#or at least enjoys themselves a little bit

[ivorydragoncat]

Inspiring stuff. I've begun to realise that all that modern writing advice gives me more stress and more grief than it helps. If I focus too much on trying to meticulously craft the "perfect story" according to all the conventions, it muddies the water for my creative flow. A story is what it is, no matter how you write it. The most important part is to enjoy writing it, because that will shine through and the readers that want to read your story for how it is, they will come to you eventually.

Trying to apply to a broader audience will inevitably stunt your enthusiasm, creativity and individuality. Those three things are what makes an author a good author imo. Never lose those.

"Write the story that you would want to read" - my best friend, several years ago.

And that is the key to great writing. It's not a science, it's not a construction. It is art. Can it be done as a science? Can it be done as a construction? Yeah! But it doesn't HAVE to be. That's the key takeaway here.

I still need to learn to follow this advice myself. It can be difficult. For some however, the opposite may be true: perhaps you know your style and you got your flow, but you want to appeal to a wider audience? THEN these modern tips can be useful. Sometimes we need a little bit of a structure to build upon, sometimes we need rules we can break with intention to create our own unique narrative.

What I'm saying is that none of the modern advice is necessarily bad, and that it's always good to learn the conventions and rules and trends. But just like with all artistic fields, rules exist so that you can learn to break them in the "right way" to create something new and unique. These old authors weren't just "writing willy nilly". They knew the conventions - at least the ones at the time - and they knew they could break them in the perfect way to entice readers in a different way, or to attract a whole new type of audience. An audience far closer to themselves in taste.

No writing can be for everyone. No writing should try to be for everyone. But all writing is for someone.

Every 21st century piece of writing advice: Make us CARE about the character from page 1! Make us empathize with them! Make them interesting and different but still relatable and likable!

Every piece of classic literature: Hi. It's me. The bland everyman whose only purpose is to tell you this story. I have no actual personality. Here's the story of the time I encountered the worst people I ever met in my life. But first, ten pages of description about the place in which I met them.

[allsteddie]

Steve and Eddie secretly dating.

It's not that they don't want to tell their friends, or that they think their friends won't accept them. They just want to enjoy their relationship a little bit before sharing the news with everybody else. And it's kinda fun, sneaking around to make out behind their friends' backs. Thrilling, even.

But since everything must come to an end someday, their little secret comes out during one of the Party's countless gatherings.

Everybody's at Steve's, making good use of his pool and stuffing their faces with so much junk food Steve's getting a little nauseous just from watching. Robin and Eddie are there as well because there’s no fucking way in hell Steve’s gonna deal with those gremlins alone.

It’s chaos, mostly, since Eddie and Robin can be as bad as the kids, but Steve’s heart is full as he watches everybody having fun and truly enjoying themselves, a stark contrast to what their lives had been a year ago.

At some point, he catches Eddie’s eyes and notices the meaningful glance his boyfriend is giving him. Steve knows that look too well and exactly what it means. He tells Robin he’s going to the kitchen, then goes inside the house. Not two minutes later Eddie is there with him.

Steve pulls him into the laundry room, giggling and stumbling, so they can make out in peace. They lose themselves a little, mouths coming together and hands touching as much skin as they can reach. It’s easy for Steve, really, to forget everything else when Eddie’s nibbling down his neck and chest and grinding against him in a maddening way.

“The others are gonna hear you, baby,” Eddie whispers in his ear and just then Steve realizes he’s been making too much noise.

He pulls his boyfriend up for another deep kiss.

“We gotta go back,” Steve mumbles against his lips.

“We do,” Eddie agrees.

It still takes then a little while to part, though. When they do, they fix their clothes and hair the best they can. Eddie pulls the door open and makes sure there’s no one around before stepping out. Steve follows, making his way to the hallway.

The idea is for Eddie to go back out first, whilst Steve waits a few more minutes in the kitchen. Their plan goes to hell before they can even reach the kitchen, because the bathroom door opens out of nowhere just as they are walking by and the two of them stop, caught by surprise.

They’re even more surprised when they see Mike fucking Wheeler and Will Byers walk out of the bathroom, still grinning at each other all dopey and completely unaware of Steve and Eddie’s presence. At least until Wheeler literally walks into Eddie.

“The fuck!?” Mike snaps, at the same time as Steve says, “What the hell were two you doing there?”

“Kinda obvious what they were doing, Stevie,” Eddie snorts.

And he’s right. Steve knows what those two were doing; their lips are too swollen and there’s a scratch down Wheeler’s neck that looks too much like nail scratching for Steve not to know what those two were doing in his fucking bathroom, but he’s choosing to be in denial here. They are children, his children, he doesn’t want to picture whatever it was happening in that bathroom.

“You’re one to talk,” Mike retorts, eyebrows raised and sending Eddie the bitchiest face Steve has ever seen. “What’s wrong with your collarbone, Stevie? Wild animal attack?”

“Mike, shut up,” Will begged, pulling the other boy by the arm.

“But it’s true!”

“Okay, Will is right, shut the fuck up everybody!” Steve hisses. Beside him Eddie is clearly trying not to laugh, but he doesn’t say anything so Steve considers it a win. Small victories. He shoots a warning glance to his boyfriend before facing the other two. Poor Will looks like he wants to be anywhere but there. “Look, I don’t care what you guys were doing, good for you. But I’m guessing you haven’t told anyone about it, if you’re sneaking around like that.”

They keep quiet, but Byers red face is answer enough for Steve.

“Alright, we also haven’t told anyone, so here’s what we’re doing…”

By the time they are out back with their friends, everything is back to normal. Steve’s hickeys are covered by his shirt and Mikey’s scratches are hidden under band-aids, some bullshit story about bumping into the murderous corner of a cabinet is given as an excuse and, surprisingly enough, the kids buy it.

“You know, we should have seen that one coming,” Eddie says, pointing out to the other side of the pool where Will and Mike are laughing together, apart from the others. They have the same dopey expressions they did when Steve and Eddie caught them red-handed a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, we should have,” Steve agrees. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s. “You know Wheeler is gonna be insufferable now that he knows about us, right? He’s gonna hold this shit over our heads forever.”

Eddie laughs hard. “That kid is a bitch when he wants to be, but he’s not cruel. He might try to use this to get free rides to school or access to R-rated movies, but I doubt he’s gonna tell anyone. Byers would kill him if he said anything and poor Mike is whipped. He’s not gonna risk it.”

“I am not letting him get any R-rated movies. He can tell whatever he wants to whoever he wants, I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Eddie scoots closer, eyes shining with amusement as he leans in. “Thought you wanted to keep the secret for a little longer.”

Steve leans in a little, his eyes dropping to Eddie’s mouth on instinct. “Hm… I did, because it’s fun sneaking around and fool everyone. But now Wheeler and Byers know, so I don’t see what would be the point anymore.”

Eddie smiles. “Yeah? So I can…”

“Yeah, you can,” Steve nods, and that’s everything he manages to say before Eddie kisses him, right there by the poolside.

Someone wolf-whistles (Max or Robin, probably), there’re some giggles (Erica and El, maybe Will too, Steve bets) and then…

“What the actual FUCK!?”

“Shut the fuck up, Dustin!!” That one is Wheeler for sure.

Steve might let him have his R-rated movies after all.

[sokkastyles]

Lately I've been wondering why is it that folks who enjoy the wholesome uwu characters tend to be really obnoxious and rude (obviously not all of them and fans of villains can also be like that etc). I have come accross so many agressive people who like characters like Aang who is at least in theory the hero and very much against violence etc. Do you have any thoughts about that?

Oh, boy, do I have thoughts on it. It's actually an incredibly common thing in fandom, not just unique to atla, for one reason, and that it's that these kinds of characters tend to attract people who see them as a way to feel morally superior.

Fans of villains do this, too (see the Azula fans who make posts that are like why do you hate a fourteen year old girl 🥺🥺🥺🥺) but it requires a bit more work because you have to argue that the narrative is morally wrong for framing her as a villain. But Aang is the hero and presented as a moral authority and twelve and a pacifist monk and a victim of genocide and the chosen one and the last of his kind. That's like winning the lottery for fandom bullies with victim complexes, which is why they always bring it up if you say something like hey I don't like that he kissed Katara after she said she was confused.

