now with every slow drag over the rough fabric of his pants.
His hands slipped under the neckline of your dress, tugging the top down with the sort of confidence that didn’t match his frantic breathing or the way his hips were stuttering into yours.
You pulled back from the crook of his neck, only because now it was his turn.
Aaron’s eyes dropped, and for a moment, he just stared like he couldn’t decide where to put his hands. Then he leaned in, mouth closing around your nipple, lips warm, tongue flicking once, then again, until you gasped and arched into him.
You were close. So close. Though truthfully, most of the build-up hadn’t been physical—it was all mental. The way he looked at you, like you were something delicate, something good. In the way he still hadn’t figured it out, even when you’d pranced past him with the tweezers and the mirror, settling beside him on the couch, legs draped up, spreading just enough to make sure he saw exactly what was on offer.
You could’ve asked. Told him exactly what you wanted and he would’ve done it in a heartbeat. You knew that. He loved to take care of you. He always had.
But where was the thrill in asking, when it was so much sweeter to watch him give in?
And you began to pick up on just that.
The way his breath caught against your nipple, the scrape of his teeth getting less careful.
The way his hands clutched tighter at every piece of skin he could reach. The way he started meeting your hips with his own. Slow at first, then harder, like this had been his idea to begin with.
You kept moving and so did he, the friction messy and desperate between you. His head dropped forward, breath stuttering out against your collarbone, his hands squeezing your waist.
Then his hips jerked up into yours, your name falling from his lips in a voice he almost never used. His body tensed one last time, and then you felt it—the heat flooding between you, a groan torn from his throat as he came.
Your greed had been satisfied.
And with one more roll of your hips—feeling his release spread beneath you, mixing with your own slickness—that was all it took to tip you over the edge. Your body locked down, fingers digging into his shoulders as your orgasm hit, splintering and all-consuming.
You didn’t move from him immediately, hands now toying with the collar of his polo as you caught your breath.
“Happy?” he mumbled against your skin, voice still rough around the edges.
You lifted your head, the curve of your smile slow and smug. “Very.”
You expected him to stay soft beneath you—to let you linger, revel in the mess you’d made of him.
But instead, his hands slid to your hips again, and before you could react, he was lifting you off his lap in one fluid motion, placing you down in his seat as he stood over you.
Your legs dangled off the edge, dress still bunched around your waist, thighs glistening with wetness. You pushed yourself up slightly, elbows braced behind you for balance, about to ask what he was doing, pausing just long enough to admire the wet patch on his jeans.
But your confusion melted into a shit-eating grin as you watched him lower himself to his knees in front of you. Though something told you that whatever he was about to do wouldn’t be for your sake, but for his.
And that control you were so desperate to keep?
It was practically nonexistent now—crumbling at a breathtaking pace, resting in the same hands that were sliding your soaked panties down your thighs.
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tags - @fandomscombine @pastelpinkflowerlife @hazzyking @bernelflo @risenqueen1521 @jazzimac1967 @camihotchner @abschaffer2 @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @pacmillo-blog-blog @stilestotherescue @kiwriteswords @anvdala @supersanelyromantic @yourallaround-simp @percysley
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