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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Entombed

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

Summary: The aftermath of your night with The Void is weighing heavy on you and things start to change. (This is a continuation of ‘Test Drive’)

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts as there is Bob in this…And The Void There is Angst, Smut, and Fluff in this. There are dark elements/themes in this that are explored. Bob and the reader are going through it, and it’s quite rough. There is a lot of emotions and tons of tension happening in this story and honestly it was a whole lotta fun writing it because jeez, there was so much that could happen in the aftermath of this! The Void is obsessed/bonded to the reader, and there are elements of the supernatural in this we lean into it just a bit but it’s not a huge part of the story (y’all will see, I kind of took a little bit of lore from the comics but nothing too crazy). Guilt and Regret kinda plays a role in this too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up my peeps please), Body Worship/Praise Kink, Reader is in Control (not in a dominant way), Cockwarming, Grinding, Heavy Makeout (which involves a lot of heavy petting), Very Light Choking, Marking/Biting/Reclaiming, Oral Sex (Fem! Receiving), Super Intimate Sex, Aftercare Galore, Discussions/References to sex

Authors Note: Well, I hope this part 2 satisfies, I made some choices here that leave things open for a part 3 if people truly want it but hopefully y’all enjoy this one first :)) I was on the fence on where I wanted this to go but hopefully my creative decisions paid off.

Word Count: 16,464

Peeps Who Wanted To Be Tagged For Part 2: @millercontracting @avengersinitiative2012 @dark-silhouette @kurayamifairy @houseofaegon @vanguardlady @sentryluvs @simp-sentral @impoeticbeauty

Bob loved watching you train.

It wasn’t the flash of your skill set or the brutality you were capable of unleashing when pushed. It was your agility. The grace that was threaded into every step, every twist, and every perfectly executed takedown. You moved like you were born for the fight–but never to dominate. You weren’t the kind of person that demanded attention. You were the kind that earned it, silently, relentlessly, and over time.

That’s what had first drawn Bob to you. Not the danger, but the discipline. Not the strength, but the control…And the way you smiled, soft and easy, when you would push your hair back and look over your shoulder with a quiet little smirk that said ‘watch me’.

He could watch you for hours.

But today…Today you weren’t moving. You weren’t even training. You were sitting on the edge of the mat, sweater drawn tight around your shoulders, sleeves swallowing past your wrists, with your legs tucked up in a way that didn’t look relaxed. You looked…Small. Uncharacteristically withdrawn, and it worried him, because from the viewing deck all he could think about was how you were acting at breakfast.

You hadn’t smiled once this morning. Not when Ava made a dumb joke about the broken coffee machine. Not when Alexei spilled hot sauce on his shirt and cursed in Russian. Not even when Bob had caught your eye–or tried to–and offered you that quiet half-smile you usually returned without hesitation. It was like you were actively avoiding him, you didn’t sit beside him, and you didn’t even look at him.

It was like watching someone wearing your skin–your gestures, your face–but none of you was there. And now, down on the mat, wrapped up in your pool of clothes, you looked like you were trying to disappear.

The clang of a metal clasp echoed as Walker dropped his sparring gear. Ava stretched, rolled her shoulders, and tossed a half-empty water bottle across the room, nailing Alexei in the chest. Training was winding down with the usual noise and chaos, but none of it touched you–it looked like you had been released from prison.

You stood slowly, stretching out your back, and Bob caught the faint grimace that flickered across your face as your body resisted the motion. You winced–barely–but it was enough to make his chest tighten. He thought maybe you were injured, or that you pulled something yesterday during your high intensity training. That would explain the sitting out. Maybe even the outfit. But it didn’t explain the way you’d barely spoken to anyone that morning nor the way you looked through him at breakfast like he was a piece of glass. Like he did something…

You turned toward the hallway, and immediately he moved towards the exit.

He came down from the observation deck, taking the stairs two at a time. His hoodie sleeves were bunched at his elbows and he wiped his palms on the sides of his sweatpants, the nerves were pulsing through his skin. He wasn’t good at this–at confrontation, even soft ones–but the ache in his chest told him he wouldn’t sleep if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was wrong.

“H-Hey,” He called gently, catching up to you just as you reached the doorway to the locker rooms. You paused, and he could see the way your shoulders tensed at his voice before you turned to him. You wrapped your arms over yourself, almost like you were bracing for something.

”I, um…” He scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting between your face, then away, “C-Can I talk to you for a s-second.” Instantly you could feel your heart begin to race, the idea that he might have actually remembered last night almost made you ill, you could feel the bile begin to rise in the back of your throat, as you forced yourself to answer.

”O-Okay.” You were bracing yourself.

”I just–“ He fumbled for words, “I wanted t-to check in…You’ve been acting k-kind of…Distant t-today. At breakfast, d-during training…Even right n-now. I thought maybe s-something was wrong…Or I-I did something.” You swallowed hard, a little too hard to have it be unnoticed. The sound caught in your throat like a stone, and you could feel the weight of his worry pressing into the narrow space between you. Bob wasn’t loud. Wasn’t pushy. But the way his voice trembled, the way his hands fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve–it was enough to make your chest cave in.

You shook your head before he could finish his next sentence.

“No,” You said quickly, “You didn’t do anything.”

His mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to ask if you were sure, but he didn’t. He just nodded, brows still knit in concern.

“I…I just didn’t sleep well,” You added, hoping it would sound casual, feeling this dread slowly building up inside of you, because all you could think about was his hands, and his lips, and his mouth, or the scratch marks on your back that were burning as you spoke to him, almost like they were calling for your attention.

“O-Oh…” He replied, softly, “O-Okay…I just t-though maybe you were upset with m-me or something…But I-I know you would d-definitely tell m-me if that was the case…” You offered the smallest smile, feeling your throat tightening at the way he was speaking to you, like he knew what happened last night but he was waiting for you to say something.

“We’re okay…” Bob nodded at your weak reassurance–we’re okay–but he didn’t look convinced. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, like there was something else he wanted to say, something gnawing at him. But instead, he cleared his throat and forced a smile.

“R-Right,” He murmured. “I was also g-gonna ask if, uh…If we’re still doing our little b-bodega thing? I figured we could g-get your usual, sit by the fountain like always…” It was your routine. Quiet and private and safe. After training, just the two of you would head down the street to that tiny corner bodega with the cracked tile floor and the sleepy cat in the window. You always got the same thing–egg salad, extra pickles, Bob always forgot to ask for napkins–and then you’d walk a block over and sit by the fountain near the old courthouse. Sometimes you talked about training. Sometimes you talked about everything else, or you just watched people and mumbled about what they must be doing or where they must be going.

During these times it felt like he was yours.

And now?

You couldn’t even look him in the eye.

“I don’t think I can today…” You said quietly, your voice barely carrying over the hum of the hallway light. “I think I may just go to my room after I change... To lay down.”

His expression flickered–something between worry and disappointment, but not the selfish kind. The kind that hurt because he cared. Because he knew there was something wrong, or that you were hiding something from him at the very least. Because he didn’t understand why it suddenly felt like you were slipping out of his hands and he couldn’t stop it.

“Oh. Y-Yeah. Of course,” He replied quickly, tucking his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie to stop them from fidgeting. “That makes sense. You should rest. That’s good. Rest is–good.” You offered him a faint, aching smile–like something carved out of stone.

“Yeah…Should help a bit.” Your voice was so soft, and gentle he could barely hear it.

“Can I…D-Do anything for you? I could bring you some tea? O-Or I could just stay close, in case you–”

You shook your head before he could finish.

“No,” You murmured. “I just need to be alone.”

He nodded again. Slower this time. The corner of his mouth lifted in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you later, then.”

You gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and quickly slipped into the locker room without another word.

Once the door clicked softly behind you, it felt like you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding since breakfast. But the exhale didn’t bring relief–it only left you emptier. The weight in your chest didn’t ease; it tightened. Pressed in. Like your ribs were folding inward. Like your lungs were trying to collapse around a scream you couldn’t afford to let out.

Tears gathered before you could stop them.

Hot. Stinging. Blurring your vision before they ever reached your lashes. You tried to blink them away. You clenched your jaw until it ached. But the pressure building behind your sternum was too sharp, too real, too loud. The ache had dug in sometime between last night and now, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

You weren’t sure if it was regret. Not in the traditional sense. Because it hadn’t felt like a mistake in the moment–it had felt like inevitability. Like gravity. Like a need that had grown too large to hold back. And the way he had touched you–reverently, ruinously–had shattered something you didn’t even know was intact.

But now?

Now it felt like you’d made a deal with the devil in the dark and woken up in someone else’s skin.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tightly, nails digging into the sleeves of your sweater.

The guilt crawled in like rot. Not loud. Just constant. Creeping through your bones. Worming into the cracks between your thoughts. Because the worst part wasn’t what he’d done.

It was that you let him.

You’d let the Void in.

You invited him.

And maybe that would’ve been survivable–maybe–if it had been just about you and him. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

Because now Bob…Sweet, trembling, gentle Bob–your Bob…Had no idea what had happened. He had no memory of what his own body had done. Of what you had allowed. Of what he’d whispered in your ear in that almost-voice that sounded so much like him your heart broke under it. And that was the part that was ripping you apart.

The betrayal wasn’t his.

It was yours.

Because it felt like you’d taken advantage of a piece of him he couldn’t control–used a part of him he’d been trying to suppress. And now you were walking around with the memory of him in your skin, in your bones, in the place where he’d left something behind–and he was walking around clueless. Still smiling at you like he would do anything to protect you. Still offering to bring you tea. You pressed your hand to your abdomen as the guilt twisted deeper, sharper.

Because even now, a part of you was aching for what happened. Craving the touch. The voice. The power. And that was the cruelest truth of all.

You hadn’t just said yes. You’d wanted it.

You sniffed and wiped at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater, but it didn’t help. The tears had already left hot streaks along your cheeks, and your mouth tasted like metal–like the guilt had started seeping in from the inside out.

And then, suddenly, it burned.

It wasn’t sharp. Not like a cut or a bruise. It was deep. Molten. Like someone had sunk hot iron into your spine and lit a match inside your skin. Your whole body jolted. You reached for the edge of the bench to steady yourself, breath catching as the burn surged again–up your back, down your hips, around the sides of your ribs.

You grabbed at the hem of your sweater and yanked it over your head with a shaky, desperate motion, casting it aside onto the bench like it was soaked in gasoline.

And then you turned to the mirror.

Your stomach dropped.

The marks were worse.

So much worse.

What had once been faint purpling around your hips, vague red lines across your shoulder blades, were now vivid. Raised. Angry. Like they’d grown. They were more defined–claws, unmistakably. Four long, precise gouges across your back, etched in perfect arcs like someone had gripped you and dragged you down to hell.

The bruise on your collarbone had deepened into a bruise-black imprint of teeth. Not sharp like fangs. Just possessive.

There were fingerprints on your thighs, your waist. His fingerprints.

But worse–

They were pulsing. The skin around each mark glowed faintly. Subtle. Like an ember tucked just beneath your flesh, blinking with your pulse.

“What the fuck…” Was all you could manage to say, as your fingers traced over the marks.

The mirror flickered, and you froze.

The overhead lights stayed on, but the mirror–just for a second–shivered like a ripple passed through it. The color leached from your reflection, and the air shifted. Heavier. Sharper.

Then, that voice.

“You must be pretty confused right now, hm?” Your mouth parted and your throat went dry.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t need to, because he was there.

In the mirror.

The Void stood in the glass like a phantom with substance, wearing Bob’s shape again like it was tailored for him, but darker–more real than anything had a right to be. His jaw was sharp. His shoulders held the same broadness as Bob's, only he stood confidently. His eyes…The ones you had looked into last night when you had called him by Bob’s name…The twin void stars. He looked like a dark hole in the middle of the room. Your lips parted.

“I…” You blinked. “Bob’s awake.” The words came out flat, panicked. A statement of fact–as if saying it aloud would force the universe to correct itself. “He’s awake. He’s walking around. He–He talked to me just a few minutes ago. He–he was right outside. You’re not supposed to be here…How the fuck are you here?”

He smiled at you through the glass, and you saw teeth.

Not sharp. Not jagged. Worse.

Perfect. Like the kind of teeth a man shows when he knows the whole room belongs to him. It looked almost the exact same as last night, only it was clearer now, more visible to your eye.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He purred, stepping forward–closer to the edge of the mirror. The room didn’t darken, but your reflection dimmed behind his, as though you were no longer the main inhabitant of your own body. “I don’t disappear that quickly.”

A chill bloomed across your shoulders.

You hadn’t moved. But your breath hitched.

Because you felt it.

The air shifted behind you. The warmth of your skin turning ice-cold–just behind the base of your neck. Like someone was standing inches from you. Like someone was breathing against your spine.

Your voice trembled. “You lied to me…”

The Void’s smile widened.

From the mirror, he watched you–head tilted, eyes glowing.

“Now, now, I didn’t lie,” He murmured.

And then–

His breath touched your skin, and your whole body locked.

You felt it–real, present, inside the room now. The cold exhale that brushed the nape of your neck like silk. Your shoulders flinched inward, but you couldn’t move away. Not from him. Not from the thing that had touched you from within the dark and now moved around you like a ghost in daylight.

“I just omitted information,” He finished softly, like it was the punchline of a private joke. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Your hands trembled at your sides.

“W-What did you do to me?” Your voice cracked.

The Void didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he stepped closer in the mirror again, and your body moved–not of your own accord–tilting slightly toward the glass. Your reflection leaned forward. But you hadn’t moved. Your reflection wasn’t matching anymore. The air behind you felt too dense now, like you could reach behind yourself and grab a fistful of it–thick and chilled and humming faintly like static against your skin. Your knees nearly gave out when you felt it again.

A touch.

Not a full press of fingers. Just the brush of ice sliding along your spine–right over one of the claw marks, as though retracing his own work.

In the mirror, the Void tilted his head.

“Don’t assume I did something permanent,” He said softly. There was a mocking gentleness in his voice, like he was humoring your panic. “Please…I’m not that evil.” You watched your own mouth tremble in the glass. Your reflection was still not syncing to your movements–there was a subtle delay, like a puppet lagging behind its strings.

“Though,” He continued, dragging his fingers down your back again as if he was petting you, “I really could’ve done worse…” Your breath hitched when his nail grazed the base of your spine, and the marks pulsed, almost like he was slowly bringing something to the surface of your skin.

“But…Let’s just say,” He drawled, his smile deepening, “I’ll be around for a little while longer. Just until you…Recover from our little night together.”

You turned your head slightly–not fully, not enough to break eye contact with the mirror–but your voice came through hoarse. “It doesn’t make any sense…I still don’t understand h-how you’re even here?”

The Void gave an exasperated sigh, like you were being deliberately naive.

“I’m an entity, sweetheart. A force.” He stepped closer, and your reflection blurred again, feeling his chest gently pressing against your back. “Not a man. Not a ghost. Not a shadow. I tether to people. I’m tethered to Bob permanently…But…” His voice dipped, curling against your ear like a gust of wind, “You let me in. You let me finish inside you. Did you really think there wouldn’t be some sort of…Consequence?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Sperm,” He murmured, almost lazily, like the word itself was a spell. “Can live for…What is it… Three to five days inside a reproductive system, give or take?”

Your knees buckled, and you gripped the counter in front of you to stay upright. The burn across your back flared again, and your skin felt too tight, too hot, like it was struggling to contain something underneath.

“Give it time,” He whispered, dragging his fingernail over the topmost mark. “After that… I’ll be gone. Probably. Unless you invite me in again.”

He hummed, amused by your silence, and his fingers–impossibly cold and real–smoothed gently along the curve of your ribs, ghosting over bruised skin like it belonged to him.

“Only you can see me, by the way,” He added kindly. “So maybe keep your voice down a bit when you answer me…Hm?” You were just about to say something–anything–when the door behind you banged open.

The sound crashed through the room like a gunshot, and you flinched violently, heart seizing in your chest.

“–I’m telling you, it was the worst latte I’ve ever had,” Ava’s voice carried in before she even cleared the doorway, followed closely by Yelena’s sharp scoff of agreement. “It tasted like someone put chalk in a sock and let it steep for twenty minutes–”

They both froze.

The silence that followed was instant, sucked tight like vacuum-sealed air.

You turned toward them too slowly.

You could feel their eyes on you before you even lifted your head–feel them taking in the angry red claw marks that wrapped around your ribs, the bruises blooming like warpaint down your sides, the purple-black bite mark stark against your collarbone.

“Y/N?” Yelena’s voice was clipped. Low. Already shifting into something sharp and protective.

Ava blinked once. Then twice. “What the actual fuck?”

You tried to move–tried to step back or grab the sweater or explain something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

Because he was still there.

Still behind you.

Still breathing cold down your spine like a promise.

“Jesus Christ,” Yelena stepped in first, boots hitting the tile hard, like she was ready to start a fight with whoever did this. “Who did this to you? Are you okay? Are you bleeding?”

“I–I’m fine.” You said it too fast. Too flat. It didn’t sound like you.

“No, you’re not,” Ava said, her voice unusually steady as she followed behind, crouching slightly like she was trying to check your balance. “Y/N, that’s not a training injury. That’s…That’s not even human-looking. That’s…” Her eyes flicked to the claw marks, her brow creasing. “Were you attacked?” You could feel the nerves building up in your chest.

”N-No! I wasn’t attacked.”

“Gotta be a little better at lying to your friend's sweetheart.” The Void whispered mockingly, as you felt his fingers on your back again.

”Shut up!” You exclaimed out of nowhere, catching what you had just done the moment it happened. Yelena and Ava both froze in place at your sudden outburst.

The echo of your voice clapped back off the tile, too loud, too frantic–and too obviously directed at someone who wasn’t there.

You watched their eyes shift. Not just to the claw marks. Not just to the bruises. But to your face now–your wide, panicked eyes. Your trembling mouth. The sweat clinging to your hairline.

“Y/N…” Ava’s voice softened, like she was approaching a wild animal. “Tell us what’s going on.” Yelena didn’t say anything. Not yet. But she took another step forward, slow and steady, like she was preparing for you to bolt. Or break.

“Who did this to you?” Ava asked again, her eyes flicking back to the bite mark. “Was it someone on the team? Because if it was, I swear to God–”

“It wasn’t anyone on the team, I–I wasn’t attacked. Not like that.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Then what happened?” You stared at them both. Ava with her brows knit, hand twitching like she wanted to touch you but didn’t dare. Yelena looked like she might murder someone if you gave her a name.

”And start from the beginning.” Ava added.

–––––––––––––

The water ran hot.

Too hot.

It scalded down Bob’s back in long, blistering sheets, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, braced against the shower wall, head bowed under the stream, letting it burn. Letting it wash over the tension twisted through his spine like a knot of wire.

His hands twitched every now and then–restless, nervous, like they were searching for something they couldn’t find. Something they swore had been there before.

Something soft. Warm. Familiar.

He blinked slowly, eyes hazy beneath the steam.

After he spoke to you in front of the locker room images had begun to flicker in and out of his brain. Not memories exactly. But…Something. Echoes. Flashbulb imprints behind his eyes. A mouth. A sound. Nails biting across his shoulders. A voice–soft and breathless, gasping his name like it was a sin.

”Bob.” It was you–or your voice at least. He could feel his breath stop in his throat. It felt like a dream. But the kind that lingered. The kind that pressed fingerprints into your skin and refused to fade.

He exhaled and reached up to scrub at his face, hoping the pressure might clear his head. But then–

A sting.

Sharp and sudden. Low on his shoulders.

He winced.

His hand dropped to his shoulder, then curled around the top of his back. His fingers traced lightly–grazing over his skin until–

He froze.

Marks.

Four of them.

Long, raised lines carved into his shoulder blade. He twisted toward the mirror just outside the glass shower, blinking steam away as he leaned, trying to see over his own shoulder. It wasn’t easy, but when the fog cleared, he caught it.

Four scratches. They were faintly red, like someone had dragged their nails across the ridges of his shoulder blade. His stomach turned at the sight, and there was a cold weight that settled behind his ribs.

“What the hell…” He muttered, voice hoarse from the heat and whatever this was.

The scratches didn’t look accidental. They looked like grip marks. Like someone had clawed at him, held on tight, dug in as if riding out–

His stomach flipped violently.

He hadn’t had sex. He would remember that. Right?

Right?

The back of his neck prickled with cold, even as the water beat down on him, too hot.

And then–

That voice.

Slick. Amused. Familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

“Wasn’t that a great dream you had last night?”

Bob’s entire body went rigid.

He didn’t respond at first–didn’t even breathe. Just stood there, eyes wide, steam curling around him like mist curling off a cliff, and that’s when things began to slowly fall into place.

The dream…The dream he had of you last night.

“…No,” He whispered eventually, shaking his head. “No, no, no…”

“Oh come on,” The Void drawled. “Don’t be shy. You liked it. That little fantasy with her chest against yours, riding you, moaning your name like a hymn. She looked so pretty when she came, didn’t she?”

Bob’s vision swam. He gripped the edge of the shower wall so hard his knuckles turned white.

“It wasn’t real,” He said through clenched teeth. “It was just a dream.”

A low, velvet chuckle unfurled in the base of his skull.

“Sure it was.”

The water suddenly felt too loud–like static screaming in his ears.

Memories weren’t supposed to feel like this. They weren’t supposed to echo in his skin, or pull on the muscle of his thighs like a ghost still touching him. He felt raw–stretched thin from the inside out. His breath came ragged now–short, sharp gasps that barely made it past his lips as flashes began to tear across his mind like lightning, split-second visions, and sensations.

Your thighs bracketing his hips, your voice breaking around his name, your tears streaming down your cheeks. The way your back arched towards him.

His eyes snapped shut and he stumbled backward, one palm flying to the wall like it could keep him upright. But the weight was inside him now. The wrongness. The knowing.