And if you bring up that Buddhist monks should generally not be kissing girls anyway, especially against their will, and that a child can't be an ordained monk (i laugh literally every time someone insists that Aang is a monk), and that him doing things adults do, like being a monk, negates using his age as an argument anyway, and that being a genocide survivor doesn't entitle you to blanket consent to other people, these fans will act like you kicked a puppy because that was what they wanted to do to begin with, to act like bullies but feel morally justified in doing so.

I don't know that every person who does this is purposefully being a bully. Some people just easily fall into the trap of fake moral outrage. When I first got into the fandom, I heard people saying Aang was hated, and of course I was shocked and outraged. Then I did a little digging and was like, oh, it's just this shit again.

It gets particularly bad in the atla fandom because these people often pit themselves against fans of popular characters, and the most popular character in atla is Zuko, who represents realizing your faults and growing and changing and becoming a better person. This kind of character is anathema to someone who wants to use a character to feel morally superior to others, though.

Remember that post that was like "Aang should be more popular than Zuko since he was good from the beginning"? Yeah. This type of rhetoric should be an immediate red flag to anyone with half a brain.

[reggie-hedgie]

(SOME) TF2 Headcanons!

TW/CW: implied trauma, mention of burn scars, general tf2 stuff ig? (If I need to add anything, please lmk!)

Characters: Pyro, Sniper

___________________ENJOY!________________

Pyro- 🔥

-Burn victim. They were a fairly functional adult before an accident left them badly burned, scarred both mentally and physically. The way they see things only applies to violence or gore, otherwise stuff is fairly normal. It’s basically a mental block to avoid further mental scarring.

-They’re really bad about cutting their nails, and wore gloves to keep from itching when they were healing after the accident, and it became a comfort thing to wear some kind of gloves or other hand covering.

-They smell like smoke and cherry syrup.

-Engie makes them Shirley temples on hot days because they refuse to drink plain water.

-almost completely indifferent to pronouns. They is preferred, since Spy and Heavy called them “it” and “thing” when they were newer to the team, but they won’t make a fuss either way.

-(heavy and spy have since warmed up to pyro, heavy more quickly. I have a soft spot for Texas toast and French toast also, SO-)

-They like Medic the least, they don’t remember much of recovery, but they remember the pain of bandage changes, and the nurses being involved, but they don’t honestly hate anyone in the team.

-Very physically affectionate. They love platonic handholding and snuggling. If someone is just chilling somewhere, they always snuggle up, wanting company or just some affection.

-They actually get cold pretty easily. Nerve damage, maybe? Another reason they snuggle, they’re cold. They like heated blankets.

-They aren’t fond of weighted blankets though. They don’t like feeling trapped under things, even if they technically aren’t trapped.

-Often dehydrated. They hate drinking plain water, and they get hot and sweaty in the suit.

-Could probably beat Scout in a stamina race without their mask, gas masks are hard to breathe in and they wear one all the time. It’s like training at high elevation for a low elevation competition.

-Loves listening to anything anyone has to say.

-Sniper is one of their favorite people to be around, outside of ships. Sniper doesn’t mind them at all, and they enjoy quiet company like he does.

-Actually very helpful. Engie often has them hand him tools when working on a project.

-Engie got them one of those noise machine things for sleeping, but swapped out the sound for rain and thunder instead of just the awful white noise static (sorry white noise enjoyers, I can’t-)

-They can sleep without the rain sounds as long as they have something else to fill the void while they try to sleep. Sleeping in the same room as someone else is always good, the other person’s breathing/snoring is perfect.

-honorary eldritch horror pyro mention, I love that a lot.

-If eldritch pyro could make themselves appear human, they’d pick traits from other mercs. Snipers crooked smile, medics body type, heavy’s loud voice, Scout’s energy, Engie’s empathy, etc

-Loves napping in the sun or under a tree, it’s comfy.

-Happy hand stims. Also uses ASL. Their little happy dance is also a stim.

Sniper- 🦘

—Autistic creature for SURE

-also trans creature. The T wasn’t kind to his face lol

-his mum and dad don’t mind at all, they just don’t approve of sniping lol

-he’s got Disney Princess magic, animals love him, regardless of the animal. Or is that Aussie/New Zealand magic… hmmmm

-big fan of rodents and reptiles especially. Doesn’t mind most insects but some still give him the willies… earwigs… eugh

-So used to being all by himself in a sniper nest, that he doesn’t talk all that much unless he feels like it. He will talk to himself as a way to think and process stuff.

-He loves tart fruit. If pyro doesn’t want a fruit with their breakfast cuz it’s too sour, he’ll eat it. Doesn’t care if pyro already bit it. He’s gross/j

-He loves weighted blankets, but gets too warm so he’s always got his feet out the end of the blanket.

-His joins sound AWFUL. His neck is the worst of it, from hunching over his sniper all day.

-nearly passes away when Engie gives him a shoulder rub cuz he was complaining about a bad shoulder. He’s very prone to getting used to constant pain/general discomfort, so it felt amazing lolol

-Decent about hydrating. Total opposite of pyro, isn’t fond of sugary flavored drinks, plain water or ice tea are always good, even if iced tea would give most UK associated folks a stroke.

-snores and talks in his sleep, although it’s usually just nonsense. Tends to have weird dreams too

-Likes movies but just as background noise, he rarely actively watches them. Will occasionally lurk behind the couch like a creature if he’s interested.

__________________________________________

Too eepy to think of the others, let me know if I should do some of the others- can you tell who’s my favorite lol

[bi-functional]

Do I already have an au thats got its own folder in my google drive about Visually Impaired Bill? Yes. Do I want to talk about it because I broke my glasses and forgot how blind I am? Yes.

There’s just something about low visibility and how it’s such a concept to play with. My eyesight is Horrible and it’s almost impossible for me to get 20/20 vision, you could be standing a yard from me and I wouldn’t be able to see your face and my eye sight is just going to keep deteriorating with age. And for those curious, I do have contacts to wear, though like I mentioned, they do not give me 20/20 and also my jokes of being unable to cry or show emotions was taken too seriously by my eyes which decided they would also be unable to produce moisture properly, which makes contacts extremely irritating and hard to wear for long periods of time, even with the aid of special eyedrops.

But also, it’s been brought to my attention how like… genuinely fun and eerie you can make low visibility, and this isn’t me making light of being visually impaired or anything this is just genuine shit that’s been happening to me for the past week and I’d like you to imagine the following scenarios with Bill in mind:

Staring at people completely dead eyed, only to be told to stop staring at them cause it’s creepy. Apparently we’ve been having a staring contest but I was just trying to track movement of the faceless thing that walked in so I could stay aware of my surroundings.

Being told repeatedly to look at things that’s impossible for me to make out without any aid, fr sometimes I feel like Toph from avatar with the way my family tries to show me shit and has to be reminded I cannot, in fact, see them or what they’re trying to show me.

Having to keep a physical hand on the people I go out with in order to keep a physical marker on them. If I were to loose them in a crowd I would not be able to find them.

The people who choose to adapt to my extremely low visibility and those who choose to be irritated by it. The difference between those two.

With Bill having only One Eye, imagining that one eye having terrible and deteriorating vision is just a concept that I enthusiastically get my grubby little hands all over uk? Regardless of if it’s a human au, or if it’s an ‘axolotl sent me to earth in a human form as punishment’ au or however you want to spin it. An all seeing Eye and being of an alternate dimension warped with dreams and nightmares and unreality being unable to properly conceive the reality he’s been so desperate to find his way into is just a Good Prompt to me idk broski.

It is now time for some of the Bill headcanons I have in this department and in that previously mentioned AU folder.

Bill calls Dipper Pinetree after stealing his cap and discovering the embroidered pine tree on it. Dipper had refused to give his name hoping to be left alone but Bill simply found other solutions.

Bill keeping a constant hand or arm around Dipper while in public spaces.

