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dontshootmespence · 10 days ago

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Soft dom sentry 🥵🥵

Kiss It Off Me

Pairing: The Sentry/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You return from a mission only to find Sentry waiting to take care of you for the night.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, and a little bit of angst, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of injuries, It was a very rough mission, and you’re in pain.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex, Sensual Touching, Fingering, Body Worship, Praising, Cockwarming, Use of ‘good girl’, Dirty Talk

Author's Note: Just a little blurb fic with Sentry, such a fun little write up. Also happy release day for Thunderbolts (digital edition lol). So fun to be able to watch the movie again at home! Anyways. Hope y’all enjoy <3

Word Count: 7,799

The mission was technically a success, but success didn’t mean painless. Your shoulder screamed with every slight movement, a deep, blooming ache from where you’d landed hard on the edge of the stairwell after dodging gunfire. A shallow cut traced the curve of your hip–one you’d stitched yourself on the quinjet mid-air with trembling hands and a jaw clenched too tightly to scream. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t straight. But it was closed at least.

Your ribs bore the memory of a body slam you hadn’t seen coming–an armored guard catching you just as you’d turned to run. The impact with the concrete wall had left you gasping and disoriented, your side lit with white-hot pain that still hadn’t ebbed. You could feel the bruises setting in, blooming like dark flowers beneath your skin.

It wasn’t the worst pain you had ever felt–far from it–but it was the kind that crept in slowly. The kind that sank its teeth into you and settled in your bones, making every step feel heavier, and your chest tighten slightly. The pain didn’t scream, rather it whispered, and buzzed beneath your skin.

The elevator shuddered slightly as it climbed, and you let your weight sag against the cool metal wall, eyes half-lidded, jaw clenched through the buzz of pain still working its way under your skin. The mission was over. The job was done. But your body hadn’t caught up to that yet–it was still moving like you were bracing for another hit.

The doors slid open with a soft ding, and the warm, familiar chaos of the compound’s upper floor greeted you like a wave: the scent of reheated takeout, gear hitting the floor, the quiet murmur of overlapping voices.

The team was home.

Bucky sat sideways on one of the leather chairs, unlacing his boots with one hand and nursing a bottle of water with the other. Ava stood at the kitchen island, sleeves rolled up, sorting through a bag of confiscated tech with a half-eaten protein bar clenched in her teeth, and Yelena was peering into the fridge, handing more leftovers to Alexei, mumbling something to him in Russian

Walker glanced up from where he was sprawled on the couch and gave a low huff of air when he saw you.

”Jesus, what happened to you?” You shot him a look as you stepped stiffly out of the elevator, trying not to wince at the weight on your hip.

“Tried kissing a concrete wall. Didn’t go well.”

“Did you at least take out the guy who threw you into it?” Bucky asked without looking up.

“Twice,” You muttered, “Knocked him out with my elbow…Then a few minutes later he got back up so I needed to resort to a pipe.” That got a small grunt of approval. Ava raised a brow.

”You okay though?” You shrugged with one arm–the one that didn’t feel like it had been dislocated and snapped back into place all in one movement.

”I’m as good as I can be. I did stitch myself up on the Quinjet though.” You replied, lifting your gear up and pushing your waistband down slightly to show the gnarly gash off to your peers, hearing the sharp intake of breaths, the cringing that came with them picturing you stitching yourself up on your own.

“At least it’s straight,” Yelena commented, eyes narrowing slightly as she examined the already bruising wound you had exposed. You huffed out a weak laugh.

”Yeah, that’s all that matters, I guess.” You shot back.

“Should eat something,” Bucky chimed in, tossing his boots aside. “You kind of look like you’re on the brink of passing out.”

You let out a long, low exhale, scrubbing a hand over your face. “Yeah, I will. I just…Need a shower first. I feel all sticky and dirty.”

“You are sticky and dirty,” Yelena called out, tossing a crumpled napkin at you, hoping it would hit you, but it just fell helplessly to the floor.

“Guess we’ll save something for you.” Walker said, with a sigh.

”How thoughtful,” You shot back dryly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you turned and shuffled toward the hallway. You made your way to your room slowly, your footsteps echoing a little too loud on the polished floor, the pain in your ribs flaring every time you twisted. Your hand grazed the wall once to regain your balance, but you finally made it to your room.

You stepped in slowly, and closed the door behind you with a low click, hearing it echo off the walls as you let your body sag, breathing in deeply through your nose. Warm amber and soft spice met you like an embrace, subtle but unmistakable, it was the smell of your favourite candle. A moment of panic struck you for a second, thinking that you left it burning before going on your mission, and quickly you turned around–and there he was.