“No,” He gasped. “No, I didn’t–I wouldn’t–”

“You didn’t,” The Void answered smoothly, his voice curling inside Bob’s skull like smoke through a vent. “I did.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Bob staggered back against the shower wall, blinking against the sting of hot water and bile rising in his throat.

“She said yes, you know,” The Void continued. “Every time. She said your name while I was inside her. Cried for you. Pretended it was you.”

Bob’s stomach lurched. He pressed a hand over his mouth, like that could keep the nausea down. “Stop. Just shut up–”

“You think she didn’t know it wasn’t you?” The Void whispered. “She did. She just wanted you so badly, she was willing to close her eyes and let me wear your skin. And you know what, Bob?”

A pause.

A cruel silence.

“She loved it.”

Bob let out a broken, wounded sound. Something between a sob and a growl. His body was trembling violently now–his breath a stuttered panic trapped in his lungs.

“You’re lying,” He choked.

“You don’t feel it?” The Void murmured. “The tension in your shoulders? The ache in your hips? The ghost of her still gripping you? I don’t dream, Bob. But you do. And I left you the best parts.”

Bob staggered out of the shower, dripping and wild-eyed. He stumbled, half slipping across the wet tile, as he reached out and wrapped a towel around his hips while the other scrambled for the edge of the counter. His knees hit the floor hard, but the pain didn’t register–not over the white-hot coil twisting in his gut. He lurched forward.

The sound that came out of him was ugly–guttural and gasping–as he vomited into the basin. His body convulsed, throat straining, the acidic bile burning up his esophagus. His arms shook as he braced himself, knuckles whitening on the marble.

It felt endless.

Each heave dragged something deeper out of him–not just from his stomach but from somewhere more primal. Something soul-level. Shame. Horror. Guilt. The knowledge that something had been done to her. With his body. While he was unaware.

His chest heaved with dry sobs now, water still dripping off his hair and jaw, his face flushed red from the heat and the nausea. He clutched the edge of the basin and lifted his head slowly, eyelids fluttering.

And froze.

The steam on the mirror had cleared just enough to reflect two figures.

His own…

And him.

The Void stood to his left–closer than he should’ve been. Closer than Bob could feel, and yet, somehow his presence pressed into the room like a second atmosphere. His arms were folded loosely, one shoulder resting against the bathroom wall as if this were casual. As if he had every right to stand there, real and solid, in Bob’s space. In Bob’s skin.

“Don’t feel too bad,” The Void said lightly, tilting his head as if studying his twin in the mirror. “I was good to her. Tender, even. You should’ve heard the way she begged. So soft. So sweet.”

Bob’s fingers curled into fists on the edge of the sink.

“Stop talking,” He rasped. “Just fucking stop.”

“You really think I’m lying?” The Void arched a brow, a little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Then go talk to her.”

Bob’s breath hitched.

The Void pushed off the wall now, taking a step forward–not menacing, not fast, but slow and deliberate. His reflection moved with him. His voice softened with mock sympathy.

“I’m sure if you ask her gently, she’ll tell you the truth. What she felt. What she saw. What she said.”

Bob shook his head. “She didn’t know. She couldn’t have–”

“She did.” The Void’s tone sharpened just enough to cut. “And if you’re still not convinced…”

He paused in front of Bob–so close now Bob could see the way the light gleamed off his collarbone, the faint shimmer of something bruised beneath the skin–and slowly lifted his hand.

One long finger tapped just beneath his throat, where his jugular notch was–or is– supposed to be.

“Check right here on her…I left a little something there.” Bob didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the part that shattered him wasn’t the evidence. It wasn’t the dream, or the bite, or even the voice curling like poison through his mind.

It was the truth he already knew.

He had felt it.

In his skin. In his bones.

In the aching echo of a night he hadn’t lived–but now he had to carry with him anyway.

“She trusted me,” He whispered, barely audible. “She trusted me to protect her from you.”

The Void tilted his head, mockingly thoughtful. “Mmm. And you did such a good job, didn’t you? You didn’t warn her how convincing I would be, hmm?” The Void’s grin widened.

It wasn’t malicious in the way monsters grinned in stories–it was worse. It was familiar. Worn like skin. Like something Bob might’ve seen in the mirror if he were just a little colder, a little more broken, a little more hungry.

“You didn’t warn her,” He repeated softly. “Not about the way I move. The way I sound. The way I feel.”

Bob’s breath stuttered. His knuckles were white against the sink.

“You manipulated her…” The Void let out a soft laugh.

“How did I manipulate her?” The Void’s voice was velvet now. Soothed, indulgent. “She wanted you, Bob. So I gave her that. I gave her what you never had the courage to.”

“I would never–” Bob choked, eyes burning, voice cracking around the protest.

“You wouldn’t,” The Void agreed, stepping closer until he could look directly into Bob’s eyes through the mirror. “You’re too good. Too gentle. Too afraid. You keep saying she trusts you–but she was starving, Bob. And I knew exactly how to feed her.”

Bob swayed on his feet.

He didn’t know how he was still standing.

Didn’t know how the ground hadn’t already cracked open beneath him.

The Void tapped the mirror glass once–right where Bob’s reflection was trembling–and leaned in, his next words a breath against the shell of Bob’s mind:

“If you want answers, ask her what she saw when she looked at me. Ask her whose name she really used when I was fucking her to the point of tears, then ask if she liked it…Or better yet…Asked why she liked it…Then maybe you’ll realize…It really wasn’t me who she wanted…It was you the entire time.”

Bob’s stomach twisted so violently he thought he might be sick again.

But there was nothing left to throw up. Only the bile in his throat, and the grief coiling around his ribs like iron wire. He gripped the edge of the sink harder, shoulders hunched like he could fold in on himself, like he could collapse inward and disappear entirely.

The Void’s final words lingered in the air like smoke, choking, clinging, true in a way that made Bob feel like a thief in his own skin.

It really wasn’t me who she wanted…

It was you the entire time.

Bob let out a sound–broken, wet, somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His reflection looked ruined. Face pale, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bloodshot and glassy. The marks on his shoulders stung like accusations. The steam around him had started to dissipate, but the chill that slid down his spine was internal now. Bone-deep. Then before he could say anything else…

The Void was gone.

Of course he was…Because he always left the mess behind for Bob to clean up. Bob stood there for a moment longer–motionless, towel clinging to his hips, breath hitching with the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty at all. It felt like the aftermath of something horrific.

Like an echo waiting to settle into bone.

Eventually, he moved.

Slow.

Mechanic.

He reached for the toothbrush on the counter, fumbling the cap of the toothpaste like his fingers didn’t belong to him anymore. He brushed his teeth with shaking hands, hard enough to make his gums sting–desperate to scrape away the taste of bile, the phantom flavor of everything that had just spilled out of him.

Bob spat into the sink. Rinsed. Again. And again.

He swiped at his mouth with the towel and turned away without looking at the mirror.

Back in his room, the air felt heavier. Dimmer. Like the walls were holding their breath.

He shed the damp towel, grabbed the first pair of sweatpants from his drawer–charcoal gray, worn thin at the cuffs–and pulled them on with sluggish hands. His skin still felt too hot in places and too cold in others, like his body couldn’t decide if it was sweating or shivering.

A navy sweater came next. One you’d once teased him about because the material was so soft and gentle. It smelled like detergent and memory. He yanked it over his head and stood there for a second, hands resting at his sides, eyes unfocused.

Then he moved out the door, making his way down the hall quickly.

The floor was cold under his bare feet, but he barely felt it. The lights overhead buzzed low, flickering once–barely noticeable–but it was enough to make his stomach clench.

He stopped in front of your room.

The door was closed, and he stared at it for a moment.

His knuckles hovered just shy of the surface. His breath trembled out of him. He didn’t know what he’d say. Didn’t know how to ask. Didn’t know what you would see in his face.

But he had to see you, and he had to know.

–––––––––––––-

Inside your room, the world was steeped in dusky gold.

Sunset spilled through the sheer curtains like liquid amber, casting soft lines across the ceiling and walls. The sky beyond was fading into a bruised gradient–lavender, orange, blue–and it painted your skin in light that didn’t feel like yours to hold. You were lying on your back, one arm draped limply across your stomach, the other resting palm-up beside you like you were waiting for something. Your eyes were locked on the ceiling, unblinking. Still.

The blankets were tangled around your ankles. Your shirt clung to your side, damp from sweat, collar askew. You hadn’t moved in hours. Couldn’t. Not since you, Ava and Yelena spoke about what happened last night, and you came back to your room with the weight of that discussion on your shoulders.

You’d told them everything, every detail about what happened, what he looked like, what he sounded like., what he felt like, what you let him do…And you told them why.

Because you wanted him so badly it hurt. Because The Void allowed you to picture Bob’s face and his voice and his gentleness for one night… Just so you could let yourself pretend.

You told them how he held your face when you came. How he kissed your chest like it meant something, how he promised that Bob would never find out��But now you were riddled with guilt and it was eating away at your mind. You also told them that The Void was there with all of them listening, but only you were able to see him.

Yelena hadn’t said much, not at first. She just listened, jaw tense, thumb tapping restlessly against her thigh, she thought the situation was unbelievable, she chalked it up to a vivid nightmare...But the more details you divulged, the harder it got to believe that assumption. Ava had crouched in front of you, brow furrowed, voice soft.

“You need to tell him,” She said. “You have to tell him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You already did,” Yelena said bluntly. “Not telling him only makes it worse.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were honest. Like a bone being set back in place. It stung. But it was necessary.

“You don’t have to confess to be punished,” Ava added gently. “You have to confess to be free. If you keep hiding this, The Void wins twice. Once for using you…And again for keeping you.”

You didn’t argue.

Because they were right.

You weren’t afraid of Bob hating you. That would’ve been easier.

You were afraid he’d understand. That he’d forgive you. That he’d still want you after everything–and that you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You rolled onto your side slowly now, breath shallow, as the golden haze across your bedroom began to fade deeper into blue.

Then there was a knock.

You didn’t need to ask who it was, because it was evident that it could only be one person.

“…Come in,” You said, and the door creaked open slowly.

Bob stood there–backlit by the hallway’s sterile overhead glow. Dressed in his usual getup of a sweater and sweatpants. His light brown hair was still damp and fluffed from a quick towel dry. His eyes were rimmed red. His posture was stiff, like he didn’t trust his legs to carry him if he stepped too fast, and he looked at you like he’d been walking through hell and finally found the fire’s source.

You sat up slowly, your mouth parting–but no words came.

Bob lingered in the doorway for a second longer, like stepping into your room might unmake him.

Then–quietly–he closed the door behind him.

The latch clicked with a finality that made your chest tighten.

His eyes swept across the room once, slow, heavy. And then–without meaning to–they landed on your legs. Bare. Tangled loosely in the sheets. Skin kissed by amber light and bruised shadow.

He blinked. Looked away.

“W-We need to talk,” He said softly. His voice cracked at the edges.

You swallowed. “Okay.”

His eyes found yours again–shining but unreadable–and then he asked, “Can I… S-Sit?”

You nodded.

And he crossed the room.

Every step felt measured. Like he was walking through something sacred or cursed, you weren’t sure which. His hand brushed the edge of the mattress as he sat, careful not to get too close, sinking onto the same spot where The Void had touched you last night.

The same place where you’d said yes, where your fingers had curled into that blanket, and his hair as your hips lifted off the bed in pure ecstasy. Where you had clung to The Void and screamed Bob’s name in pleasure as you pictured him instead of the vantablack shadow that was invading you and your senses.

Now, in a tragically poetic way, Bob sat there, in living colour. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms slowly together like he was trying to warm himself from the inside out. He didn’t look at you yet.

“What happened last night?” He asked finally, turning his head towards your figure. When his eyes met yours everything in him stilled. There was something in your face that made the air in the room feel sharper. Like it had teeth. Like even breathing might cut too deep. Your eyes were glassy like you had been on the brink of tears for hours, and your lips were parted like you wanted to say something but couldn’t find the start of it. Your body was tense, and curled in on itself like you were bracing for impact…And right then and there…He knew.

Bob’s eyes searched your face for a long moment, but whatever he was hoping to find there–certainty, relief, understanding–wasn’t present. Just the quiet tremble of your shoulders. Just the way your fingers picked at the hem of your shirt like you were trying to feel something real beneath your nails.

He swallowed, voice barely above a whisper this time.

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked, slow. Shallow.

Your throat moved like the word was caught halfway up.

“No,” You said finally, “He didn’t hurt me…” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

His whole body had stilled–like even the breath in his lungs was holding itself hostage, waiting for what you’d say next. And you could feel it–the trembling edge of his restraint, the desperate ache of a man trying not to crumble.

“Then…” He asked, quieter now, like the words hurt to push out. “Then w-why didn’t you tell me?”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Just long enough to stop the sting from spilling over your waterline. When you looked back at him, your voice came out raw. Truthful. Like it had been scraped up from the bottom of something buried deep.

“Because I wanted it,” You whispered.

Bob flinched.

Not because he misunderstood. But because he understood too well.

You kept going. Slow. Careful. Like the words were glass you were trying not to shatter between your teeth.

“He said…He said he could let me experience you. Just once. Without you knowing. Without consequences. Without ruining everything.”

Bob didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. His hands had gone still in his lap.

“And I…” Your throat closed up again, but you forced the words through it. “I took the deal. Because neither of us were brave enough to say anything. Because I didn’t want to cross the line and destroy what we had. Because I knew you were still healing. I knew you weren’t ready and I didn’t want to push you.”

Bob’s face twisted slightly, like something inside him was breaking not from anger–but from love.

You pressed your lips together hard before continuing, voice barely audible now.

“But I was selfish, and I wanted you so badly it made me stupid…And he…He made it so easy. He let me pretend, and when I closed my eyes all I could see and feel was you…” Bob swallowed thickly.

”Was that enough though…?” A tear slid down your cheek.

”No…Not even close.” You whispered. Another pause plagued the room. This one was longer. Bob didn’t reach for you yet, even though he was desperate to comfort you. He just watched you like you were saying the words he had been afraid to hear his entire life.

“I thought I could live with it,” you said. “But this morning…When I saw you walk out of your room… It was the real you. And I realized I didn’t have that last nightI had a shadow. A performance. And my imagination.” You shook your head, voice breaking, “And I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About what I did. About how it’ll never go away now, and the guilt is…It’s fucking crushing me Bob…And I’m so so fucking sorry…I’ve destroyed everything.”

The corners of his mouth trembled slightly like he was trying not to cry. Then slowly, he reached out and slid his hand across the bedspread. His fingers brushed against yours, then gently curled around them. It wasn’t a bold gesture. It was reverent. Anchoring. Like he wanted you to know he was still here.

“Hey,” He murmured, voice rough. “You didn’t destroy anything.”

You blinked at him, vision swimming again, and he gave your hand the faintest squeeze.

“I swear,” He said just above a whisper, “You haven’t ruined a single thing I feel for you.”

That was when the air in the room shifted.

A low, familiar voice rippled across the space like smoke.

“Well isn’t this tender…”

Your eyes snapped to the corner of the room. Bob flinched–he hadn’t said a word out loud, but you both reacted the same way.

“Shut up,” You and Bob snapped in unison, turning to each other immediately, startled–and then frozen–because the surprise in his eyes was a perfect mirror of your own.

”Did…D-Did you hear him?” He asked, his voice hoarse, you nodded.

”Since this morning in the locker room.” There was a long beat of silence between you, thick and charged, like the air had stretched tight between your bodies and dared either of you to move.

Bob’s eyes searched yours again, more carefully this time–like he was trying to read something between the lines. You didn’t flinch away from it. You didn’t have it in you anymore. Not after everything.

“He didn’t really give me a fine print to that deal he offered…” You said dryly despite the ache in your chest, “Apparently the aftereffects of sleeping with a dark entity include…Temporary tethers of the psychic kind…Or something like that. Whatever bullshit he told me I don’t know at this point.” You exhaled, rubbing your face with your free hand, “Point is…I can hear what you hear evidently.” Bob let out a slow, shaky breath–like he’d been holding it in all day. Maybe he had. Maybe this was the first time his lungs could even remember what air felt like.

”And you’re sure it’s temporary?” He asked, almost not believing it. Like he needed you to say it again just to be sure, as you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

”Yeah…Ava thinks it’ll fade in a few days…Maybe sooner. Once everything is passed, I won’t be able to hear him anymore, or feel anything else he left behind.” Bob’s jaw clenched, not in anger–just in quiet relief. Like something in his chest finally let go.

“I-I didn’t know he c-could do that,” He admitted softly. “Then again… I-I’ve never been around when he’s having s-sex…” He hesitated, then offered a sheepish, almost self-deprecating shrug. “M-More because I haven’t had sex in a long time…But I-I guess that doesn’t matter a-anymore somehow…” Your brows lifted, but only slightly. The tension between you had shifted–not gone, but thickened, warmer now, laced with something else. Something closer to awareness.

“Guess we both crossed new frontiers this week,” You murmured, a sad smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Bob huffed out a dry breath that might’ve been the start of a laugh if it weren’t so exhausted.

“But seriously…Hearing him yap all day has definitely made me admire you more. I mean, you put up with that on a daily basis?” You gave your head a slight shake. “He’s quite the character to deal with constantly. And honestly? It’s really weird interacting with him when there’s actual light in the room. Just feels…Wrong.” That earned you a real smile. Small, but there. The kind that pulled one side of Bob’s mouth higher than the other. Bob leaned his weight more fully into the edge of the bed, his thumb brushed over your knuckles once–nervous, tender.

“Well,” He said, voice low, rough with the remains of grief and disbelief, “O-On the bright side… A-At least you got a preview of what it’s like if you w-wanted to date me. C-Comes with crippling guilt, a psychic parasite, a-and an eternal inner monologue that sounds like a B-Bond villain.”

You blinked, and then, somehow–despite everything–you laughed. Just a breath, just a flicker of sound, but it cracked through the tension like sunlight behind storm clouds. You shook your head, squeezing his hand a little tighter.

“That’s not what dating you would be like.”

“O-Oh no?” Bob asked softly, a ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. “What w-would it be like, then?” You held his gaze for a beat too long. Your voice dropped to a hush, vulnerable and real.

“It’d be kind,” You said. “It’d be quiet and steady. You’d make tea without asking, and hold my hand even when we weren’t talking. You’d fold your sweaters next to mine and leave post-it notes with dumb facts on my mirror just to see me smile.”

Bob’s breath hitched, and you could see the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. The tips of his ears flushed, soft pink blooming beneath the collar of his sweater.

“You’d hold me like I wasn’t fragile but precious,” You added, voice thick now, “Like I was worth something. And when you kissed me, it wouldn’t feel like you wanted to own me–it would feel like you’d been waiting your whole life to give me that part of you.”

His eyes darted away, shy and overwhelmed, but they drifted back slowly–like gravity had pulled them to you. He let out a shaky breath, a soft huff through his nose that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully stunned.

“S-Shit,” He murmured, almost under his breath, eyes dropping to your joined hands. “W-Why does that s-sound so much better than anything I-I ever thought I’d be worth?”

You leaned forward slightly, scooting yourself closer to him, almost getting into his space. You could feel his hand twitch in yours, like he wasn’t sure whether to hold tighter or let go for your sake. You made the decision for him, lacing your fingers together and tugging them gently into your lap.

“You’re worth every part of that and more.” You whispered, “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that…It could’ve saved us both a lot of trouble…”

Bob blinked rapidly, a quiet tremor in his chin before he exhaled and gave a small shake of his head–half in disbelief, half in surrender

“It’s m-my fault…I-I should’ve seen it coming,” He replied back. You opened your mouth to speak, but he shook his head before you could.

“No, I–I should’ve seen it. Felt it. I could tell he was…L-Lurking more than usual. I-I knew he was pushing, I could feel it in my bones, I just didn’t know why. D-Didn’t know he was waiting for the right moment to…To use me a-against you like that.” He swallowed hard, and his voice cracked on the next line. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. You trusted me to keep you safe. To protect you from him. And I–” He blinked fast, like he could flush the images from behind his eyes. “I keep seeing pieces of it. Bits. Flashes. Your voice. Your tears. Your legs around me. I didn’t even get to choose to look–I just saw. And I can’t even imagine what else I did.” You inhaled slowly, lips parting to soothe, to reassure–but your voice caught on a different thought. A softer one. An honest one.

“He said…” You began, hesitating for only a second, “He said it was a lot of stuff you’d fantasized about.”

That made Bob go still. Really still.

The kind of stillness that wasn’t absence, but weight.

His breath came slow and uneven, his lashes lowering just slightly before he whispered–

“Yeah…Well, that could mean a lot of things.”

You searched his face, but he didn’t lift his eyes yet. His hand stayed in yours. His thumb rubbed along the dip between your knuckles, slow and deliberate, like he could map out penance across your skin.

“What kinds of things?” You asked, gentle but deliberate. Not teasing–just present. Open. Wanting to hear the truth from him.

Bob let out a slow, shaky breath through his nose.

“I’ve thought about you,” He said, voice barely more than a breath. “I’ve thought about you on top of me more times than I care to admit. But it was never just about what you were doing–it was always about how you looked doing it. Like you were letting go for once. Like you were safe. Like you trusted me with that.”

You blinked.

He kept going, because now it was pouring out of him.

“And I used to think–if I ever got that close to you, if I ever had you like that, I’d earn it. I’d work for it. I’d deserve it. Not…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Not like this.”

You reached for him with your free hand, your palm resting against his cheek. He leaned into it instantly, like he hadn’t realized he’d been starving for touch until that very moment.

“You still deserve it,” You said quietly. “We just…Got lost along the way.”

Bob’s brow furrowed, his breath catching, and you felt the tremble run through his whole body. Your thumb brushed the edge of his jaw.

“I didn’t want him,” you whispered. “I wanted you. And I still do. All of you. Every version. Even the parts you think aren’t safe.”