Others initiating obvious and intentional contact with Bill when they start speaking to him, commonly but not limited to group conversations. It’s a more meaningful way to ‘maintain eye contact’ or allow them to give him their full attention.

Bill also has a contact he can wear when he needs to, but sometimes due to migraines or general discomfort he simply won’t wear it.

This post is already way too long but yeah ❤️ Wether it’s a human au or not just Bill having to deal with a human version of himself that’s extremely visually impaired as a juxtaposition to the All Seeing Eye of his true form. That’s all I’m pitching here. I have so many thoughts uk. So many au’s.

[rubenesque-as-fuck]

Oopsie daisy, we accidentally spent almost 5 full hours in my room 🥴 damn I had truly planned on buying him a nice dinner after sex too

[merp-blerp]

Hamilton will be 10 years old next year…

[adore-gregor]

😓

[bookwyrminspiration]

I was on a book shop crawl today and one of the shops had a shelf of mildly damaged books that they were giving away with a purchase. From that shelf I picked up a free copy of the Keeper of the Lost Cities Graphic Novel Part 1 largely because I see you posting about KotLC all the time and was curious. Is the graphic novel a reasonable place to start with that world?

!!! Very jealous of your bookshop crawl. I wanted to go to the bookstore this weekend, but I'm running out of time

There's no harm in reading the graphic novel, but it's honestly not the best place to start. That adaptation is a very recent development and only covers the first half of the first book (out of 11 and counting). It's also mediocre quality; the artist, while very talented, appears to have been rushed.

The best place to start with Keeper is simply from the beginning: Keeper of the Lost Cities by Shannon Messenger. The first book and the series overall have the same title.

I don't know how much you've picked up on from my posting, but I'll give a little pitch/summary (spoiler free):

Sophie Foster is a 12 year old high-school senior with a secret: since she hit her head when she was 5, she can hear the thoughts of everyone around her. But then a mysterious boy shows up claiming he's been looking for her for 12 years because she isn't human, and she's whisked away to a sparkling hidden world of elves, goblins, ogres, and more.

Maybe Sophie will finally fit in here, going to school and trying to make friends, but the longer she's there the more something's...wrong. Her powers are a little too strong, her past a little too strange. And the mysterious notes and riddles slipped into her pockets aren't helping.

This secret world claims to be superior to humanity, to be perfect, but the rot beneath the glitter is starting to seep through the cracks, and Sophie finds herself at the center of it all trying to figure out who she is--what she is.

It's very much a story about belonging, about alienation, about injustice and rebellion. It certainly has its flaws, but it also crawled through my pericardium when I was 12 and has lived there since.

If you (or anyone) have any further questions, I'm more than happy to answer :)

[arolesbianism]

Finally fixating on some nugget relationships that aren't horrible for everyone I love friendship <3

[orcelito]

So I rearranged my bookshelf a bit for fitting trigun on my shelf...

Top shelf is still my persona shelf. It's way too established to change that. But I moved my assorted other fav manga volumes to the bottom shelf, leaving room for This...

It didn't Quite fit all the way, but it's close enough. This shelf is composed of my three top favorite mangas of all time, which are Also the only 3 series that I own in totality. Specifically bc theyre my favorites & I care enough about them to want to own them all lol

It's... really really nice to see them all in one place like this.

And of course. The trigun ❤️ completely worth the money I spent on them.

[great-and-small]

I was walking on a rather remote beach when I came upon this Whip eel drying up in the sun. These are intertidal eels that can actually handle themselves out of water for a bit, but it’s not normal for them to be fully exposed in direct sunlight like this. The tide was at least six hours from coming in and I felt like this eel was in distress, so I made the decision to dig him out and return to the ocean. His body was too delicate to be simply pulled from the hole without injury, so I got to digging.

This endeavor took about 40 minutes as the eel was quite long and difficult to excavate. Also had to continually refill my temporary eel pond to keep him from drying out entirely while I worked.

If you are an eel aficionado like myself, please enjoy this silly little video of the relocation process set to some jaunty royalty-free disco music.

[coconutdays]

BAD BOY DOWN!

s. on one of your usual days at work as an art seller for a luxury agency, a cocky and devilishly handsome sukuna meets your acquaintance, sparking a feeling you just can't ignore and neither can he.

w.c. 11.7k

w. fem! reader, mafia!sukuna! x reader , strangers to lovers! fluff!, smut! barely there angst! ermmm mentions of murder and crime? errr he eats your ass a little hehe because of how down bad he is

a/n: im feral for the thought of mafia sukuna. hope ya'll enjoy, as always it's not well enough proofread but ill do it as I reread it and catch the off stuff. hehe I really liked this and might want to write more instances of him. (also creds to the artist of this art of him! I did not make it or own it!)

"do you need help ma'am?"

there's a hobbling elderly lady struggling to walk across the street, what with the slightly heavy bag of vegetables she's trying to haul with her and her cane in her other hand.

she looks slightly ashamed that someone's offering help, probably the reminder that she's a bit dependent on others now. but when she looks up to make eye contact with you, wide young eyes in worry that only a grandchild could carry, her gaze softens and she bashfully hands you her brown paper bag.

she giggles a little when you carry it on your hip and have one careful hand out in case she needs extra physical help on the walk across.

when you finally cross the street, she motions for you to give the bag back, textured small hands opening and closing in your direction. you lean back a little with the bag in your arms, not thinking it a problem to accompany her further, you didn't have to go work for at least forty more minutes.

"I live right here." she smiles, hoarse voice happy when she lightly juts her head to the doors to an apartment building right next to you.

"oh," you sigh and hand the bag to her, slightly embarrassed that you kept her groceries from her, "I can still open the door for-"

"the doorman can do that." she fwips her hand

then she stares at you, her crows feet pronounced as she grins at you.

"pretty pretty girl." she says warmly, reaching a hand up to softly pat your cheek.

you're at work later after helping that lady cross the street, warm feeling bubbling in your body at the compliment and caress she gave you.

you sell and manage art for an exclusive agency/musuem. and today you so happen to have a large silent auctioning event for some pieces from the heian era. not your preferred range, but hey there's a lot of people here now that are willing to pay a lot for some of them.

it's also a great networking event for artists of the agency too, wandering around and hoping someone as rich as the Medici's can keep them as a little pet.

you've done your more than fair share of repeating the same monologue and facts over the pieces to some clients when you wander and head over to one of the art pieces on the wall. it wasn't part of the auction, but it was your favorite here at the museum, perfectly distanced enough from the crowd so that you wouldn't have to really interact with anyone before you went back to working.

you wish you could afford it

the paycheck plus commission from working at a prestigious place like this was hefty, but not that much for a luxury like that.

it's none of that abstract emotion crap.

yes you know everything could be art, but hey you have preferences.

it reminded you a lot of Monet, so pretty and elegant. it was even more disheartening when it had two sister pieces from the same line by the artist too. the only three from that artist that had such a magical heart to it.

"this not part of the auction is it?" a gruff voice speaks

now, you don't like judging people based on their looks. you're a very liberal person. some artists and uptight rich people that shop here wear and decorate themselves in the most peculiar way, but you're slightly taken aback at this man.

he has these lined tattoos on his face.

face tattoos. and you're NOT judging, but it's just not a casual thing to see. you don't mind tattoos, but nobody really tattoos their face unless it's for cultural reason, they're involved in the wrong circles, or just kinda dumb.

he looks far from dumb though.

he's very handsome actually.

"n-no," you answer quickly once you realize you've taken a little too long to answer him. nonetheless, you quickly regain your posture and stick your hands behind your back, he's a customer either way, you have to do your job.

you enter customer service mode and reach a hand to motion towards the pieces for auction, "but the heian pieces we have are right over there, I can tell you-"

"I already placed my offers earlier," he does a slight tch with his mouth, a personality tick of his probably, and he stands still where he is, still looking at the painting in front of you.

"that's good to hear," you gulp, caught off guard by how dense his presence is, "we have a similar collection coming in-"

"you really like this one?" he completely ignores you and juts his chin towards the painting, looking at your for a few seconds before looking back at the painting.

and those few seconds were so blissful.

his eyes are really pretty, they're an intense red, but you felt enraptured being held in his gaze.