Sentry stood near your dresser, broad shoulders relaxed, golden light flickering in his glowing eyes. He was wearing a pair of navy sweatpants and a black t-shirt, holding the candle in question delicately in one hand, the flame dancing to life the moment his gaze locked on the wick. The matchbox sat untouched nearby. He never needed it.

The room felt warmer just from his presence.

And somehow…Softer.

The bath faucet was still running. You could hear it from the ensuite–a steady stream, purposeful and calm. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus clung to the steam curling faintly through the open door.

And on the small table by your bed–your favorite.

A toasted steak sandwich, still hot, wrapped in parchment from that little corner deli you swore by. Perfectly crisped. Melted cheese escaping from the edge. Just by seeing it your stomach growled, and it ignited a hunger in you that almost tore apart your insides. You practically had to tear your eyes away from the sandwich to look at him.

”Sen?” Your voice cracked softly, the weight of the day pressing down on every syllable, “What’re you doing?” He turned fully toward you, the candle flickering gently in his hand. The glow kissed the edge of his light brown hair, danced across the line of his jaw, and softened his usually sharp features. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips–that smile, the one that always felt like sunrise after the longest night.

”I haven’t done this for you in a bit,” He replied, voice low and tender, “I thought you deserved a little night of appreciation.” His words hit somewhere between your chest and throat, soft and heavy and sweet. Your heart stuttered–pressing against your ribs, a slight pain echoing through your torso.

“You don’t have to do that,” You said, shaking your head gently, as if that would somehow protect you from the way his kindness always hit so deeply. Sentry set the candle down on the dresser with care, then stepped toward you, the floor creaking beneath his weight. You didn’t move, you felt frozen into place beneath his gaze. Your back met the door with a quiet thud as he came to stand before you, towering, warm, steady. The glow from the candle behind him haloed the edge of his frame, golden light caught in the angles of his collarbone, the curl of his fingers as he reached for you.

His hand lifted–so gently–and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over the faint grime still lingering on your skin from the mission. His fingers curled behind your ear, anchoring you in something that wasn’t pain, or duty, or exhaustion.

Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your lips. It was gentle, chaste in a way, but impossibly full. You leaned into it, your body sighing into the contact, your hands finding the hem of his soft t-shirt, rubbing the stitching gently. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I didn’t do all this because I had to,” He whispered, barely louder than the sound of the bath running behind him, “You know that.” You nodded faintly, your eyes slipping closed as you pressed a second kiss to the corner of his mouth, just over the edge of that quiet smile.

“I already know you apprec–” But before you could finish, his finger lifted to your lips, silencing you with the lightest touch. His expression was so soft it was almost like he was going to fall asleep.

”Just enjoy the gesture,” He murmured, “Please, my love.” Your fingers curled slightly against his abdomen. The fabric was warm from his skin, soft from wear. You let your hand linger there, the pads of your fingers gently kneading into the muscle beneath his shirt like you just needed somewhere to rest your touch.

“…Okay,” You murmured against his chest. Then again, quieter–closer to a sigh. “Okay.” He smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead–a soft, lingering press.

“Let me turn off the faucet before the tub overflows,” he said gently, brushing his thumb one last time along your cheek before stepping away.

You watched him go, your eyes trailing across the solid line of his back and the way his shirt clung to him. You could still hear the water running–low and steady–until it stopped with a soft twist of the handle. Silence settled in again. Not heavy. Not tense. Just quiet, the kind that made your chest finally begin to loosen.

When he returned, the golden glow of the candle behind you cast soft shadows across his face.

“Sit down,” He said, voice soft but sure. “You eat and I’ll get you out of those boots and pants.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Wow, forward.” He gave you a small smirk.

”You always think I’m up to something.” He commented. You huffed a breath through your nose–too tired to laugh fully–and shuffled toward your bed, keeping your eyes on him. He followed at a short distance, not hovering, but close enough to feel kept. You picked up the sandwich slowly, still warm in your hands. The paper crinkled softly as you peeled it open, and the smell hit you like a gut-punch.

It was heavenly. The scent of caramelized onions, the sweet juice from the steak, the barbecue sauce that was just lightly brushed along the meat, all of it mixed together made your mouth water. You sat at the very edge of the bed, careful not to get the duvet dirty, and took a bite.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

A soft, indecent moan escaped your throat.

“Jesus,” You breathed, your voice hoarse and low, “That’s fantastic.”

Sentry laughed under his breath as he lowered to his knees in front of you. “I knew you’d love it.” You hummed around another bite, your body slumping slightly as the warmth and savour taste cut through your hunger and fatigue like sunlight through fog.

“Do you want a bite?” You asked through a full mouth, glancing down at him. He shook his head immediately.

”It’s all yours. Just keep eating.”

And you did.

As you chewed slowly, savoring it, you watched him unlace your first boot with methodical precision. His big hands moved gently–deftly–as if even your shoes deserved careful handling. He didn’t rush. He didn’t pull. He undid. Piece by piece.