He exhaled, and it sounded like a prayer. His hand came up to cover yours on his cheek, pressing it closer, grounding himself in your warmth. His eyes fluttered shut beneath your touch. For a second, it was just silence between you. That stretched, heavy kind–the kind that holds the breath of something inevitable.

Then he whispered–

“We shouldn’t do this…Not right now.”

The words stung more than they should have. You felt your hand hesitate slightly on his cheek, just a tremble of doubt. Your breath caught in your throat as your brows drew inward.

“…Why?” You asked, voice barely audible.

Bob opened his eyes again. They were glassy. Gentle. Fractured in that soft, self-protective way he always got when he thought he was saving someone else by denying himself.

“B-Because you went through e-enough last night,” He murmured. “And I don’t–I don’t want to be one more thing you have to recover from.”

You searched his face–every line of tension around his mouth, the delicate tremble in his voice, the way he still hadn’t pulled away from your hand.

“I don’t care,” You said, firm but aching. “I want the real thing. The real Bob.”

His breath stuttered. He looked at you like he wanted to believe you. Like he was afraid to.

“What about The Void…” he asked. Quiet. Uncertain. “He’s… H-he’s still in here with us. In me. What if–” You leaned in a bit, and he could feel your breath gently fanning over his face.

”He can watch for all I care.” Bob’s breath hitched hard. His whole body trembled like you’d cracked something open with just those words. Like the part of him that had been trying so hard to hold back finally didn’t know how to stay locked anymore.

You leaned in just a little more, tilting your head, your voice a murmur against his mouth now.

“I don’t want shadows anymore. I don’t want to pretend. I want you. All of you. Here. With me.” Bob’s eyes dropped to your lips like he couldn’t help it. Like gravity had shifted just enough to make every thought he’d tried to suppress pull straight toward your mouth. He didn’t even blink. Just stared–hungry and unsure and so visibly overwhelmed it made your chest ache.

His breath was shallow now. His thumb trembled just slightly over your skin. And then, softly, like the words were being dragged out of him from the depths of his chest:

“J-Jesus, Y/N…”

It came out like a prayer. Or a plea. Or maybe both. And then you closed the distance. His mouth met yours in an instant–desperate, shaking, unbearably real.

There was nothing slow about it. No tentative brushing or hesitant rhythm.

This kiss devoured both of you in lust and heat.

His hand slipped from your cheek into your hair as he pulled you in like he was afraid you’d vanish if he didn’t touch every inch of you at once. Your mouths moved against each other in frantic tandem–open, heated, relentless. Tongues brushing, breath tangling, his gasp lost against your teeth.

He kissed like a man unhinged by longing.

Like every second he’d spent holding back had become fuel for this very moment. You let out a soft moan against his lips as your fingers slipped from his hand and rose instead to his face, cupping both cheeks with trembling reverence, the heat of his skin branding your palms like something sacred. His lips parted around a gasp, and you kissed him again–rougher this time, dragging his mouth back to yours like it had always belonged there. Like you’d gone lifetimes starving for this one taste.

Then you broke the kiss–just barely–your breaths crashing into each other between parted mouths, lips grazing but not quite touching. Your hands slid up into his hair, tugging gently as you leaned back against the mattress, guiding him with you, eyes never leaving his.

“Come here,” You whispered.

And Bob followed.

He moved like he was surrendering–like gravity wasn’t just pulling him down but into you. His forearms braced on either side of your head, the stretch of his sweater pulled tight across his back, the heat of his body pressing into yours as he hovered above you, trembling. His knees sank into the mattress and you felt him–all of him–settle over you like a stormcloud full of thunder barely held at bay.

Your hands gripped his jaw again, thumbs brushing his cheeks, and you surged up to kiss him once more. Hard. Wet. Desperate. Your mouth opened for him completely, and he didn’t hesitate this time–he gave you everything. His tongue swept into your mouth, slow at first, then with more certainty, tasting, taking. You moaned into him as your teeth scraped his lower lip, and he groaned like the sound was ripped from his spine.

He kissed like he was burning. Like he didn’t know what part of you to worship first.

You sucked gently on his tongue, dragging it deeper into your mouth with a low, aching moan, and that was when his hips moved.

Just once at first.

A tentative, trembling roll of his pelvis down against yours. He gasped into your mouth, eyes flying open only to flutter shut again as your thighs spread more beneath him, welcoming the pressure. You were both fully clothed still, but that did nothing to dull the heat–the drag of his hardened length against your core through thin layers of your cotton shorts and his sweatpants sent a shock through your body like lightning cracking straight through your ribs.

Bob’s breath stuttered against your mouth as your hand slid down, skimming over the slope of his side, fingertips pressing into the warm cotton at his waist. You felt him twitch above you, his whole body tensing as your palm curved over his hip and guided him–gently, deliberately–down into you again. The grind was slower this time, dragged out and deep, and it ripped a soft, guttural moan from somewhere inside his throat.

“God…” he whispered, voice wrecked, barely holding shape between panting breaths. “Y-You feel so–” His hips rocked again, caught in the rhythm you’d started, “–you feel so good…”

Your hand tightened slightly at his waist, grounding him, coaxing more friction with each press. The fabric between you was damp and thin and completely useless against the heat pooling low in your stomach. His forehead dropped against yours, nose brushing yours, breath catching as he whispered again:

“I–I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to dream about this… Us. Just like this.”

You whined softly at his words, dragging your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss, your lips parting wide for him as your tongue licked into his mouth again, shameless, hungry. He met it with equal desperation–messy and wet and gasping. When he broke the kiss next, it was only to drag his mouth across your cheek to your jaw, then lower, toward your neck. His nose brushed your pulse point before he whispered, almost reverently:

“Y-You’re everything. You’re everything.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at that, hips lifting into his in time with the motion he was starting to lose control over. His rhythm was breaking apart. Unraveling. He was grinding into you now with barely concealed desperation, hips jerking in small, needy circles, chasing the friction with soft, strangled moans caught in his throat.

You arched up into him, letting your other hand slide from his cheek to thread through his hair again. His lips grazed your throat as you breathed:

“Keep going, Bob… Don’t stop…”

He groaned at that, the sound guttural and hoarse, as he pushed against you harder. The pressure, the heat, the way his breath shook as he rocked against your soaked shorts–it all blended into a high, aching tension that pulsed between your bodies like a heartbeat.

Then kissed you again, sloppier now. His lips were swollen, spit-slick, and desperate. Your tongues slid together in a wet, dizzying tangle, and you sucked on his again, drawing out a sound so obscene from him you swore you felt it echo in your chest.

His hips jerked against yours again and again, more erratic now, and his hands were clinging to you–one tangled in your hair, the other fisted in the bedsheets beside your head like if he let go he’d fly apart completely.

“You have–you have no idea what you do to me,” He gasped. “You have so much control over me. I’d give you anything. I’d let you ruin me.”

“I’d never ruin you,” You breathed, threading your fingers through his hair as you guided another slow, hard grind into your core. “You’re mine.” Bob let out a broken noise at that–a sound torn straight from the center of him–and buried his face in your neck as he rocked into you again, harder this time. The friction was sharp, overwhelming, a storm with no space to breathe between strikes. He wasn’t just grinding anymore–he was rutting, trembling, gasping, desperate.

His breath shuddered against your neck as he ground into you again, and then–like he couldn’t bear not touching more of you–his hand slipped beneath your shirt.

It was slow. Almost reverent. The backs of his fingers brushed up the curve of your stomach, over the warmth of your ribs, and then he flattened his palm over your sternum, splaying his fingers like he needed to feel every inch of your heartbeat to believe this was real.

At the same time, your hand slid beneath his sweater, fingers finding the warm skin of his back, and he let out a gasp at the contact, hips stuttering as he pushed into you harder, needier. You dragged your hand higher, feeling the dips and contours of his spine, the slight tremble in his muscles. And then he pulled back just enough to look at you–eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving.

“We–We should…” He murmured breathlessly, fingers already curling around the hem of your shirt, “I wanna see you.”

You nodded, pupils blown wide, and reached for the hem of his sweater at the same time.

Clothes came off in a breathless tangle.

Your shirt peeled away with a soft rustle, and Bob’s sweater followed, pulled over his head in one quick motion. Both were discarded somewhere beside the bed, forgotten. But then–

Bob stilled.

Because he saw them.

The marks.

Long, thin bruises like fingerprints along your hips. A faint bite above your breastbone. The shadow of darkened skin on your ribs. Not violent… but unmistakable. The Void hadn’t marked you in rage. He’d marked you in possession. Claimed you like a canvas. A monument.

“Holy crap…” Bob whispered, his voice punched out of him like he’d taken a hit to the stomach.

His eyes moved over your skin slowly–no, not just your skin. The memory of what happened. The evidence of what he hadn’t done but had felt. And suddenly the weight of it was choking him.

You froze beneath him, heart lurching.

“Bob,” You said gently. Then again, a little firmer, fingers curling around his wrist, grounding him. “Bob…It’s okay.”

He blinked down at you, breath still stuttering, eyes wide with pain. You could see it–all the things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to shape. The guilt, the disbelief, the raw ache of seeing you marked by something like The Void.

“Come back down here and kiss me,” You whispered, running your free hand along his chest. Bob’s breath hitched. His hand–still trembling–hovered just above your ribs, as if afraid that touching the bruises might make them worse. But when your fingers ghosted along his chest, steady and warm, he finally exhaled. A long, shaking breath, like the guilt, was something living in his lungs.

He touched one of the marks gently, his fingertip grazing it like it might dissolve beneath too much pressure. His eyes stayed on the shape of it, lips parted, voice low and cracking as he whispered–

“O-Okay.”

Then he leaned down, kissed you again–softer this time.

There was no desperation in it now. Only reverence.

It felt like an apology. Like a promise.

His hand cupped your cheek as his mouth moved against yours, slow and wet and open. He kissed you like he was trying to speak through it, like every flick of his tongue and every shared breath was meant to say I’m here. I’m real. I’ll never hurt you.

Then he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, lips brushing your jaw, “I’m gonna be more gentle than he ever was…”

His kisses trailed down to your throat. Slow. Patient. You felt them like electricity threading down your spine–each press of his mouth was careful, intentional. He kissed the hollow beneath your ear, your collarbone, the curve where your shoulder met your neck. And then–

“I want to take my time,” He whispered, voice thick. “I want to worship every inch of this body. I want you to feel safe with me, loved by me…And not used.”

Your breath caught.

His lips brushed over a fading mark near your sternum, and he paused there–kissed it once, twice, so softly it nearly undid you before returning to your lips.

“You’re in control,” He added. His thumb stroked along your cheekbone. “Everything is up to you. We go as far as you want. Nothing more. I just…” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I just want to be close to you. I just want to deserve you.” Tears pricked your lashes. Not out of sadness. But out of how much he meant every word. You nodded, reaching up to brush his hair back from his forehead.

“I want this,” You whispered. “With you. However slow, however soft… Just don’t stop touching me.” Bob nodded, a quiet, trembling breath slipping past his lips like he was grounding himself in the gravity of your words. He leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you with a new kind of hunger–less desperate, more deliberate. You could feel it in the way his lips lingered, in the way he savored every brush, every breath, like he needed to memorize the shape of your mouth all over again.

Then he began to trail lower.

His lips ghosted along your collarbone–soft, reverent kisses that made your skin ache. His hand, warm and steady now, slid up from your ribs to the swell of your breast. He hesitated there only for a second, like he was asking wordlessly for permission, and when you arched into him, breath hitching, he exhaled like he’d been granted a miracle.

His mouth followed his hand.

He pressed a kiss to the top of your breast–slow and open-mouthed–and you swore you could feel it pulse all the way to your spine. Another kiss, lower now. Then his tongue flicked out to taste you, wet and soft, and your fingers curled in the sheets.

When he finally wrapped his lips around your nipple, you gasped.

It was tender at first–gentle suction, his mouth warm and soft as his tongue stroked slow circles over the sensitive peak. His hand cradled the underside of your breast, thumb stroking rhythmically across your skin. He moaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your chest, making your back arch, hips lifting off the mattress in a slow, unconscious grind.

“Bob,” You breathed, the sound broken and aching.

He didn’t answer. Not with words. He just groaned low in his throat and sucked a little harder, a little deeper, and your hands flew to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you held him close to you. His other hand came up to cup your free breast now, kneading it gently, carefully, like you were something too precious to rush. His fingers brushed across your other nipple, teasing it to hardness before his mouth left its twin and moved over–wet and hot and aching for more.

He gave the same attention to the other side, lips parting to take you in, tongue swirling around your nipple with languid strokes, then sucking deep, like he couldn’t get enough. You gasped again, legs shifting restlessly beneath him as your thighs pressed together for friction. You could feel the wet heat of your arousal soaking through your shorts now, the friction maddening, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Couldn’t. His mouth on you felt too good. Too right.

Bob moaned again as your hips lifted, and his hand slid lower, fingers tracing the soft dip of your waist before gliding up again to cup the side of your breast, massaging it slowly as he kept his mouth latched to your nipple.

When he finally pulled back, lips slick and parted, his eyes lifted to meet yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered, voice wrecked, “So so beautiful…“ Your chest rose and fell under his praise, breath catching hard, and your voice trembled when it finally broke free.

“I need you,” you gasped, your hand sliding into his hair, tightening gently. “Bob–I’m so wet it hurts.”

His breath hitched. His eyes–already dark–dilated further, and you felt the shiver ripple down his spine.

But then he shook his head, slow and dazed, like he was in a trance.

“No,” He said, voice hoarse, almost reverent. “Not yet. I need to taste you first.”

You blinked down at him, heat coiling in your core so hard you thought you might come undone just from that alone.

“Please…Anything…” You whispered, barely able to say it.

He surged up to kiss you again–hungry, open-mouthed, the kind of kiss that made your legs tremble around his waist. And then he pulled back just enough to press his lips to your jaw, your neck, your chest–leaving a wet trail downward, his hands sliding reverently over your hips. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and dragged them down slowly, kissing every inch of skin as it was revealed. When he reached the damp cotton of your panties, he paused–just long enough to press his mouth against the soaked fabric.

“O-Oh god,” He whispered, voice shaking. “You’re dripping for me.”

You moaned, hips twitching, fingers curled in the sheets.

Then–without hesitation–he dragged your panties down, kissing the inside of your thigh as they came off. He eased you open with steady hands, and the moment he saw you laid bare for him, his breath left him in a ragged exhale.

“G-God, you’re perfect,” He said, his voice thick with awe and hunger. “So p-perfect.” He kissed the soft skin there, just at the edge of where you ached, breathing in deep like the scent of you alone could ruin him.

Then he exhaled slowly, and leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue was gentle. A single, slow stripe from the base of your entrance to the swollen peak of your clit, wet and unhurried. You shivered violently beneath him, fingers already reaching for his hair. He groaned softly against you, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your core. And then he did it again–slower this time. More deliberate. Tongue flat and warm, dragging through your folds with the kind of focus that made your toes curl.

He didn’t rush.

There was no frenzy in him.

Only patience. Devotion. Worship.

He circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely-there touches that made your thighs twitch around his head. Then he flicked softly–once, twice–and looked up at you.

His eyes were already half-lidded. Glassy. Like the taste of you had undone something deep inside him. And then he closed them again, like savoring the feel of you was a prayer.

You moaned when his nose nudged your clit, the angle forcing it against the sensitive bud as his tongue dipped lower, gently licking at your entrance. You were soaked. Bob groaned at the taste, tongue working you open with trembling reverence, and you gasped, your hips bucking up without meaning to.

He pressed his hands to your thighs, holding you down firmly but not forcefully, his fingers splayed wide like he needed the contact to keep himself grounded. His mouth moved slowly, methodically, lavishing every part of you. When he dragged the flat of his tongue up your slit again and wrapped his lips around your clit for the first time, you cried out, head thrown back against the pillow, fingers tightening in his hair.

Bob moaned again–deep and low–as he sucked, gentle at first, then firmer. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. He moved with a rhythm that was impossibly focused, like he was studying you, learning every breath, every twitch, every gasp, and adjusting his pressure like a master of his craft.

You were panting now, whimpering, rolling your hips up into his mouth without shame. There was nothing detached or cruel in his touch. No domination. No edge of control. Just a man falling apart over the taste of you, letting himself be consumed by the act of giving.

He pulled back for a moment, lips glistening, breath ragged.

“C-Can I…?” he rasped, eyes blown wide. “Can I use my fingers too?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes, yes–God, please–”

Bob didn’t waste a second.

His mouth dropped back to your clit instantly, tongue circling it again as two fingers slipped into your entrance. The stretch was perfect. The angle just right. He moved them slowly, curling deep inside you with a tenderness that had you keening.

And when he moaned around your clit as your walls fluttered around his fingers, the vibration shot through your whole body like lightning.

You were unraveling. Quickly.

And all you could think was this is what The Void could never give me.

Warmth. Presence. Safety.

Bob groaned into you again, pressing soft kisses between strokes of his tongue. His nose nudged your clit with every stroke of his mouth against your folds. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm–slow, deep, patient–curling up and stroking the spot inside you that made stars flicker at the edges of your vision.

You looked down through the haze of your pleasure and saw him.

Face buried between your thighs.

Lashes fluttering.

Cheeks flushed.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, like this was sacred. Like pleasing you was the only thing in the world that mattered. He sucked your clit into his mouth again, softly but completely, and swirled his tongue as he fucked you deeper, harder with his fingers–and you cried out.

“Bob–Bob, I’m–” You couldn’t finish. Your voice cracked on a sob of pleasure as your body seized beneath him.

Your climax hit like a wave crashing into shore. Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands fisted in the sheets, and your back arched as you came with a broken, shuddering moan. He didn’t stop. He slowed, easing you through it, his tongue moving gently now, soothingly, like he was kissing the aftershocks from your body one by one.

You collapsed back onto the bed, panting, fingers slipping weakly from his hair. Your body was humming, oversensitive, but sated in a way it never had been before. When Bob finally pulled back, his lips were red and slick, chin glistening. His eyes were wide and awe-filled. And he looked…Wrecked.

But in the most beautiful way.

“Was that okay?” He asked, voice hoarse, shy again now, like he hadn’t just brought you to heaven and back.

You laughed, breathless, tears of overstimulation prickling at your eyes.

“It was perfect,” you whispered. “So much better than anything I ever imagined. So much better than him.”

His expression softened, and he leaned up to kiss you. You could taste yourself against his lips–hot, slick, faintly sweet and obscene. It hit you like a jolt. The knowledge that he’d been buried between your legs only moments ago, devouring you like a man starved, and now you were tasting the evidence of it on his tongue. He kissed you deeper, filthier, letting you feel the way his mouth was still soaked with you. His tongue pushed past your lips, slow and deliberate, and you moaned into him like the sensation alone was enough to make you spiral all over again.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, and he groaned–long and low–as his hips bucked instinctively against you.

The thick press of his erection, still confined in those useless sweatpants, dragged against your bare, sensitive core. You gasped at the contact. He hissed between clenched teeth, rutting once, twice–shallow, desperate grinds that made you both tremble.

And then he broke the kiss.

Barely.

Foreheads pressed, his breath crashed against your lips as he whispered, voice hoarse, wrecked:

“I’m g-gonna take these off…”

He reached down with one hand, already tugging at the waistband of his sweats. The movement was slow, breathless. Then his voice dropped even lower–richer, rougher.

“…A-And you’re gonna get on top.”

Your breath caught.

His hand cupped the side of your face again, thumb brushing over your flushed cheek like he was grounding himself even now.

“I-I want you to do whatever you want to me,” He said, voice cracking with the weight of his need. “I just w-want you to be in control.”

You stilled.

Not because you doubted him–but because that sentence hit something primal. It was surrender in the truest sense of the word. The most powerful man you’d ever met–the man who could turn people into shadows and who held galaxies in his chest–was offering you everything. No fear. No condition. Just Bob. Letting you lead.

”I have to say…That’s so hot…” You whispered, your voice rough with awe and heat. A slow, shaky smile pulled at his lips, and his hands moved again—sliding his sweatpants down his hips and kicking them off. His cock was flushed, hard, thick where it curved up toward his stomach, tip already wet with precum. Your breath caught again.

Bob looked…Divine.

Raw. Unshielded. And still trembling under the weight of how badly he wanted this to be yours. Bob shifted back against the headboard, legs bent slightly, hands braced on the mattress at his sides. His chest was rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He looked ruined already. Completely at your mercy. And he liked it.

He watched you with parted lips, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. The flushed curve of his cock stood proud between his thighs, wet at the tip, twitching with every heartbeat. But he didn’t touch himself. Didn’t even dare. He just waited.

For you.

You rose onto your knees and crawled toward him slowly, deliberately. Each movement was precise. Controlled. Letting him feel the weight of your intent with every inch you claimed. When you reached him, you straddled his hips and felt him go still–completely, reverently still–beneath your thighs.

Your knees bracketed his hips, bare and hot, and you sat up fully. Spine long, hair falling around your shoulders, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you steadied yourself. Bob looked up at you like you were holy. Like you were something he’d dreamed of for years but never believed he’d get to worship this way.

And then–eyes locked with his–you reached down between your bodies.

Bob gasped as your fingers curled around the base of his cock, firm but slow, and you gave him one long, aching stroke. His hips twitched, a strangled sound caught in his throat. But he still didn’t move. He was giving you everything.

You dragged the head of his cock through your folds–once, twice, again–coating him in your slick, letting him feel how wet you were. How ready.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back slightly against the wood. “Y-You’re gonna kill me…”

You smiled, breathless. Then, without breaking eye contact, you angled him perfectly beneath you–and slowly, so slowly, you began to sink down.

The stretch was…Devastating.

Thick. Full. Hot.