"I do." you breathe, nervously shifting so that you can look at him and the painting at the same time.

"I was in a gang when I was younger," he says curtly, so freely aired to you

your jaw drops a little and you're confused as to why he would-

he peers over at you a little from his spot towering over you, an eyebrow slightly raised at you in a sort of knowing.

"the tattoos, they're from before."

"oh! I wasn't! no! it's not-"

"you go out makin friends with face tattoo guys?"

and again he has you speechless, mouth opening and closing to say something

"you'd be stupid if you did." he does that small tch again, looking over at the painting again, "shit's not normal."

"I don't." you regain some confidence, bashing yourself in the head wondering where the yapster in you went.

"good." he gruffs

"how much this worth anyway?" he seems a little unimpressed by it when he points his jaw towards it

"150,000." you chirp, gazing at the painting again with appreciation.

when you look at him, he looks slightly confused and disgusted by the price. and you know its just because he really doesn't like it a lot, its a girly painting and he's well...

he's got a sharp undercut, dirty pink hair spiked back. there's black studs on his ears, the obvious face tattoos and probably more beneath the dark black suit he's wearing, which is nicely tailored because you can make out his beefy lean build through it.

but you figure he's probably spending the same if not more on those heian artifacts if he's here.

"everyone has different taste," you shrug, "I'm not really a fan of the heian stuff."

he hangs his head when he looks down at you, almost a bit sassy?

"I know. never seen a pretty face look so empty talking about a thousand year old tapestry."

when did he see you explaining the pieces? how'd you miss him in the crowd? oh no, you internally groan, if he could tell then so could everybody else-

"nobody cares that much," he says, fully turned to you now, tilting his head when he sees just how panicked you look, almost as if he can tell what's on your mind, "the riffraff here only care about playing their ballbusting competition between each other."

"and you're here because?" feeling your heartbeat stabilize at his weird reassurance

"I like it and I can afford it"

another tch.

you're starting to really like that habit of his

wait, how can he afford it? what does he work in? as far as you know getting a high paying job with visible face tattoos is well, kinda close to impossible unless you're some rap artists or in the mafia...

one of your eyebrows is softly quirked up and you're about to open your mouth, but he beats you to it.

"you let everyone read your face this well?" he cocks his head to the side, observing you with amusement as he opens his mouth just a little, his sharp tooth biting down on the tip of his tongue in what you think is a weakening type of smirk, "waste management and a couple of bars is what I do, angel face."

you can't even act like this is a regular interaction with how not regular he's speaking to you, your usual work attitude towards guests washing away with him.

you pucker your lips a smidge and your eyebrows furrow in a playful curiosity as you side eye him a little, "do you interrupt everyone this often?"

he lets out a singular laugh, bearing his fanged smile at you when it dissipates, "only the ones easy to mess with."

your jaw drops a little, for the nth time

the audacity!

"I'm at work and you're saying all these things that aren't a regular interaction for me here!"

"and what were you working on all the way over here?" he retorts leaning down into your space

you fight the urge to roll your eyes and take a deep breath, steadily digging your heel into the hard floor as a way to stabilize yourself.

"taking a small break."

"aw don't look so mad at me," he tuts so endearingly, " 's cute but I don't want to stress that little heart of yours."

you feel yourself growing soft at the words, stomach feeling fluttery and like a fairy threw up in it.

but no no. you can't flirt with a client. much less one with face tattoos. it's just. it's not viable. this isn't a movie and your mom would sooooo kill you for even considering it. and even if he has clean money, he looks like bad news, like he'd just want you as a plaything.

"I appreciate the flattery mister..."

"sukuna." he smiles so handsomely

"mister sukuna, but this is a work event and I really can't be-"

he stands tall all of a sudden and puts his hands in his pockets, motioning with his head towards the painting, "put that on my account."

"HUH?"

he gives his back to you and starts to walk away, "you heard me angel face."

later, after everyone’s left, you’re left to look at the auction paperwork leftover with your boss

"mister sukuna requested that all of the heian artifacts be sent to his estate..." your boss worriedly reads to you from his paperwork, "and for the peony in night painting be sent your address."

"what?!"

you dash to his side to read the document with him.

there was your name and the request for it to go wherever you lived. when did he even get your name?

"you didn't know?" he looks at you, wide eyed.

"no!" you quickly answer, heart beginning to race, overthinking brain running wild that people will think you seduced him or did something else to have such an expensive piece sent to your home, "I didn't do anything! I swear! We just talked about the painting and he asked me how much it was, said he was going to buy it and then he left!"

"well whatever you did was good enough for him to gift you such a piece," he pushes his glasses back up, tired eyes skimming over the rest of the document to make sure everything else was in place. your boss then picks up another paper from his desk and pushes it towards you, "doesn't matter anymore, sign off on these and put your address."

you're on the phone with your best friend satoru after the painting gets moved into your apartment by the delivery workers of your agency later that week.

"okay and why aren't you hopping on his dick????" he asks crudely, unphased as you can hear him trim his finger nails through the phone

"he's like, not presentable satoru," you breathe, stressed as you brush your hair back, "he had a bunch of tattoos on his face and had that whole playboy thing going on."

satoru hums in response, too focused on what he's doing

"this is too much money spent on me by a stranger, I feel guilty, what if he thinks this is going to get me to sleep with him? what do I do?"

"okay chilllllllll," he drags on, "tattoos aside, was he hot?"

you stay quiet, knowing where this was going.

"oh ho hooooo you think he's hot. what's wrong with letting him get a taste then?"

"because I'm not like that." you say firmly, patience being tested by the white haired fiend.

"you're sooooo boring," he sighs before taking your side, "the guy can't force you to sleep with him, he already signed it away to you. and it'd be pretty distasteful to harass you at your place of work for some pussy."

in the process of biting the skin at the edges of your nails off you look at the new painting hanging on your wall.

"okay, you're right."

"besides what kinda face tattoos were they? was he on some lil xann shit?"

"no," you exhale, recalling his face, "they were like these sharp lines outlining his cheeks."

"he in the mafia or something?"

"no he said he does waste management and owns a couple of bars."

"don't know why you're so opposed to riding that then, you sound way too dreamy talking about him."

"I ALREADY TOLD YOU WHY!"

and so what if mister sukuna's become a little fantasy of yours as the days go by? being with him isn't feasible, but that doesn't mean you can't be flattered by his advances towards you.

you're just a girl after all.

he hasn't come back, something you shouldn't really allow yourself to be bummed out about, but you still feel hopeful everyday before work.

stop, it's not going to happen.

it's what you tell yourself as you walk into a fancy nightclub kinda bar with your coworkers one friday. one of them sold a 500k dollar vase from the victorian era and said drinks were on them tonight. free drinks were free drinks and you really wanted to see if this bar would make lychee martinis.

although not vip, even the normal tables were expensive looking. there wasn't that horrible packed stench of vape smoke and sweat. this place smelled lingering cigarette smoke and expensive cologne, something like guerlain.

you've entrusted your bag to one of your coworkers by the time you've headed off to the bar real quick to make your order.

they don't make lychee martinis

but at least they had espresso martinis

so you're sipping on one within a few minutes, seated comfortably on the luxury couch to your table as you look around the club/bar.

it's so pretty and classy.

there's chandeliers that somehow don't clash tackily with the slight colorful low lighting pulsing with the music. the floors are clean and the seats are made out of soft leather. even the people here are dressed accordingly. no girls were wearing sneakers here, so magical.

and when you look straight ahead, there's some sort of vip room aside from those at the balcony. must be a fortune to expense. one of the curtains shuffles and you can only make out a little bit of the inside.

its dimly lit by red chandeliers and the couches are-

the double doors open as a group of men walk out. and as they move out, a face goes immediately detected by you.

seated at the end of the room, smack right across from you, is sukuna.

who immediately detects you.

his face had been so stern the split second before he spotted you. and now it was smirking at you, mischievous glint fading away when the doors finally closed.

argh, you forgot he owned a couple of bars!

you don't know if you feel nervous or excited he saw you.

well, you do.

both.

but the overlapping combination had you picking up an adrenaline rush, your flight instinct screaming at you. but you were among coworkers and couldn't act on it like a second grader running away from their crush.

so you chug the rest of your drink and flee to the bar, hoping you get lost among the crowd if he was going to go up to you.

