#but still. a bit faster than expected | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

anghimalaaynasapuso · 4 months ago

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PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he interrupts, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

the line clicks.

he’s gone.

panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

you figure the truth is the best option you've got. “simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail that shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but there they go anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough that he doesn’t have to rip you open.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready?"

you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it drives him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out. "that’s my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.

you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.

"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before you’re being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go. "keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this.” his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.” he grins. “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

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fatherbrat · 8 months ago

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incubus!sukuna, part two. part one here

you wake up sweaty, the sheets clinging to your skin. there’s an unfamiliar pressure on your hips, and you almost feel stuck. when you open your eyes, there are four staring back at you in the dark.

instinctively, you open your mouth to scream, but sukuna is faster than you. one of his large hands is covering your face before you can even blink, muffling your scream completely.

he leans into you, close enough that you can smell faint wisps of smoke coming from him.

“you remember me.” it’s a statement, not a question. “let me have you like this.” outside of your head, he thinks.

he watches as you glance at the clock across the room. 3:56. you close your hand into a fist, pressing your nails into your palm before raising it to your face and counting all five fingers. you look back at the clock. still 3:56.

you’re awake.

the pressure on your hips—his hands holding you down—goes away as he shifts positions, lifting you into his lap. suddenly, you feel overly exposed in the tank top and underwear you wore to bed. his double erection presses into your side, twin promises of what’s to come.

just like in your dreams, he makes the first move with little hesitation, pulling your underwear off you in one swift movement. you follow his lead, tugging your tank over your head and tossing it to the floor.

you’re already wet enough for him to slip three of his thick fingers inside you without prepping you first. he chuckles to himself as he watches the way your pussy greedily sucks his fingers in. you squirm a bit, trying to subtly push yourself down on his hand, hoping for more.

he pauses. “what? this not enough for you?”

the stern tone of his voice makes your legs tense, bringing them together. sukuna tuts, “don’t run away now, you just said you wanted more.” he pushes your legs back open, wider than they were before.

you purse your lips. “technically, i didn’t say that.”

he stares down at you, unfamiliar with this kind of back-talk from a human. he expects attitude from succubi, always too impish and bratty, but human women? they’ve always been willing and pliant.

you tuck your lips between your teeth and stare back, eyes twinkling.

you aren’t expecting the large smile that breaks across his face, making you feel like a rabbit staring into the maw of a lion.

you’re suddenly on your back, head resting against your pillow. sukuna hovers over you and pulls his fingers out of your cunt, and he looks you in the eyes as he licks them clean. you don’t break eye contact, which only seems to rile him up further.

“you’re a bold one,” he mumbles, pushing your legs up until your knees are nearly to your ears.

you groan at the position, momentarily wishing you’d been stretching more regularly. but you don’t have any time to dwell on it before sukuna presses the fat tip of one of his dicks against your slit.

your breath hitches as he sinks himself all the way in, pushing your legs further back to get deeper.

“oh my god.”

somehow, he feels bigger in real life. your jaw drops at the rude entry, and you watch sukuna’s lips stretch into a sly smile.

he pulls out completely, only to thrust back into you, his tip kissing your cervix. he continues at a steady speed, driving you closer and closer to an orgasm with every movement.

when you come, you swear you see stars. your toes and fingers and ears are tingling, skin prickling all over. your cunt spasms around sukuna’s monstrous cock, clenching and releasing like she’s trying to milk him. you’re so focused on trying to ride it out that you hardly register when sukuna lines up his second dick with your entrance.

you scream when you feel it—sukuna’s twin cocks stretching you open more than you even knew was possible.

he gives you a moment to take it in, whispering for you to breathe as he waits for you to relax around him. one of his hands envelops yours, pinning it to the bedsheets.

the moment you adjust, he goes back to his previous pace, only marginally slower.

the feeling is overwhelming, being so totally stuffed. it only gets worse when he starts thumbing your clit. immediately, your mind goes blank, short-circuiting in response to the devastating amount of pleasure.

you're subjected to more orgasms in quick succession, each one sending shockwaves throughout your body. sukuna keeps going, looking increasingly satisfied every time you come.

the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes start to fall down your temples. a string of “please, please, please, please” spills from your lips, but you’re not quite sure what you’re asking for, too fucked out to be coherent.

you’re vaguely aware of the praises he starts showering you with. something about how you’re his favorite, and how your pussy sucks him in the best, how he’ll never fuck another, blah blah blah. his hips buck at a sloppier pace than before.

you feel his cocks pulse inside you, and for the first time since he’s started visiting you, he comes.

you’re not expecting to feel so empty when he finally pulls out of you. he uses his fingers to stuff his cum as far up as it’ll go, but it leaks out anyways, trickling towards your ass. he lets go of you, letting you lay down your legs and stretch them out on the bed.

in your cum-drunk haze, you latch onto sukuna's hand, tucking it beneath your head and mumbling thank you’s into his skin as you curl up under the sheets. as you begin to drift into unconsciousness, you feel him wrapping you up in his arms, cradling you. a single thought cuts through the fog in your brain: this is new.

you think you hear him tell you you’re welcome just before falling asleep.

reblog for a kiss ( ੭ ˘ ³˘)੭‎°｡⋆♡‧₊˚

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #fatherbrat ♱ library #sukuna #jjk #sukuna jjk

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rowarn · 2 years ago

Text

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby.

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away.

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time.

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that.

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military.

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about.

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do.

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by.

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it.

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight.

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open.

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you.

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance.

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider.

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up?

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole.

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did.

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it.

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König.

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age.

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did.

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name.

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot.

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up.

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them.

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later.

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches.

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind.

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on.

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it.

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself.

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on.

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you.

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off.

He doesn’t respond.

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him.

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König.

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days.

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for.

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence.

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it.

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out.

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all.

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen.

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on.

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him.

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after.

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze.

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual.

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade.

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you.

It’s for the best, he assures himself.

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there.

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself.

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes.

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life.

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts.

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt.

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings.

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake.

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate.

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet.

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence.

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge.

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him.

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you.

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change.

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it.

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision.

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff.

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you.

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch.

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out.

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss.

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to.

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip.

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before.

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it.

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder.

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely.

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms.

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan.

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought.

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you.

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him.

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle.

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again.

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away.

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements.

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips.

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure.

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip.

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches.

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements.

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience.

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties.

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs.

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it.

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt.

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you.

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you.

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look.

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool.

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock.

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum.

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause.

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch.

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore.

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch.

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you.

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer.

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter.

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good.

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you.

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist.

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs.

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his.

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out.

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap.

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

property of rowarn; do not modify, repost, or translate.

#könig smut #könig x reader #konig smut #konig x reader #cod x reader #cod smut

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em1i2a3 · 23 days ago

Text

Only He Can Heal Me

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

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, you and Bob take refuge in one of Valentina’s safehouses to wait for an extraction.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, and a bit of Angst. We got the one bed trope in here, and we love it very much lol. Mentions of Blood and Injuries, Light Exploration of Readers Traumatic Past, Mentions of Violence, Descriptions of Wound Care. Reader has taken a Super Soldier Serum (a messed up one that didn’t truly work but gave her some benefits like healing a little faster than others and some enhanced strength).

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (….y’all know what I’m going to say…I don’t have to tell you lol), Fingering, Oral Sex (Female Receiving) Handjob, Messy/Sensual Sex, Spitting (but like…in a sensual way guys lol), Grinding

Authors Note: We love a good one bed trope, but I gotta say I’ve written close to like 30,000 words in the past 24 hours and my brain is like ‘HOW MUCH MORE SMUT CAN WE WRITE’ lol. Loved doing it though, it was like a marathon! Can’t wait to release the next one tomorrow :) Enjoy this one, this was a request from an anon, and I cannot find it! But ENJOY!

Word Count: 16,184

The prep bay was cold and mostly empty, except for the soft hum of wall vents and the faint rattling of gear being zipped, buckled, and secured behind locker doors.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, too bright in places and dim in others, flickering where the panels hadn’t been replaced in months. The room smelled faintly of machine oil and static–charged with the familiar tang of adrenaline, sweat, and sterile fabric fresh from vacuum-sealed bags.

You’d just finished adjusting the last strap of your chest harness–tightening it down over the protective plating that pressed solid and reassuring against your sternum–when a flicker of gold caught your peripheral vision.

You paused, with one hand still on the cinch strap at your hip, and turned your head slightly at the colour.

Bob was standing by the far mirror, partially tucked between two lockers, half-lit by a faulty overhead beam that stuttered and blinked every few seconds like it couldn’t quite keep up with the job it was supposed to be doing. He hadn’t noticed you staring–or if he had, he was pretending not to.

He was already suited up and ready for the mission, and you couldn’t help but let your eyes roam over the sight in front of you.

The new Sentry suit clung to him like it had been built cell by cell onto his skin.

Not just worn–forged. It wrapped around every inch of him like it had been grown from starlight and gravity and expectation, molded to fit the weight of a man who could level New York with the snap of his fingers.

And for the first time, with the old bulk of his baggy sweaters and oversized sweatpants gone, you were able to see everything.

The long, sculpted lines of his legs, wrapped in dark navy plating that traced the shape of powerful quads and calves. The sweep of his hips, trim and bracketed in reinforced seamwork that flexed faintly with every shift in his stance. The gold across his chest was smooth, seamless, pressed tight to thick pectorals and sharply defined shoulders that rose and fell with each breath like rolling thunder. Even his arms–cords of lean muscle, taut and strong–were framed by the suit in a way that almost felt indecent in how much presence it gave him.

He was broad. Massive. Godly.

Everything about him in that moment was dangerous in the way the sun is dangerous: too bright, too big, and too hot…Temperature wise of course.

But instead of standing proud in the new suit, he looked uncertain. Hunched slightly, like he was trying to take up less space than he did. One hand moved across his chest in slow, flattening passes–fingers dragging across the golden seam like he was checking for cracks in a shell that didn’t quite feel like his.

His expression in the mirror was unreadable. Something between awe and fear, because the suit made him look like a god.

But the man wearing it?

He still looked like Bob.

Like someone who had spent too long convincing himself he wasn’t worthy of saving–let alone saving anyone else.

You watched him for another couple of seconds. Long enough to catch the subtle furrow of his brow, the way his breath visibly slowed like he was talking himself through the act of just existing inside all that power.