You let out a broken sound from deep in your throat as you took him inch by inch. Bob’s hands gripped the sheets at his sides like he was trying to anchor himself to reality. His head dropped forward to watch, pupils blown wide, chest heaving, a string of half-whispered praises tumbling from his lips.

“God, you’re–” His voice fractured, shaking, “–you feel so good, s-so perfect…”

You settled fully into his lap, and the moment you did, Bob let out a shuddering moan–quiet but guttural, like the sound had been lodged somewhere in his ribs.

He was buried deep inside you. All of him. The stretch still pulsed through your core like a heartbeat, throbbing and full, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

Instead, you reached for his hands.

“Hold me,” You whispered.

Bob obeyed instantly.

His hands slid from the bedsheets to your hips, then around your waist, arms wrapping tightly around you as if he could mold his body to yours. His palms splayed wide across your back, holding you so carefully, so reverently, like you might drift away if he didn’t anchor you down.

Your chest pressed against his. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

You could feel the way he trembled. The tension in his thighs. The shallow rise and fall of his breath as he clung to you like salvation. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, and his mouth opened against your neck, breath searing hot.

But still–you didn’t move.

You stayed seated fully on him, body wrapped around his, and just…Let yourself exist like that. Connected. Claimed. In control.

Bob whimpered.

Not from pain, not from frustration—but from the sheer intensity of it. Of being inside you, of being held still, of having to surrender to your pace. His cock throbbed inside you, twitching helplessly with every pulse of your walls, and he moaned when he felt it.

“This…O-Oh Y/N….Y-You’re so perfect.” He whispered, leaning forward so his lips could find your neck. He dragged his mouth over your pulse point, breath warm and uneven. He nuzzled the skin there, pressing one long kiss just beneath your jaw before scraping his teeth gently across your flesh.

You gasped.

He moaned.

“I love the way you taste,” He whispered, voice low and wrecked. “I’d mark you if you let me… Kiss every inch of your skin ‘til you couldn’t tell where I ended and you started…”

You pulsed around him again.

Bob choked on a gasp, forehead falling to your shoulder.

“I’d let you ruin me if it meant I got to stay like this. Inside you. Wrapped up in you. Y-You don’t even have to move, I’ll still come like this if you keep squeezing me like that.”

Your fingers found his neck, the column of it slick with sweat, the pulse there fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings beneath your palm. You held him gently—not tight, not possessive, just enough to anchor him. To guide him.

“Bob,” you whispered, breath brushing the shell of his ear. “Look at me.”

He obeyed, slow and trembling. His forehead lifted from your shoulder, lashes fluttering as he met your gaze. His eyes were blown wide, the deepest shade of blue, glassy and brimming. There was so much there—longing, awe, fear, surrender—and you held it all with your hand on his throat and your body wrapped around his.

You moved first.

It was a subtle grind of your hips, a slow press down and forward that sent his cock dragging deliciously against your walls and his pelvis flush against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat at the friction, the heat, the closeness. Bob gasped—his mouth falling open in a broken moan, hands tightening slightly on your back.

“F-Fuck,” he whispered. “Oh my God…”

You did it again. A slow, rolling grind that pressed you right there, and he felt every trembling inch of it. His head dropped forward with a choked sound, mouth brushing your collarbone.

“No,” you whispered, your thumb brushing his jaw, lifting his chin. “Keep looking at me.”

His eyes opened again, wrecked and obedient, and you gave him another slow, deep grind–your slick walls pulling around him as your clit rubbed in firm circles against the ridge of his pelvis. Bob trembled under you, his chest heaving, arms holding you tighter like you were the only thing keeping him from coming apart.

“I need you to stay right here,” You said softly. “I need to feel all of you.”

“I-I’m right here,” he choked. “I swear–I’m not going anywhere.”

You kissed him.

God, you kissed him like it was your last chance. Your mouth was soft and open, your tongue slow and sweet, like you were trying to breathe life back into both of you. And Bob melted into it—completely, utterly. His hands curved up your spine, not to control but to cradle. To keep you close.

Your hips found a rhythm. A deep, rolling grind that pressed you into him again and again—smooth and slow and so fucking full. You weren’t riding him for speed. You weren’t chasing anything. You were claiming him. Letting him exist inside you like he belonged there. Like this was always how it was supposed to be.

Bob’s breath hitched, and then–barely a whisper–

“I-I can’t believe you want me like this…”

“I do,” you said, voice thick. “So much.”

Your clit rubbed in perfect friction against him now with each roll of your hips. The wet sound of it was quiet but present, the heat building low in your belly again as you rocked in smooth, delicious circles. His eyes fluttered shut for a second–just one–but you gave a warning squeeze around his cock and he gasped, eyes flying open.

“Eyes on me,” You murmured, voice like velvet and lightning all at once. “I need you to see me when I come.”

Bob’s breath broke. He whimpered–a sound you’d never thought you’d hear from a man like him–and it made your walls flutter around him again. You moved your hand from his throat to cup his jaw now, brushing your thumb over the tear that had slipped free onto his cheekbone.

“Oh, Bob,” You whispered. “Don’t cry.”

“I can’t—I can’t help it,” He choked, another tear slipping free. “I-It’s just… you’re so close, you’re right here, and I don’t deserve it, and I–”

“You do,” You said firmly, kissing the tears from his cheeks, one after the other. “You do. I promise you do.”

His arms tightened around you and he pressed his forehead to yours as your hips kept moving. Your clit rubbed harder against his pelvis now, your body slick and hot and trembling with the mounting tension. You could feel your orgasm coming–slow and powerful, cresting like a tide inside you–and Bob felt it too.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, voice thick with awe. “You’re gonna come like this? F-From just…Grinding on me?”

“With you inside me,” You breathed. “With your arms around me. With you crying for me.”

Bob moaned, helpless and high. His fingers dug into your waist, but he didn’t speed you up. He let you keep control. And that was what made it so fucking perfect.

Your breath broke first.

A gasp. A cry. Your head tipped back as your orgasm swept through you, deep and slow and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around him and your clit rubbed perfectly against his skin as you rode it out, sobbing against his mouth as he held you tighter, kissing your cheeks, your jaw, whispering praise in a broken voice.

“So perfect, so perfect, oh my God, you feel like heaven–”

Then you felt him twitch inside you. His whole body locked, breath caught on a desperate moan.

“C-Can I–Y/N–please, I need–can I come?”

“Come inside me,” You whispered. “Let go, you’re safe.”

That broke him.

Bob cried out, shuddering, hips jerking once, twice, then grinding deep as he spilled inside you–warm and thick, pulsing against your walls as he sobbed into your neck. His arms held you tight, breath shaking like every part of him was unraveling in your hands.

And it was beautiful.

You stayed like that–wrapped around each other, trembling, kissed in sweat and tears and come–until the shaking slowed, until the only sound in the room was your breathing, synced.

Then Bob pulled back, barely, and looked at you.

His cheeks were flushed. His lips swollen. His eyes still wet.

“I love you,” He said hoarsely, like it was the only thing he had left. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

Your heart cracked wide open.

And you kissed him again.

Soft. Tender. Final.

“I know,” You whispered. “I love you too.” His arms wrapped tighter around your back, his hand curling protectively over your spine as if to shield the last remaining fragments of you from the world outside your shared warmth. His other hand cradled the back of your head, fingers tangled softly in your hair, holding you close to him.

”A-Are you okay?” He asked gently, and you nodded.

”Let’s just stay like this for a little while…Please.” Bob nodded, and buried his face into your shoulder, breathing you in heavily. His body trembled under yours. Not from exertion now, but from something gentler. Something raw. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest in steady, staggering bursts. His cock was still inside you, softening slowly, but neither of you cared. The sweat between your skin clung like sealant. Like gravity. Like home.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his cheek–just beneath the smudge of drying tear salt.

He didn’t speak again until a long, quiet minute later.

“…I didn’t hear him.”

Your breath caught.

“What?”

Bob pulled back just slightly, just enough to look you in the eye. His fingers brushed over your jaw. His voice was softer now. More certain.

“The Void,” He whispered. “I didn’t hear him… Not once. Not when I kissed you. Not when I touched you. Not even when I came.” His brow furrowed gently, like the realization had just fully settled in his chest. “He wasn’t there. Not at all.”

Your heart thudded so hard it hurt.

“…Me neither,” You replied, blinking. “I didn’t hear him either.”

You both paused.

Then Bob cupped your cheek and leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your mouth. This one wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t claiming. It was the kind of kiss that thanked you for every piece of what came before. The kind that whispered: we made it.

When you finally parted, your foreheads rested together again.

“I think he’s gone,” You said, voice shaking with disbelief. “I think–just for now–it’s quiet.”

Bob nodded slowly, eyes still closed.

“It’s just you in my head right now,” He said quietly. “You’re the only thing I hear.” You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t sharp. They didn’t ache. They flowed soft and steady as you pulled back slightly, looked him in the eyes, and brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead.

“Let’s clean up,” You murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

Bob blinked slowly, then offered a dazed smile–half-exhausted, half-stunned.

“You just did.”

“I’m not done,” You said, gently shifting off his lap. He gasped quietly at the loss of contact, but didn’t resist as you helped him stretch out against the pillows.

You moved slowly.

Your body ached–in the best way–and you padded quietly across the room to retrieve a soft towel and the glass of water by your bedside. When you returned, Bob was watching you like he didn’t know how to stop.

You sat beside him and wiped him down with gentle strokes–starting at his chest, dabbing along the flushed trail of sweat down his sternum, then moving lower, cleaning his softening length with quiet care. His breath hitched when you did, but he didn’t flinch. He let you take your time.

When you finished tending to him, you leaned forward to press one last kiss to the center of his chest. His skin was still warm and flushed, the thudding of his heart echoing just beneath your lips. But before you could shift away, Bob’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist.

“Wait,” he murmured softly, eyes steady and shining. “M-My turn…”

You blinked at him, surprised. “Bob, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he whispered. “Please. Let me.”

There was a depth to his voice that left no room for refusal—soft, reverent, as if this was as important to him as any kiss or confession. You nodded slowly.

And Bob moved carefully.

He sat up with you, then gently coaxed you to lay back down, easing you onto the pillows with trembling hands. You watched him with quiet wonder as he reached for the towel you’d just used on him and dipped the clean edge into the water glass, wringing it out carefully. His movements were so tender, like touching you now required an entirely different kind of strength–one that didn’t come from the Sentry.

It came from love.

He knelt between your legs and brushed his fingers softly along the inside of your thigh, his eyes flicking up to yours. You gave a small nod, breath catching slightly, and let your legs fall open for him.

He swallowed hard.

The sight of you–still glistening from him, swollen and pink, your inner thighs kissed with the aftermath of pleasure–made him blink slowly like he was afraid he’d miss something if he looked away for even a second. You expected him to begin right away with the towel, but instead, Bob leaned in first.

And kissed the inside of your thigh.

Just once. Then again. And again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses trailed up the curve of your leg, each one slower than the last, lips warm and gentle as he nuzzled and worshipped the skin just inches from your core. Your breath hitched as his mouth pressed a kiss just beside your entrance–like he was blessing the part of you that held him, loved him, trusted him.

“Thank y-you,” He whispered, voice hoarse. “F-For letting me have this. For… C-Choosing me…After what happened…”

You reached down, hand threading through his hair, and Bob looked up at you as he finally brought the towel to your center.

He was gentle. So incredibly gentle.

The cloth was warm, and the strokes were slow–he cleaned you with the care of someone handling sacred glass, careful not to press too hard, not to rush, not to do anything that might make you flinch. You didn’t. Not once. If anything, your body softened further under his touch.

When he was done, he set the towel aside and pressed another kiss–right above your mound this time, reverent and trembling. Then he looked up at you again. His eyes were still wet.

“You’re perfect,” You whispered. “I’ve never wanted anything the way I want you.”

Bob exhaled hard, like the words shook something loose inside his chest. Then he crawled back up beside you, pulling the comforter up and over your bodies with one hand as the other cupped the back of your head. He tucked you in against him slowly, protectively, until your cheek was resting over his heart.

You could hear it beating fast.

“I don’t know what comes next,” you murmured against his skin.

His fingers traced soft shapes along your spine. “Me neither.”

There was a silence that followed–but it wasn’t heavy.

It was full.

Full of something new. Something unspoken. Something earned.

Bob kissed the top of your head, lips lingering like a promise.

And you closed your eyes against his chest, listening to the rhythm of a heart that, for the first time in a long time, was quiet.

No voices.

No shadows.

1K notes · View notes

thyme-in-a-bubble · 10 months ago

Text

some things are worth it

a/n: so, because i haven’t been able to stop thinking about this guy, especially in this au (literally had multiple dreams about him this past week) i rewatched the longest ride for the yeehaw vibes and this fantasy popped into my head.

summary: “oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke.

warnings: farmhand!tyler owens x farmer’s daughter!reader, smut, farmer au, bull rider!tyler, takes place before the previous fic in this au, secret relationship, bull riding (except i'm a suropean who has no idea what she's talking about, so apologies for the errors), love confession, secret relationship, kissing, clothed sex, car sex, size kink, manhandling, dry humping, dirty talk, handjob, fingering, thighjob, pussyjob, just the tip, overstimulation, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, why do i keep writing for this dude in the middle of the night?

word count: 4238

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“Hey,” Tyler cast you a glance as you came bouncing towards where he still worked, tinkering with the tractor that had quit halfway down one of the farm’s golden fields.

“Hello,” you blinked down at him. A rusty toolbox was planted in the wheat by his kneeling form as he fiddled away at the machinery.

“You need help with something?” he kept on twisting a bolt.

“Oh, no,” a shy giggle bubbled out of you, “my mom just sent me down here to invite you to stay for dinner tonight. She made a pie for dessert and everything, or well, we did, I helped… it’s rhubarb, if that can help sway you.”

“Rhubarb, eh?” he puffed out a short chuckle.

“Yeah…”

Briefly glancing back over his shoulder at you and the way your flowy dress caught on the wind, he uttered, “I’d love to, Y/n, but–, uhm… I can’t tonight.”

“Right,” you exhaled, a nod swiftly accompanying your words, “you already have plans, of course…”

“Tell your mamma I’m sorry,” he tried to soften the blow, “next time, yeah?”

“Yeah…” you breathed, and as he returned his attention back to the machine, surely assuming that you’d bid him adieu and saunter back towards the main house, you instead shifted to lean against the tractor, “so… what are you doing tonight?”

Briefly glancing up at you, a soft smirk appeared on his lips as he purred, “you’re awfully nosy.”

“Just tell me what your plans are,” you rolled your eyes.

“Bull riding,” he informed you, “I ride on occasion, tonight being one of those times.”

Sucking in a breath, you uttered, “of course you do…”

Halting his tinkering with a chuckle, he pressed, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, you just got adrenalin junky written all over you, so it checks out,” you gestured towards him and he let out a small laugh, retroactively confirming your accusation. As he shifted to look for a different tool, you opened your mouth once more and asked, “can I come?”

“Come what?” his concentrated gaze didn’t meet yours.

“See you ride.”

Tyler’s eyes then snapped up to find yours, “you wanna come see me ride?” hesitation suddenly washed over his usually confident features, “uhm… I’m not sure your daddy would like that.”

“What? Me being around a bunch of rowdy and probably drunk strangers or going somewhere to see you?”

A warm chuckle then rumbled in his chest as a gentle shake found his head, “you’re trouble…”

“Is that a no?” you tilted your head in hope.

“No…” he slowly exhaled and met your eye once more, “no it is not.”

You cheered for him at first when his name was announced and you caught a glimpse of him behind the fence, he even found your eyes in the crowd a moment as you clapped in anticipation. But then when it actually began, you stopped breathing entirely. It didn’t matter that he only had to stay on the beast for a few seconds, your heart still wouldn’t start beating again even after his boots were back on the ground and a proud grin stretched his lips. The petrified expression plastered on your features didn’t fade even when he found you afterwards and offered you a ride back home.

“You okay?” his deep timbre ripped you out of your stormy thoughts.

Twisting your neck to blink over at him behind the wheel of his truck, you hummed, “huh?”

“You’re not usually this quiet,” he pointed out.

“Oh… I’m just tired, I guess…” you lied, averting your gaze before you then heard yourself utter, “hey, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he held his eyes on the road.

“How is it that you haven’t been hurt yet doing all of that?”

“Oh no, I have,” a soft chuckle bubbled out of the daredevil, “just not hard enough to stop me from getting back up.”

A murmur then escaped your lips, just beneath your breath, “either that or you’re just too determined for your own good…”

“Maybe,” he cast you a glance and smirked slightly at the embarrassment that washed over your features at the realisation that he’d heard you, “but then again, determination isn’t always a bad quality to have.”

“It is if it could get you killed.”

“Oh, how unromantic of you,” he puffed, “I could think of a handful of ways dying would be worth whatever goal you were going for,” his eyes momentarily flickered back to you in the passenger seat beside him.

Holding his gaze a second before he redirected it back upon the dark road, you felt goosebumps tingle your flesh.

“Hey Tyler?” you breathed, unsure if you were able to stop the words about to flow out your mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Are you ever actually gonna do anything?” your vulnerable question was barely audible.

Not yet catching onto your subtext, he inquired, “about what?”

Staring over at him, you uttered, “me.”

His eyes immediately fluttered back to find yours, gazing back at you a second before it faltered, “I–… I don’t know what you mean...”

“Oh, yes you do,” you tilted your head, “you flirt with me all the time, I know you do, I’m not some sheltered little virgin, I know what it looks like when someone likes me!” you felt the truck roll to a stop as you spoke.

His firm grip stayed on the wheel long after the car had halted.

“Y/n, I–…” he tried, though gave up in a soft sigh.

As he refused to meet your stare, you felt your stomach begin to flip.

“Oh…” you then breathed, blinking down at your hands as they fiddled with the fabric of the sundress that you wore, “unless I apparently don’t, I–… you know what? Forget it, I’m sorry,” your eyes squeezed shut at the mortification, “let’s just go back to the farm and pretend I didn’t say anything…”

Though his grip didn’t shift away from the wheel, didn’t drift down to twist the key and restart the engine. Instead, to your surprise, you saw him in your periphery twist towards you before you felt his hands come up to cup the sides of your face and pluck it out of hiding.

Pulling you towards him, he then pressed his lips to your own, rendering you reeling to claw your way out of the stunned pit his bold actions had cast you into.

As one of your palms slowly floated up to rest against the back of one of his, a soft sigh flowed from your form as you melted into his warmth.

However, before you sank in and lost yourself completely, you felt him withdraw, though still remained close, letting his nose ghost against your own as he exhaled, “this is a really bad idea… we shouldn’t… I can’t afford to lose my job.”

“Why would you think you’d lose it?” your fingers curled around the back of his hand in a plea to keep his touch glued to your heated cheek.

“Have you met your father?” he scoffed softly, “I should be grateful if he only fires me and doesn’t outright kill me.”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“You sure about that?” Tyler half-joked before slowly retracting even further.

Blinking back at him, your lips still tingled from his kiss as you quietly said, “…I thought you were the one who just insisted that some things are worth dying for… I guess you just have to decide whether or not I could be worth that kind of risk…”

A gentle chuckle then bubbled out of him as he gazed back at you in amazement, “you sound like a fair maiden 500 years ago,” twisting his fingers and tangling them in your own.

Puffing out a laugh of your own, you defended, “well you started it!” before you felt one of his palms slide to the nape of your neck and tug you back in for another kiss. His lips felt like fire, though the slow smouldering kind that licked you up and ignited your entire soul, “if you don’t think it’s worth it,” you breathlessly uttered against his kiss, “then you should probably stop kissing me like that…”

As a gentle smirk tugged at his mouth, he answered you not in the form of words, but instead drifted his hands down your frame and scooped you closer, plucking you up and lifting you into his lap, wasting no time at all to claim your lips again.

It didn’t take long after you settled above him, the wheel of the truck poking the lower part of your spine, that the slow peck evolved into something more, something else. Something that had muffled whines crawling up from the depth of your lungs and vibrating against his tongue as yours desperately danced against his own. Something that had you rolling your hips and grinding down against the hardness poking your panties so perfectly beneath the billowy fabric of your dress, the material of which had begun to ride up as Tyler’s wild touch began to wander over the curves of your frame.

Panting into his mouth, your head started to lull slightly as you rocked down against him, the sensation being nearly too much to stand in the way it was both overwhelming yet also not at all enough. Nevertheless, if he gave you the chance, you’d surely be able to cum just like this if he let you, if he told you to desperately rut against him like some animal in heat, then you would, because that was just the effect he seemed to have on you. He was always able to turn your brain off with but a glance and nearly cause you to faint if he ever flashed you a dazzling smile.

To say you had it bad was the understatement of the century, but evidently, and thankfully, you weren’t alone in the predicament.

Snaking a hand down in the non-existent space between your frames, you found the bulky buckle of his belt and began to undo it.

“Please,” you panted, your tone sounding downright pathetic, “I wanna–, can I touch you?”

And before you could fumble to do it, Tyler didn’t hesitate to undo his jeans and seize your hand, stuffing it into his pants and guiding your fingers to engulf his girth, squeezing them lightly around himself for but a moment before his touch then faded and he left you to your own devices.

“Oh, fuck–,” he growled, his hot breath fanning against your skin, “just like that.”

His cock throbbed in your palm as he kissed you once again and let his wide hands raked down to your ass, kneading your softness as he groaned against your lips.

But he didn’t let your zealous touch stretch out for that long before you heard him crack the door directly to his left open. His grip on your bottom locked securely as he got out of the truck, effortlessly carrying you with him as he made his way around towards the back.

His hold on you stayed fast as he flipped open the bed of the truck and plopped you down on the ledge. A soft giggle bubbled out of you, even as your hands came up to cup his jaw and he slotted himself in between your parted thighs.