Your boot came off with a soft tug, and he set it aside before moving to the next.

Seeing Sentry like this–kneeling between your legs, golden and gentle and steady–was a sight that stole the air from your lungs in a different kind of way. Not the way a body slam or a broken rib did. No. This was the kind of breathlessness that came from being known.

A god among men, down on the floor in front of you, untangling your laces like it was a ritual. Like he’d done it a hundred times. Like he’d do it a thousand more if it meant you never had to lift a finger after nights like this. His fingers worked with such careful rhythm, even after the second boot slipped free. He didn’t immediately stand–just kept his hands at your shins, thumbs tracing slow, grounding circles over your pants like he was still anchoring you. Like you might drift away if he let go too soon.

“Feel a little better?” He asked, looking up at you with those ever-glowing eyes. So much strength behind them. So much kindness.

You nodded, your throat thick as you took the last bite of your sandwich. “God, you're heaven sent, Sen.”

That made him smile, and then he kissed your knee. Not quickly. Not playfully. A soft, gentle press that made your heart flutter. You crumpled the parchment paper in your hand and leaned sideways to set it on the table. Your muscles groaned at the stretch, but it was easier now–easier with him there.

Then his voice again. That low, steady balm that always made you relax.

“Get up,” he said softly, his hands sliding gently up to rest at your thighs. “Let me get you undressed so you can take your bath.”

You bit the inside of your lip, heart fluttering now for a different reason entirely. “Are you going to be joining me?”

He raised his brows, the softest grin curling at his mouth. “Would you like me to?”

You nodded without hesitation. “Of course. You’re my human heating pad.”

He laughed at that, that warm, boyish sound that made your chest ache in the best way. “Well, I’m glad you like how I overheat.”

You reached out and gently poked the tip of his nose, “You’re a sun god after all Sentry, I think it’s only fitting.” His smile softened. The way he looked at you in that moment–bathed in candlelight, your legs still resting loosely on either side of him, his hands still holding you steady–was like he was drinking you in. Like he hadn’t seen anything more beautiful in his lifetime.

You rose from the bed with a soft sound in your throat–a half-whimper, half-breath–your legs stiff, your muscles groaning in protest. Sentry stood with you, rising as though tethered to your every movement, his presence immediately behind you, hands already moving with gentle purpose.

He started with your outer tactical shell, easing it off your body piece by piece. The Velcro straps peeled apart with quiet rips, but his touch was soft enough to silence the sound before it became harsh. His fingers skimmed along your arms as he slid the sleeves down, easing your bruised shoulder with a careful slowness that made your breath hitch.

“You’re so strong,” He murmured, almost to himself.

Then he went for your pants.

He crouched again, thumbs slipping beneath the waistband, dragging the fabric down slowly, his lips brushing along every inch of newly revealed skin–your hips, your thighs, the curve just above your knees. Each kiss was soft and grounding, like he was reassuring himself that you were here. Alive. Breathing. When your pants pooled at your feet, he looked up at you–eyes glowing gold, warm and unblinking. Then his gaze dipped to your hip, where the rough, crooked stitch job you’d done mid-air was still raw and angry-looking.

His hand hovered just above it.

Then–gently–he let a single finger glide along the length of it, following the uneven thread with a feather-light touch.

“Looks painful,” He said quietly, voice low and full of concern.

You shook your head, your fingers brushing lightly through his hair as he knelt before you.

“Not anymore,” You murmured. “It’s not bad, Sen.”

Still, he exhaled like it physically hurt him to see it on you. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss beside the stitches, and then another just below it. And when he stood, his hands trailing back up your sides, he kissed your cheek. Your forehead. Your temple.

“Let’s get you into the tub, hmm?” he said softly, brushing a knuckle down your jaw.

You nodded, trusting him to guide you the rest of the way.

The two of you crossed the room together, your body aching but lighter under his touch. Steam ghosted around your calves as you stepped into the bathroom, trailing from the wide porcelain tub half-filled with hot, lavender-scented water. The room was dim–only the low, golden glow from a small wall sconce and the flicker of candlelight behind you softened the corners. The air was humid and floral, clinging to your bruised skin like a second touch.

Sentry stopped you near the bath, his presence warm and unhurried. His hand skimmed across your spine as he stepped in behind you, and then up again to the curve of your shoulders, fingers lightly hooking the straps of your black bra.

“Let me,” He murmured. You nodded, and he slowly guided the straps down your arms. His hands barely brushed your skin, and yet every inch he uncovered felt more alive under his fingers. When the band loosened, he let the bra fall to the side, carefully, like it was something precious. He didn’t gawk. He didn’t rush.