"an espresso martini please!" you pipe up, drumming your fingers on the bar countertop nervously before unlocking your phone and sending a distress text to satoru

you SATORU SATORU SATORU SATORU SATORU PAINTING GUY HES AT THE CLUB MY COWORKERS AND I ARE AT I THINK HES THE OWERNER AND HE SAW ME EING GKJE IM GOING TO KILL MYSEF

satoru jeez im here oh no ahahahahahahaaha good luccccckkkkkk remember to wrap it before you tap it kiddo ;)

"trying to hide?" a low voice teases in your ear

you basically jump at the intrusion, fumbling with your phone and catching it before it falls.

sukuna's there when you hesitantly turn

it's so hard not to faint out of sheer infatuation with his presence.

he's closer to you than when you met at work. his cologne infiltrating your senses and his hard chest right smack in front your face.

"not funny." you breathe, putting a hand over your heart and giving him a soft glare

"I'm sorry sweetheart," he smiles down at you condescendingly, leaning closer to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger before letting go of it

why is he so hot?

"you like your gift?" he jeers

you deadpan a little and tilt your head at him, peering up at him through stern eyes, "if that was an invitation or incentive for me to sleep with you or do anything remotely-"

"can't I spoil a pretty face?"

sukuna leans on the countertop and sets his arm down so his hand can hold his face as he looks at you. he's still taller than you like this and its so frustrating for your nether regions.

"well," your eyes flee away from his, looking at a specific point to the side from pure nerves, "although I really appreciate the gift, I had already made it clear that I wasn't interested."

"you're breakin my heart angel." he pouts at you in such a fake manner before standing up straight and reaching a hand out to you, "not even interested in a dance?"

you close your hand in a careful fist to your chest when you look down at his own, thinking about the offer.

"the least you could do for that pretty present of yours." sukuna smiles, knowing you wouldn't be able to say no to him out of guilt.

you press your lips together and look at him with awkward 'really?' eyes before hesitantly putting your hand in his.

the difference between your hand and his was enough to send you into a coma.

sukuna's twirled you into his embrace at the center of the dance floor when he begins to tease you.

"if you don't like me why's your hand sweating balls?" his canines gleam under the lights

you bashfully look to the side to avoid his gaze, instead coming to find that your coworkers have spotted you dancing with the handsome figure that is sukuna. many of them, mostly the women are drunkenly giving you excited thumbs up and big smiles, fangirling for you.

"I just have sweaty hands." you quickly peek at him before going back to looking anywhere else but him.

"and you can't look me in the fuckin face because?"

the vulgarity makes you squash your nervousness and whip your head around to face him.

"I'm looking you in the face." your eyebrows are knit and your mouth is a little tight pressed, your bottom lip starting to defiantly jut out in a pout.

he smirks down at you and it's not as evil as the other times he's done it.

"what?" you say defensively when it carries on a little too long, almost feeling insecure when you start to worriedly look for what he's not saying in his eyes

"stop letting me press your buttons," sukuna teases, "I told you its bad for your blood pressure."

you feel like that's not all he wanted to say, but you move on and try to remain calm while you hold his gaze and mention something else.

"how did you know my name? back when you signed off for the painting to be sent to me."

sukuna shrugs

but then he laughs when you glare at him and answers you

"heard you introduce yourself to some sleazeballs asking about the yamato paintings."

that was wayyyyy before you gave that monologue on the tapestry he had also seen you talking about.

"how long were you watching me?" you give him a quizzical investigative face.

"why're you asking?" he leans down next to your ear, "trynna flatter yourself knowing how long you had my attention?"

"you're impossible." you puff, feeling your face heat up at the question and the proximity

"now that's where you're wrong," sukuna tuts, swirling you around so swiftly and quite literally sweeping you off your feet

"how?"

the hand that he has on your waist drops and moves up to softly hold the underside of your neck and reaching all the way to your cheek, his thumb fondly gliding over it.

"what's impossible about a guy spending 150k on you angel face?"

fuck, you're actually melting like this

but no no no no you're still trying to be stern with him

"what are you trying to get at?" you softly glare, face slightly mushed in his large hand

his eyes look dense and full of something warm when he peers down at your lips, your nose, your eyes, everything.

but he ignores your question

"did the bar have what you wanted?"

taken aback, you wait to see if that's actually what he said and when you realize he did, that's when you answer.

"no."

"what shit were you lookin for?" he says, visibly curious and looking for your input

"a lychee martini..." you're a little confused

he hums in recognition before letting his thumb make a quick swipe on your bottom lip and letting go of you completely after, only holding on to the tips of your fingers.

you feel a little empty? when he lets go

"I have to finish some paperwork beautiful," sukuna plays a little with your index and middle finger, letting them go when he continues to say, "don't stay too late."

"or you'll have to get a ride back home in my car." he almost bites, teasing you basically for your fear of proximity with him

and then he leaves, large v-shaped back breaking through the sea of people and going back into his lounge room.

and the next morning well...

"satoru...you won't believe this," you start through the phone the moment your friend picks up, pacing through your apartment in your nightrobe as you eye the two newly installed sister pieces on your apartments walls.

"you're at his place and his place looks like you're in american psycho?"

"ugh no," you groan, starting to nervously twirl your hair in your hand,"he sent me those other two painting from the same line as the first one he bought me."

"no way."

"yes way."

"he wants youuuuu bad."

"argh stop." you flop onto your bed, letting yourself ricochet in it

"this guy is like wrapped around your finger and he's rich. I'm kinda offended you haven't even entertained it at least give me some bedtime stories."

"but what if he's just throwing money at me like im some expensive call girl????" you run your hand down your cheek and mouth in peril

"um, he could get one for like 40k, the guy's practically spent half a million to make you happy."

you huff, still worried as you stare at the paintings from the open door in your room

"and who cares about the tattoos at this point. if I were a girl id dream about a hot sexy tattooed bad boy throwing cash at me and eating my ass."

"ugh satoru, when have I ever talked about him eating my ass."

"oh he's going to try to when he's whipped like that."

and you put some thought into sukuna later that night when you're taking a bubble bath.

it's actually kinda plausible to see something serious with him...

your perspective shifts when you imagine the end game you've always wanted and he fits into it. you can see that handsome inked face holding one of your babies.

to be honest, it turns you on.

and how you deal with that...you know how

it's the following monday, two days laterish, when you've gotten back from work and sit there staring at the number you're about to dial.

it's sukuna's number.

and even though you feel really weird/guilty about taking a quick picture of it behind your boss' back from his files to have gotten it, you push the feeling down.

"hello?" a mean gruff voice picks up

"mister sukuna?" you peep, adding your name in case he didn't recognize the voice

his tone suddenly changes when he hears you speak

"now where'd you get this number bad girl?"

you want to bash your head into your table because how can you hear his smile through the phone?! and how is it making you nervous like this?!

"from my boss's file for you at work, but please don't tell him-"

"you get the gifts I sent you?"

straight to the point like always, so you might as well get to it

"yes, I called because I wanted to say thank you."

the paintings do really look beautiful in your apartment

"I really appreciate them and the fact that you went out of your way to get them for me."

"You're welcome angel, wanted something to remind you of me."

you giggle a little at his flirting

"oh? did I say something funny?"

"no," you breathe through a grin, "I just felt flattered."

"now you're flattered huh? all I had to do was buy you the set? this part of your little plan?" he jeers

its all obvious teasing, but you still want to clear the air

"no, I just..."

and you can't put it into words that 'hey I thought about it and I'm actually into you and wouldn't mind more of your flirting' without getting embarrassed

"just tired of playing hard to get like you're scared of me huh?"

"ye-yeah," you nervously sigh, clicking your heels on the floor, "something like that."

"don't be scared pretty face," sukuna reassures you, an air of self assurance still there, like you're sure it'll always be, but nonetheless still soft enough to calm you, "I don't bite."