“Shit…” he exhaled as his gaze fluttered down to spot the damp spot decorating your underwear, neatly on show as your sundress had ridden up even further. Your legs dangled slightly off the edge as his touch then reached down to trace the mark of desperation, your bottom lip swiftly getting trapped betwixt your teeth as he rubbed you through the soaked cotton, “guess you really do have a thing for me, sweetheart,” his teasing touch traced your core as the sodden fabric clung to you, “I mean, not that I didn’t already have my suspensions…”

“You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to these things,” he chuckled before letting his fingers dip into your waistband, “it’s cute,” he smiled as your eyes fluttered when his digits swept through your folds, scooping back up to your puffy pearl as it buzzed beneath his caress, “I always enjoyed all the random little reasons you came up with just to have an excuse to talk to me.”

“Okay, I know they weren’t always that smooth,” an embarrassed heat sparked in your cheeks, “but it’s a lot harder than you’d think it is.”

“Oh, I know,” he stated casually, grinning at the way your eyes suddenly grew, “what? Did you really think I just happened to always have some work in the barn whenever you went for a ride?” one of his long fingers then eased into you, causing your mouth to fall open in a silent gasp.

“Wait, seriously?”

“And the time I needed your help learning the system in the tool shed?” another one of his digits found its way inside of your cunt, rendering you a panting mess in his grasp as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out, stretching you till your pussy sang out for him, “I already knew where everything was.”

The reply that was ready on your tongue swiftly fizzled out and became a forgotten relic as his touch then dissipated and instead floated down to where his jeans were already half undone. Tugging it the rest of the way open, he then stuffed his hand inside and freed his cock. Like a moth to a flame, your eyes couldn’t help but stare, yearning as you watched his cock throb in his tight fist.

“O-oh, fuck…” the curse flowed out your lungs as your gaze stayed glued, nearly drooling as he suddenly hooked his grasp behind one of your legs and yanked you closer, causing you to tumble back onto your forearms as he manoeuvred your core that much closer to him. Hooking his fingers in the material of your panties, he slid them down your legs and, to your amazement, stuffed them into his pocket. As he then began to tap the hefty weight of his length down against your puffy petals, causing glossy strings of your desire to cling onto him and keep you ethereally attached, your eyes snapped back up to find his and the same whimper left your body once again, “oh, f-fuck…”

Trailing the bulbous tip through your wetness, he teasingly nudged the head against your swollen clit fiercely enough to make your whole frame twitch beneath him.

“God… you feel so good…” he groaned, staring down at how his fat cock slid through and parted your glistening folds.

“Uh, Tyler–,” you begged hazily, your little hole winking every time he denied it any attention, “p-please–”

“What is it, baby?” he cooed smugly, “you want me to fuck you?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded foggily, your gaze flickering back down to watch his teasing.

“You wanna know what my cock feels like inside your pretty little pussy, huh?” his touch then dented your thighs, pressing both of your legs together, enclosing them around his girth and resting your ankles atop one of his broad shoulders.

“P-please–”

“Is it all you’ve been thinking about?” the softness of your thighs interlocked around him lend him to snap his hips against yours and freely fuck your folds, the underside of him sliding against the seem of your cunt, “what’s been occupying that brilliant brain of yours?” he smirked and you couldn’t help but rock back against his efforts, “because it’s all I’ve been thinking about… how warm you must feel around me, how tight, how fucking wet, how–, fuck!” he then moaned as the way you’d needily tilted your hips up towards him lend his length to accidentally catch your leaking hole and sink in just the slightest bit till he halted his movements.

A shuttering gasp escaped you as well at the sensation as he’d nearly caused tears to roll down your cheeks from how badly you wanted him.

As he caught your eye, his grip digging into your legs in order to hold on to his last strand of self-control, you panted up at him just as he was about to pull back out, “don’t stop.”

Staring down at you, absorbing your every reaction, he slid the tip back out, but so painstakingly slow that it caused your eyes to roll in your skull.

“But what if I did though? What if I just stopped, right here, right now? Just drove you back to the farm and left you a needy little puddle just like this?”

“No, don’t stop! Don’t–, I–…” your walls clung around his girth, “please just keep going, it can just be the tip, I just–, don’t stop…”

When just the memory of him kissed your entrance, he gently sank back in and stuffed the bulbous head inside your cunt, “you sure you just want the tip?” he slowly found a pattern, fucking you with just the essence of him, “you sure you don’t wanna feel me so deep inside of you that you won’t be able to walk afterwards? That you’ll still be able to feel what we did for days and days?”

Blinking up at him, your legs trembling against his chest, you breathed, “I–…” till your dizzy head began to rock in a nod.

“Yeah?” he cocked his head and flashed you a smug smile, “then beg for it.”

“Please fuck me–”

“What was that?”

“F-fuck me–”

“What, like I am right now?” he rolled his hips to just shyly plug you up.

“No, fuck me for real,” your words felt not your own as they desperately flowed out of you, “fuck me exactly like you’ve been dreaming of since we first met, since you first–, ah!” all of the air was then forced out of your lungs as he slammed the remainder of himself all the way inside, stretching you wide of him and letting the tip, the very part of him that had been driving you mad, kiss the deepest part of you and cause your eyes to flutter shut.

Your knees bent and crumbled down to curl up beside your chest as he meticulously slid halfway out, only to jam his dick back inside.

He was practically growling above you, sinful grunts rhythmically flowing from his lips at every one of his frantic thrusts.

“Oh my god,” you cried beneath him as your cunt swiftly began to flutter around him, “you f-feel so–, so–, g-good!”

“Oh yeah?” he smirked and then perceptively asked, “are you gonna cum?” leaning down over you as he kept up his efforts.

You tried to offer him an answer, but in the blissful abyss he’d cast you down in, you could only nod and squeeze your eyes further shut.

“Then look at me, baby,” you sensed his fingers curl around your cheek, his reach dipping into your hairline, “be a good girl and look at me when you cum around my cock,” and when you managed to force your hazy eyes to blink back open, he stared back down at you as your cunt clenched down around him so fiercely that you nearly forced his girth out entirely, “there you go, fuck…”

But as your high began to melt away into sensitivity, the blonde farmhand didn’t slow his efforts in the slightest, moaning above you as he also was too close to cum to simply stop.

“Tyler, it’s too–,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking on either side of his frame as the creamy aftermath of your orgasm created a ring around the base of his cock and aided his erratic efforts, lending the entirety of his length to plunge back into you with such ease, even as your walls quaked and squeezed tightly around him.

“Shh, you can take it,” he uttered hazily, “fucking take it, fucking–, ahh!” his hips then shuttered as he tumbled over the edge and pumped you full of his hot load.

When Tyler one day had an errand to run, some thingy he had to pick up at a neighbouring farm, you hadn’t really paid attention to that part, you had kinda just stopped listening after the discovery that you would get to tag along simply because the neighbour knew you better than him.

So, once you were both waiting on the ground for the farmer to return with the item, just a curious look to make the time pass by morphed into the pair of you full-on wandering around and being more nosy than what was good for you.

Though the snooping halted once you pushed open the door to the westernmost barn and discovered a DIY contraption that tickled Tyler’s nostalgia.

It was a tin barrel, strung up with ropes and tied to a few beams, though he still had to open his mouth for you to fully understand how it was a homemade training tool for when you first began learning how to ride a bull.

By then, some of the fear you’d felt the night you had watched him ride had overflowed and spilt out, which surely also was the reason behind why he suddenly insisted on you hopping on and letting him try to teach the terror out of you.

“So, like that?” you asked, one of your hands hovering above the one you clutched around the makeshift loop tied around the uppermost quadrant of the barrel you straddled.

“Almost, you’re only allowed to hold on with the one hand,” he pointed out and you swiftly adjusted, raising your left hand up high just as you remembered he’d done, “yeah, there you go.”

“So, just eight seconds like this?” your thighs squeezed around the drum as Tyler gently tugged on one of the ropes, only making you sway slightly.

“Yeah,” he nodded as you glanced over at him, “and then there are other things that can get you more points, like how well you hold your balance and if you’re able to control the bull or not, those kinds of things.”

He then caught you off guard by pulling on the rope a little rougher and offering you a much harsher and more realistic buck of the barrel, though, to your shock, you reacted to it surprisingly well, clenching your thighs and tightening your grip.

“Atta girl,” he grinned at the startled chuckle that bubbled out of you, “see? It’s not so scary. You’re a natural.”

“Or maybe you’re just going easy on me…” you pointed out, reflecting on how the love you’d had for riding horses since a very young age surely kicked in and aided you in this skill as well.

“You’re doing great,” he stated, his stare staying glued to how your body and hips swayed borderline sensually to the rhythm he kept up, “relax, give in to the movements more.”

“How?”

“Just–…” he sucked in a breath, “pretend that you’re on something else…” a sly smirk then spread across his features before he uttered, “pretend that it’s me you’re riding.”

You then promptly felt heat begin to rise in your cheeks, as it became impossible to keep up your concentration on the task at hand and swiftly heard yourself shriek, “oh my god, Tyler Owens!”

Letting go of the rope, he stepped closer to you and enjoyed your flustered visage, “or better yet, maybe I should just let you hop on and teach you that way,” he let his palm slide up your leg as he came to stand beside you.

“You’re ridiculous!” you laughed.

Snaking his hands around your waist, he then effortlessly lifted you back down onto the ground and uttered, “you love it.”

As you felt his breath fan across your features, your giggle got caught in your throat and faded away as you gazed back at him.

“Yeah, I think I might…” you then whispered before he crashed his lips against yours.

His boots then began to shuffle as yours did as well, letting him shift you till your spine collided with the gate to one of the empty stalls in the dusty barn. Pushing you up against it as he ravenously kissed you, one of his wide palms then swooped up from his fast hold on your waist to caress the soft peak of your boob through the thin layer of your tanktop.

A breathy moan couldn’t help but slip up from your lungs when his kisses then faded from your lips and began to dance down the side of your neck.

“Okay, easy there, tiger,” you caught his head in your hands as his sloppy pecks fluttered against your rapid pulse, “we can’t do anything here.”

“Oh yeah?” he cocked an eyebrow as he peeked up at you, “is that a dare?”

“No,” you chuckled, then reminded him of your neighbour, “he’ll be back any second.”

A groan then seeped through his grin before he pushed himself off of you, “fine…” yet still held his burly arms stretched out and fast on either side of you, supporting his weight against the half wall behind you and doing his very best to stop himself from diving back in.

But then you slowly let yourself float back into his space, “hey,” and tilted your chin to catch his gaze, “I said not here, not that we shouldn’t give it a try…”

#lea’s writing #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens smut #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #tyler owens x y/n #tyler owens fluff #glen powell smut #tyler owens fic #tyler owens fanfic #glen powell x reader #farmer!reader ᰔ #farmhand!tyler owens #farmer!tyler owens #bull rider!tyler owens #cowboy!tyler owens

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gravegoer · 7 months ago

Note

Hiii! English is not my first language so please forgive any mistakes. Could you do an imagine of Sevika where the reader and her have been together for a long time, and the reader almost dies in battle? (Like, she got shot in a place that bleeds a lot, which makes Sevika super worried) And she makes a little confession to the reader? Saying that she can't lose her and stuff like that. Sorry for the long request, it's my first time ordering 😭😭 Thanks anyway 🩷🤍🩷

Wont lose you ʚɞ

thank you for the request,! it was a bit rushed but I like it anyways let me know if you do :)

masterlist!!

Silco sent you on an important mission, taking down this factory all relied on you. Sevika had insisted on being by your side the entire time, but her request was denied.

Her and two other goons sat on the sidelines to make sure you could get in and out without being seen. No fight. No problem.

Why did she have to get stuck with these guys? She would have been better off down there helping you.

She sat outside the doube doors, one of the men lit a cigarillo for her. All was going according to plan so far.

You had gotten in and deactivated some machines. Now you needed to get out.

Sevika, your long time girlfriend was worried. Despite not wanting to admit it you could tell by the look on her face before you crossed the threshold to the factory.

You chuckled to yourself, thinking of how she patted your back on the way in as encouragement.

But you were confident you could carry this out without a hitch.

What you didn't know is there weren't just guards on the outside.

Your footsteps echoed throughout the seemingly empty factory. All you had to do was pour gasoline around the inside perimeter and on the machines and strike a match. It's not that hard.

You were bent over a machine, checking out the parts and gears before you feel a sharp pain of a blunt object on your back. Turning around you instinctively grab it.

A tall, lanky woman stood towering over you. Before she could pull it from your grasp, you kicked her in the stomach. She stumbled backward with a grut. When you dropped the bat, you were met with another thwack to your head.

You let out a muffled cry, biting your lip. You heard the woosh of an object and half-ducked-half-fell. An ambush. How mature. Another metal bat slammed into the ground beside your head. A broad figure stood over you, moving to hit you again. You rolled to the left but not without getting a swift kick to the stomach.

"Urgh." The wind was knocked out of your lungs. But you had no time to hesitate, jumping to your feet and blocking the next strike of the bat with your forearm.

You grabbed it and pulled it forward, bringing the weilder with it. Letting go with one hand, you slam your fist into their throat. The woman from before came back around, picking up her bat again. You met her metal bat with the one in your hands.

It's okay. You could win. The mission was still going according to plan. Two people with bats you could easily take on. You heard a familiar cocking behind your head.

"Drop it"

Fuck.

You didn't.

Instead, you turned to deliver a high kick to their head. But they managed to pull the trigger faster than you could land it.

Bang

You let out a shrill cry and clutched your side. Blood seeped through your fingers and stained your shirt.

"I told you to drop it," Their deep voice hissed.

You could hear three people rushing into the factory, footsteps echoing throughout the establishment. The person that shot you turned their attention to your team. The trigger happy idiot immediately started firing.

Bullets ricochet against the metal. Sometime amidst the chaos, you started to lose consciousness. Black spots littered your vision, and you finally dropped to your knees. A figure bent over you, yelling incoherent things. She jad a hand on your back, gripping your shirt between clammy fingers.

Looking up, you saw Sevikas distressed expression. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and there was a worried crease between her brows. She was shouting things you couldn't quite make out. Maybe something like "We need to leave" or "We are lighting it up." Maybe both.

She grabbed your legs, hand still on your back and hoisted you into her arms. You could feel her warm arm on your upper back and the hardness of her prosthetic against the back of your legs.

In your groggy state you looked up to Sevika, her teeth gritted as she ran throughout the factory with heavy steps. You could hear an explosion come from far behind you.

A ringing in your ears.

She looked down at you.

Then you passed out.

What seemed to be a few hours later, you groggly awoke. Light seeped into your vision and you attempted to get up. "Fuck," A sharp pain shot through your side.

Oh, right. You got shot.

You looked down to where you now held your side, but instead of blood like how you expected, there are sterile bandages. They wrapped around your now mostly bare torso.

Looking around the room, it seemed familiar to you. Right before you could put your finger on it your girlfriend came walking into the room, holding a glass of water.

Her eyes shot wide open, and she started walking a little faster towards your bedside. "Sweetheart, are you okay?"

You laughed at her suprise, "Yeah. Now that you're here"

Your voice was raspy and dry. You reached out for the water in her hand. She instead pushed your hand down and brought the cup up to your lips herself.

"I thought I'd lost you," She sighs in releif.

You took big gulps of water. She had just finished smoking. You could smell it on her hands. You pulled your lips away from the cup and she brought a thumb to your mouth to wipe away stray water droplets.

It was your turn to ask, "Are you okay?"

She let out a dry laugh, "You're the one sitting in bandages in my bed, and you're asking if Im okay?"

She brings her larger hand to your arm, rubbing circles into your skin. Her rough calloused hands brought some comfort to you.

"Im sorry I let that happen. I shouldn't have let you go in there alone. Silco was wrong," She grumbled, clutching her temples.

"Hey, I can do things by myself. It was an unfair attack." You chimed in.

"I don't care. I dont know what i would do if i lost you in there," She spoke firmly.

Her lips were pursed into a straight line. Trying to calm that tension you reached up to grab her face, bringing her lips to yours.

Her lips chased yours when you pulled away. Hissing as you grabbed your side again. "Shit, do i need to change your bandages?" She got up, already heading for the cabinets.

You were usually the one to dress her wounds, not the other way around. "Aww, you bandaged me up?" You cooed.

"Shut up"

#arcane #lesbian #sevika #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika arcane #sevika arcane x reader #wlw #arcane netflix #arcane s 2 #arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #arcane s2 #arcane season 2 spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane season two

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dontpulltohardman · 8 days ago

Text

Nicknames

pairing: Thunderbolts*!Bucky x fem!Reader

requests: OPEN

asks: OPEN

warnings: fluff, bucky being a softy only for reader, super fluffy, nicknames like petal babydoll doll love being used, barely any swearing

word count: 783

summary: Bucky has so many nicknames for you that the rest of the team just can’t keep up with them.

this is my first fic soo please bare with me😭 hope you all enjoy please like, comment and reblog love you lots and lots like jelly tots🥰❤️

You and Bob were never morning people, that’s one thing you had in common, so when you were both woken up at the ass crack of dawn the first thing you both beelined for was the coffee machine.

You silently stood waiting for your mug to fill as Bob shuffled into one of the island chairs when a familiar scent of oak, vanilla and musk filled your senses. “Morning Doll” the name rolled off his tongue so easily like it was your birth name, he had evidently just finished a morning run, sweat glistened his skin and his hair was slightly tousled from the wind. It was a sight for your extremely sleep deprived eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your temple and lightly squeezed your hip before giving Bob a tight nod. He then grabbed his own mug, ushering you to sit down so he could handle both your cups of coffee. You complied, as you were still waking up, sitting next to Bob whose head was practically inside his own cup.

••••••

The team had just finished a very pointless meeting with Val leaving you with not only a migraine but a very empty stomach. It was just you and Yelena in the conference room as you both were to tired to move when suddenly, as if some food god up above heard your stomach growling, Bucky walked in with 2 bags of food, “I brought you lunch baby” a small smile was plastered on his face as he placed the bag in front of you. You smiled and said your thanks as he placed a soft kiss on your cheek before claiming the empty seat next to you as his own.

“You two are not only disgustingly cute but also evil for eating in front of me like that” Yelena groan from beside you, earning a few snickers from you and a soft grunt from bucky, “Here you go Lena” you smiled as her face lit up when you offered her a forkful of your meal. She quickly had her full, a couple more forkfuls from you and a sneaky one from Bucky’s plate, before leaving to scavenge for her own meal, leaving you and Bucky alone.

You glanced over at Bucky, he was already staring at you and with a look of confusion you muttered , “What?” a smirk threatened he lips as he simply replied, “I love you babydoll” you looked down at your lap to hide your smile when Bucky grasped your chin in between his fingers, making you look at him, “I love you too Buck” you muttered back just as his lips met yours.

•••••

It was another one of Alexi’s “team bonding exercises.” This time involving everyone to gather in the living room to watch a movie you were yet to pick. Though you usually dislike these exercises, you were greatly fond of this one making you go all out on the snacks and drinks, much to Alexi’s enjoyment. Yelena, Ava, Bob, Alexi and John shared the couch while you sat on the love seat waiting for Bucky to join you from the kitchen.

“Petal!” you perked up at the name waiting to hear Bucky’s voice while the others glanced between the two of you, “You want popcorn? or some gummies?” just as you were about you reply, John’s voice filled the room, “How many pet names do you have for her, jeez man” he scoffed, “Doll, baby, petal, babydoll” he recited the words trying to impersonate Bucky and comically failing, pulling a laugh from everyone while Bucky just glared at him.

“Mind your business John” he grumbled walking over to the love seat carrying a bowl of popcorn big enough for you to share and a pack of gummy worms knowing you would have said both anyways, “Here you go love” you smile placing a quick kiss to his cheek as the others just groaned.

safe to say Bucky wasn’t choosing just one nickname for you anytime soon, not that you had a problem with that anyway.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the thunderbolts #thunderbolts #marvel #fluff #established relationship #nicknames #james buchanan barnes #x reader #the avengers #bucky barns x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fluff

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voxslays · 4 months ago

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VALENTINES DAY WITH THE SQUID GAMES MEN

HWANG IN-HO

‪‪❤︎‬ Very romantic. In-ho knows how to please a woman. He will start the morning with a fancy breakfast in bed and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Once you’re done with breakfast, you two hop in the shower together (your choice if it gets steamy or not).

‪‪❤︎ Then, in the evening, he takes you to a five star, seven course, restaurant with the best view of Seoul. On the boat ride back to the island, he passionately makes out with you, draping his coat over you even if you insist you’re not cold.

KANG DAE-HO

‪‪❤︎‬ Being the sweetheart he is, he makes sure he spends the entire day with you. Dae-ho makes sure to pick up both a huge pink teddy bear (that you can barely fit on your bed) and a bouquet of bright pink and yellow tulips.

‪‪❤︎‬ Dae-ho will take you for a walk in a nearby park, under the blossoming cherry blossom trees. He is kissing you the entire time. Not in an overly sexual or rough way, but in a sweet lovey dovey way.

SANG-WOO

‪‪❤︎‬ Sang-Woo is a very busy man. Being the leader of investment in his workplace. Being the diligent worker he is—he usually works late nights and early mornings. But on Valentine’s Day? He takes the entire day off, just for you.

‪‪❤︎ Sang-Woo will make sure the day goes by perfectly smooth. He will take you to your favorite high end restaurant, watching you get dolled up is his favorite part. And when the end of the night rolls around, he makes love to you.

SEONG GI-HUN

‪‪❤︎ So sweet. Gi-hun is just a complete sweetheart with the weight of the world on his shoulders and a lot of trauma. Like he did for his daughter in season one, he would try so hard to win you one of the little prizes from the claw machines. It would be so cute.

‪‪❤︎ He would make you a home cooked meal. It may not be a fancy five star, seven course meal, but it’s made with heart, and that’s what counts. As you two wind down for the evening, he will put on a sappy rom-com as you cuddle into him.