And then–your voice, calm and familiar, cut through the quiet of the room like a knife:

”You’re missing the cape.” He flinched, startled–his shoulders jolting slightly as he twisted toward the sound of your voice. His eyes found yours with the soft, wide-open look of someone who’d just been pulled out of water without realizing how long they’d been drowning. His mouth parted. The apples of his cheeks flushed pink almost instantly, Color blooming up toward the tips of his ears–embarrassed, maybe, or just vulnerable in a way he didn’t know how to guard around you.

You could see the question flicker behind his eyes: How one have you been watching me?

”…Oh.” He said, voice rough at the edges. It caught in his throat, and he cleared it with a soft, awkward cough. His gaze dropped for a second, darting to the chair behind him where the cape sat–folded with care, the weight of its symbolism too heavy for him to shoulder just yet.

”Y-Yeah. I wasn’t s-sure if I should wear it this t-time around.” He replied quietly, as he spoke, a loose strand of light brown hair slipped forward, tumbling across his brow–soft against the sharpness of the suit. He reached up with a flicker of self-consciousness, fingers pushing it back behind his ear, but the motion only emphasized the contrast: the boyish awkwardness of Bob Reynolds trying to live inside the myth of Sentry. When he looked back up at you, the light caught his eyes just right.

And you saw it.

Gold.

Faint, flickering through the deep ocean blue–the colour his irises sported when he was in a certain light–like lightning scattering across abandando seas. Not glowing outright–but present. Watching. Sentry was not lurking, not threatening; he was just awake. Quiet. Curious almost.

You started walking toward him, slow and casual. Measured in a way that wouldn’t spook him and that wouldn’t make him feel like a specimen under glass.

”You should wear it,” You said gently, “It’ll complete the look.” His lips twitched, but didn’t quite make it to a smile.

”T-The look?” You nodded.

”Y’know…The whole divine golden protector from the skies thing they have going for you.” His lashes fluttered as you approached, long and soft against the sharp angles of his face, still a little pink at the cheekbones. He blinked once–then again–as if grounding himself with your steps.

You stopped just shy of him, giving him a respectful bit of space but close enough to see the precise stitching of his suit now–not just armor, but something compared to scripture in a way. Intricate lines flowed from shoulder to elbow like veins of lightning trapped in cloth, cross-patterned over his ribs with a celestial geometry you recognized as Sentry’s sigil, though this one was subdued–etched into him instead of displayed.

The golden plating was seamless, light-warped and fluid over his chest, hugging the swell of his pectoral muscles, tapering down his waist and into the darker paneling that wrapped around his hips like a brace. There were slight grooves in the gold that shimmered as he moved, like solar flares caught in motion. Even standing still, he looked ready to fly. Seeing all the details up close almost took your breath away.

And still–he was fidgeting.

Not noticeably. Not like before.

But enough that you saw it: the flex of his fingers against his thigh. The tiniest rise of his chest like he was trying to steady his breathing.

And only you would notice.

You let the moment stretch just long enough for the tension to ease between you. Your voice stayed quiet, grounded.

“Can I help you put it on?” He didn’t answer right away, but then his eyes flicked up–searching your face, just for a moment–and he gave a single, quick nod. You turned, walking the last few steps to the chair where the cape rested. It was folded perfectly, like a sacred object waiting to be used. Your fingers brushed the fabric as you lifted it.

It was heavier than it looked–dense and thick, with layered gold threading woven through an inner lining of dark slate gray. The outer side was luminous, that same rich gold as his suit, but slightly deeper–burnished at the edges, like sunlight just before dusk. The hem shimmered subtly with kinetic microfilaments meant to stabilize it mid-flight. Even in your hands, it felt powerful.

When you turned back around with the cape in your hands, he was still standing, fingers still twitching at his sides like he was mulling over something in his head. The air between you seemed to tighten just a little–charged, but not dangerous. Not with him. Not anymore.

Then, with a soft exhale, Bob moved.

Slowly, deliberately–he began to kneel.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. Just one knee lowering to the floor with careful control, his head bowed slightly–not in deference, but out of thoughtfulness.

So the height difference wouldn’t strain you, so you wouldn’t have to reach and hurt yourself.

Your breath hitched slightly at the sight.

Because he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t said a word. He had simply given you what he knew you’d never really ask for–ease, access, and trust.

You stepped into his space without hesitation, the cape feeling heavier now in your hands–not just from the weight, but with the meaning of what you were about to do. You stood in front of him quietly, with his head still lowered, shoulders broad and solid but stilled beneath your touch, as if he didn’t want to do anything that would interrupt your rhythm. He breathed in the scent of your tactical gear–the strong smell of gun oil, burnt fabric, and a sweetness that only he could describe as hot strawberries.

You leaned over him and began fastening the clips just beneath his collar–magnetized seal points engineered to respond to manual input only, no voice command, no suit automation. It had always struck you as oddly poetic, like some designer was trying to make some sort of underhanded statement about the vulnerability of a superhero that the rest of the world missed.

Now, it made perfect sense.

Someone had to help him with this.

He couldn’t do it alone.

Maybe it was meant to encourage connection. Maybe it was just another line item under “team protocol.” But right now–with your fingers brushing the reinforced seamwork of his armor, with Bob Reynolds kneeling before you in absolute stillness–it felt sacred, like a kind of ceremony that tethered the both of you into each other.

You clicked the last clasp into place slowly, the faint metallic snap sounding louder than it should’ve in the quiet. Then, with both hands, you smoothed the cape gently across his shoulders–your palms gliding over thick, immovable muscle as you checked the weight and fall of the fabric.

It settled down his back like a mantle. Not just gear. It was the final piece that made everything feel real. He was going into the field for the first time since he Voided the majority of New York City, and he was going with you.

This wasn’t just about trying to prove himself, this was about trying to belong on a team that was continuously doubting him and trying to shield him from missions they knew he wanted to help with.

You didn’t step away from him, instead, your hands stayed on his shoulders, resting lightly–warmth against armor, skin to suit, breath to breath. His body was solid beneath your touch, unmoving. Like he didn’t dare shift and break the moment. Like he was bracing against emotion he didn’t know how to show.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The room buzzed faintly around you. Somewhere a locker clicked shut. A bootstep echoed far off down the hallway. But none of it touched the space you two occupied.

Just you. Just him. Just the weight of what it meant. He looked up from the ground, bringing his shimmering eyes to yours, the cold blue being engulfed with the warmth of gold that pulsed softly beneath the surface.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Like it had to climb up his throat to get out.

“I d-didn’t get to say thank y-you,” He said, “…For what y-you did during the meeting.” You paused. The words hung there–raw and unfinished. You could feel him holding something back, unsure if he’d said too much already.

You shook your head gently.

“You don’t have to,” You murmured, “Someone had to do it.” He didn’t look away, nor did he drop his eyes or fidget. He just stayed there, kneeling, with the cape settling against him, and gold flickering under his skin like sunrise behind cloud cover.

“I still want to say i-it regardless…Because you’re the r-reason why I’m here right now.” The words landed heavy. True. Vulnerable in a way few people ever let themselves be anymore–not with the Thunderbolts. Not with everything they’d seen.

Your throat tightened–but before you could respond, you saw it in his eyes. The flicker. The shift.

He was remembering.

The meeting.

The room had been too full for comfort–one of the main ops debrief suites, repurposed last-minute because Walker had cracked the glass wall in the old briefing room again. Everyone was seated around the table, the tension so thick you could feel it in your molars.

Val stood at the head with a tablet in her hands, and a look that suggested she’d already decided the outcome before anyone spoke.

“The mission is recon only,” She said crisply. “Two agents. Remote location off the edge of Bucharest. No public visibility. Minimal risk.”

Then, like she was dropping a live grenade:

“Bob’s file is under consideration.”

You saw it immediately–the way Bucky stiffened in his seat. The way Walker leaned forward, jaw tightening. Yelena didn’t even try to hide her scoff, and Ava shot you a look across the table like she was trying to gauge how serious you were about this.

Only Alexei sat still, arms crossed, unreadable as usual–but you didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked toward Bob, who sat near the back. Silent. Hands folded in his lap. Shoulders drawn tight beneath a threadbare hoodie.

He hadn’t spoken. Not once. He didn’t need to. The silence around him was speaking volumes.

Val continued, breezing through the risk assessments. She spoke like Bob wasn’t even in the room.

“While his recovery has shown significant improvement–meditative regulation, Void suppression therapy, strength conditioning–field placement is still an unresolved variable.”

“‘Unresolved variable?’”You repeated, voice colder than you intended. “He’s been stable for eight months.”

”And we remember the last time he wasn’t stable.” Walker cut in, tone clipped, “Need I remind you of the Void turning the population into a trauma loop.” Yelena leaned back in her chair, arms folded.

”This isn’t about doubting his progress. It’s just about not wanting to see him go there again.” You rubbed your forehead.

”He won’t,” You snapped, more forcefully than you meant to–but you didn’t walk it back. Your eyes scanned the table, looking at the rest of the team, almost hoping that you would be able to convince them otherwise.

Ava sighed. “It’s not that we don’t believe he’s trying. We know he is. But try doesn’t count for much when the Void’s in play.”

That’s when you pushed your chair back and stood.

You didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t need to.

“Then what’s the point of any of it?” You asked. “The training, the meditations, the suppression chamber nights, the full neuro-synchronization sessions we’ve sat through–all of it. What is the point of putting him through hell to be better if the second he is, we decide it’s still not enough?”

The room quieted.

Bob hadn’t looked up.

He’d kept his hands together, looking down at the floor, with his shoulders hunched.

You stepped out from behind your chair, speaking not to the table anymore–but to him.

“I’ve watched him every day. I’ve seen him rebuild himself molecule by molecule while half of you still talk about him like he’s a bomb with a faulty timer. I trust him. And if no one else wants to give him that chance–fine. I will.” There was a pause as everyone exchanged glances at one another, while you looked over to where Val was standing, the tablet still perched in her hands,“Assign me the mission. Put him on it. Just us. Let’s see if all that damn therapy worked.” Val looked at you for a long moment. Then at Bob. Then back again, almost like she was questioning your sanity.

“…It’s your call…But you’re the one who’s taking the blame if anything happens.” You nodded once, steady and sure.

”I’m willing to take the chances.” The room remained quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful—just heavy. Charged. One wrong word and it would tip into something worse. But you didn’t waver. You didn’t even glance back at the others.

You turned.

And your eyes found him.

Bob was still seated, shoulders hunched, posture compact like he was trying to take up as little space in the world as possible. But–

He was looking at you.

For the first time that meeting, he’d lifted his head, just enough, and it wrecked you.

The stunned flicker in his expression was sharp, almost disbelieving. Like he hadn’t been expecting you to fight for him. Not like that. Not out loud. Not in a room where it would cost you something–like being sat out of missions for an unknown amount of time.