"unless you want me to."

you scrunch your nose, laughing a bit through it, "why did I know you were going to say that?"

"doesn't sound like you were saying no."

"stop thinking about that." you tut, embarrassed that he's touching such a topic

"as long as you do."

caught off guard, you go quiet, mind quickly racing to when you were servicing yourself to the thought of him the other day in your bath

"just teasing you sweetheart," he laughs, adding, "I'll ask you for permission next time I want to think about that. how's that sound?"

"okay." you almost stutter

"and how does picking you up at your apartment tomorrow for dinner sound?"

if you didn't know any better, you'd think he sounds unsure of your answer there even though he sounded so secure before.

"that sounds good too."

"alright. I'll pick you up at seven. I have to go now and do some business angel face."

"that's fine too."

"and send me your address. okay?"

"okay."

"bye angel."

"bye"

the moment you get home from work the next day, you are bussing it to the restroom to start getting ready.

now, you didn't plan on getting fucked. you were going to resist the ministrations of that man, especially if you didn't want to overthink the next day and somehow convince yourself all he wanted was sex from you and he ended up getting it. but you wanted to feel sexy and confident with him. because these last two times you had seen him were child's play. yes you were always polished, but this was making yourself perfect, layering everything together.

hell, you even shaved down there. you weren't going to have sex, you weren't! butttttt if his hand wanted to do give you a little...

stop stop! that's a thought for another time if this date ends up being good.

anyways...

so, when you look at yourself in the mirror, you're very proud of yourself. you even give yourself a hmph of approval.

this is gonna shut him up

you're pristine.

sukuna waiting for you outside angel

you inhale deeply when you see the text.

maybe, just maybe you were still nervous. and you couldn't exactly take a couple thirty minutes to run laps around your apartment right now to exert the energy of embarrassment.

but you put on your brave face and find yourself shakily opening the double doors to your apartment complex a few minutes later.

sukuna's already leaning against his very expensive looking car and you try not to look so bashful when you approach him because he hears the moment you open the door and smirks so devilishly handsome upon looking at you.

"all this for for me hm?" he bares a fangy smile at you as he gathers both of your hands in his.

you're about to faint, his mouth does the indent thing at the edges like the guy who plays finnick in the hunger games when he smiles.

your back shivers, but you hide it.

"why can't it be just for me?" you retort, turning your head to give him a playful side eye, "I like to dress up."

"then share a little bit with me sweet angel." he playfully pleads, making these obvious fake eyes of desperation while swiveling his head in 'agony' into your couples hands

but the way he nuzzles into your hands for just a split second is so tender that you're fighting the urge to backflip across the entire city.

"what restaurant are we going to anyways?" you scrunch your nose happily at his previous playfulness

sukuna starts to maneuver you towards his car, opening the door, and buckling you in while he answers, "it's a surprise."

then he shuts the door and winks at you while walking to his side, relishing in the way you cross your arms and squint at him from inside the vehicle.

"that's cheesy," you say when he sits in the driver seat

"good thing we're on a date then sweet thing." he smirks while starting the car, suddenly and quickly pinching your cheek before backing out of the parking space.

and the thing is there's not one not hot thing about him.

you wish you could record the way he drives so you could watch it later at home by yourself to fangirl to while playing hot music over it.

he drives so well with one hand and its no surprise considering how massive it is and overtakes the wheel. and its the ringed hand that's the one driving. two large silver rings, one on his thumb and the other on his middle finger. the veins scattered around them make you want to clench your thighs too. if he's this veiny on his hands, then he must-

"take a picture, it'll last longer." he laughs, cocky smirk decorating the just as cocky glint in his eyes when he peers over at you for a split second.

"just keep driving." you huff, cheeks hot while you cross your arms to yourself and turn yourself towards the opposite direction, gazing out the window as you beat yourself up for staring at him for too long.

"here."

you look over and sukuna's holding his phone out for you, eyes still on the road when he says, "take a picture of that pretty face for me."

"huh?"

pit-pat pit-pat goes your heart

"what's so confusing about wanting to see your face on my phone?"

hesitantly, you take his phone, "but that's a little awkward to do in front of you...and-"

"do that little shy smile." he winks at you and cocks his head as if to already say thank you

feeling like you're unable to say no because what he wants you to do is actually really harmless and super sweet, you click on the camera button of his phone.

and against every bone in your body getting second hand embarrassment, you raise the phone in both of your hands, and do that 'little shy smile' he asked for, which does come naturally because you're feeling soooo shy right now.

you press on the middle center

then suddenly sukuna's squishing your cheeks between his hand

flash!

and he snatches his phone back, tucking it back in his pocket while he keeps driving, eyes forward but still drenched in mischief along with his evil grin

"hey!"

"got a complaint?"

"what was that?!"

"thanks for the picture beautiful."

"ugh that better not be my contact picture!"

"good thing this phone's mine ain't it?"

letting out a strong huff, you sink into your corner of the car, resting your elbow on the car door and placing your cheek flush against your hand.

to say the surprise was a surprise is an understatement. a surprise would have been a really expensive restaurant you'd never be able to afford. but this?

this is the entire rooftop lounge of a skyscraper all to yourself with sukuna.

and the sky's barely turning orange, the sunset near.

he knows what he's doing oh my god you want to jump him so bad and climb himwkefnejfegerg

"you like it?" he's leaned down and swerved his upper body a little to face you, haughty smile giving away that he knows you're impressed.

"yes..." you exhale, impressed, marveling at the whole thing. your brain doesn't even think twice to follow sukuna when he gently takes your hand and puts a light hand on the small of your back to lead you to the dining table.

and you're still too busy taking in every detail when he pulls out a chair for you and helps you sit down.

"is this one of those custom menus with the private chef and everything?" your jaw is a little dropped and you're nerding out over this whole extravaganza

sukuna just stares at you for a few seconds, signature confident grin only tightlipped and gingerly upturned at the end.

"you gonna sound this surprised every time I take you out?"

nobody's ever done anything like this before.

sure nobody's ever bought you half a million in art pieces before either.

but this was in a way, his own form of art. the attention to detail with what time he was coming to pick you up so you could catch the sunrise. making it private and just intimate for the two of you...

you delicately fwip the menu to your chest and smile at him like a little girl who's just been told she can whatever she wants from the store.

"thank you, mister-"

"thank you ryomen." he corrects you, the corner of his mouth fully upturning

"thank you, ryo," you beam, "words aren't enough to explain how grateful I am for this."

and maybe its the shortening of his name, but????

his eyebrows raise a little, as if he's rarely surprised, and a warm color matching the sunset blossoms slightly on his cheeks

"oh." your mouth forms an o shape and your eyes widen a little, "are you blushing?"

but just as fast as it appeared, sukuna furrows his brows to regain his cool facade and starts clearing his throat

"take a look at the wine options."

turns out, just as handsome as his face is, so is his ability to converse and listen.

for every moment you forgot what you were yapping about, he was quick to remind you what is was. the smallest details you mentioned, he was asking questions about when you finished talking.

"can I have more win-"

"ah no," a tch comes from sukuna when he talks to the waiter, "I had a special drink for her with the dessert. can you just bring it now?"

"yes sir." he bows and heads off

two thoughts:

one: you started to notice that sukuna made that tick whenever he was in a serious mode or regarding people that werent??? you??? possibly??? it was hot if that was even more the case.

and two: what special drink?

"what special drink are you-"

"here you go madam."

as quickly as sukuna sent off for it, was as quickly as it came.

there's a lychee martini in front of you

your eyes can't help but widen in awe at him, "you remembered?"

"you think there's anything I won't?" he quirks a brow at you, offended even you might say

a breeze comes and you shiver when you respond to him through a grin, "no, I'll make sure to know that now."

he observed the way your body rattles because no sooner is he standing up and picking up his coat from his chair to drape over you. as he's leaning down to do this, you bite the bullet and do what you've been dying to do since you got over your fears about him.

after placing a hand on his forearm to keep him in place, you pick your head up and place a soft kiss on his lips as a thank you, letting your lips mold onto his for a fleeting moment before letting go of his arm and the kiss.

his eyes are closed when you pull back, and he's inhaling and exhaling calmly. he tightlips his mouth too, almost as if savoring and memorizing what just happened.