THANOS

‪‪❤︎‬ Thanos has never been big on Valentine’s Day or love in general, until he met you. In past years, he’d usually hook up with one of his fans and call it a day, but this year? He was going to make it one you would remember.

‪‪❤︎‬ Will take you to an arcade and win you one of those cute little bears holding a heart (you know what I mean). After the arcade, he will go home and rap his heart out to you. It’s one he made over the last week, and it’s dedicated to you! It’s cringey, but cute.

GONG YOO

‪‪❤︎‬ Like Sang-Woo, the recruiter is a very busy man—especially in the weeks before the games. Whether it’s dodging Gi-hun and his team of investigators, or recruiting the correct number for the games, he has no time for himself.

‪‪❤︎‬ But that doesn’t mean when he comes home at night, he won’t make time for you. Although, he unfortunately isn’t able to afford the luxury of taking the day off, you’d best believe when he comes home he’ll show you how much he loves and missed you.

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sinstae · 8 months ago

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Sweet Dreams ☁️

Pairings | L&DS!Sylus , L&DS!Zayne , x fem. reader

Genre | ☁️ fluff, 💋 smut

Word Count | 2.7k

Warnings | ⚠️ minors DNI ⚠️ , smut smut SMUT, established relationship, Zylus, poly, throuple, Dom!Sylus, Dom!Zayne, pet names, size difference, Sylus teasing 😩, use of Evol, manhandling, stressed!Zayne, voyeurism, male & fem. oral, masturbation, rough sex, squint for face fucking, creampie, bigdick!Sylus, needy!Zayne, aftercare, cute couple 🤧

🔖 m.list♡

🌄 ; Till Dawn♡

a/n ; I hate being sick, this SUCKS. Thank you everyone who participated in the poll! I will be doing more of those to gauge what my audience likes so yeah please feel free to leave feedback via comments/asks, I strive to improve each time! Thank you again & hope you 'njoy! c;

"Luke! Kieran!"

I belt out their names as I storm out my bedroom down the vast hall with my crow plushie in two parts. They expressed how cute they thought it was and it seems like their jealousy ended in decapitating the poor crow.

As I turn the corner into the living room I catch a glimpse of their coats flying in the wind from their rushed steps into Sylus' hallway leading to his office.

Off limits to me.

"Of course! Run to Daddy! You damn rough handed freaks!" I slap the dark wooden doors in frustration and if his office wasn't soundproofed I'm sure I'd hear them cackling.

I spin around, ready to storm back to my room, but my face collides with a hard sternum. I look up and meet Sylus' crimson eyes. His face is stoic and neutral yet I can almost hear his questions.

"Ah~ Sylus. Welcome home- uh I promise I wasn't trying to snoop or anything." He raises an eyebrow, looking over my head at the double doors before looking back down at me with the corner of his lips rising.

"Kitty got her claws out for the troublemakers again?" He pulls a hand from his pockets to gently pat my head.

"Look!" My anger that simmered down at the sight of him returns as I lift the crow plushie, dramatically holding the two pieces together then separating them. Mephisto materializes on Sylus' left shoulder with a caw. "I know Toto, we're gonna get them back."

Sylus chuckles and with the hand he was using to pat my head he gently pinches my cheek. "Darling you know I can just get you one from the supply."

"Of course I know that but this one was special. You got it for me when the collection first dropped through the claw machine." I roll my eyes and look down at the sad plushie.

"You're right, Kitten. I'll have a word with those two." His long finger tucks under my chin into a grip with his thumb as he guides my eyes back to his. "I have to ask though. Who's Daddy?"

I completely understand why he's asking but it's how he's asking. Eyes full of amusement, voice dropping into a whisper and I notice the quick glance he takes at my lips. No denying it now.

"You."

"Me?" Sylus chuckles again and Mephisto takes flight back down the hallway. "Mmm, unless you have an announcement for us both, I don't think so." Without moving or looking away from me he opens the door behind me slightly by using his Evol. "Luke, Kieran come out."

They clumsily slip out of the office, closing it behind them with their heads bowed. I look back and glare at the both of them while Sylus returns his hands to his pockets and stands to his full height. It's cute to see him be all soft around me and Zayne but others he rarely shows that side with Luke and Kieran being an exception.

"Apologize."

"We're real sorry Miss!" They speak in unison and I turn to face them with my arms crossed. They bow deeper and a satisfied smile graces my lips.

"This is me forgiving you but we certainly aren't even." They say nothing as expected and suddenly my hips are within Sylus' strong grasp and he lifts me from the floor, resting my ass onto his chest as he turns and walks away from them. "Sylus!"

I sway a bit, fear striking my heart that I'll teeter over making me instinctively grip his silver locks. He hisses, tightening his hold on my thighs. I apologize and smooth his hair down with a pat.

"'Evening, Doctor." Zayne?

"Good evening. Something happened?" I check my wrist and my workout band reads back at me a bold 7:00 PM. He's home very early.

"Zayne! Welcome home!"

"Thank you, Snowflake. What do you have there? Oh-" Zayne looks shocked to see the crow in my grasp.

"Yeah, the twins. They were probably fighting over my plushie and welp. . ." Zayne walks over to us after sitting his briefcase down on the black marbled counter top of the bar in the living room. He doesn't even question me perched on Sylus' chest and since he can't reach my lips he opts for pressing a kiss to my calf.

"Shame. I can repair him for you if you'd like." I nod and thrust the plushie into his hold and he grabs it with gentle hands. "I can have this done on my off day."

"Now if you'll excuse us, I have to talk to this Kitten about a certain Daddy." I slap a hand over his mouth a bit too late, not expecting Sylus to tell Zayne.

Poor Zayne's eyes widen, surely thinking the worst without context. "Has the implant failed? After all this time-?"

"No, no-"

"I wish."

"Sy!" He chuckles and playfully bites my thigh. "No it hasn't, I was teasing Luke and Kieran."

"Wanna join us?" Sylus tilts his head towards our bedroom and Zayne doesn't waste a second nodding once. "Eager are we?"

"I had a stressful surgery today." Zayne loosens his black tie and three buttons as he walks past us to lead the way.

"Did it go well?" I ask.

"It was a success. Just. . . My sleep wasn't great last night." He releases a deep sigh as he pushes open our bedroom doors with one palm and closes them behind us.

"Well of course not you- Ah~!" Sylus moves quick with dismounting me as if I were a cheerleader and tosses me gently onto the soft bed. "~Sy, jeez. But you slept at the office again. We missed you."

"I'm sorry. I didn't plan for it but I was able to fit in another surgery that way." Zayne is taking his time yet his movements are quick with precision as he undresses himself starting with his sleek wristwatch and vest following to join the injured plushie on the desk.

"You work so hard, Zay, you should really come with us to the bungalow. It's never too- ah~ late." Sylus is kneeling at the end of the bed with my panties in his back pocket and lips against my clit. He's sucking so softly it's leaving me on the line between pleasure and overstimulation.

The lit fireplace isn't helping the warmth rising beneath my skin causing me to scrunch up Zayne's sweater I'd been drowning in. It helps me see Sylus better this way; his long pink tongue wet with both his saliva and my cum creates the prettiest gloss to his lips. I moan as he licks his flat tongue harshly against my clit causing me to grind down and arch into him.

"I gave it some thought." I hear the drag of a chair and I look over at Zayne to see him sitting down into the dark red velvet arm chair near the foot of the bed. His black button up is completely open exposing his chest and his slacks are undone, his hand rubbing over his black briefs. "I'll join you both."

"Come." I reach my hand out and Sylus grabs it, pulling it back down to my side. I look down at him and he pulls away with a wet string, licking his lips.

"He wants to watch, Sweetheart." I look back over at Zayne, his head slightly hanging forward with his hand now beneath his briefs.

"You do?"

"He does. I saw it soon as we locked eyes earlier. He allowed me to see into his thoughts. So you," Sylus leans onto the bed with one knee and helps me out of the sweater fully to leave me naked under both their eyes. "Relax that pretty head of yours and be our good girl." Oh.

Zayne wants to watch how things are when Sylus and I are intimate. I want to get lost in the thoughts of Zayne stepping from his comfort zone to be in place of Sylus, handling me with less care but Sylus keeps me rooted.

He delivers a firm slap to my inner thigh and the sharp pain warms into my skin. "You were bad today too, Y/N." His rough hands slide up and down the outside of my thighs, gripping at my love handles. "Fighting with Luke and Kieran again, tsk."

"I wasn't-"

"Silence." His tone is demanding but gentle. I clench my thighs and blink up at him. "I know you're gonna tell me you didn't start it and I understand but-" He forces my thighs apart and leans his other knee onto the bed, red and black engulfing his frame in seconds to dissipate and reveal his naked body. "I believe I told you three to behave when we aren't at the estate."

Sylus' large frame cages me in and Zayne still has a clear view of us from the side. "I prepared you enough, tonight I'm giving it all." Oh fuck.

I suck in a deep breath as I feel his tip breach my opening, stretching me out over the warm skin. He barely gives me enough time to adjust as he sinks in with one fluid thrust upwards. A sharp pain shoots through my lower tummy and I try to push up using my heels to no avail with Sylus' grip on my hips.

"Deep- too deep, Sy- ah~!" I can barely focus my vision as my eyes start to water but I can still see the smirk adorning his beautiful face. I reach out to him and he allows me as I run my hands up and down his torso as if soothing him would soothe me through his deep strokes.

"How cute, are you telling me that's where I am?" He teases with a quick thrust, making my body jerk and clit come in contact with his pelvis creating the sweetest pleasure. A loud drawn out moan leaves my lips and rings like a mating call into Sylus' ears. He grabs my face in a firm grip and we make eye contact, his eyes burning a bright red as my head turns fuzzy, body relaxing. "As you wish."

Sylus tucks his hands underneath me to grip my ass and elevate me from the bed, angling me until his skin is flush against mine just how I like it. My eyes roll back as he starts at a bruising pace, working my nerves until they're red hot and tingling from my building orgasm.

I bring my hands up to squeeze at my breast, just as he'd foreseen. Sylus slides his right hand up to grip the back of my knee and bends it towards my chest to reveal more of our bodies connecting to Zayne. He has his dick out now, leaking precum all over his hand mixed with his own spit as he strokes himself in time with Sylus' thrusts.

"There! Fuck! So good, Sir- mmph!" Sylus releases under my knee leaving my foot bracing against his chest as he slides two fingers into my mouth.

"Such a dirty mouth. Suck." I leave his fingers coated in my saliva and he brings the same ones down to toy with my clit, breathy moans struggling to leave my throat as he knocks the wind from me with a numbing orgasm. "Breathe," He lowers us back down to the sheets while stretching my leg back down to lean over me and blow air onto my face.

I take a moment to catch my breath as he slowly rocks into me and peppers my face with kisses. "Green. . ." I moan softly.

"Good girl. On your knees, face Zayne." He slowly pulls out of me taking thick strings of cum and saliva with him as he helps me into position, fighting against my aching muscles. He moves into position behind me sliding his tip up and down my folds, snagging at my hole to thrust in slightly then repeat. I tap my foot against the bed in frustration, shaking slightly from the sensitivity and wanting him back inside filling me so perfect.

In one abrupt thrust he gives me what I want and Zayne is standing in front of me now, still stroking his long dick, teasing his tip with his thumb. His other hand reaches out and he tucks his thumb into my mouth to press down on my tongue.

Sylus props up a leg, planting it firmly onto the bed and pounds me into an arch, Zayne's hand following as I suck and drool down his wrist.

"So damn pretty." His hips stutter as a small squirt of cum lands onto my cheek, head pressed into the bed. "Look at me, Y/N." I blink as the tear swelling at my waterline spills onto his hand while he guides me with his thumb to look up. "Open."

He removes his thumb and coats my lips in my own saliva as if it's lip gloss then he guides just the tip of his dick past my lips, jerking the rest of him off. Zayne throws his head back, pleasure clearly taking over him as much as it's taking me from Sylus' constant unyielding pace.

Sylus spanks me hard, causing me to clench around him, hips stuttering as I grow too tight for him to properly thrust. Another spank for that and he rubs a hand over my burning cheek, pressing kisses to my spine as his pace finally slows into deep thrust to ease my suction.

"This ass will me the death of me, Sweetie. It colors so well, mhm, the recoil just right." I moan around Zayne as Sylus thrusts into my cervix, remaining still there as he presses a kiss to the back of my head. "Ready?" I can barely decide if I am, knowing he's about to grow another inch when he releases into my womb.

Thing is, Sylus will have his way whether I respond or not. I give a weak nod as I keep my eyes on Zayne who's looking down, sweat gathered along his collarbones and torso to match his flushed face. It's scrunched in pleasure, mouth agape as he releases heavy puffs of air, eyes zeroed in on my lips wrapped around him.

Sylus' hand slides up from my lower tummy between my breast to grip my throat, raising me higher for Zayne to slip further into my mouth, the man releasing a sweet moan as he now leans a knee onto the bed from his weakening stance feeling his own climax approaching.

"Take it all." Sylus whispers into my ear then kisses down to my soft spot to relax me further as he starts to grow an inch further into my cervix, thrusting harshly in three swift movements as he fills me with his cum. I suck Zayne harder, starting to fight against what little oxygen I have just as I feel him grow stiff against my tongue then one last thrust as he fills my mouth.

I suddenly tighten around Sylus, sucking him in a bit deeper and trapping him there as another orgasm rips through me. He groans into my neck and eases me off of Zayne by the throat, closing my mouth before any spill could happen.

"Swallow. Good girl. So precious, Y/N. You did so good for us." A soft kiss to my temple. "I know you're tired Sweetie, rest. I'll clean you up." I hum and flop down onto the bed, nuzzling into the warm sheets as Sylus gently pulls out of me, propping a pillow beneath me to stop any mess from hitting the bed.

I hear them moving around but slowly I feel the exhaustion taking over. My limbs are jello and even if I could move I don't want to. In my half asleep state I feel a warm towel cleaning between my legs and my face then more moving around until I'm being lifted and laid properly into the bed beneath the sheets with Zayne spooning me and Sylus' chest beneath my head.

Zayne presses kisses to the back of my head and neck, inhaling deeply as he intertwines our legs. In my last moments of consciousness I hear Sylus' deep, sultry voice. "Daddy loves you, sweet dreams."

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saatorus · 2 months ago

Note

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either.

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

#ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #jjk sukuna smut #jjk sukuna x reader

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writingxfootballl · 29 days ago

Text

butterflies cant stop me (from falling for you) (leah williamson x reader)

it seemed like everyone else knew before you did.

word count: 2834 ish

rating: S for slow burn

title- guess i'm in love by clinton kane

a/n: in honor of arsenal’s uwcl win… here’s an unedited draft! quite literally my word vomit on a page. enjoy.

----

it started at arsenal academy, when you were just twelve years old.

you remember it like it was yesterday—sitting there in the changing room, pulling your socks up as the coach walked in.

your eyes flicked to the girl next to you-- leah williamson.

she was staring at her boots, her face set with the intensity of someone who was determined to do everything perfectly.

everything about her screamed focus, the exact opposite of you, who was often too busy thinking about which snack you'd have after training, or whether you'd make it home in time for the next episode of the big bang theory.

you'd always known leah.

she was the one you were supposed to outdo.

she had this quiet confidence, an aura of “i’m going to be the best player in this room” that rubbed you the wrong way.

maybe it was the fact that she seemed to have it all together, while you were still figuring out how to get your hair tie to stay in place.

throughout the years, you two had only grown further apart in terms of your relationship.

on the field, there was always that undercurrent of competition.

you were on different paths, constantly on different teams in the academy, always chasing after the same positions, the same praise.

even off the field, you’d never been friends. more like… frenemies.

it was kind of funny, actually.

how many years had passed? fifteen? more? and here you were, both still playing for arsenal, one of the most elite clubs in the world.

only now, you were teammates.

nothing else had changed, really. except that now, you were really starting to notice her.

it was a typical training session in the early season, the grass slick with dew under the sharp morning light.

you and leah had always been paired together in drills, a habit that seemed too natural for anyone to question. e

very pass, every tackle, every snarky comment between you two was as predictable as the wind.

leah, of course, was perfect—the perfect angle for her cross, the perfect pressure for her tackles.

you? you were good. good enough to not be totally overshadowed by her.

except that today? today you weren’t quite on your game.

you misjudged the flight of a ball, the touch too heavy, and it careened off the post with a bang.

“not again, seriously?”

you muttered under your breath, grimacing as the ball rolled out of bounds.

leah, naturally, didn’t miss a beat.

she jogged up beside you, eyes flicking to the ball, then back to you.

“you okay?”

“fine. just—need to concentrate,” you grumbled, wiping a hand over your face.

she was quiet for a moment, assessing, before speaking again.

“don’t be so hard on yourself. you’ll get it next time.”

you felt your stomach flip at the way she spoke to you—so casually, so unlike the competitive, distant leah you remembered.

you’d spent years believing she was a machine, emotionally detached from everything except football.

so this? this concern, this kindness? it threw you off.

“yeah, i guess,” you said, your voice unsure. “thanks.”

her lips quirked into the smallest of smiles.

“no problem.”

it wasn’t much. just a few words.

but it was enough. enough to stir something in you that you couldn’t explain.

and before you could dwell on it, she was already jogging to the other side of the pitch, moving fluidly as always, leaving you behind with your thoughts.

months passed, and things didn’t really change. well, not much.

you and leah were still teammates, still teammates with a long history of competitive tension.

every practice, every match, there was an unspoken challenge in the air—who could score more goals, who could make the better pass, who could tackle the hardest.

your competitive streak never quite went away, but now, there was something… softer.

it wasn’t that leah had changed.

it was that maybe you were starting to see her differently.

after training one evening, you found yourself walking toward the locker room when you noticed her walking behind you, arms crossed, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“hey,” she called out, her voice soft.

“hey,” you replied, glancing over your shoulder.

she fell into step beside you, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like a challenge.

it felt natural, easy. no jabs, no snide comments, just quiet companionship.

“i’m, uh…” leah hesitated, clearly trying to find the right words.

“i’ve been thinking. about the next match.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“what about it?”

“i think we’ve got a good chance against chelsea this time,” she said, her gaze meeting yours.

“you’re in good form. your passes have been on point.”

you blinked, thrown off by the compliment.

“uh, thanks.”

leah gave you a look like you were an idiot.

“no, seriously. i’m not just saying it. you’ve been playing well.”

“are we sure this is leah williamson talking?” you teased, giving her a playful shove.

she rolled her eyes, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips.

“shut up.”

but you noticed something.

the way her eyes softened when she looked at you. the way the space between you two felt different now.

and it wasn’t just you—other people were starting to notice too.

it was an off day when you found yourself having a quiet chat with viv and frida in the cafeteria.

you’d just finished a light session, your muscles still warm, and you were nursing a coffee, eyes darting between your teammates as they casually discussed tactics for the upcoming match.

“did you two finally figure it out?” viv asked out of nowhere, her eyes glinting with mischief.

you choked on your coffee.

“what?”

“don’t play dumb, we see the way you two look at each other,” frida added with a teasing grin.

“it’s cute, really. i’m just glad you two finally stopped fighting long enough to, you know… realize it.”

“i—what?” you stared at both of them, your face going pink.

“what are you talking about?”

viv raised an eyebrow.

“you know, it’s kind of obvious. the way you two have been, uh, acting around each other lately. you’re not exactly subtle.”

“i think we all knew before you two did,” frida chimed in, laughing.

your stomach dropped, but you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter.

the idea that your teammates had noticed something you hadn't even admitted to yourself was… well, humbling.

“i think you’re imagining things,” you mumbled, trying to play it cool, though you could feel the heat in your cheeks.

“oh, trust me,” viv said, her grin widening.

“we’re not imagining anything. we’ve been teammates too long to miss that.”

you groaned, face buried in your hands.

“i really need to get my life together.”

“i think you’ve got it together just fine,” frida said.

“now you just have to admit it.”

you shook your head, heart still hammering in your chest.

could it be true? had you really been that obvious?

the next morning, you found yourself on the pitch, your usual competitive drive in full swing.

you and leah were paired up in a drill, just the two of you passing and receiving, playing in the rhythm you’d developed over the years. but this time, it was different.

you noticed how her eyes lingered a little longer when they met yours.

how her passes felt sharper, more intentional than they usually did.

and when you did finally manage to steal the ball from her, she didn’t retaliate with a sarcastic comment or a quick retort. she simply nodded.

“nice one,” she said, her voice low and steady.

and that’s when it hit you.

you had been rivals for so long, fighting tooth and nail for everything—but somewhere along the way, that rivalry had morphed.

what had once been an endless battle had turned into something deeper. something more.

your heart thudded in your chest as the realization came crashing down on you.

this wasn’t rivalry anymore. this was… something else.

you opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word out, the whistle blew.

the session was over.

“hey, you coming for lunch?” leah asked, her voice casual but her eyes still holding that softness.

you blinked, realizing that this was the first time she’d asked you anything like that. “yeah, sure. i’ll… i’ll catch up in a minute.”

she nodded, walking away, and you stood there for a moment, still processing.

you could feel the eyes of your teammates on you, especially viv, who gave you an exaggerated thumbs-up from the sidelines.

a few minutes later, you found yourself sitting across from leah at the team lunch, the usual banter between you both absent.

it felt like you were both navigating uncharted territory, but in a way that felt right.

finally, leah spoke, her voice quieter than usual.

“so,” she said, looking down at her plate.

“we’ve been playing together for a while now. but, uh, i don’t know. i think… i think i’m starting to get why you’re so good.”

you blinked.

“what?”

“i mean,” leah continued, glancing at you with a slight blush, “you’re different. and not just in the ‘i’m a better player than you’ way. you’re—” she stopped herself, looking for the right words.