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. His gaze dropped again almost as fast–but not before you caught it.

The look in his eyes was hope, cracking at the edges.

That’s what had brought you to this moment, with him kneeling in front of you, and your hands resting on his shoulders.

”Trust me…It’s not that big of a deal.” But you felt it in the way his muscles shifted under your touch, the slight tremble of disbelief still running through him like an aftershock. The cape settled perfectly down his spine now, catching the flickering light in soft ripples as he knelt there, grounded not by weight, but by something far more vulnerable.

You didn’t mean to reach up.

But your hand moved on instinct.

Fingers brushing along the edge of his jaw before cupping the curve of his cheek–warm beneath your palm, with the faintest prickle of stubble just starting to grow back after this morning’s shave. His skin was soft. Too soft for someone who’d been built to withstand the weight of stars.

His breath hitched.

And though he didn’t lean into the touch, he didn’t move away either. He just looked at you–really looked at you. Gold threading through ocean blue. A light that wasn’t there just a few months ago.

The intimacy of it hung between you like a string pulled too tight. It was more than friendship. More than duty. It was something you hadn’t had the space to name yet–but it was there, crackling quietly in the places words couldn’t reach.

You dropped your hand slowly, gently. Letting it linger for just a heartbeat longer than you should have.

Then you smiled–small but sure–and stepped back.

“We’ll kick ass out there.” The shift in your tone pulled something like a grin from him. Shy. Crooked. Almost boyish.

You tilted your head toward the bay doors. “Now comm up. We’ve gotta catch the quinjet before Alexei starts yelling and Walker decides to fly it himself.”

That got a soft chuckle from him–quiet and warm, like sunlight after stormclouds.

He rose slowly, with the kind of strength that didn’t show off–but couldn’t be ignored either. The cape flowed down behind him as he stood to his full height, golden and striking and real. No longer a symbol he didn’t think he deserved–but one he’d earned, inch by inch.

And now?

He was finally wearing it.

Side by side, you made your way to the hangar doors, boots echoing softly on the floor.

Two agents.

One mission.

And for the first time in a long time–

Bob Reynolds looked ready.

———————

The facility sat like a carcass at the edge of the forest, its structure sunken and half-swallowed by the wild. Tall pines clustered around the perimeter like sentries of their own, and the building’s outer shell was cracked in places, choked with ivy and moss. The quinjet’s descent had barely stirred the quiet–no birdsong, no wind, just that unnatural stillness you only ever found around dead places.

Bob landed first.

Boots hitting the ground with a muffled thud, cape fluttering faintly behind him, and you followed seconds later, crouching low in the brush before rising to your full height beside him. You exchanged a look–then a nod–and started toward the front of the facility, with your weapons lowered, and sensors scanning.

Once inside, the air changed.

It was stale. Clinical. Stripped of time. Like the place had been left in a hurry, but not by accident. You moved through the corridors slowly, your shoulder brushing his every few steps–part proximity, part habit.

The walls were lined with steel and polymer composite, scorched in some places, and still faintly etched with whiteboard residue in others. You swept through the lab chamber by chamber–clearing one door after the next in practiced silence. It was only when you reached what had once been a medbay or containment ward that Bob slowed.

A cluster of terminals flickered dimly under emergency power. Loose papers were scattered across the desk, some yellowed with age, others oddly fresh. You tilted your head and picked one up, squinting in the low light.

“…Looks like they were testing a serum variant,” You murmured, eyes scanning the page. “Modified CRSP-3. With…Anti-degeneration binding agents?”

Bob leaned in, frowning faintly as he read over your shoulder. “S-Super soldier derivative…” He said quietly, recognizing the words he had heard when he was back at the lab in Malaysia, just a the name was a bit off, “It’s close to the version t-they gave me. Just…Not I guess.”

You looked up at the comment, quirking a brow. “Wrong how?”

He shook his head slowly. “L-Like someone took the recipe and forgot the sunlight.”

Your lips quirked slightly at the phrasing, but it faded quickly as your gaze dropped to another folder. You flipped it open and scanned the contents before muttering, “It’s not that different from mine.” His eyes lifted to yours.

“Y-You got a variant?” You raised a brow at him, like you had revealed a secret that everyone knew but never spoke of.

”It was completely diluted,” You replied, sliding a page free from the file, “Got a perk or two though, I can lift heavy stuff like cars and big slabs of concrete…I don’t heal as fast as I’d like though, not as quick as Bucky or John or Alexei. Not that I mind though, it still gives me some flexibility with my skills and stuff…” Bob’s eyes stayed locked on yours for a second longer, like he wanted to say something else about your serum but couldn’t find the words. Maybe it was respect. Maybe it was concern. But it lingered in the air between you.

You stepped lightly toward another desk, fingers trailing over cracked glass and dust-laced folders as you moved. The place felt stripped of life but not memory. You could still feel the hum in the walls, like the experiments had left a stain that hadn’t faded. Bob followed you, his movements quieter now, more controlled–a kind of hyper awareness rolling off him in waves.

”…Do you really not remember anything from that lab in Malaysia?” You asked softly–trying to change the subject, but to also pick his brain–as you thumbed through a clipboard lined with scrawled formulas and dates. His footsteps slowed behind you.

”I r-remember how I got there…But once I was in there it’s just f-fragments. Voices I c-can’t place…A hallway that smelled like o-ozone. Apart from t-that , I really can’t remember much. I do remember waking u-up to you, Ava, John, and Yelena fighting in The Vault.” You smirked at him.

”You remember that part, huh?” Bob’s eyes flicked up toward yours–soft, sheepish. “H-Hard to forget…It’s where I-I met you guys…” You huffed out a quiet laugh through your nose, about to say something else, but the comms in your ear crackled alive before you could get a word out.

Bucky’s voice came through, clipped and alert: “We’ve got movement on the perimeter. West tree line. At least six–no uniforms, no IDs. Could be nothing. Could be a problem.”

You straightened up from the desk, your hand drifting back to the rifle slung over your shoulder, thumb flicking off the safety. “Copy that,” You said calmly, eyes scanning the windows nearest the treeline. “If they come inside, we’ll handle it.”

A pause.

Bucky’s voice came again, firmer. “It’s an unknown number coming for you. Keep sharp. If this is a setup, they waited ‘til you were deep enough to spring it.”

You glanced over your shoulder at Bob, who was already stepping closer, posture coiled, gold flickering faint behind his eyes like a warning. The air felt heavier now–more electric.

You clicked your comms again and replied, dry as ever, “I’m sure a half-assed super soldier and a sun god with an alter ego can handle it.” There was silence on the line for a beat–then a low grunt from Bucky, unmistakably unimpressed.

“You call me when you’re bleeding,” He said, “I’m not flying out to pick up pieces.”

“I won’t let it get that far,” You promised, stepping into the center of the room as your eyes swept the walls and exits. You turned slightly, voice low now–just for Bob.

”We fall back to the south corridor if anything feels off. There’s an escape path to the ravine.” Bob nodded, fingers twitching faintly at his sides, his voice a whisper of steel and concern.

“Y-You sure you’re ready for this?”

You looked at him–and didn’t hesitate. “I brought you here for a reason.”

That earned you a flicker of something in his expression. Not quite a smile. Not quite fear. Just that electric wire of belief stretching taut between you both.

The sound of distant branches cracking wasn’t the kind of snap that came from animals or wind. It was sharp. Intentional.

Followed by another. Closer.

You turned toward the sound, raising your rifle. Bob turned as well the gold now brighter in his eyes, his whole body shifting subtly, muscles tightening like a wire being pulled taut inside that suit. A pulse of heat rolled off him in the moment before everything went wrong.

A sharp ping echoed from above–the unmistakable sound of a suppressed sniper round ricocheting off a corner beam. You ducked instinctively just as the window to your left exploded inward in a shower of reinforced glass and smoke.

“Y/N!” Bob shouted, arm flying out to shield you–just as a long device was thrown into the room, and it burst in a white-hot pulse of light and heat. The impact blew you sideways. You hit the floor hard, your shoulder slamming into the edge of a metal cabinet. Your ears were ringing, disoriented. The smoke was thick, burning your eyes and nose, and something wet was crawling down your back.

You tried to push yourself up–and screamed.

Pain shot through your entire torso like fire licking your spine. You blinked hard through the smoke, fingers going to your back, and when they came away they were slick with blood.

Shrapnel.

Glass. Steel. Maybe a burn too–you couldn’t tell yet. You gasped, coughing violently, but managed to drag yourself into a half-crouch. Your limbs trembled, but your fingers were still on the trigger of your rifle.

You heard movement to your left–shadows in the smoke–and a low, furious sound that didn’t sound quite human. It was Bob.

You turned just in time to see him tear through a wall.

Not a door. A wall.

There were two men in tactical gear on the other side, and he moved like a solar flare made flesh. One got thrown back with enough force to crumple the corridor’s far end. The other screamed when Bob grabbed him and slammed him into the floor so hard the tiles shattered.

“Bob–” You croaked–but it wasn’t Bob who turned to you.

It was Sentry.

His eyes glowed molten gold through the smoke, his expression a mask of fury and panic. He surged toward you, kneeling beside you so fast it stirred the haze around you like wind. He was panting hard, trying to pull himself back under control. But when his hands reached for you, they shook.

”Y/N…You’re bleeding.” His touch was warm and careful despite the trembling fingers, and that’s when you felt it. The slow trickle of something wet sliding down your temple.

You blinked hard and reached up, fingertips smearing through blood at your hairline. You must’ve caught some shrapnel near the scalp too, and you hadn’t even noticed, but the pain in your back was louder now that you were seeing blood.

“I’m fine,” You rasped, even though your ribs ached like splintered glass was being pushed through your skin, “You need to focus. We have to get out of here, now.”

He looked like he might argue. You saw it flicker in the golden fire of his gaze. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring with emotion he couldn’t shape into words, but then he nodded–once. Just enough. You clicked your comms with a blood-slick thumb, the static crackling as you gritted through the pain.

“Thunderbolt One, we’re compromised. Injuries sustained. South corridor breached. We’re falling back.”

Bucky’s voice came in fast, tight. “Copy that. Can you walk?”

You hesitated, then hissed through your teeth, “Not far. Took shrapnel to the back, possible burns–minimal mobility. Sentry’s with me.”

There was a beat of silence on the line.

Then Bucky again, quieter this time. “Safehouse is two klicks southeast. Hidden hydro-station in the gorge. We stocked it last month–first aid, comms, heat. We’ll extract when the sky’s clear. Maybe a couple hours. You gotta lay low.” Your head fell back slightly, breathing labored, the air still thick with smoke and the sting of ozone. You nodded more to yourself than anyone else.