Instead, he leaned in–his lips ghosting over the deep impressions the straps had left behind, kissing one and then another, his breath warm on your shoulder. Then he dipped lower, lips brushing across the tops of your breasts. Barely a kiss. More reverence than desire. It didn’t feel like he was worshiping your body so much as tending to it. You reached up, fingers carding through the back of his hair gently, thumb stroking along the soft strands at the nape of his neck. He lingered there a moment longer, forehead briefly touching your collarbone, before pulling back and lowering to one knee again.

“Almost done,” he said softly.

Your underwear was next–black, soaked slightly through with sweat and the faint copper tang of blood. He slid them down with quiet care, kissing the soft curve of your lower stomach before guiding the fabric past your thighs, your knees, and down to your ankles. You lifted each foot for him, and when they were gone, he pressed a final kiss to the center of your hip, just above your stitched wound.

Then he peeled your socks off–one, then the other–and stood, his hands trailing slowly up the outside of your thighs as he rose.

“Let’s get you in.”

You stepped toward the edge of the tub, and he helped you lift one leg, then the other, his arms steady beneath you until you were lowered into the water. The moment your body broke the surface, heat wrapped around your aching limbs like silk, easing into your bruises, your cuts, the dull throb in your hip. A soft gasp slipped from your lips.

“Good?” He asked gently.

You nodded, already melting. “Perfect.”

He lingered at the edge for a moment, watching you, before his hands slid to the hem of his shirt. He peeled it off in one motion, revealing the broad stretch of his chest and shoulders, all golden skin and hard muscle. His torso was carved like marble–sculpted without being cold. His chest was smooth save for the faint dusting of light brown hair at the center, a trail that disappeared below the waistband of his sweats.

And when those came off next–slowly, with care–you felt your breath stutter again.

Everything about him was warmth and gravity. Strength in the lines of his thighs and hips, gentleness in the way his shoulders stayed relaxed, in the way he moved with intention, never flaunting, never hasty. Just there. Present. For you.

“I’ll slide in behind you,” He said, his voice low and hushed in the warm air. “Lean forward for a moment.” You shifted, your arms bracing along the sides of the tub as you leaned forward slightly, letting the heat seep deeper into your muscles. Behind you, you felt the ripple of the water shifting–then the press of his leg as he stepped in, followed by the wide stretch of his chest as he sank down into the bath.

The moment his body settled behind you, the water seemed to rise–just a little–and you could feel the heat intensify. Not painful. Not overwhelming. Just more. Like sitting in sunlight instead of candlelight.

His arms came around you, steady and sure. One wrapped low around your waist, the other sliding up to cradle your ribs just beneath your chest, his palm broad and flat against your skin. You leaned back into him fully, your head falling against his shoulder, eyes closing. His chin rested lightly atop your head, and the two of you sat there in perfect stillness, wrapped in scent and steam and warmth, the water lapping quietly around your shoulders.

His thumb stroked over your side slowly, tracing idle circles.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, his voice nothing more than a breath in the steam, like it wasn’t even meant to be heard. “Especially like this.” You hummed softly, your heart giving a tender stutter. His voice alone could do that–thick with warmth, like he was reciting a prayer.

“Everything about you,” He continued, lips brushing the crown of your head in a kiss so gentle it barely disturbed your damp hair, “Is perfect.”

A breath caught in your throat. Not because you didn’t believe him–but because he meant it. Every time. You could feel it in his voice, in the way he held you like the world didn’t matter outside this bath. Like there was nothing more important than the way your heartbeat thrummed under his palm. His other arm slid more snugly around your waist, pulling you just a little tighter against him. You felt his thighs shift under the water, cradling you deeper into his lap. His chest rose and fell slowly against your back.

“You’re a masterpiece,” He murmured, voice low and certain, like he was speaking scripture. “And you don’t even know it.” A quiet, shaky breath escaped your lips, and you shifted slightly in the water, your hands coming to rest over his–one at your ribs, one just below your navel. Your fingers curled over his knuckles.

“I’m so grateful for you, Sentry,” You whispered, tilting your head back just a little to nuzzle his jaw. His chin lifted from your head, and he dipped his face down, his lips brushing over your shoulder–first one kiss, then another, soft and wet, the heat of his mouth blooming against your skin.

“I love you,” He said, the words sinking through you, breath-warm and steady. “And you know I’ll do anything for you because of that.” You smiled, slow and full, the kind of smile that barely reached your lips but warmed your entire body from the inside out. Your fingers curled just a little tighter around his hands where they rested against your stomach, grounding you.

“I love you too,” You whispered.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty–it was sacred. Full of shared breath and heartbeat, of quiet gratitude. His arms didn’t move, but you could feel the way his chest swelled behind you, the small exhale through his nose brushing across your temple like a second kiss.