“you’re someone i don’t mind sharing the pitch with anymore.”

your heart skipped.

and then, like the idiot you were, you smiled.

“you’re not as bad as i thought either,” you said with a wink, making her laugh.

and that, you realized, was the moment.

the moment you stopped pretending, stopped competing, and finally let your heart settle.

you’d both said it without saying it. the tension was there now, undeniable, but neither of you was ready to label it. you went back to your usual routine: training, lunches, joking around—but this time, there was an electric charge, something different in the air whenever you two were near each other.

and, somehow, the whole team had noticed.

you weren’t sure how everyone had figured it out before you had, but you were beginning to accept the fact that maybe your subtle little moments weren’t so subtle anymore.

but it didn’t matter. not really. you couldn’t stay blind forever.

it was a week after that lunch when things finally shifted into overdrive.

arsenal had been playing well, the team had been on a winning streak, and with the champions league looming in the distance, everyone was laser-focused on training.

but despite all the strategy and drills, you couldn’t focus.

every time you passed leah, you found yourself thinking about the way her hand had brushed yours in that small, accidental moment earlier that day.

or the way she’d smiled at you across the pitch, as though you were the only other person there.

you kept telling yourself to focus, to stop thinking about it.

she was your teammate. you were both just caught up in the competitive fire, right? it was nothing more than that.

but when the whistle blew for the end of the session that evening, and leah jogged over to you—hair tousled, face flushed from the exertion—you froze.

“hey,” she said, casually enough, but her eyes were warm. too warm.

“want to grab a drink? i—well, i mean, it’s been a good week, hasn’t it? thought i’d celebrate. with you.”

it was as if everything in the world paused.

you blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right.

leah williamson, your long-time teammate, your rival, was asking to hang out? outside of practice? no coaches, no teammates, no drills to distract you both?

it was then that your heart decided it wasn’t going to listen to your brain anymore.

“yeah, sure.”

the bar was quiet, a tucked-away place near the training ground.

you two sat at a small table in the corner, nursing drinks and talking about everything and nothing.

the conversation was easy, but there was an undercurrent to it now—a kind of tension neither of you had been willing to acknowledge.

you watched leah laugh, and it felt like every little piece of her was suddenly… yours to figure out.

all the little things you’d missed, like how her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, or how she’d become more relaxed in her movements, in the way she interacted with you.

it was like something shifted in her as well, something that made her a little less guarded, a little more real.

and you? you were still pretending to be calm.

you had no idea what this was between you. but it didn’t matter, right?

you were just a little too close for comfort at this point, and it made your insides flutter in a way that felt way too dangerous.

“so,” leah said, breaking the silence between sips of her drink, “i was thinking—”

“uh-oh, you’re thinking?” you teased her, reaching for your glass to buy some time, a nervous habit.

she rolled her eyes, but her lips curled into that irresistible smile.

“you’re one to talk. you were thinking when you missed that cross last week, weren’t you?”

you groaned.

“i told you i was distracted.”

leah leaned forward slightly, and her expression softened.

“you’ve been distracted a lot lately.”

the words hung in the air for a moment, and you could’ve sworn you heard the faintest thump in your chest at how close her face was.

you swallowed, suddenly nervous. was she trying to tell you something?

“you know,” she continued, “i’ve always thought you were a little bit of a pain. always so competitive, always trying to outdo me. it was exhausting.”

you snorted.

“you weren’t exactly a walk in the park either.”

she laughed, but there was a tenderness to it now, the kind that made you finally realize something you’d been ignoring for far too long.

maybe this whole rivalry thing had been a facade. a defense mechanism, a way to hide what neither of you were brave enough to admit. but it was clear now—you both knew.

“thing is,” she said, her voice quieter now, “i never stopped being competitive. not really. not with anyone else.”

your heart was hammering now.

“so, what’s that mean for me?”

she smiled, that knowing, almost teasing smile you’d seen so many times.

“well, i did always like beating you.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“oh, you mean, you still like beating me?”

leah shrugged.

“sure. but it’s different now.”

it was like something clicked.

you’d spent years wanting to prove you were just as good as her, wanting to outshine her at everything. but now? it was different. she wasn’t just a teammate.

she wasn’t just a rival anymore. leah had become something more.

a little flutter in your chest, a sudden surge of warmth, and then, with no real planning, no grand gesture—you blurted out:

“wait, are we—do you—am i being an idiot, or is this…” you trailed off, unsure how to even finish the sentence.

your face flushed at your own lack of control, your own ridiculousness.

leah laughed, her eyes shining in a way that made your stomach tighten.

“you’re not an idiot, y/n,” she said gently, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“i think we’ve both known for a while now.”

for the first time in your life, you were speechless. and then it all came rushing to you.

all those small moments. the way she always had your back, the way you’d started to realize just how important she’d become to you.

leah leaned back in her seat, her gaze softer now.

“i guess everyone else knew before we did.”

you nodded, your heart racing.

“yeah, but we’re both idiots. i think we’ve been so busy being… whatever we were, we forgot to actually see it. to see us.”

and then, as if on cue, the inevitable happened.

leah shifted, leaned forward, and before you even had the chance to process what was happening, her lips were on yours.

it was slow, hesitant at first, as if she wasn’t entirely sure you’d react the way she hoped.

but you kissed her back almost immediately, your heart leaping out of your chest as your hands found their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer.

when you pulled away, you were both breathless.

“well,” leah said, laughing softly, her forehead resting against yours. “that was… long overdue.”

you nodded, your heart still racing in the best way. “we really are idiots, aren’t we?”

she grinned, her eyes sparkling.

“biggest ones.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“guess we’re not the only ones who knew this whole time.”

she looked at you, her smile widening.

“no, but we’re the ones who finally figured it out.”

and that, right there, felt like everything.

your past, your rivalry, your friendship, all melted into one perfect moment.

you didn’t need anyone else to tell you this time. you knew. you and leah? you were finally on the same team.

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso imagines #arsenal wfc imagines #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson

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mischievousmoony · 27 days ago

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𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚒

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ when you're not working at brewology, you spend your mornings in the arms of someone you love ⊹ 1.6k ⟢ warnings/tags: talks of drinking/parties/bars, james and reader do not like coffee, reader loves matcha, sirius is a lil annoying ⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: last part!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Flashes of morning light dance across your sleeping face as the wind picks up, blowing air through the open window, stirring the curtains into gentle motion.

You hug the maroon and gray sheets around your body, rolling over to hide your face in that one mismatched pillow with the Spider-Man pillowcase.

It’s Sunday, the one day Brewology is closed, and the one day you actually get to sleep in. The sunshine won’t take that away from you.

You feel around the other side of the bed, searching for something—someone—to take comfort in, but only meet sheets that are still warm with the ghost of his presence. You prop yourself up on one elbow, rubbing sleep from your eyes with your free hand.

The room is dark, and its walls are painted a deep gray, which only adds to your sleepiness. In the soft light filtering through the edges of the curtains, you can make out the room around you: a rugby bag tossed in one corner, a skateboard propped against a desk, a red flag with big Greek letters hanging behind you, and more plants than you’d expect in a guy’s bedroom.

Where is the boy it all belongs to?

You push yourself up all the way, crossing your legs in front of you as you read the numbers on his digital clock. 9:34 a.m. Far too early to be up and out of bed after spending half the night taking you to what felt like every single bar in the city.

Your brain is still dragging itself toward consciousness when the door creaks open slowly, and finally, your boyfriend returns to you.

He’s surprised to see you awake at first, but he’s not complaining. His lips curl into a warm smile, and something clinks as he places it on his bedside table.

“Good morning, my angel,” he greets softly, gently cupping both sides of your face and placing a lingering kiss on your lips. “Did you sleep well?”

Some sort of noise between a grunt and a whine leaves your lips in response. You suppose you had slept well, but it was ruined when you woke up much earlier than intended and without him at your side.

“No?” James asks with a tilt of his head, stroking your hair.

“Come back to sleep,” you murmur. “Why’re you up?”

James perched himself on the edge of the bed, his hands dropping from your face but not entirely leaving you—one resting on your knee while the other took your hand, his thumb now gently stroking your knuckles.

He speaks softly so as not to disturb you in your sleepy state too much. “Sirius stumbled in ‘bout an hour ago. Still hammered from last night and making all sorts of noise in the kitchen. Had to go shut him up.”

You think back to last night. Bar hopping with James’ friends (who all hate it when you call them that, always insisting they’re your friends now too).

You remember how, when you were tuckered out and ready to head home to crash in James’ arms, Sirius made a whole scene trying to convince you both to stay—to follow him to some after-party at one of the frats.

So it would seem that while you and James tucked into bed, Sirius and whoever he dragged along spent the rest of the night partying.

You drop your head onto James’ shoulder. “Why didn’t you come back to bed after?”

“I did, for a while, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I only left again to get something to drink. Look, angel, I have one for you too.”

James shifts so you can see around him, but you already know what it is.

Last week, the espresso machine at work broke (and caused the worst shift of your life). James had come in for some caffeine, heart set on whatever coffee you made him the day he met you. When he couldn’t have that, he said to make him something “easy”.

You made him a chai latte, and he hasn’t been the same ever since.

It’s been his new obsession. It may have much less caffeine than he’s accustomed to, but that hasn’t deterred him.

Most mornings, he disappears to the nearest cafe and comes back with two teas and whatever pastry he chooses to surprise you with that day. So you’re quite shocked when you peer at his bedside table and find two of his own mugs instead of the plastic to-go cups you were expecting.

“You made ‘em?” you ask, your gaze meeting his proud smile.

“Mhm,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. One thing about dating James: his lips are almost always on you, sneaking in kisses whenever he can. “Want yours?” he murmurs into your hair.

You hold out your hands in response, making grabby motions with your fingers, and he places the mug in your grasp.

He’s made his own cold foam, somehow, and sprinkled the top with cinnamon. Ice clinks low and heavy against the ceramic as you lift it to your lips.

A sound of satisfaction purrs from your throat, and you go in for a second sip. This is better than the chai lattes at work by a mile.

“What did you do?” you ask, looking up at him, oblivious to the dot of cold foam on the tip of your nose.

He chuckles, swiping it away with his thumb and following it up with a peck from his lips. “Saw one too many videos on my phone of people making them at home and I had to go all in. Made my own chai concentrate, bought a frother—which Sirius gave me plenty of shit for—and vanilla bean paste, not extract, for the foam. Mine’s even half vanilla protein shake instead of milk, can’t even get that at the cafe.”

“It tastes amazing,” you tell him, going in for another sip. After having a moment to process his words, you add, “Sirius gave you shit for buying a frother?”

James shrugs, unbothered. “He thinks it’s girly. Lattes. His loss.”

“What’s girly is his hair care routine,” you grumble.

James barks a laugh, squeezing your knee. “That’s what I said! And he told me it cancels out because his hair gets him laid.”

“Of course, he did,” you snort.

He laughs along with you. He squeezes your knee again to signal his hand’s departure as he reaches for his mug. When he takes his first sip, he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy it.

Your lips tug into a small smile. “So, this is your thing now, hm?” you ask, nudging his arm with your nose. “And I thought I was supposed to be the barista in the relationship.”

James chuckles from somewhere deep in his throat. The way that makes your head all fuzzy.

“Dunno, I’m obsessed with these. They’re so good. Might even be better than matcha.”

You lean away from him at once. “No, that’s blasphemous,” you say, shaking your head.

“You know what’s going on? This is to me what matcha is to you. This is my matcha.”

“Oh, come on,” you brush him off, reluctant to believe he could like this more than matcha.

“No, I’m serious. I’m sorry, baby, but this is joy in a cup for me,” he says, literally hugging his mug to his chest.

“No, I don’t like this. You sound crazy. We need to get you back on energy drinks.” For dramatic effect, you thrust your mug in his direction. “Get this away from me. This is sin, now.”

James laughs at your dramatics, taking your cup and putting both of them on the table.

You sink back into the bed, moving over to what’s usually James’ side of the bed to make room for him to join you.

He takes the hint, joining you under the covers, your heads sharing the Spider-Man pillow, his face close enough for your noses to brush.

“Sorry, angel,” he murmurs, running a hand through your hair. “Would it make you feel better if we go out and get you matcha?”

“No, I don’t wanna go anywhere. Wanna stay in bed.”

“I could go get it,” he’s quick to offer.

“No,” you protest immediately, clinging to him by his shirt and tucking your face in the crook of his neck.

He moves his hand from your hair to wrap his arm around you, his touch snaking up the back of your shirt—well, his shirt, actually, which you shamelessly stole last night even though you have plenty of your own in one of his drawers. He, of course, doesn’t mind. He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked, loving to see you in his clothes.

“Don’t want you to go anywhere either.” Your voice comes out muffled against his skin. “I don’t need anything, I just want you.”

James’ heart swells at your words. “Yeah?” he murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “I’d stay like this all day if you wanted, angel,” he says softly, pressing you closer as he rubs soothing shapes against your skin.

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, nuzzling into his neck and pressing a kiss to his skin.

With your face hiding from the light in the crook of his neck and his hand gently rubbing your back, it doesn’t take long for you to doze off.

James stays awake, treasuring every peaceful breath against his neck. He could stay wrapped up in this moment forever, memorizing the gentle weight of you in his arms.

You’ll feel bad when you wake up and realize he’s been awake, stuck in your arms with nothing to do, but again, he doesn’t mind.

In this quiet morning light, with you sleeping soundly beside him, he has everything he could ever need.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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zaynessbeloved · 21 days ago

Text

The hospital quiets after dark in a way few places ever do—low hums of distant machines, faint footsteps in the corridor, the soft sweep of janitorial carts echoing like waves retreating from shore.

Zayne’s office is dim. One floor lamp glows warm in the corner, casting long shadows across the glass and steel of his workspace. You’re perched on the edge of his desk, half-crossed legs swinging idly, the hem of your skirt grazing your thighs in deliberate little shifts.

He’s finishing a patient report, silent behind his glasses, brows slightly furrowed in that way that makes you want to lean over and kiss the crease away. The sleeves of his white coat are rolled up just past his elbows, and the faint clink of his stethoscope swinging loosely from his neck reminds you that he hasn’t even changed out of his work attire yet.

You tip your head, feigning innocence. “Long day, Doctor?”

His fingers pause on the tablet, his gaze sliding to you without turning his head. “Very.”

“And yet you still haven't looked at me once since I walked in.” You pout, then let your hand drift—playful, light—across the top of his desk. You make a slow show of reaching for a pen, but your fingers brush the stethoscope instead, grazing it purposefully as if by accident.

Zayne’s eyes drop to your hand. You feel it before he speaks—that shift. The quiet tension winding slowly, barely perceptible to most, but now, after all these months, unmistakable to you.

Your smile curves slyly. “You remember what you said last time? Something about showing me how surgeons tie knots…”

He exhales, a sound closer to a breath through his nose than anything resembling amusement.

You lean in slightly. “I was just wondering—was that an idle threat? Or a promise?”

That’s when he moves. No warning, no theatrics—just fluid, controlled motion. Zayne sets down the tablet. Then he rises from his chair and stands in front of you, close enough that your knees press against his thighs. His hand lifts—slow, precise—and you half expect him to brush your cheek. But instead, he reaches for the stethoscope still hanging loosely around his neck.

The warmth in your chest blooms at once, curling low in your stomach. He doesn’t speak as he unloops it, doesn't even glance at your expression. His gaze is on your wrists, and his hands are deft, practiced—too practiced, you think, to be improvising.

“Zayne—” you start, half-laughing.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, voice low and cool as satin.

You barely manage a breath before he takes both your wrists in one hand, firm but careful, and guides them behind your back. The cool press of rubber brushes your skin, then tightens. The stethoscope coils around your wrists in a perfect knot, but not in any way painful.

Your breath stutters. You shift your arms experimentally, but there’s no give.

Zayne finally lifts his eyes to yours.

“I wasn’t joking,” he says simply, and the weight behind his words is the kind that lands deep between your ribs.

You blink up at him, breath catching, heart thrumming like it always does when he’s like this—focused, present, tethering you to him with nothing more than touch and quiet authority.

“Say something,” he murmurs, his free hand brushing the inside of your thigh with maddening softness.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“You teased me knowing I might.”

That hand inches higher, slipping beneath your skirt now. Your thighs tense, then fall apart for him as naturally as breath. His palm is warm against the curve of your leg, and he lets it linger there, not moving further—just being there.

“You’ve been doing this lately,” he murmurs against your ear, voice steady. “Testing how much it takes to break my focus.”

“I like when you lose it.”

“I don’t lose control,” he says, and you feel the smile more than see it—brushed against your neck like the stroke of his fingers.

You press your cheek to his shoulder, helplessly fond. “You don’t. But I like it when you pretend to.”

He hums, then sinks to his knees in front of you. Your wrists flex against the knot behind you, your breath catching again—not just from the anticipation, but from how he looks when he’s kneeling there. Still in his dress shirt, glasses catching the low light, expression unreadable and devoted and utterly calm.

“You always do this,” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Do what?”

“Show me I have your attention in the most unfair ways.”

Zayne doesn’t respond at first. His hand moves again, slow and patient, parting the last layers of your clothing like he’s opening something sacred. When he speaks, his voice is softer—something quieter than seduction. Something real.

“This is how I love you,” he says.

And then his mouth follows the trail his hand made, and you forget how to answer.

Your wrists flex instinctively behind your back, the rubber tubing of his stethoscope biting into your skin in the gentlest reminder—you can’t touch him. Can’t bury your fingers in his hair the way you always do when he goes down on you. Can’t cradle his jaw, guide him, cling to him as your hips lose rhythm and your breath unravels.

And Zayne knows it. He watches you squirm—cool eyes lifted to your face as he drags his lips along the inside of your thigh, so achingly slow you swear the air itself grows thicker. The heat of his mouth lingers like a secret against your skin, ghosting higher with each kiss, each breath, until he brushes just shy of where you need him most.

You press your knees apart a little more, a silent offering. Your breath hitches, back arching slightly as his nose grazes the lace of your panties.

And that’s when he looks up at you again. A soft, knowing curve touches his lips—not quite a smirk, but close. It’s the smile he gives only to you. Not the cold, distant mask the hospital sees. Not the sharp-edged detachment that made the world believe he doesn’t care.

This is Zayne, focused and ferociously gentle, utterly immersed in you.

“Was this what you wanted?” he asks softly, fingertips teasing the crease of your thigh as his mouth presses another kiss just beside the damp fabric clinging to you. “Or were you just bored and wanted to play?”

The question is rhetorical. He already knows the answer. He can feel it in the way your body trembles, in the way your breaths come fast and shallow, chest rising against the soft fabric of your blouse.

You try to lift your hips just a little. Just enough. But your balance wavers without your hands, and you find yourself bracing your forearms against the edge of his desk instead, cheeks flushed with heat, mouth parted but silent.

“Careful,” Zayne murmurs, warm breath fanning across the soaked center of your panties. “You’ll fall if you push too hard.”

His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, anchoring you—large, steady palms curling around your hips with exquisite care. And then, without ceremony, he leans in and kisses you through the fabric.

You gasp. The pressure is firm and deliberate, just enough to make your spine curve, your head tip back, a low sound catching in your throat as his tongue presses against the thin lace, slow and maddening, wet heat barely dulled by the barrier.

The friction is torture. You writhe, thighs trembling as he continues—unhurried, focused—like this is a puzzle he intends to solve thoroughly.

Zayne pulls back only far enough to speak.

“You’re soaked,” he says, voice low, a dark thread of satisfaction beneath the observation. “You’ve been like this since the moment you walked in, haven’t you?”

You make a soft, helpless noise, not even words—just yes, just please, just more. But your lips can’t seem to shape any of it fast enough.

His fingers hook into your panties, pulling them down with a slow drag that makes your breath catch again, the fabric sticking slightly before sliding down your thighs. They pool at your ankles, forgotten, as he leans back to look.

And then his glasses come off. He sets them down somewhere behind you, probably on top of a chart, a folder, maybe that patient report he’d been working on before you walked in and turned his focus to this.

Now his attention is undivided. You watch him, helpless, as he leans back in—this time, without anything between his mouth and you.

The first pass of his tongue is slow and deliberate, a firm stroke from your entrance up to the aching bundle of nerves above. Your head tips forward, eyes wide, moan caught halfway between shock and relief.

He does it again—slower. Deeper. And then he settles there, lapping between your folds in measured, practiced rhythms, the way he always does when he wants to unravel you completely before even thinking about letting you come. Like he’s taking notes with every movement, every tremble.

You can’t touch him. Can’t push his head closer. Can’t thread your fingers through his hair and plead for him to keep going. You can only brace yourself against the desk, back arching as your legs tremble, thighs spreading wider to give him more space, more of you.

And still, he hums against you, a soft, approving sound that vibrates through your core. His grip tightens just slightly on your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, anchoring you to him.

You feel every flick of his tongue like a secret only he knows how to coax out of you. And then—just when your breath is shuddering, when your body is taut with want—he speaks again, his voice like silk, low and infuriatingly in control against your slick skin. “Tell me what you want.”

Your voice cracks. “Zayne—”

But he doesn’t stop. He knows. He knows exactly what you want. What you need. What your body has been aching for since the moment he looked up at you with that calm, fond expression.

And because he knows—because this is how he shows love—he gives it. He gives you everything.

Your moans begin to crumble—trembling little things that slip past your lips with every sweep of his tongue, but soon they're laced with something else. A softness. A frustration. A whimper that doesn’t rise from pleasure alone.

Zayne doesn’t miss it. He hears the change in your breath, the pleading edge behind the sounds you make when you try to shift your weight forward, when your fingers curl helplessly against the knot of his stethoscope behind your back. When you whine his name again—not because you want more (he’s already giving you that), but because you can’t touch him. Can’t reach him. And you want to. Desperately.

His mouth stills against you. Your breath catches, eyes wide, pupils blown, your whole body trembles on the precipice—and then his voice cuts through the haze, low and controlled and unbearably intimate.