“Understood.” Bob was already moving before the words left your lips. He gathered you in his arms with infinite care, like touching you wrong might undo you completely. You bit your lip hard enough to draw more blood, trying not to cry out as he shifted you against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, almost more to himself than to you.

Outside the shattered clinical grounds, you could hear the chaos still echoing–gunfire farther off, and someone screaming in the distance. Probably one of the men Bob had already thrown halfway through the wall. But here, in his arms, the world felt steadier. He held you like you weighed nothing. Like you mattered more than everything.

“C-Can you hold on?” He asked, voice flickering somewhere between Bob and something far, far older. “I’ll go slow. Just for a bit.”

“Yeah,” You whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He moved fast enough to blur the edges of the hallway but not so fast it hurt. You clutched weakly at the front of his suit, your fingers curling against the heat radiating off his chest. You tried not to close your eyes. Not yet. But the bleeding hadn’t stopped. The world kept dipping sideways and dragging you down with it.

The last thing you remembered was the forest flashing past in pieces–tree trunks like streaks of shadow, gold light blazing just beneath your lashes–and the sound of him whispering something over and over against your hair, too soft for your failing ears to catch.

——————

The first thing you felt was the cold.

Not biting–but quiet. A gentle chill that hugged the concrete floor beneath your spine, softened only by the blanket cocooned around you. It carried the scent of dust and pine sap, of old stone and something faintly metallic–like blood. Your head throbbed. Not sharp, but thick and heavy, like your skull had been packed with wet cotton. Pain bloomed somewhere low in your back, radiating through your ribs every time you tried to draw a fuller breath. Something was strapped tight across your midsection–gauze, maybe, or field wrap–and your tactical suit clung to you in places it shouldn’t have.

You blinked slowly.

The ceiling came into focus first–low, reinforced concrete with flaking paint at the corners and a single exposed beam running above you. The light was dim and dappled, filtering in through a narrow, barred window high on the wall. Golden hour–near sunset, maybe. You turned your head a fraction and winced. Something pulled at your temple. A bandage, hastily applied.

Then your eyes found Bob.

He was in the far corner, standing beside the boarded-up window, back to the wall, shoulders taut like he was trying to hold himself in place through sheer force of will. His hands were flexing at his sides, over and over again—like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for something or just keep clenching them into fists.

He was no longer in the Sentry suit.

Instead, he’d changed into something from the emergency gear cache–a faded charcoal thermal shirt that fit loosely across his shoulders and sleeves that bunched slightly at his wrists, and a pair of black utility pants that were a little worn at the knees. His light brown hair was damp at the ends, curling slightly from sweat or water–possibly from a quick rinse in the shower. He looked like he’d aged a year in an hour.

You watched him in silence, letting your eyes trail over the tension carved into his posture, the way his jaw ticked every few seconds as he stared out the narrow slats toward the tree line. He was breathing through his nose–slow, measured. Controlled. But there was nothing calm about it.

He thought someone was still coming.

And maybe they were.

“…Bob?” You rasped, barely more than a whisper.

His head jerked around instantly.

His blue eyes landed on you like they hadn’t dared hope you’d wake. For a moment, he just stared–like his brain was trying to catch up to what his heart had already registered. Then he moved. Fast. But not chaotic.

He dropped to a knee beside you, one hand planted against the floor to steady himself as the other reached for you–hovered–then settled gently at your arm when he saw the wince in your expression.

“You’re awake,” He breathed. His voice was hoarse, cracked at the edges. “Oh God–how do you feel? A-Are you okay? Are you in pain? D-Do you know where we are–”You coughed once, your ribs spasming with it, and nodded slightly.

“Safehouse. Hydro-station…Two klicks out.” You took a shaky breath. “I remember.” Relief surged across his face like a tide, washing out the panic. His shoulders slumped slightly, like the weight he’d been carrying might finally loosen its grip.

“I stopped the bleeding,” He said, quieter now. “The stuff in the med bin wasn’t great, but—I-I cleaned what I could reach. The gauze might need to be changed in a few hours, b-but you’re stable. I kept pressure on the worst part until it stopped…” You shifted slightly, groaning as your spine lit up with pain, and that was when you felt it–a heat lingering at your side, tucked between your arm and ribs. A hot pack. Probably scavenged from the safehouse supplies.

Your gaze drifted down. Bob had even folded a towel to keep it from burning your skin.

“You did good,” You whispered. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?” Bob huffed softly. Not quite a laugh, but not a sob either.

”T-That’s not enough,” He muttered, “You s-shouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first p-place.” You shook your head slowly, like every movement was wading through wet cement.

“It happens,” You rasped, voice soft but firm. “You can’t control everything.”

Bob didn’t reply back. His gaze flickered down, jaw tight again–like the words sat heavy on his tongue but wouldn’t come out right. The silence between you stretched just long enough to border on weighty before you tilted your head, a dry hint of a smile tugging at your mouth.

“But is there any reason why I’m on the floor?”

That got his attention. He blinked, startled–then rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, the gesture boyish and sheepish in a way that made you forget, just for a second, the power inside him.

“There’s only one bed,” He admitted. “I… I thought i-it would be best to put you here until you were awake. That way you could–y’know–get cleaned up before you got in. F-Figured you wouldn’t want blood in the sheets, or on your face while sleeping.” You stared at him for a second, then through cracked lips murmured,

”So that’s why you’re looking all damp.” The question took him off guard–completely. His brows rose slightly, and he actually glanced down at himself, like realizing for the first time that yes, he was still faintly glistening from the quick scrub he took in the washroom.

“Yeah,” He said after a beat, voice almost embarrassed. “It was just a quick rinse to get the grime and dirt off. Sentry was a bit…Angry so I had to settle that. But I was able to calm him down in peace at least.” You watched him carefully, noting the way he downplayed the struggle. You knew it wasn’t easy–how hard he fought to keep Sentry and Void balanced, especially after emotional spikes like the one in the lab. And he hadn’t just come down from it–he’d carried you out in the middle of it, held it all back for you. Your lips quirked, even though it hurt. A dull, dragging ache moved through your ribs, but it didn’t stop the words from coming.

“I owe both of you one,” You murmured, voice still ragged but steady enough. “You got me to safety. I’m grateful, Bob. Truly.” His gaze flicked down like he couldn’t hold it—not under the weight of your sincerity. His ears were already tinged red, but the color spread across his cheeks then, blooming with quiet embarrassment.

“I… I just did what had to be done to k-keep you safe,” He stammered. “That was my m-main goal…Just–g-getting you out. You were hurt, and I–I couldn’t let anything happen to you.”

You tilted your head slightly, biting back a soft smile as you studied him. He looked so unsure, kneeling there in that too-big thermal, his hair curling damp over his forehead, hands still trembling faintly from adrenaline and aftershock. And yet–he’d ripped through a wall for you. Carried you two kilometers and calmed a golden god that lived in his bones just to hold you still and careful.

“Have you always been this heroic on the inside?” You asked, voice low and a little teasing, your smile blooming now in earnest. “Or am I just the lucky one who gets the rescue mission treatment?” He looked up at that, wide-eyed and flustered, like you’d just hit him with a truck made of compliments. He opened his mouth, tried to speak, failed–then let out a breathy laugh that broke the tension like a warm breeze.

“I think you’re… P–Pretty special,” He said, honest and unguarded, his blue shimmering eyes meeting yours with a kind of hesitant awe, “I mean–I’d…Probably still tear a building in half for Walker if I had to. But I-I didn’t mean it like that with you. I mean–oh God–n-not that I don’t care about you–I mean, I do, but not like Walker–like, not like Walker, I–” You reached out with your good hand and caught the fabric at his wrist, giving it a soft tug, looking down at it..

“Hey,” You said gently, cutting through his verbal tailspin, “I know what you’re saying…” The moment stretched between you like something pulled too tight–fragile, golden, and trembling with meaning. Your fingers lingered on the fabric of his sleeve a second longer than they needed to, and when you looked up at him again, he was already looking at you.

Not just glancing. Not just checking, just staring.

Like there was something unspoken caught in his chest, rising toward the surface–caught somewhere between breath and belief. His eyes weren’t just blue now; they shimmered faintly, gold flickering at the edges, the way they always did when his emotions got ahead of his control. You knew that look. It was the Sentry watching through Bob’s eyes, but not interfering. Just…Witnessing. Letting him feel it.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But it sat there between you, humming like electricity on the skin.

Then, slowly, you let your hand fall back to your side, and you pulled in a breath that made your ribs ache.

“Okay,” You murmured, softer now, trying to anchor yourself. “Right now…I need to get this blood off me before I start sticking to the damn floor.”

Bob blinked like you’d broken a spell–but not in a bad way. He nodded quickly, awkwardly, as he shifted backward to give you space. “Y-Yeah, of course. The water’s warm enough, just don’t stay in too long. The heat might aggravate the swelling on your lower back, s-so keep it quick if you can.”

You gave him a sideways look, smirking faintly despite yourself. “Are you giving me medical advice now?”

He flushed. “I read the first aid kit manual twice while you were out just in case something went wrong.”

That made something flutter in your chest. Not quite laughter. Not quite tears. Just a deep, slow warmth.

You began to shift, slowly bracing against the wall to push yourself up, and he reached out instinctively. One arm looped gently around your back, the other steadied you at the elbow. He didn’t lift you completely–just made it easier, like always. Like he’d keep doing it forever, if you let him.

When you were upright and still breathing through the worst of the pain, you glanced over at him again.

“Once I’m done,” You said, voice a little steadier now, “I’ll need your help redressing everything. The wrap’s probably slipped by now, and I want you to learn how to apply it properly. You did good for field triage, but if we’re stuck here overnight–which judging by the radio silence on the comms it seems like it’s going to be the case–it needs to be clean.”

His face sobered instantly. “I-I’ll do whatever you need.”

You smiled at him again–just faintly. “I know you will.” Then, before he could overthink it, you turned and started toward the tiny half-shower tucked behind a chipped concrete partition, biting back a hiss as every step woke another pocket of pain. You didn’t look back. But you didn’t need to.

You felt him watch you the whole way, like sunlight warming your spine as you disappeared behind the partition covering. The shower was more of a pipe rigged into the wall than an actual stall—one of those industrial utility setups meant for clearing mud and sweat from boots and bodies, not exactly for comfort. The water hissed out in a narrow stream, tepid but consistent. You turned the knob carefully, bracing your weight with one hand against the damp wall, then peeled off your suit in slow, stiff movements–gritting your teeth when the fabric tugged at dried blood, as you ripped off the bandages Bob had placed.