Your thumbs began to move slowly over his forearms, mapping the contours of him–learning the soft patches of skin beneath the crook of his elbow, the thick strength of his tendons, the way his veins pulsed gently just beneath the surface. You traced those invisible rivers without thought, memorizing him by touch.

His breath hitched–barely–but you felt it against your back. And it made something stir inside you. Your body shifted just a little, not deliberately–just a natural way to melt further into him. His hand at your ribs adjusted, the hold tightening just enough to press your back more fully into his chest, like he felt it too.

You tilted your head, pressing your lips to the underside of his jaw. A small kiss. Just skin and breath and heat. But it pulled a soft noise from his throat, low and reverent. You kissed him again, higher this time, near his pulse. And then you turned just enough to look at him–his glowing eyes already locked on yours, soft and awed.

Your fingers slid from his forearms to his thighs, underwater, where the heat lingered. You let your nails drag lightly down the muscle there, not in invitation—just in affection. But you felt him pulse against your lower back, hardening slowly, steadily.

His mouth found your shoulder again, but it was different now. Warmer. More open. His lips parted against your skin, and then he kissed lower—along your deltoid, the curve where your shoulder met your bicep, the soft edge of your tricep. You sighed, your breath catching as he trailed lower still.

And then his hand that rested just beneath your ribs began to move. Down. Slow. Worshipful.

It glided over the plane of your stomach, fingers spreading wide, trailing just beneath the surface of the water. His palm flattened against your lower belly, and the heat of it—despite the bath–seemed to brand you there.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t have to.

His fingers slipped lower, easing between your thighs under the water. The contact was featherlight at first, just a brush against your folds–but it sent a ripple of tension straight through you. You sucked in a breath, your hand flying to his wrist instinctively–not to stop him, but to steady yourself.

“You’re already so soft,” He murmured, his voice rasped and low, almost like he was in awe of it. “So warm.” He kissed your neck again, this time at the base where your pulse fluttered, and let his fingers dip deeper, slowly gliding through the softness.

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, his lips moving against your skin.

You nodded immediately, pressing back against his chest. “Yes,” You breathed. “Please, Sen.”

He groaned low behind you, the sound of it vibrating through his chest and into your back. His fingers began to move in slow, reverent circles over your clit, gentle at first–measured and steady. He was touching you like he had all the time in the world. You gasped, your legs twitching slightly beneath the water. The movement caused your hips to shift back, brushing more firmly against the growing hardness between his legs. That contact alone made your eyes flutter closed.

“Every part of you,” He whispered, pressing his mouth to your jaw, “Deserves to be cherished.”

You whimpered, your hand sliding down to rest over his, urging his fingers to move faster–but he didn’t. He kept his slow rhythm, teasing you with just enough pressure to keep you spiraling. His free arm wrapped tighter around your waist, pinning you gently against him.

“I want you to feel good,” He said, his voice breaking into a soft groan as you ground back into him. “You’ve been through too much today. Let me love you.”

His words were so sincere, so full of warmth and need that it made your throat tighten. You nodded, one hand clutching the edge of the tub while the other reached behind you to cradle the back of his neck.

“Then love me, Sen,” You begged. “Please.”

And he did.

His fingers pressed more firmly now, stroking you in slow, deliberate circles, dipping down to gather more of your slick before returning to that sensitive bundle of nerves. His other hand moved up–cupping your breast underwater, massaging gently, his thumb brushing slowly over your nipple.

You gasped again, your whole body arching into him now, water sloshing softly against the tub’s edges. The pleasure was building, thick and hot and slow, curling through your belly like steam rising through the air.

“You’re so responsive,” He murmured, his voice dropping lower, more ragged. “So good for me. I love how you feel in my hands.”

You moaned, helpless now, your body a live wire beneath his touch.

“Don’t stop,” You gasped.

“I won’t,” He promised. “I’ll never stop.”And with that, he kissed the side of your face, his fingers working you with increasing purpose, drawing you closer and closer to the edge with every breath.

“You’re everything,” He praised, “Everything I’ve ever wanted.” Your head tilted back, baring your throat to him, and he took the invitation with quiet reverence. His lips brushed the hollow of your neck first–soft, wet, lingering. Then higher, to the sensitive skin just beneath your jaw. He kissed you there again and again, each one slower, deeper, as though he was tasting you like something sacred.

As his mouth worshipped your throat, his hand dipped lower beneath the water. His fingers slipped past your folds, slow and deliberate, then eased inside you in one smooth, gentle push.

You gasped softly, your body tensing for a moment before melting back into him, the heat of the water wrapping around you both like a silken cocoon. His free arm cinched tighter across your waist, anchoring you against his chest as his fingers curled inside you–exploring, filling, stroking in the most tender rhythm. You could feel him everywhere. Beneath your skin. Around you. Inside you.