"you're a tease, angel" he gruffs before heading back to his seat.

a few weeks later, sukuna's cooking for you for your date. he's an excellent cook and plenty of successful dates with him have allowed for you to finally accept an invitation to his very expensive penthouse.

you've kissed plenty of times by now and been on the precipice of heavy make out sessions.

the precipice

so you're soooooo eager to sit with him on his couch after a glass of wine with your very tasty dinner and very good conversation

you've purposely worn a skirt too. not that you want to have sex (well you do) but just to tease him for when you know you'll inevitably be on his lap.

"what're you doing angel?" he asks when you take his whiskey glass from his hand and place it on the coffee table in front of you.

"I wanna kiss," you breathe, already straddling him and putting your arms over his shoulders.

sukuna quickly places his hands on your waist and leers at you with a mischievous smile, "what's taking you so long then sweetheart?"

you giggle before swooping in for his mouth.

it's probably the fact that you're both finally under the shield of privacy, but sukuna pushes you flush against him, holding onto you tightly. and you cling onto him just the same

he kisses so sensually and wet, you're on cloud 9. fuck you wonder if this is how messy he'd be with your pussy.

you whine when sukuna dips his tongue into your mouth, flicking at yours as an invitation to play. he's evil at this, you find out when you try to flick at his tongue and end up with him sucking on it with his teeth. you can feel him laugh in throat when you moan and squeal at how much it hurts but turns you on all the more.

just the act of asserting his dominance over you during the kiss has you growing needy and small under him. because you've already started to mindlessly grind and bounce on his lap, scratch that, his very prominent boner.

"shit." he growls when he looks down at your panties being the only barrier you have against his crotch.

"feel me, please." you pant, placing one of his hands on your ass, the other on one of your tits.

sukuna's eyes grow dark when he watches you do this, immediately squeezing hard to watch for your reaction.

he seems to be in a daze when he sees your eyebrows furrow and your eyes form an o to let a moan out. immediately dipping his head into your neck, lapping so languidly at a spot on your jugular.

it's all too much, so hot, you need more, you want to do more

your mind is so hazy

sukuna stops you right when he feels you begin to fiddle with the top button of your shirt.

his breathing is labored so much as a testament to how much restraint he's showing.

"let's remember what you said before angel face." he huffs out, struggling to speak at the feeling of your pussy pulsing on top of his bulge.

that's right

you told him you appreciated a grand gesture to make things official and only then would you allow yourself to sleep with someone.

you groan, closing your eyes and smushing yourself against his chest.

"just hurry up," you whine, grinding a little on him in desperation to which his response is to pinch your butt.

"don't be a brat baby."

you're pretty sure sukuna's going to do his grand gesture and make you 'officially his' in Paris. (even though you both know he's wrapped around your finger and you're too crazy about him)

why, you ask?

because you just got to paris in a private jet with him.

it's like a fifty shades of grey movie, you fear (not)

he has you go on a shopping spree at galaries lafayette with him as your audience for any try-ons. he's bought you so many things, some just because you stared at it for too long, others because he thought you'd look pretty in them.

he then has you dress up in any of the many choices for dinner at a michelin star restaurant, which was spectacular and not one of those avant garde graham cracker for dinner dishes.

and you can't help but be so giddy when you get to your ultra special room at the ritz and find it covered in pink rose petals. the balcony was open with a table covered in gifts you hadn't seen him get for you. another smaller cart next to it had an assortment of chocolates and small sweets, and a large metal can with two champagne bottle poking out of it.

and sukuna being him, he timed it so that the Eiffel Tower was sparkling when you got there.

"you still trynna hurry me up now?" he looks down at you with a knowing cocky brow quirked up.

you shriek, jumping up into his arms and giggling through the many kisses you begin to place on his face. sukuna lifts you up into his arms like it's nothing, inviting your kiss attack until he somehow brings you to lay across lap on the bed.

"patience isn't fucking easy with a brat like you angel."

slap!

you squeal again and feel sukuna hike your skirt all the way up.

but what you don't anticipate is for him to rip your lace thong apart with both of his hands.

gasping, you turn around worried, "I had that thong ready for weeks!"

"shut up."

another slap

"don't talk about shit when we both know I'll get you the same pair again."

you like how foul mouthed he is now, and you haven't even gotten to the good part

exposed to the air, you feel yourself getting drenched more than you already were in anticipation earlier.

sukuna notices, a low grumble resonating from his chest when he pries your ass and thighs open. you can't see, but you can feel your slick covering you all over like some vulgar cobwebs at the separation.

he squeezes hard as a warning when you wiggle your ass out for him, desperate for some relief.

"I want you, please, ryo," you beg, turning around to bat your lashes at him

"fuck, baby, let me fingerfuck you first." he growls, not even looking at you, still deeply concentrated on your wet pussy.

with his right hand, he slides three fingers back and forth across your folds, spreading your slick, getting you even messier. and when you're moaning softly in relief, melting into his touch, he just slides all of those three fingers in. squelches ricochet in the room and you're far from embarrassed now, trying to fuck yourself back on his hand.

then he brings in a fourth finger, and you're squealing. your brain can only process the repetitive delicious intrusion of fingers into your sticky hole.

"I-" you begin, numb on the only words you can think, "I-i lov-"

your now official boyfriend muffles you with his hand, continuing to destroy your pussy with his other hand and leaning close to your face to smile so evilly at the way you're jolting and furrowing your brows with every thrust.

"ah-ah not now." sukuna roughly grabs your face, squishing your cheeks to forcibly make you look at him.

"you're only allowed to say that when this tight pretty hole's finally wrapped around my dick. are you listening pretty baby?"

"mhm" you nod eagerly, eyes rolling back when his thumb joins the party and starts rubbing against your clit roughly

before he lets go of you, sukuna presses his mouth against yours and gives you the most rated r kiss ever, letting his spit drip and mix with your slobbering mess from the heaving you've been doing.

it doesn't take long before you feel that knot start to tighten up, body starting to twitch against your will, which causes your boyfriend to pound you harder with his hand.

"ryo," you squeal, subconsciously trying to escape his grasp, "I-im gonna-oh my god oh my god, I can't I can't I can't."

you're basically screaming when one of ministrations pushes so hard against your gspot that you're making a mess on his hand and arm automatically, hell you think you've squirted all over his clothes too.

“atta girl atta girl.” he groans, still messily fucking your pussy and sloshing your juices around

you're still in the aftermath of your orgasm, shaking when sukuna manhandles you onto the bed and fixes you so that you're face down ass up.

the only recovery time you even get is the moment it takes for him toss away his coat away and hurriedly unbutton his shirt off. if you're not mistaken he gave up and tore it off by the time he got to the middle.

before he pushes your face back into the bed, you make out that he does have more tattoos. the moment is brief but you see lines wrapped around his arms and others dragging down to his abs all the way from his shoulders.

and satoru, to your very big surprise, is right when, with no shame, sukuna licks a long fat stripe all the way from your clit to your asshole.

shocked, your eyes widen, but you can't help how you become putty in his hands at the way he so sloppily interchanges between your pussy and your other much lewd hole.

pants keep heaving from your mouth, short circuiting on the way he was just spitting on your asshole and then started to suck on your clit while finger fucking your pussy again.

squealing and banging your fist on the bed as exertion, sukuna doesn't really care, because he's no sooner just decided that the proximity he has with your pussy isn't enough. now he's wrapped his arms around your thighs and diving his face into your pussy, sharp nose stimulating your lips while he mouths and slobbers all over your little clit.

"ryo!" you squeal, trying to pull away because it's too much and resorting to contorting yourself around in order to pull at sukuna's hair

his reaction? he growls from the euphoria of your nails digging into his scalp while he gets to makeout with your pussy.

too hot, you think

you feel the twitching start again in your body, the mushy sloppy feeling on your clit becoming just enough for you to start getting there again

and get there you do, quickly, because sukuna spits on your clit and immediately starts sucking on it harshly, the perfect mix for you to start coming undone again.

not as severe as coming from your g-spot, you make a small spurting mess compared to when sukuna had you keening on his fingers.

you're fucked out already and he hasn't even put his dick in yet.