The chill of the air gave way to the warmth of the water. It hit your shoulders first, tracking down your spine in ribbons, streaking through the grime, the smoke, the blood crusted to your skin. You let it run for a moment, eyes closed, arms braced against the wall, head bowed. The sound was steady. Soothing. White noise against the hum of aching muscles and the low throb at the base of your skull.

You let your forehead rest against the wall.

For a second, just a second, it was easy to forget where you were.

Then your ribs shifted, pain bloomed, and you remembered everything.

The fight. The explosion. The lab. Bob’s arms around you.

Bob’s voice, cracking with panic, whispering stay with me again and again like a mantra.

You ran your hands slowly down your torso, fingertips ghosting over the angry welt of bruising across your side and the tender edge of where gauze had been peeled away. The water sluiced down, carrying filth and blood with it, and you let yourself breathe into the ache of it—slow, steady, controlled.

Eventually, you turned off the stream.

The towel was scratchy, military-issued, but it was warm from where it had hung near the heat vent. You wrapped it around yourself tightly, twisting your damp hair, wringing it out, before letting it settle on your skin, and limping out from behind the partition.

The room was still dim, the air faintly humid now from the steam you’d left behind. But something had changed.

Bob had moved.

He was seated now on the edge of the narrow safehouse cot–the only bed in the room, barely wide enough for one, with a thin, patchy blanket folded neatly at the foot. The mattress dipped under his weight, creaking slightly. He’d propped the first aid kit open beside him, latex gloves already tugged onto his long fingers, and fresh gauze, antiseptic, tape, and wraps all laid out in perfect, careful order across a folded towel on his lap.

His knee was bouncing.

When he looked up and saw you, he froze.

You felt his gaze catch–not just on your face, but on the curve of your shoulders, the long stretch of leg below the hem of the towel. His eyes widened a fraction, then dropped politely to the kit again, ears flushed pink.

“I–I’ve got everything ready,” He said quickly, almost too fast. “If–uh, if you want, I can get it started.” You nodded softly, still damp and achy, the towel clinging to your skin. Each step back toward the bed was deliberate, slow. The soreness in your side hadn’t dulled, not even with the hot water, but it was manageable now. Or at least, easy enough to ignore with Bob sitting there–so tense and trying so hard to be helpful that it made something warm flutter in your chest.

You reached the edge of the bed and turned your back to him, standing for a beat before gingerly easing down beside him. The cot creaked beneath your weight, the mattress barely more than a few inches of aging foam over a thin metal frame. You could feel the heat radiating off him already.

Then, with a steady breath, you tugged the towel down just enough to bare the strip of your lower back and side where the makeshift field wrap sat crooked and half-unraveled from your shower.

“Okay,” You murmured, voice quiet in the still room. “You’re up, Doctor Reynolds.”

Bob gave a soft huff at that–something between a laugh and a nervous exhale–but his hands moved quickly. He leaned in behind you, close enough that his breath ghosted against your shoulder as he examined the wound. The old gauze peeled back with a faint pull, and he winced even more than you did.

“Sorry,” He said softly, glancing up as if expecting a flinch. “T-The edge was stuck. You okay?” You nodded.

“Keep going. It needs to be clean.” He moved with as much gentleness as he could manage. His hands weren’t shaking now, but they were tense–measured. You could feel the concentration in his touch, like he was afraid of hurting you again, even as he dabbed antiseptic over the reddened skin and pressed clean gauze into place. As he worked, your gaze drifted toward the comm unit resting useless on the bedside table, a tangled mess of wires and cables.

“Did you try contacting the team again?” You asked, voice lower now.

He paused for a moment–just long enough to tell you everything before he spoke. “Yeah,” He said, fingers brushing lightly at the curve of your side, trying his best not to linger in any of the inappropriate spots, even though with all this skin exposed to him it was making his entire body burn up. “No response. Still dead across all channels.”

You gave a soft hum. “Then I guess we really are staying overnight.”Bob didn’t respond at first. His hands moved to the wrap, carefully anchoring the new gauze with smooth precision. You felt the press of his palm through the cloth–steady, reverent, like he was reminding himself you were real and alive with every movement.

“…I can take the floor,” He said suddenly, voice quiet but certain. “After this. It’s not a big deal.” You turned slightly, wincing at the shift, and gave him a half-smile over your shoulder.

“We don’t have to fight over who gets the uncomfortable cot, Bob. We can both sleep in it.”

He hesitated. “It’s really not that big–” You arched a brow.

”You brought me here while trying to hold yourself back from exploding. I think you can survive sharing a mattress with me.” He swallowed audibly.

Then, just as he tightened the last bit of wrap at your ribs, he pressed a little too hard into a bruise that hadn’t fully surfaced yet.

You gasped—sharp, breathless.

Bob jerked back instantly, horrified. “Oh God–I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–shit–are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head quickly, even though your breath was still catching in your throat. “No, it’s okay–it just surprised me. You’re good, Bob.”

His hands hovered near your waist, trembling now, not touching you again until you nodded for him to finish.

He wrapped the last edge slowly, much lighter this time, barely more than a whisper against your skin.

Then silence.

Warm, golden, stretched between the two of you like a blanket.

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he.

You could feel the heat of him behind you, his breath steady and shallow as he stared down at the dressing he’d just finished. His hands lingered near your waist for a second longer than necessary–close, not quite touching–before his eyes drifted downward, following the dip of your spine. The gauze was clean now, neatly taped and secure. But above and around it…More marks had surfaced.

Old ones.

Bob’s breath hitched.

He hadn’t noticed them before–not with the blood and the suit and the urgency of getting you stable. But now, in the quiet aftermath, under the warm yellow flicker of the backup light and with the towel still slouched low across your hips, he could see them clearly.

A long, narrow scar just above your left hip bone. A puckered crescent near your ribs, like a burn. Two parallel lines across the back of your shoulder, faded but unmistakable.

Not field wounds. Not Thunderbolt wounds.

Older.

Hard-earned.

“…These,” He murmured, the pads of his fingers ghosting near—but never quite on—the marks. His voice was gentle. Tentative. “T-These aren’t from today.”

You didn’t turn your head at first. You just breathed–steady, quiet–your shoulders rising and falling.

“No,” You said after a moment, the word flat, then a touch wry. “I had a pretty rowdy life before the Thunderbolts.” Bob’s hand hovered at the curve of your spine, close enough that you could feel the heat of it. “You’d be surprised what a tact suit hides.” You said with a smirk on your lips. His expression was unreadable. Not pitying–he never looked at you like that–but something close to awe. Like he was seeing something sacred. The sum of your survival.

You gave a small, almost shy shift beneath his gaze, suddenly very aware of how much skin was exposed between you–how the towel had begun to loosen slightly at your chest, how his knees were still brushing the side of your thigh on the cot from how he had positioned himself…

You cleared your throat gently. “Hey… Bob?”

His eyes snapped up to the back of your head, as if you’d pulled him from deep underwater. “Y-Yeah?”

“Can you grab me a top and some shorts?” You asked, voice casual but warm. “From wherever you got your stuff? I figure you raided a cache somewhere in the utility lockers.”

“I–Yeah, yeah, of course,” He said, already moving, already grateful to have something practical to do. He rose quickly, the cot creaking under the sudden shift in weight, and crossed to the metal cabinet tucked against the wall. The key was still jammed in the lock from earlier, and he pulled it open with practiced ease.

You watched him move–awkward, careful, trying not to glance back too much. It made your smile curve softly as you tucked the towel tighter around yourself, a slow stretch of fabric across your skin.

He rifled through the stack for a second, then held up a soft, oversized long-sleeve shirt–navy, faded at the collar–and a pair of black compression shorts that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. Not stylish. But warm. Clean.

He turned, holding them out, and then–realizing you were still wrapped in nothing but a towel–he jerked his gaze back to the floor like it had burned him.

“I’ll just, uh–I’ll give you some privacy,” He stammered, shoving the clothes into your outstretched hand without looking. “I’ll just be–right over there, by the door.” You bit back a grin as he spun on his heel and practically speed-walked to the opposite corner of the room, facing the reinforced door like he was on watch duty.

“Thanks, Bob,” You said softly.

You didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink again. “Y-You’re welcome.”

You stood slowly, wincing just slightly, and let the towel fall in silence. The fabric was still damp, cool against your toes as you stepped free of it and tugged on the shorts first, then eased the shirt over your head, careful not to strain your ribs. The hem hung past your hips like a dress, soft and lived-in, and you imagined for a second it might have belonged to him once. The sleeves still smelled faintly like cedar and clean soap. When you were dressed and back on the cot, you shifted your legs up slowly and cleared your throat again.

“All set,” You said, and Bob turned around only once he was sure you meant it. His gaze flickered briefly over you–just long enough to make your skin warm again–but he didn’t say anything. He just crossed the room in a few careful steps, and sat down slowly, careful not to jostle the cot too much as it gave another faint creak beneath their combined weight. The mattress dipped in the center, naturally drawing them closer than either probably expected, but he kept his hands firmly in his lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

His voice broke the silence, tentative but laced with quiet humor. “So… how are we going to do this?” He tilted his head slightly, blue eyes flicking toward you and then away again. “I’ll probably take up the majority of the mattress. Didn’t really think that part through when I carried you in.”

You glanced at the sliver of space between you, then slowly stretched your legs out, grimacing slightly as you adjusted for your ribs. “You’ll just cushion me,” you said simply, voice soft but sure. “You’ll probably have to hold me… but that’s not too much of an issue.”

Bob choked slightly on his own breath—just a soft, startled sound that made the tips of his ears turn red again. “O-Okay,” he said, a little too fast, clearing his throat. “Okay. That’s—uh. That’s fine.”

You smiled to yourself and let your head tip back briefly against the thin pillow behind you. “What side do you sleep on?”

He glanced over at you, genuinely considering the question. “My right,” he said after a pause. “It’s easier on my shoulder. You?”

“My left.”

There was a beat. Then the realization landed, quiet but heavy.

You were going to be facing each other.

You opened your eyes again and caught the expression on his face. He looked like someone who had just realized he’d been invited to sit front row at a symphony he never thought he deserved to hear. Stunned. Honored. Slightly terrified.

“I can lie on my back if it’s weird,” you offered lightly, though you didn’t really want to.

“No,” Bob said quickly, shaking his head. “N-No, not weird. I–uh–I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You won’t,” You murmured, your gaze softening. “You haven’t yet.”

His breath caught in his throat again, and for a moment he looked like he might say something else. Something honest. Something about the way you’d looked, bleeding and unconscious in his arms. Something about the way he’d spoken to you while carrying you through the woods, even though you couldn’t hear him–murmuring please don’t go, just hold on, I’m here.