“Just like that,” He coaxed, his lips grazing your earlobe. “You feel so good, my love. So warm…So perfect around my fingers.”

The words hit like sparks against your nerves. Your thighs twitched under the water, knees flexing slightly as the pleasure spiraled up through your abdomen. The water sloshed softly with your movements, rippling against the sides of the tub in gentle waves.

He kissed down the side of your neck again, murmuring into your skin.

“You don’t have to do anything,” He breathed. “Just let me take care of you. You deserve this. You deserve all of me.”

His fingers pumped into you slowly, deeply, his thumb brushing over your clit with each upward stroke, sending a fresh wave of warmth through your body. Your breath hitched, your mouth falling open slightly as your head dropped back against his shoulder.

“Sen…” You whimpered, one hand grasping his forearm, the other gripping the tub’s edge. “Oh my god…”

“Shhh,” He hushed his mouth tracing the curve of your ear now. “I’ve got you. Just let go. Let me love you through it.”

Your hips rocked up against his hand instinctively, chasing the growing rhythm. He kept his movements steady, perfectly in tune with your body, curling his fingers just right, dragging over that sensitive spot that made your whole body seize and tremble. His breath ghosted over your cheek, ragged now, heavy with affection and want.

“I love when you fall apart for me,” He groaned softly. “You’re so beautiful like this…Coming apart right here in my arms.”

The tension built rapidly, coiling inside you like a spring. Your thighs jerked again, and your mouth dropped open in a gasp as your climax surged–hot and overwhelming. It ripped through you in waves, your body twitching as the water rocked around you. His arm held you tight to him, anchoring you while his fingers continued slowly, lovingly stroking you through every last flutter and aftershock.

You shook once, twice–then sagged completely into his chest, a soft sob of breath escaping your lips as you melted in his arms. Your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow waves. His lips didn’t leave your skin once.

He kissed your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

“I’ve got you,” He whispered again, voice shaking with how much he meant it. “You did so good for me. So perfect.”

As your breathing began to slow, his fingers slid free from your core with the same care they entered. You whimpered faintly at the loss, but then he pressed his hand flat against your stomach again–warm and grounding.

His hold was tender and soft. The steady pressure of his palm over your belly made you feel full again, secure, like you hadn’t been emptied at all.

You shifted slightly in the water, your body still trembling faintly from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The bath had quieted again–just the soft slosh of water lapping against porcelain, the echo of breath between you. But beneath the stillness, you could feel him.

Thick. Hot. Pressed along the curve of your ass and lower back, his cock throbbed softly where it had been pinned this whole time, heavy and insistent. You didn’t need to move to feel the ache begin to return, blooming low in your belly–not pain this time, but want. Deeper. Slower. A hunger that wasn’t desperate, just…Present and persistent.

Your hand slid underwater, down your own thigh before curving outward, and you reached behind you–finding the firm, muscled line of his leg beneath the surface. You traced up his thigh gently, fingers brushing the strained muscle until you felt the sharp twitch of him under your touch.

Sentry let out a low sigh, something halfway between restraint and awe. His voice broke softly on your name.

”Y/N…You don’t have to,” He murmured, his lips brushing your temple, “You’re exhausted.”

“I know,” You said, your voice low, lazy, lips still kiss-wet. Your fingers brushed higher, teasing along the base of him now. You felt him twitch again. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be inside me though…” His breath hitched. Then he let out a soft, huffed laugh–a little stunned, a little teasing.

“You gonna sit on it?”

You nodded slowly, the motion brushing your cheek against his shoulder. Your voice dropped even lower–silk and smoke in your throat.

“Gonna let you fill me up real slow. Just wanna feel you.” His hands tightened on your waist, his restraint fracturing. You could feel the heat pouring off him behind you, more intense now than the bath itself.

“Mmm,” He hummed against your neck, “And you’re not gonna do anything else but sit on it?” You felt your face flush at that. Heat prickled over your cheeks, your chest, even under the water. You turned your head slightly, just enough to glance at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll try my best…” You whispered, your voice a little hoarse, a little wrecked from your previous moans.

He let out a quiet, breathless laugh, his lips grazing your ear.

“Alright…Sit up a bit.” You lifted yourself just enough for the bathwater to lap between your thighs, your whole body trembling slightly from the effort–and from anticipation. The heat of him pressed against your entrance, heavy and hot and so much. You could feel the thick crown of him nudging there–slick and swollen from restraint, the skin silky against your folds.

One of his hands stayed at your hip, steadying you, fingers splayed wide with control. The other slipped beneath the water–between your thighs–and you felt the faint ripple just before the blunt head of his cock was guided into place.

A shiver tore through your spine the second he aligned himself.