“You’ll come like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your inner thigh, voice warm as velvet and edged in something firmer. “Tied up and aching, just how you wanted it. Like a good girl.”

You whimper, the words hitting deeper than they should. Your hips twitch in response, clenching down around nothing, body already inching back toward the edge.

“And then,” he adds, letting his thumb trace the slick mess between your thighs, “maybe I’ll untie you. Let you touch me while I bury myself inside you right here on this desk.”

A pout forms at your lips, your thighs flexing around his shoulders, the sweet ache of wanting him more than your body can contain bubbling over—and just as quickly, it shatters when he dives back in.

This time, there’s no slowness. No teasing. He licks you like he owns you, like he knows every flick and circle and drag that turns your breath into broken gasps. His tongue moves with purpose now—steady, hungry, unrelenting—and his grip on your hips tightens until you’re pressed full against his mouth, helpless beneath the force of your pleasure.

You cry out—sharp and high—and he hisses under his breath, quick and quiet, lifting one hand to cover your mouth even as he doesn’t stop. Even as he groans into you, eyes half-lidded with focused heat.

“Quiet,” he breathes, not unkindly. “Do you want the whole floor hearing you?”

Your answer is muffled by his palm, a keening moan that dissolves into little sobs of pleasure as your thighs begin to shake, your body teetering and then tipping.

You come with a cry against his hand, full-bodied and raw, your whole form arching and curling forward as his mouth works you through it, never once letting up, never leaving you alone in the heat of it. His tongue doesn’t stop until you collapse, trembling and wrung out, hips twitching from oversensitivity.

Only then does he let go. Only then does he lift his head. His lips glisten. His breath is steady. But his eyes…They’re anything but calm.

You’re panting now, wrists still bound, arms aching with the need to hold him, and your eyes—blown wide and glassy—lock on his mouth, silently begging.

And Zayne, who rarely gives in to impulse, does. He rises swiftly, catching your mouth with his in one deep, consuming kiss. The taste of you lingers between your lips, thick and warm and intimate, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it fuels him.

His mouth moves against yours like he’s been waiting hours, not minutes. Tongue deep, breath hot, hands bracketing your hips now. You whine into him, pushing forward even with your arms behind you, trying to get closer, needing to feel more, all of him.

His fingers slide behind your back and the knot falls away with one smooth tug.

Your arms fly forward in an instant. You drag him close, fisting your hands in his white coat, in his shirt, in anything you can reach. And Zayne, caught in your grip, lets out the faintest gasp as your momentum tips him forward—your back hitting the desk with a soft thud, pulling him down with you.

You kiss him harder, breathless and greedy, your hands finally free, finally on him. And he groans into your mouth—low and real this time—as if the weight of your touch knocks the air from his lungs.

There is no more distance. No restraint. Just the dizzying heat of skin on skin, lips clashing, breaths stolen, and the desk beneath you both groaning quietly under the shifting weight.

The desk behind you is hard and unyielding, but you hardly notice. Not with Zayne between your thighs. Not with his mouth on yours, hot and breathless, stealing whatever air you have left with every deep kiss.

You brace your hands on his shoulders, clinging to the rough lines of his coat, nails dragging across the thick fabric. And then he shifts, fluid as breath, tugging the white coat from his shoulders in one clean motion. It falls to the floor, forgotten.

Your hands are on his shirt the moment the coat is gone, working fast at the buttons with shaking fingers. He groans into your mouth when you get halfway, and you feel his hips roll forward, just slightly, like his body is already preparing for what comes next.

The shirt stays on—half-open, collar loose, sleeves still clinging to his arms—but you don’t care. You drag your nails down his chest, savoring the heat of his skin, the hard definition beneath your fingers, and the way he shudders when your touch grazes low, just above his waistband.

He grips your hips harder—broad palms cupping your ass, pulling you forward to the very edge of the desk. You’re wet, aching, desperate, and he’s just as wrecked. You can feel it in the way he holds you, in the tremble beneath the surface of his control.

Your hand fumbles at his belt.

“Zayne,” you whisper into his mouth between frantic kisses, “I need you. I need it—need you.”

He exhales sharply against your lips like the words land somewhere deep in his chest, and his fingers twitch where they’re gripping you, heat rising off his skin in waves. His jaw tightens—your name caught somewhere in his throat—but he doesn’t waste a second more.

With a soft grunt, he unfastens himself, movements rougher now, urgent. You reach between you, helping—wanting—until you both gasp when the thick heat of him presses against your slick entrance.

There’s no hesitation. He sheathes himself inside you in one deep, smooth thrust, filling you to the hilt. Your head falls back with a broken sound. Zayne swears under his breath, forehead pressed to yours, one arm wrapping around your back to steady you both as you tighten around him.

“God—” he breathes, “you always feel like this.”

He doesn’t wait. Can’t. You claw at his half-unbuttoned shirt, dragging him closer, grounding yourself against his chest as he begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts at first—controlled, precise—but the rhythm builds fast. Every time your hips meet his, you fall apart a little more.

You kiss him through it—sloppy, gasping, desperate kisses that taste like love and heat and everything you can’t say fast enough. His hand fists in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head so he can kiss you deeper, longer.

And then—between your moans, between the hard, rocking thrusts that send the desk beneath you creaking—you whisper it, “I love you.”

Zayne stills for a heartbeat, but you feel the way it wrecks him. Feel it in the way his body stutters. In the rough, choked breath he exhales against your lips.

And then he moves harder. Not reckless, not wild, but deeper. Hotter. More. He kisses you like he’s falling apart.

“I love you,” he growls into your mouth, voice frayed and hoarse, “my love—I love you—fuck—you feel so good…”

You whimper against him, breathless, as he thrusts harder, each stroke sending you sliding slightly on the desk. He grips your hips again, anchoring you as your bodies crash together over and over, his mouth never far from yours, kissing you through every sound, every gasp.

The office is hot. The windows are fogged. The world outside doesn’t exist—just this. Just you and him. And the way you fall into each other like you’ve done it a thousand times—and would do it a thousand more.

324 notes · View notes

lieslab · 9 days ago

Text

Lane seven is for losers (and lovers)

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: Your boyfriend promises not to cheat at bowling, but all he tells is lies.

Genre: Crackfic

Word Count: 3.4K

A/N: I believe in Kim Seungmin cheating (at games) supremacy. This was supposed to be fluff, but it fits far more under the crackfic terminology. Long live Seungmin's cheating spree <3

_ _ _

“Whatever you do, you’re not allowed to cheat tonight.”

“Cheat?” Seungmin glanced up from his bowling ball. “How would I cheat at bowling?”

You narrowed your eyes, causing a smirk to quip up on his face. He shrugged innocently, but you knew better. “Don’t play with me, I know how you work.”

“I’d never dream of cheating on my significant other, especially not when it comes to bowling.”

“Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

“Don’t believe me?”

“Never. Deception lies behind those puppy eyes of yours. I’m onto you and I’d never let you get away with such a thing.”

“I don’t expect you to.” A glimmer of something sparkled in his eyes, causing your face to fall slightly. Before you could speak, he smiled and went back to shining the orange bowling ball in his lap.

He was planning something and there was nothing you could do, besides sit and wait for it to happen.

~ ~ ~

Lane seven, you had a good feeling about it. You spent two weeks planning the perfect little date. Tucked away in the back corner of town, you drove the two of you to the smaller building. It wasn’t huge and there were only a handful of other people around the building.

Down at the opposite end of the lanes, an older gentleman and his wife were in a pair of plum purple polos and jeans. White bowling shoes sat on their feet and they took turns rolling their balls down the lane. You assumed they were waiting on others. They must have had a bowling league, or maybe they came here from a distant game.

Whatever the case, you caught wind of their laughter. You couldn’t stop glancing over in their direction. You enjoyed their playful bickering and teasing. In your own pair of borrowed bowling shoes, you waited for Seungmin to wipe down his bowling ball. You never understood the importance of it, but Seungmin insisted it was key to winning the game.

He originally sat with the ball in his lap. One hand steadied the side and with a maroon cloth, he wiped small circles around and around the top and opposite side. Just when you thought he’d finished, he placed it back in the return machine beside yours.

He pushed on it, rolling it upside down, and started to wipe it down again. All you could do was roll your eyes and wait for him to finish. “Just like Changbin taught me,” he explained. You didn’t listen to him talk about the specifics of the game.

Honestly, you really didn’t care about all the specifics. In your head, all you had to do was roll the ball down the lane and knock over pins. The automatic screen above your heads would keep track of the score. All you needed to do was knock down more pins. It should be easy and relatively simple.

“Okay,” Seungmin finally stood up, “I’m ready to start. Go ahead and go first.”

You turned your back on the elderly couple and headed for your bowling ball. “Are you ready to lose Kim Seungmin?”

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead and give it your best shot, hot shot.”

“Thank you, I will.” You stuck your fingers in the lime green holes and started towards the lane. Ten pins faced you and waited for impact. You twisted your hips, sucked in a deep breath, and pulled back your arm.

Behind you, Seungmin watched in silence. His eyes scanned your body with a silent amusement. So set on winning this thing, you had no idea what kind of ideas he had up his sleeve.

A loud thud and a steady rumble. Your ball rolled over and over and over again. Gliding smoothly beneath the overhead warm yellow lights. Just before hitting the pins, it started to venture to the left of your aim. “No, no, no, no!”

Seungmin laughed and pins clattered. Two out of ten. Your head jerked around, he pointed and laughed at you. As the machine whirled and cleared away the dropped pins, your ball popped back out next to his. With a huff, you headed over and grabbed it. “I’m going to get a strike this time.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Childishly, your tongue stuck out at him. You didn’t see him imitate your stance. Instead, you swung your arm back and let the ball rip again. It rushed down the lane, too fast and too curved. Over and over and then-

“Oh, gutter!” Seungmin taunted behind you. “Gutter ball! Gutter ball! You got a gutter ball!”

“This is all your fault.”

“What did I do?”

“You’re a distraction!”

“Me?” He glanced down at his t-shirt and sweatpants. “Yeah, sure. Just admit you’re a bad bowler and take the L.”

“Suck my-”

“Woah!” He held up his hand to stop you. “It’s only the first round and we still have so many to go. If you have issues, take it up with the pins, the machine, or your ball. Maybe just take it up with yourself in the mirror and your lack of pro skills.”

“Oh, yeah? Like you could do much better.”

“Watch me because I will.”

So you did. Angrily, with your arms crossed over your chest. Your nostrils flared and you huffed. Seungmin vowed to be better and he was. He shifted himself more to the side and threw the ball harder. You watched, trying to memorize how he stepped into the throw.

The ball’s constant whirling ended with a loud crash. His hands formed into fists and he cheered. “Yeah! Strike! I told you!” He spun around to face you, but he was met with your eye rolling.

“You’re not going to win this,” you said.

“Watch me.”

What was supposed to be just an ordinary game turned into something far more entertaining than you ever expected.

~ ~ ~

You didn’t recognize the first time Seungmin cheated. Too busy swept up in the chatter and laughter coming from a group of rowdy incoming teenage boys, you missed him taking steps onto the bowling lane and launching the ball closer to the fresh placed pins. He jerked backwards before the ball impacted, hurrying back towards your side, as if the cheating had never happened.

At the sound of a loud clatter and call of another strike, you glanced over. “What? Already? How’d that happen?”

He shrugged, “I guess I’m just that good.”

Your head tipped back to find the screen. So far, Seungmin had three strikes and was in the lead. You? You, on the other hand, you weren’t doing so great. Maybe that microfiber cloth really did hold the secret to winning, but you didn’t ask if you could borrow it. No way.

You’d triumph and go forth. You grabbed your ball and headed back down the lane, determined to gain your first strike. Seungmin sat back at the booth by the ball return machine. He picked up his sweet tea, saturated with condensation, and slowly sipped.

You mimicked his movements and let your ball go. A quiet prayer fell beneath your breath, but it fell upon deaf ears. The ball shifted and slammed hard into the gutter.

Seungmin chuckled and took another sip. “Hey!” He called out. You spun around, wondering what he wanted. “I think you missed the pins a little.”

“Shut up!”

He raised his hands in defeat and watched you come back to retrieve your ball. A few lanes away, the group of teenage boys discussed strategies and ways to gain points. Your eyes went over a few times, but Seungmin’s focus stayed on you. As much as you hated to admit it, the added noise caused you to lose focus.

It was one thing to see the elderly couple. They were on the other side, their voices were softer. You only picked up snippets of their words, but with a group of nearly six teenagers, if one wasn’t loud, another was. It shook your focus and made concentrating feel extra difficult.

“Are you going to get a strike this time?”

You shrugged and went back to the lane. A head held tall and spine straightened. Your arm reached back, you stepped into your throw and-

“WOO!”

Right as you threw the ball, your hand shifted. The ball curved and didn’t even make it a fourth of the way down the lane before it slammed the gutter again. You jerked to the side, expecting to see one of the teens pointing and laughing at you. Chaos ran through their veins, but none of them looked your way.

“Oh, yoo-hoo!” Seungmin called out. You spun to find him grinning ear-to-ear and waving his hand above his head. “What a shame. Another gutter ball. I guess that means it’s my turn now. Sit down and let me show you how it’s done.”

“Did you just-”

“What?”

“Kim Seungmin, did you just cheat?”

“Can a man not be excited for his date’s bowling session?”

“You totally just cheated!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“You yelled!”

“You should learn how to tune out noise.” He grabbed his ball and headed to the spot you were in.

You sputtered, trying to push out words, but none came. Not a single word could defeat him. You should have known from the start, even when it came to bowling, Seungmin was going to find a way to cheat.

He hummed, stepped up to the edge of the bowling lane, shimmied his body, almost mockingly, and let the ball fly. When it hit the gutter, you jerked upright pointing at him. “HA! Take that! How does it feel now?”

“Feels like a victory, considering I’m still winning.”

He didn’t show any signs of distress. Taking his time and coming back to you, he pulled out the microfiber cloth and took it to his ball once more. The entire nonchalant scene pissed you off far more than you’d like to admit.

He posed again, but before he let the ball go, he dropped to all fours. You blinked, trying to understand what he was doing. Your head cocked, but you remained rooted in your spot. He crawled further down the lane, laid down, and shoved his ball.

When all ten pins flew down and scattered around the edge of the lane, you stared at him in shock. Not because of the strike, but because you couldn’t believe he had the audacity to cheat so openly. He didn’t regret it either. He practically skipped back to your side beaming.

“Did you see that?”

“You asshole.”

“You’re a sore loser,” he continued. “I’m doing my part as an honorable bowling player and-”

“Honorable my ass and you should be disqualified.”

“Someone’s feeling defensive because I’ve already won the game. We only have a few rounds left and even if you gained strikes with each turn, you’d never catch up to me. I’m simply adding my own form of entertainment.”

You glared at him and scowled. As much as you hated his reasoning, he had a point. You were defeated and there was no way you could catch up. Your arms crossed over your chest and you dropped into your seat with a huff.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that. If you want to, I’ll let you cheat for your last few turns.”

“How many times have you been cheating during this game?”

“Uh…” He grimaced and shrugged. “A few.”

“I think we have varying views of ‘a few.’”

He gestured back to the lane, waiting for you to take your turn. Just because you could, you leaned over, grabbed his sweet tea, and took a large swallow of it. He groaned, came over, and pulled it away from you.

“Hey, cheating is one thing. You spreading your cooties is entirely different. Come on, loser, I’m going to show you how to properly aim and throw your ball.”

“I don’t have cooties.”

He laced one hand through yours and tugged you to the ball return with the other. His fingers stuck into your ball and the moment he tried to pick it up, it slammed back into the metal rack with a large clatter. His eyes widened and he jerked around to look at you. “Babe!”

“What?”

“Oh my god, this entire time I’ve thought you sucked at bowling. No wonder you can’t score properly!”

“Huh?”

“Your ball practically weighs a thousand pounds! What size ball did you pick up?”

“What do you mean what size? I just picked up the color I was drawn to. I like the lime green, it’s pretty.”

He busted into a laugh and reached up and slammed a hand over his mouth. He spun around, turning away from you, and dropped to his knees. You stared at him feeling confused, until a voice came from behind you.

“Are you feeling alright, son?”

Behind you, the older couple from earlier appeared. The older man’s eyes met yours. Honeydew eyes, worn wrinkles, and thin lips. His wife lingered behind him, digging through her purse with bright red polished fingernails. “Does he feel okay? I have some anti-nausea medication in here.”

“Oh, I don’t think-”

Seungmin’s head popped up. He spun around with a red face. A smile broke out as he laughed again. “No need, I’m okay. My significant other here hasn’t been scoring very well and I just realized they grabbed a ball with a heavier weight. This whole time, I thought they were terrible at bowling.”

“Oh, dear,” the woman uttered. Her hand went up, trying to hide her faint smile.

The man laughed, reached out, and patted you on the shoulder. “You must be new to bowling. Eh, that’s okay. My wife and I weren’t good when we started out, either. If you need some pointers, we’d be happy to assist you.”

Embarrassed and mortified, you found the courage to nod. You’d need all the help you were going to get if you planned to beat Seungmin, but if the ball was lighter, it’d be helpful if it was easier to roll. Seungmin offered his ball and the couple spent nearly a half hour teaching you everything you needed to know.

It was safe to say that bowling was a hell of a lot easier when you knew what you were doing.

~ ~ ~

“One more round! Please, Seungmin? One more round and then we can go.”

“But you’ve already lost and I’m out of sweet tea.”

“I know, but I’m feeling a strike. I’ll buy you another sweet tea before we go. One more and I’ll let you have your win in peace.”

He sighed, but gestured to the lane. “Okay, go ahead. It’s all yours, but seriously, this has to be the last one. People are really starting to fill this place up.”

You took your aim and the helpful pointers from the older couple came back. Apparently, they took up bowling after retirement and found so much enjoyment in it, they joined a local league. The thought briefly crossed your mind as your eyes met Seungmin’s while they taught you how to stand properly.

Would you two be like them some day? When your natural hair faded and skin began to sag? Would you still be able to find the energy to go out and swing around a bowling ball, despite your body wearing down with age? You hoped so.

A final time, you brought the ball back. Your eyes laid on the single pin in the middle of the lane. Every muscle relaxed and your heart steadily pounded against your ribs. You held your gaze, letting your eyes keep hold of your aim. You started to throw and-

The brush of gentle fingertips along the sides of your ribs caused you to gasp. Your arm jerked and the ball dropped. Seungmin laughed, but it was cut short when you screamed in pain. The ball landed on top of your foot.

Something cracked and your leg gave out. The noise around you halted and Seungmin’s eyes widened. He called your name as you stumbled, reaching out to catch you. You barely caught his hands before you hit the ground.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. I thought it’d cause you to get another gutter ball. I-I wasn’t thinking straight.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the throbbing in your foot. Your skin pulsed against the tightened black laces. “Forget the sweet tea, you owe me a trip to urgent care.”

“With pleasure.”

He echoed apologies non-stop as he helped you hobble out of the bowling alley. He offered to give you a piggy-back ride, but you refused. A few staff members tried to check on you, one offered to call for an ambulance, but you were stubborn. Headstrong and nearly as determined as he was.

“It hurts,” you mumbled when you got to the car.

“Yeah, no shit. You dropped a heavy bowling ball straight onto your foot.”

“It’s all your fault.”

“I said I was sorry! How can I make it better after urgent care?”

“You spend the next few days helping me without complaining.”

“Fine.”

“And no more cheating!”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Even with a broken foot, you really know how to push my buttons.”

“Kim Seungmin!”

“Fine! No more cheating! I’ll stop!”

“Thank fuck.”

You slipped into the car, having to rely on him for help. You were quiet most of the drive. You could only focus on the sharp pain each time you moved your foot. It ached, no matter how you tried to angle it and it wouldn’t stop. The throb jerked upright into the front of your leg.

No matter what happened next, you just hoped the pain would be kept to a minimum.

~ ~ ~

A few hours later and with the help of Seungmin, you slipped onto your couch with a sigh. A velcro boot sat snug around your foot. Still swollen and in pain, you were told to elevate it. If needed to, you could take off the boot and ice the area.

“What do you need me to do?” Seungmin asked. He didn’t say it out loud, but there was worry in his eyes. Ever since his actions caused the injury, he’d been internally beating himself up about it. “I can get a pillow for your leg.”

Your head shook and you shifted upright. “I need you to come sit behind me. I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I just want to be close to you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“Please?”

He approached you cautiously and slipped behind you. After he sat, you slipped back and curled onto his lap. Like usual, his arms wrapped around you and provided comfort. You leaned over, letting the side of your face fall against his chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Are you crazy? You should be yelling at me. I fractured your foot!”

“I don’t care about that at the moment.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Don’t let it go to your head, but I had fun, even if you were cheating. It did provide high quality entertainment.”

“But I hurt you.”

“And I’ll heal.”

He reached up and pushed your hair away from your ear. “You really know how to give a guy a heart attack. We can never go back there. Everyone stared at me like I murdered you. It’s going to be the next trending Dispatch article.”

“I’m okay.”

“I can see it now. Kim Seungmin tries to kill his significant other. On Friday evening-”

You laughed and his heart skipped a beat. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your temple. “The next time I cheat, I’ll try to make sure I don’t injure you in the process.”

“I appreciate that.”

“So… should I get that pillow for you now?”

“Sorry, bubs. You’re stuck being my pillow for the rest of the night.” You hunkered down, enjoying being close to him. “When I’m ready to get up and use the bathroom, I’ll let you know.”

“I can’t believe I love you.”

“I can’t believe you broke my foot.”

“I said I was sorry!”

You’d never be able to stop teasing him and for the rest of your lives, you’d be telling the story; even at your future bowling league, you’d recount how the love of your life broke your foot while trying to cheat at bowling.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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