But instead, he shifted carefully down beside you, mirroring your posture, folding himself into the thin mattress with as much grace as a man of his size could manage. His back barely brushed the wall. His knee brushed yours. His arm hovered for a second between you–then, slowly, gently, he settled it across your waist, just light enough for you to move if it hurt.

You didn’t.

Instead, you shifted closer, until your forehead nearly touched his collarbone, and your hand settled over his bicep

“Okay?” He whispered, breath warm against your temple.

You nodded.

“Okay.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was thick with the scent of cedar and soap and antiseptic. The hum of old pipes and the faint static from the comms unit. The warmth of him, chest rising slow against yours. The weight of his hand, careful but real. And underneath it all…The quiet certainty of something inevitable taking root.

Your breath was slow now. Shallow, but not from pain anymore–just the kind of awareness that crept in like tidewater. Warm and inevitable.

Bob’s hand stayed where it was, curved lightly across your waist, unmoving except for the slight twitch of his fingers now and then, like he wasn’t quite sure if he was allowed to do more. He was being so careful with you. So still. As if any shift would snap the fragile thread holding the moment together.

But you weren’t glass.

And you were done pretending that you didn’t want more than silence and stillness from the man lying inches away from you.

Your fingers, resting gently over his bicep, began to move–slow, almost absent. Just the lightest drag of your touch over muscle, tracing the soft curve of strength hidden beneath the worn fabric of his sleeve. His breath caught. You felt it, right against your temple, like he’d forgotten how to exhale. But he didn’t stop you. Not even when your thumb made another pass, this time curling just slightly, letting the friction build.

“You’re tense,” you whispered. Voice low. Sleepy on the surface, but heavy beneath.

“I-I’m fine,” Bob murmured. It was automatic. Instinctive. But it was a lie, and he knew it the second it left his mouth.

Your other hand shifted. The one resting near his chest. You moved it slowly, palm dragging over the center of his sternum until it settled over the steady thrum of his heart. He was warm there. Unreasonably warm. The beat beneath your hand was solid and fast. Too fast.

“Doesn’t feel like it,” You murmured. Your eyes stayed half-lidded. Your body didn’t move much. But the weight of your touch… It was deliberate. Bob swallowed, hard. His head tipped a little closer to yours. You could feel the heat of his breath fan against your hairline, could feel his fingers twitch again at your waist. Your thumb swept once more across the center of his chest, slow and featherlight, resting in the space where his heartbeat thudded just beneath skin and cotton. It wasn’t racing–but it wasn’t calm either. Like a bird pacing inside its cage, fluttering at the bars.

You let your fingers still.

Then, softly–so softly it almost wasn’t a question–you whispered, “Is it always that fast…Or just when I’m touching you?”

Bob let out a quiet breath. Almost a laugh, but too fragile to be called that. His chest rose and fell once, shallow, before he replied.

“…It’s a bit h-hard to not be nervous,” He said. His voice was rough, threaded with honesty. “You’re… Y-You’re right here. A-And I’m holding you. And you’re touching me like I’m not going to break. L-Like you actually want to.”

You blinked slowly, something tight tugging behind your ribs that had nothing to do with injury.

“I do want to.” You said, clear and unshaken. The quiet cracked like an eggshell.

You felt his arm tighten around your waist just a little–not pulling, not claiming, just grounding. Confirming. Like he needed to make sure this was real. That you weren’t going to slip away.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time,” You added, almost inaudible now. Your hand was still resting over his heart, and his hand had shifted too–thumb brushing just under the curve of your ribs, the heat of him seeping into your skin. The silence between your words and his breath felt long enough to live a lifetime in. You could feel him blinking slowly, could sense the tremor just under the surface of him–the way his whole body had gone still, like he was afraid that one wrong movement would shatter the moment into something unrecognizable.

Then, so quiet it felt like it bloomed straight out of your chest, he whispered–

“M-Me too… I…I just didn’t know that you…T-Thought of me that way.”

His voice was hoarse, not from strain, but from disbelief. The kind of voice someone used when they didn’t want to ruin something beautiful by speaking too loud. His arm curled a little more firmly around your waist, just barely. Still cautious. Still asking without words if it was okay.

You didn’t answer with words this time. You didn’t need to.

Instead, you tilted your head just enough to look up at him.

He was already looking at you.

His face was open, unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes shimmered in the low light–blue and gold all at once, like a sky split in two. He looked at you like he was memorizing every inch of your face, and also like he was still afraid he might wake up.

And still–neither of you moved.

Not until your thumb stroked once more over his chest, and you inched a little closer. Your foreheads nearly touched now. Your breaths mingled in that thin space. The cot creaked quietly beneath you, but it felt like the world had hushed. His voice cracked like a dropped glass in the dark.

“Y-Y/N… A-Are you…” He paused, breath catching in his throat. His lips parted slightly, and when you looked up, really looked at him, you could see the fear blooming under the hope in his eyes. The kind of fear that only lives in hearts that have known too much disappointment.

He blinked once, swallowed hard.

“Are you…G-Going to kiss me?”

The question trembled out of him like it had never been spoken aloud before. Like he’d rehearsed it in a dozen imagined lifetimes but never thought he’d live the one where he actually got to ask it.

You didn’t speak. Not right away.

You just looked at him–soft, slow, and sure. There was a quiet steadiness in your eyes that seemed to strip the air from the room, and yet fill it with something heavier, sweeter. You smiled–small at first, then a little wider. It was the kind of smile that said yes without needing syllables. That said I’ve been waiting for this too.

And then you nodded.

His breath hitched, but he didn’t move.

He stayed still, wide-eyed and stunned, as you leaned in.

You didn’t rush. You didn’t dive.

You let the moment bloom.

Your forehead brushed his first. Then your nose nudged along his gently, just enough to tilt your face and let the edges of your lips graze his. You heard the smallest noise from him—a stuttered sound, half a gasp, half a plea–and then…

Then your mouth touched his.

It was barely a kiss at first.

Just breath and heat and the press of your lips against his, tender and tentative. You didn’t push forward. You didn’t open your mouth. You simply stayed there, still and close, long enough for him to register the softness of it. The reality.

Bob melted into it like he’d been holding his breath for years.

His lips moved cautiously–an echo of yours, mirroring your shape, your rhythm. The tip of his nose brushed your cheek. One of his hands, the one resting just under your ribs, tightened slightly, curling his palm around your side like he didn’t even realize he’d done it. He didn’t rush. He didn’t deepen the kiss. He just kissed you back, slow and trembling and reverent.

Like this was a prayer.

You pulled back slightly–just a breath, just enough to look at him. His eyes fluttered open, glassy with emotion, lips parted. He looked dazed. Glorious. Like he was trying to understand the feel of your mouth against his, and couldn’t quite believe it had really happened.

You cupped his face in one hand, your thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.

Then you kissed him again.

Slower this time. Deeper. Your lips moved against his with a kind of aching tenderness, like you were pouring everything into it that words couldn’t reach. Gratitude. Relief. Want. The softest kind of longing.

He made a quiet sound–barely more than a sigh–and leaned into you fully, his forehead pressing to yours again when the kiss broke. His hand moved to cradle the back of your waist, warm and strong and trembling just a little.

“Y/N…” He breathed, voice wrecked and sweet all at once. Your leg eased over his gently, thigh sliding between his as your hips pressed flush to his side. You felt him stiffen for half a second–like his brain short-circuited just trying to process the contact–then melt again beneath the heat of your body. Your chest pressed lightly to his, and his breath came out in one long, low exhale that ghosted over your cheek.

Then you kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t slow.

It was hungry.

Your lips moved against his with quiet desperation, like the moment had snapped open and neither of you could keep holding back. You opened your mouth slightly, and when his lips parted in response, your tongue brushed his–tentative at first, then firmer. Bob made a sound in the back of his throat, deep and breathless, and his hand slid higher up your back, splaying between your shoulder blades. You moaned softly into his mouth.

It was small. Barely a sound. But the second it escaped you, he stilled.

Bob pulled back just enough to breathe, eyes wide, lips kiss-swollen, brows drawn in concern.

“W-Was that… Are you okay?” He whispered. His hand was still on your back. His other still cupped your waist, but his entire body was stiff again–like he was ready to stop everything the second you asked.

You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah,” You whispered, eyes fluttering open. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Maybe we should stop,” He said, voice rough, hesitant. “There’s…There’s no need to rush into things.” Your heart pulled a little. Not in disappointment—but in the aching tenderness of it. You shook your head slowly, brushing your nose against his again.

“I really don’t want to wait…” You murmured. “But if you want to, we can.”

His lips parted, eyes flicking down to your mouth again. He was quiet for a long second, and you could see the war playing out in his head–desire crashing against caution.

“I-I just don’t want to m-make your injuries worse,” He admitted softly. His thumb brushed along your spine, featherlight. “I’ve been trying so hard not to touch you too much t-tonight, I–I was scared if I did I’d…Forget how careful I need to be.”

“You won’t,” You whispered. Your fingers traced the side of his ribs slowly, curling beneath the edge of his bare back. “You’ve been nothing but careful.”

He closed his eyes, jaw tightening slightly like he was bracing himself.

“I’m sure I’ll be healed in a few days if you do hurt me,” you added with a small, teasing smile, your hand dragging lightly down to his waist. “But I don’t think you will.” His breath stuttered again.

Then, slowly–like gravity had shifted beneath the cot–he shifted. Just enough to lean into you a little more, to press his forehead against yours. And in doing so, his thigh slid between your legs.

You both froze.

Not because it hurt–not because it was wrong–but because the contact burned. The heat of him, solid and broad between your thighs, pressed right against the thin stretch of your shorts. His pants were soft against your bare skin, but it didn’t mute the sensation. If anything, it made it worse–warmer. Closer. You exhaled, soft and shaky, and your hips reacted before your mind could stop them–just the smallest roll forward, seeking more of that pressure.

Bob gasped.

It punched right out of his chest like he’d been struck, and his hand–once trembling, once cautious–gripped your waist with a firmer hold. His breath was fast now, shallow. You could feel it between your bodies, ghosting over your lips as he leaned in, nose brushing yours again.

“I-I can feel you,” He whispered, wrecked. “You’re–J-Jesus, you’re warm.”

You didn’t speak. You didn’t need to. You just nodded once, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving his.

Then you kissed him again.

This time, there was no room for hesitation.

Your mouth met his with urgency, hunger curling in your belly like a lit match. Your tongue swept against his, and he moaned into the kiss deep and low, like he couldn’t help it. His hand traveled up your side, over the curve of your waist and into the back of your shirt, until his palm was resting against your bare spine, burning into your skin.