“Ready?” He murmured against the shell of your ear, voice like molten gold–liquid, thick, reverent.

You nodded. “Yes…Please.”

And with that–slowly, impossibly slow–he began to ease you down onto him.

The stretch was exquisite. Hot, full, delicious in its ache. Your walls fluttered around the tip as it pushed in, your breath catching in your throat.

“Ohh–” Your mouth fell open with a gasp as your body began to take him inch by inch. His grip on your hip tightened, not enough to bruise, but enough to hold you steady as gravity helped your tired muscles sink onto him. You felt every ridge. Every vein. The press of his cock against your tender, sensitive walls made you burn and melt and tremble all at once. He was thick, and your body opened for him slowly–so slowly.

“F-fuck,” You breathed, your voice raw with overwhelmed need, “God you feel so fucking good.”

“I know,” He murmured, his lips brushing the edge of your ear, his voice taut with restraint. “You’re doing perfect. Taking me so well.” Your hips trembled as you sank further–deeper–feeling him fill you with his sacred heat. The water sloshed faintly around you, breaking against porcelain as you eased down the last few inches, your walls dragging against every inch of him like they were memorizing him.

And then–you were fully seated.

He was deep. Pressed tight against the softest, most sensitive part of you.

A long, breathless moan escaped your lips as your back collapsed into his chest again, your head lolling back onto his shoulder, heart thundering beneath your bruised ribs. The fullness was dizzying. Beautiful. Complete.

You felt him groan low behind you–his chest rumbling where it met your spine.

His lips dragged along the slope of your neck as he wrapped both arms around your waist again–tight, possessive, tender.

“Now just sit here,” He whispered against your throat, the heat of his breath fogging your skin, “And be a good girl.” He pressed a kiss just beneath your jaw, his mouth curling into a grin as he added, softer:

“Don’t move.” You swallowed hard, the command sinking deep into your chest, coiling in your belly like molten syrup.

“S-Sentry…” You said, your voice almost a whine, high and shaky. You could feel him smiling against your neck.

“You said you’d try your best…” He teased, the amusement low and hot in his voice. “Are you giving up already?” You clenched around him hard at that–unintentionally. It made your walls flutter and your breath stutter. His cock twitched inside you in response–pressing right up against that soft, perfect spot inside you that made your eyes flutter shut.

“No…I’m not.” You said quietly, but your hips shifted just the slightest bit–your body betraying you–and immediately you felt both of his arms tighten around your waist, grounding you, locking you in place.

“Ah ah ah,” He warned, his voice now dipped in velvet and steel, “No squirming.” You gasped as he pulsed inside you again, hot and thick and impossibly deep.

“You said no moving,” He murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “You wanted to feel me…So feel me. Don’t fuck me. Don’t grind. Just take it.”

You whimpered again–your entire body trembling with restraint.

It was exquisite torture.

Because you could feel him. Every twitch. Every throb. Every time your walls fluttered around him–his cock responded, pulsing right up against your g-spot, rubbing against your most vulnerable, swollen nerves without even moving.

It was maddening. Divine.

“Please,” You whimpered, “I–I need–”

“I know you do,” He whispered back, his breath hitting your skin while his mouth dragged down your throat again, kissing over your pulse as it fluttered, frantic. “You’re being so good. Just a little longer.” Your whimper cracked into the steam like thunder, trembling and high, the sound barely human from how much it hurt to be this full without any movement happening. Your nails dug into the porcelain of the tub, searching for any kind of grounding as your thighs quaked, every breath a stutter against his chest. You couldn’t stop clenching around him–your body reacting to the pulse of him buried deep inside, his cock twitching again like it was teasing you on purpose.

“Sentry…” You gasped, your head turning just enough to bury your cheek against his shoulder, voice breaking with desperation. “Please…I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if you don’t start moving…” The ache was unbearable. It was the kind of ache that shimmered on the edge of tears–not pain. Just that maddening, insistent hunger that sat behind your ribs and twisted like a vice. You needed friction. You needed relief. You needed him. He exhaled softly, the sound brushing your ear like silk. One of his hands slid down, rubbing slowly over your hip–soothing, almost, like he was petting a live wire and pretending not to notice how close it was to sparking. His other hand came up, cupping your breast with warm, deliberate reverence. His palm spread wide, thumb brushing over your nipple slowly, rubbing small, tender circles into the sensitive peak.

“Can’t hold back, can you?” He murmured, his voice dipped low and rich, thick with affection and restraint. “You really want me to fuck you, hmm?” You nodded immediately, the movement jerking as you struggled to stay still.

“Yes,” You choked, your voice breathless, cracking. “I need you, Sen, I need it–please, please…” His lips brushed your temple, and he let out a quiet, approving hum.

“Okay,” He whispered, soft and devastating.

And then he moved.