You rocked against his thigh again, your body seeking out friction instinctively–and this time he moved with you. The muscle pressing firmer between yours, grounding you as his hand on your back pulled you closer, guiding your hips into a slow, desperate grind.

“You feel so good,” You whispered against his mouth, breathless. “God, Bob…”

His name broke something open in him.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed. Then he kissed you again–harder this time. Still tender, still worshipful–but laced with a growing edge of need. His hand moved down again, slipping over the curve of your ass, and he guided you against his thigh with a slow, upward drag that made your breath stutter in your throat.

“Y-You’re shaking,” He murmured, lips brushing your jaw, your cheekbone, your ear.

“I know,” You gasped, forehead pressed to his temple now, your hips still moving in slow, aching circles. “I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His hand slipped under the hem of your borrowed shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your lower back. You could feel him everywhere now–his leg between yours, the heat of his breath, the burn in your core growing sharper with every rock of your hips. The cot creaked beneath you with the rhythm you were building, and he let out a low, wrecked sound as your lips found his again, sloppier this time, open-mouthed and breathless.

“I’ve d-dreamed about this,” He confessed into your mouth, voice breaking. “God—I’ve thought about this. So many nights. N-Not like this–not when you were hurt, I swear, I’d never–but just…”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick, your thighs trembling. “Me too. For so long.”

He groaned again, and you felt him–hard now, pressing against your hip through the soft cotton of his sweatpants. Your body responded instinctively, heat pooling low in your stomach as you whispered,

“Do you want to stop?” His head snapped up, eyes wide.

“No,” He said, so quickly it made you bite your lip. Then, quieter–almost reverently–he added, “I want…Everything. But only if you want it too.”

“I do,” You said, and the truth of it vibrated between you like the aftershock of something cosmic. “I want you, Bob.” Bob’s mouth crashed back into yours like he couldn’t bear the distance anymore–like the ache had finally outpaced his restraint.

There was nothing tentative left in the way he kissed you now.

It was hungry. Wet and deep and breathless, like he needed the taste of you to survive. His hand slid up beneath your shirt, palm pressing flat against the small of your back like he was trying to fuse you together. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tension in his muscles, the unmistakable hardness of him against your hip–and the sheer desperation he was fighting not to lose control.

Your moan poured straight into his mouth, and he swallowed it like he’d never wanted anything more.

Then he pulled back just slightly–just enough to press his forehead against yours again, panting, his lips red and kiss-bitten, his voice wrecked.

“C-Can I—” He swallowed hard, eyes flicking over your face, “I want you to…Could you lie on your back?”

You blinked, already breathless, and gave the smallest nod. “Yeah… Yeah, of course.”

Carefully, you shifted, rolling onto your back with a quiet gasp at the slight pull in your ribs–but it didn’t matter. Not when he was looking at you like that. Like you were holy. Like he couldn’t believe he got to see you like this–flushed, sprawled out in the borrowed shirt and compression shorts, thighs still trembling from grinding against his.

Bob sat up slightly, not climbing over you, not rushing. Just moving with care—like reverence had overtaken urgency. He leaned down slowly, bracing one forearm beside your ribs so he wouldn’t hurt you, and then kissed the side of your neck.

Not once.

But again. And again. And again.

Each kiss dragged longer than the last–wet, open-mouthed, the heat of his breath ghosting over your pulse point. His other hand slid up beneath your shirt again, fingertips grazing your bare waist, your ribs, your hip, his thumb dragging a line just above the band of your shorts like it was driving him out of his mind.

And then–

He groaned into your neck, barely holding himself back, and whispered raggedly, “G-God, I want to taste you.”

The sound of his voice like that–low and wrecked and reverent–made your entire body tighten.

“I’ve–I’ve wanted to for so long,” He continued, kissing just below your ear now, his breath uneven. “I’m not–I’m not trying to rush this, I swear. I just…I’m a giver. I want to make you feel good. I want–” His voice broke. “God, I-I want to devour you.” You can hear the way he was starving for it, the desperation lacing his words. Your legs shifted without thinking, thighs parting instinctively beneath the weight of those words. Your fingers curled into the thin sheet beneath you, heart pounding in your throat like it was trying to answer for you.

“Please…” You whispered, barely more than a breath.

That one word unraveled him.

Bob moved instantly.

He kissed your neck one more time, slower this time, like sealing something sacred. Then he dragged his lips down your throat, your collarbone, the soft space above your sternum. He pushed your shirt up inch by inch, pausing to mouth at the newly exposed skin as he went–tongue tracing, lips brushing, every breath of his turning molten against your skin.

“You’re so soft,” He murmured against your ribs, his voice thick with awe. “So warm…God, you smell like heaven…”

You lifted your hips slightly to help him as his hands slid to the waistband of your shorts. His fingers curled there for just a moment–trembling slightly, like the gravity of what he was about to do had fully landed.

Then, slowly, reverently, he tugged them down.

You felt the fabric peel away from your thighs, your hips, your core–and then you were bare before him, flushed and trembling and open. Bob dropped the shorts to the floor with shaking hands. His eyes flicked up your body, and for a second, he looked like he couldn’t breathe.

Then he looked up, meeting your eyes as he settled between your semi-closed thighs. He reached for your hands first, threading his fingers through yours, grounding you together. His palms were big and warm, his grip careful but sure.

“S-Spread your legs for me,” He whispered. “Please.”

You did. Without hesitation, without fear.

You opened yourself to him, thighs falling apart slowly beneath his hands, baring the most vulnerable parts of yourself under the warmth of his gaze. You felt the air shift around you, the intimacy of the moment wrapping the two of you in a breathless cocoon.

”Oh, g-god…” Bob whispered, eyes falling to your glistening core like he was witnessing a miracle. “You’re perfect.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh.

And again. And again.

Soft, slow, open-mouthed kisses up the inside of one leg, then the other–teeth just grazing, tongue leaving hot trails in his wake. He held your hands the whole time, squeezing gently as his mouth moved higher, closer, his breath fanning over slick heat now, and it made your hips twitch helplessly.

“You’re s-so open…So ready f-for me.”

“Bob–” You breathed, already dizzy.

“I want you to fall apart for me,” He whispered, like it was a promise. “I’m gonna worship you…E-Every inch of you.”

And then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, and perfect.

His tongue parted you gently, slow and deliberate, tasting you like he’d been starving for it–like your pleasure was the only thing that mattered. His nose pressed against your pelvis as he licked a slow stripe from your entrance up to your clit, moaning softly into you like the taste alone was intoxicating. Then his lips wrapped around your clit, suckling gently, his tongue flicking in delicate, deliberate patterns that sent sparks up your spine.

You arched with a cry, your legs twitching around his head.

He didn’t stop.

He just groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you as he dragged you deeper into the rhythm–long, slow strokes of his tongue, then tight flicks, then that perfect pressure as he sucked again, never breaking pace.

His hands squeezed yours tighter, anchoring you.

You looked down and nearly lost it.

His eyes were open, locked on you, dark and glassy with desire. His light brown lashes were damp, cheeks flushed, the lower half of his face slick with your arousal–and he looked blissful. Like he’d found his heaven right there between your thighs.

“Y-You’re shaking,” He murmured against your clit, his breath rolling hot over your slick skin. His tongue slowed for a beat, lips brushing so gently it made you ache.

Then, with his eyes locked on yours, he whispered:

“D-Don’t hold back from me… I want to feel it all.”

You whimpered, the sound breaking unbidden from your throat as he released one of your hands and dragged his palm slowly down your thigh–his touch searing. He pressed it to your inner thigh first, thumb dragging through the mess he’d made of you. The sound it made–wet and obscene–had you clenching around nothing.

“Mmm, you’re soaked,” He breathed, voice cracking like he couldn’t quite comprehend it. His fingers dipped lower, teasing your entrance but not pressing in yet. “And it’s all for me…” He whispered.

“Bob—” Your voice broke on his name.

That was all it took.

His fingers slid into you–just one at first, slow and careful. You gasped, your hips twitching as your walls fluttered around him, already pulsing from how close he had you.

“Oh, my god…” He groaned, eyes fluttering. “You’re so tight–so warm–gripping me like you don’t wanna let go.” He eased in a second finger, curling both upward until he found that spot that made your entire body jolt.

Your back arched with a choked cry.

He groaned into your thigh, and then–still pumping his fingers slowly, perfectly–he leaned back in.

You reached for him instinctively, hand finding the golden-brown mess of his hair and curling into it hard as his mouth latched back onto your clit with a heat that bordered on holy.

He moaned at the contact like it fed him, like the combination of your body trembling around his fingers and the way you were dragging his face closer made him feral.

His tongue moved in tandem with his fingers now–lavishing your clit in slow circles while his fingers fucked up into you, curling with every drag, finding that rhythm that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“Bob–oh fuck, please–” you gasped, your voice wrecked, ragged, desperate.

He growled low and hot into your cunt, the vibration making your vision blur.

“That’s it,” He murmured, breathless. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me hear it.”

Your hand fisted tighter in his hair, your other gripping the sheet like you were going to rip it from the mattress, and your thighs began to shake again–wider now, open for him, letting him take everything.

His pace quickened.

His fingers thrust deeper, faster, curling ruthlessly against that spot that made your mouth fall open in a silent scream, and his mouth never stopped–tongue relentless, lips swollen around your clit, his entire face buried between your legs like it was the only place he ever wanted to be.

“Y-You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” He said, his voice hoarse and soaked in awe. “Right on my tongue–gonna let me taste it all…”

Your body answered before your voice could.

Pleasure coiled tight, seizing hot and fast in your belly before it burst all at once, crashing through you like a wave as your orgasm hit, ripping through your body with a sob of his name. Your thighs clamped around his head and your back arched completely off the mattress as you came–so hard you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel him.

He didn’t stop.

He kept his mouth on you, drinking you down like it was divine, his fingers fucking you through every last second of the high. You trembled, sobbed out a soft curse, and he moaned as you finally collapsed back to the bed, completely undone.

He pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, then gently slid his fingers from you and looked up–his mouth slick, his eyes dark and molten.

And he smiled.

Like he’d been reborn.

“You taste like fucking paradise,” His smile faltered, lips still glistening as your chest rose and fell–slow, shallow, trembling with the aftershocks of what he’d just done to you.

Then your voice cut through the haze, low and wrecked.

“You should give me a sample then.”

Bob blinked.

His pupils dilated instantly–his breath catching so visibly in his throat it looked like he might choke on it. But his body obeyed before his mind caught up. Slowly, he rose to his knees, moving back over you with a dazed sort of focus, licking his lips like he wasn’t ready to give you any of it back. Like the taste of you was still burning on his tongue and he didn’t want to let it go.

You reached for him–fingers sliding around the back of his neck as you pulled him in, your lips parting just as his hovered over yours. He hesitated for the barest moment, like he was about to warn you that his mouth was still slick from you–but the look in your eyes told him you already knew. That you wanted it.

So he kissed you.

Slow at first–just the soft press of his mouth against yours, lips parting slightly. Then your tongue swept into him, tasting yourself on him, sweet and slick and warm. You moaned quietly and he shuddered against you. The kiss grew hotter, messier, your mouths opening more fully as he licked into you, groaning low when you sucked on his bottom lip just to feel the way it trembled.

A thin line of spit connected your mouths when you broke apart, trailing slowly from his lips to yours–and when you let your tongue flick out to catch it, Bob visibly swayed, like his knees nearly buckled.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, voice wrecked and raspy.

You didn’t let him catch his breath.

Instead, you slid your hand between your bodies and found his wrist–the one that had been inside you moments ago. Still slick. Still warm. His fingers were trembling slightly in the aftermath of holding you down through your orgasm.

You raised it to your mouth.

Bob’s breath hitched audibly as you guided his hand closer—and then licked.

Your tongue dragged slowly over his fingers, savoring the taste of yourself there. You moaned softly as your lips wrapped around two of them, sucking them clean with deliberate pressure, your eyes never leaving his.

He made a sound. A raw, broken groan that sounded like it had been ripped from the base of his spine.

“O-Oh my god Y/N…Y-You can’t do that–“

“You need to take your pants off, Bob…”You said it softly. Commanding. Like it wasn’t a question.

Bob stared at you for half a second, lips parted, cheeks flushed, sweat still glistening at his temples.

Then he moved.

His hands went to his waistband so fast he almost fumbled. You sat up slightly, wincing a little as your ribs protested the sudden movement–but you ignored it, too consumed by the heat pulsing between your legs and the weight of him in front of you. He pushed his sweatpants down his hips and off in one desperate motion, leaving him naked before you.

And God.

He was beautiful.

Hard and flushed, tip wet and glistening, his cock curved slightly toward his stomach with a heavy, pulsing need that made your mouth water. You let your eyes rake over him slowly, hungrily, and when they finally landed on his face again–he was watching you. Breathless. Waiting. Completely wrecked.

Then you peeled your shirt off.

Bob made another sound the second the fabric left your skin–a strangled, reverent sort of whimper, like he was witnessing a miracle and couldn’t decide if he was worthy of it.

You tossed it to the side, bare and open before him now–your chest rising in shallow, aroused breaths, nipples tight in the cool air of the safehouse, thighs still parted.

And Bob snapped.

Not roughly. Not without control.

But like he couldn’t not touch you anymore.

He surged forward, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as one hand slid to your breast, cupping it gently, thumbing over your nipple in a slow, teasing drag that made you whimper into his mouth. His cock was pressing hot and heavy against your thigh now, and you rocked your hips up instinctively, catching the underside of him and dragging a moan from deep in his chest.

“I-I don’t know how I’m gonna last,” He whispered, panting against your mouth. “Y-You’re so perfect–I don’t wanna mess this up–”

“You won’t,” You whispered. “You won’t.”

“Tell me w-what you want,” He begged, voice cracking.

You reached between your bodies and wrapped your hand around him–hot and thick and pulsing in your palm–and whispered against his lips:

“I want to feel every inch of you…I want you to fuck me like I’m yours…Because I’ve always been yours.” His breath stuttered hard against your mouth when you wrapped your hand around him–fingers curling delicately at first, just enough to feel the weight, the heat, the way he pulsed against your palm. You stroked once. Then again. Slow. Languid. Your grip just shy of tight, your thumb circling the head as a slick bead of precum smeared across your skin.

Bob groaned.

It was deep and low, almost like it scared him–like pleasure this sharp wasn’t something he knew how to hold. His hand curled into the mattress beside your ribs, his other squeezing your hip as you leaned in and kissed him again, your lips softer now, teasing between strokes.

“You’re so warm,” you murmured against his mouth. “So hard for me…”

“F-Fuck–Y/N–“ He gasped your name like it was a prayer and a warning all at once. His hips jolted slightly into your grip, instinct overtaking restraint. “I–I can’t–if you keep doing that, I’m gonna–”

You smiled.

Slow. Sweet. Wicked.

“Just wanted to be a bit of a tease…” You whispered, brushing your lips down along his jaw, to the shell of his ear, where your voice dropped even lower. “I’ve been dreaming of this too, you know. Thinking about how you’d sound when I touched you like this… “ He whimpered at your words, his erection twitching in your hand. Then, slowly—purposefully–you guided him down, dragging the tip of him through your soaked folds. The moment his head brushed your clit, your whole body jolted. Your back arched slightly, breath catching in your throat as the contact sent a white-hot pulse up your spine. Bob gasped, shuddering, and you felt his hands tighten around your hips like he was barely keeping himself grounded.

“Oh my god–” He whispered, his voice wrecked, trembling with restraint. “I c-can’t believe how wet you are…I-I can feel it everywhere–”

“Then don’t just feel it,” you murmured, guiding him lower, “Be inside it…” You shifted your hips–just enough to angle him right where you needed him. The blunt head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slick and swollen, and your whole body went still with anticipation.

Bob’s gaze locked on yours, dark and full of wonder. He leaned in, kissed you one more time–messy and soft and hungry–and then, with a trembling breath, he began to push forward.

You both moaned.

It was slow. Unbearably slow.

He eased inside an inch at a time, every stretch making your breath stutter, your thighs tremble. He was thick–perfectly so–and your body gave way for him inch by aching inch, clenching around the intrusion with desperate heat.

“God, y-you’re so tight,” Bob gasped, burying his face against your neck, breath hitching with every inch he sank deeper. “Y-You feel like—God, I don’t even have words…” He let out a broken sound against your throat and pushed in the rest of the way, bottoming out with a low, desperate groan. You gasped, arching again, your body seizing around the full stretch of him—full, full, so fucking full.

He didn’t move. Not at first.

He just stayed there, buried to the hilt inside you, his arms shaking as he held himself over you, forehead pressed to yours. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

“I-I’m not gonna last long if I move—I’m sorry—I just—God, you feel so good—”

Your legs curled around his waist, drawing him in tighter.

“Then make it messy,” you whispered. “Make it yours.”

He moaned again—this time louder, hungrier—and then he began to move.

Slow thrusts, deep and aching, the kind that made your whole body roll with him. Each drag of his cock inside you made your eyes flutter, made your mouth fall open, made the air between you heavy with slick, wet sounds and broken breaths. The safehouse filled with them—your whispered gasps, his groaned praise, the sharp slap of skin against skin as he found a rhythm.

Your hands roamed his back, his shoulders, up into his damp hair again as you whispered his name over and over like it was the only thing you could remember.

“Y/N… Y/N… f-fuck, I love the way you say my name like that—”

His thrusts grew deeper. Hotter.

He kissed you again, messier this time, tongue sliding into your mouth as he fucked you in long, rolling motions. Every time his hips met yours, you felt his body tremble—like he was on the edge of unraveling. Your walls pulsed around him, already fluttering with the build of another orgasm, and you could feel him twitching inside you with every pass.

“You’re gripping me so fucking tight,” he gasped. “I-I can feel you clenching—are you gonna come again?”

“Yes—yes, I’m so close—Bob, please—” Your voice cracked, your nails dragging down his back. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—”

And he didn’t.

He fucked you harder—still careful, still reverent—but with a heat now, a desperate edge that left you both trembling. His cock drove into you deep, each thrust stroking perfectly against your inner walls, and when his hand snuck between your bodies to rub your clit in tight, aching circles, you came again with a cry.

You clenched down hard, pulsing around him, and he groaned so loud it echoed against the cement walls.

“Shit–I’m–I’m gonna come–”

“Inside,” You gasped. “Come inside me, Bob–please–” You begged.

His body seized.

He slammed into you one last time, hips grinding deep, and he came with a broken moan of your name–hot and thick and endless, filling you completely. His hips stuttered with it, his whole body trembling above you as he buried himself to the hilt and spilled everything he had inside you.

For a long moment, you just stayed like that.

Panting. Holding. Shaking.

His forehead pressed to yours again, both your bodies slick with sweat and tangled in a heat that went beyond physical. You could feel the pulse of him still throbbing inside you, the warmth of his release held deep, the silence now full only with the sound of your heartbeats trying to remember their rhythm.

Then he pulled back just enough to see you.

His eyes, still glassy and dark from everything he’d just felt, softened. And before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you.

Soft.

So gentle it made your throat ache.

His lips moved over yours with reverence, like he needed to prove he could still be tender after what you’d just shared–like he needed to show you the sweetness, the weight of what this was to him. The kiss lingered, not heated, not rushed. Just the kind of kiss people gave when they wanted to say thank you and I’m yours and I’ve been waiting all in one breath.

You smiled against his mouth.

He pulled back slightly, cheeks flushed, eyes flicking between yours as he gave a soft, breathless laugh.

“I-I should’ve tried to get on a mission sooner,” he whispered, still so close. “E-Evidently you’ve been waiting for this to be your key opportunity to c-confess your feelings.”

You let out a snort–delicate at first, then fuller, warmer, and suddenly you were both laughing. Quiet and exhausted and elated. The kind of laughter that bubbled up not from something funny, but from relief, from joy, from the giddy realization that you were finally here.

“I mean, come on,” You said between giggles, tilting your head back slightly against the pillow. “One cot, remote location, no backup, post-injury caretaking–it was practically begging for some sort of confession to be made…”

Bob groaned, laughing into the crook of your neck. “G-God, you’re evil.”

You ran your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, still smiling. “I’m efficient.”

He huffed a quiet laugh again, then pressed a kiss to your jaw, then one to your cheek, then finally one to the center of your chest, right above your heart. His hands were still on you—one warm and wide on your thigh, the other trailing light circles at your waist.

You could feel the smile on his lips when he spoke again, lower now, a little more serious, a little more honest.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time,” He whispered. “That you…You mean more to me than anyone. I just—I didn’t think I–I was ready. Not after everything.”

You turned your head, brushing your nose against his, your voice soft.

“I knew you wanted to,” You said. “I’ve known for a while.”

He looked at you then, like you’d just told him the sun had always risen for him and he’d never noticed. His eyes were wide, lips parted. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Then he smiled again. And you did too.

Because whatever waited for you tomorrow–whatever fallout or chaos or impossible mission the world had in store–right now, in this small, sweat-slicked space, wrapped in sheets and each other…

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