His hands slid to your waist–firm, steady, claiming–and he shifted you up just enough for your body to whimper in protest at the loss of fullness. But he didn’t leave you empty for long. With a slow, controlled thrust, he pushed up into you from beneath, seating you fully again with a deep, wet grind that punched a cry from your throat.

“Fuck–” You gasped, stars exploding behind your eyes as the friction finally, finally met the ache. Your hands flew to cover his at your waist, clutching at him like a lifeline.

And then he did it again.

A smooth, deliberate roll of his hips, thrusting up into you with the strength of a man built to hold the sun. He wasn’t wild. He wasn’t rough. But god, he was relentless–dragging his cock against every sensitive inch of your fluttering walls like he was carving himself into your body.

“You take me so well,” He groaned, voice rough now, fraying at the edges. “So tight, so fucking wet for me.” Your head tipped back, your mouth falling open as he fucked up into you again, this time harder, the sound of water sloshing around your joined bodies adding a rhythm to the moans that spilled from you. His arm tightened around your waist, keeping you pressed flush to his chest, keeping you his.

The angle was perfect. Every upward thrust pressed against your g-spot with brutal precision, making your legs shake and your body arch against him helplessly.

“You wanted this?” He gritted out, his mouth at your shoulder now, teeth grazing your skin, “Begging to be filled, to be fucked just like this?”

“Yes,” you gasped, writhing now in his grip, the water splashing around your hips as he began to pick up a rhythm. “Yes–oh god–Sentry–don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

His hands gripped tighter, anchoring your hips as he fucked into you from beneath, water sloshing with each deep, wet thrust, the slap of skin and steam wrapping around you like a second storm. You could feel the wet heat of his breath on your neck, his lips pressing frantic kisses against your throat between ragged groans.

“Gonna fill you up,” He growled, teeth dragging just enough to make you cry out. “Gonna make you feel me for days.”

Your hands flew back to tangle in his hair, pulling hard as your body began to climb—higher and higher toward that edge again, your core clenching around him with every thrust. He cursed against your skin, losing rhythm for just a second from how tightly you squeezed him.

“That’s it,” He moaned, his voice wrecked now, desperate and holy. “Take me–take every inch like the good girl you are.”

You broke.

Your orgasm slammed into you like a wave, hard and wet and sob-wrecked. You cried out as your body seized, shattering around him as he held you through it, fucking you slowly through every tremor, every shudder, every helpless moan. Your nails scraped down his thighs underwater, searching for something–anything–to hold onto as your vision went white.

He fucked you slower now, like he was worshipping the way your walls kept fluttering around him, the way your body kept spasming from pleasure even as you sagged back into his arms.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” He whispered into your ear, his voice trembling. “I’m so close…Can I cum inside you?”

“Yes,” You breathed, dazed, tears clinging to your lashes. “Yes, please…Give me everything Sen.” He groaned, deep and shattered, and you felt his cock twitch–once, twice–before he slammed up into you one final time and stilled. His whole body tensed behind you as he came, heat spilling into your fluttering walls, his breath ragged against your ear.

You could feel the pulse of it. Hot and claiming. You collapsed fully against his chest, breath catching in your throat as the scent of sex and lavender swirled around you both. He held you there, unmoving. Still deep inside. Still wrapped around you like a shield.

Your breath slowed in his arms, chest rising and falling in gentle waves against his, every limb heavy with release, every nerve still humming with the afterglow. The water around you sloshed faintly as he shifted just enough to wrap you tighter, still buried inside you, still holding you like you were something sacred.

His lips pressed to your shoulder–once, twice, three times. Gentle. Grounding. He breathed you in, his voice warm and low against your skin.

“You okay?” He whispered.

You nodded slowly, your head resting against his collarbone. “You take care of me so well, Sen…God, I love you so much.” You felt him exhale through his nose–soft, reverent. Then his lips returned to your shoulder, brushing it again with tender affection, like he couldn’t help himself.

“I love you too,” He murmured. “I’m dedicated to you. I want you to feel satisfied…And happy. Always.” Your fingers found his beneath the water–his hand still resting over your stomach–and you laced your fingers through his, threading them tight and sure.

“I’m always happy with you,” You whispered.

He let out a soft, breathy laugh, the sound vibrating gently through your back, through your ribcage, through your very bones.

“I know you are,” He said, kissing your shoulder again with a crooked smile in his voice. “Even though I probably get on your nerves sometimes.”

You tilted your head back just enough to kiss his jaw, your lips brushing over the strong, sun-warmed line of it. “You balance me out,” You murmured, “You relax me. You never get on my nerves.”

Then you brought his hand up, still interlaced with yours, guiding it to your lips. You kissed each knuckle softly, one after the other, pressing your mouth into his skin like a prayer.

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