“fuckin come here and taste yourself.” sukuna growls, dragging you towards him by the ankle until his hand makes his way to the back of your neck, tilting your head to look up at him.

he goes in to basically fuck your mouth with his own. crudely separating briefly between kisses to push accumulated saliva between your lips, relishing in the way you’re practically begging for it and being so pliant for him. all the meanwhile he pushes yours dress down and off of you, even smoothly unclasping your bra.

"get on your back, nice and pretty on the pillows angel."

sukuna's stood up at the edge of the bed, undoing his pants roughly and quickly

and eagerly you scramble to the head of the bed, turning around and laying down, only picking your body up a little by leaning up on your forearms to watch him.

you rub your thighs together at the sight of him.

there's a thick line wrapped around both of his thighs. and you almost would've been entranced by it if it were't for the massive length between them.

sukuna's thick, long, and veiny. his tip looks angry, leaking globs of precum. his happy trail is mouthwatering with the way it leads to his trimmed bush. and-

oh! it twitched a little

"you stare enough?" sukuna exhales through a haughty smirk, getting on top of you in the bed, which subsequently means he opens your legs so he can settle between them.

you watch in lustful agony when his dick bobs against your pussy and grazes it, which only lasts a second because your boyfriend obstructs your view by initiating a makeout session with you. but where your previous kisses during this encounter had been been vulgar and inappropriate, this one was deep and sensual.

unable to do anything but be at the receiving end of his work on your mouth, you feel as if you can't get any closer to sukuna, wrapping yourself around him as if that'll subdue your need.

like he's able to sense it, he softly lets his hands wander, finding your calves and guiding them up, up, up until his hands are under your thighs and you're pressed open so lewdly. a tiny whine escapes you when you feel his entire length slap against your folds, sliding between them and making your heat pulse even more in anticipation.

when he separates from the kiss, one of your hands is pressed against his chest, being held by him by the wrist gently, while the other is wrapped over his shoulder, that hands of yours mindlessly scratching at his undercut.

"look at me," he grumbles, crimson eyes boring into your own when you make eye contact with him.

"you want this?" he lewdly slaps his cock against your puffy lips.

with a shiver, you nod your head earnestly, "please."

sukuna's chest rumbles with something dark at the sight of you so innocently desperate for him.

shortly after, with one hand, he positions his tip at your entrance and then uses that same hand to hold onto the side of your face fondly when he starts to push in.

he stares intensely at you, analyzing every contortion of your face at the way he starts to fuck himself into you.

it feels like the air's been knocked out of you with every thrust he uses to ease into your pussy.

"ah ryo," you let out a combination of a squeal and a pant, head lolling to side

"keep fuckin looking at me," he says so meanly, love tapping your cheek to turn you back to him.

chest heaving, you keep your half lidded eyes on him, too conscious of the way he's just bottomed out and beginning to slide out. the way he drags out of you is so delicious.

but it's even better when he pushes all the way into you, his fat tip working past the ridges of your insides, pushing against the way it tries to hug him rightly.

although the pace is slow, sukuna presses hard and evilly against you with each thrust, making sure to kiss your cervix with his tip. it's not anything too hardcore and you know that you're perfectly capable of cumming from just this at the way you start to lose yourself.

you love it

you love him

and you can say it now.

"r-ryo," you moan through furrowed brows.

"mm" he hums, still focused on you.

you gulp, body strung out, "I love you."

nothing's changed, he's still boring into your soul, which inherently makes you insecure because he hasn't said it back.

"ryo," you begin to whine, exasperated and flustered that you just declared your love to him and he hasn't, "I said that I-"

"yeah I heard you," he says, pushing your legs further back, "I fuckin love you too angel."

"have for a while," he mutters, his pace is ruthless all of a sudden and he rolls his eyes in ecstasy before leaning down and harshly sucking on one of your nipples.

you can't take what he's giving you without screaming, essentially.

he's big everywhere and he's completely overtaken you.

thoughts can't even process in your head, only able to process the copious amounts of pleasure he's giving you and babble out whatever's on the tip of your tongue in the the moment.

"it's so-so much ryo," you moan, "ah-ah 's so fucking big, your cock's so fucking big."

"yeah and you're fucking taking it all baby." he angles his hips to start hitting up at your g-spot, "tight little pussy's sucking me back in like a good girl."

"hngh IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou." is all that squeals out of you in response

and if you weren't getting destroyed before, you definitely were now.

drool spills from the side of your cheek in the absence of your words as sukuna's just dragging you onto his cock mercilessly like a fleshlight. which apparently is what starts to bring you to your third orgasm of the night.

so mustering all the strength you can, you pull your boyfriend against you by wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I want you to cum with me so fuckin bad ryo," you whine, forehead pressed against his, "please please please please cum with me, I want it so bad, I wanna milk you, pleasepleaseplease."

he growls, "fuck."

"don't talk like that baby," his eyes close for a moment as if he's trying to calm himself down, but he keeps the same rhythm

"please," you plead again, forcibly pulsing against him when you fear that your orgasm is already around the corner, "it's all I want, I'll be so good, I'm so good for you, pleasepleaseplease."

sukuna's breathing labors heavily as he listens, but ultimately ignores you as he grips you harshly and bullies his dick against your walls.

all until you just

release

your pussy pulses and clamps around him sporadically, juices spurting all over sukuna's abs, thighs, everywhere.

which he ends up not being immune to

"shit!"

considering the way he starts cumming so much inside of you, mean thrusts twitching inside of your ruined hole. every spurts spilling from his tip has you wishing for more and more.

he falls on top of you after, hugging you to him and nuzzling into your neck tiredly. one of your hands is swiping across the expanse of his back slowly in exhaustion.

"fuckin tease," he nips at your shoulder, obviously bothered you made him cum so quickly.

when you wake up the next morning, you're so very sore and you want to nuzzle into sukuna for the serotonin burst as medicine.

but he's not there.

your upper body sticks up as you look for him

oh, he's on the phone in the balcony

he's got some black sweats on, hanging deliciously off his hips and paying homage to this v-line.

you want to jump on him as soon as he gets off the phone.

he hasn't noticed you're awake, turning his back to you as he continuous talking. which you take advantage of, quickly rummaging through one of the shopping bags at the side of the bed from yesterday and finding one of the sexy slip gowns he bought for you.

sukuna's dragging a stressed hand through his hair when you open the glass door a little. he still hasn't heard you.

'tch'

"the fuck you mean that patch-work fuck raided the warehouse?"

he sounds so angry

'tch' and then an exasperated sigh

"no don't fucking do shit. can't even leave you shit faces alone for a second before shit falls through."

"wait until I get there. put twenty men at the other warehouse, urame's in charge of them."

"and keep the motherfucker you found alive. I'll deal with that fuck face when I get back."

"yeah well if he's one of those shit sniffers, he's not leaving alive. don't scare him yet, let him think we'll keep him off the hook. yeah okay, don't fuck up again."

not

leaving

alive?

sukuna turns a little to the side after ending the call and you can see him pinching the bridge of his nose from stress, eyes closed.

until they're not, and he spots you from the corner of his eyes, face dropping, panic setting in, both of you for very different reasons.

"angel face, how much did you hear?"

your throat feels dry

are you even mad? fuck fuck fuck fuck you're so stupid. every single emotion is being thrown at you. mad because he lied to you, so much so that he got you in bed with him. you shouldn't have given him a chance. but you're so sad, so heartbroken. you really really love him, so much you can't breathe right now at the thought of leaving him. but is he even a good person? was he one of those mafia men who abused girls like you? you can't you can't-

"sweetheart sweetheart," he's rushing to you, voice beginning to plea as he cups your hands into his, keeping them close to his chest and crouching a little to your height, "it's not what you think."

you're struggling to breathe, scared of who you're with

"what's," you start weakly, in shock almost, "what's not what I think about you saying a guy can't leave alive."

it pains him, you can see it in his eyes when he presses his lips together and tries to think of something to say

"are you actually in the mafia?!" you spit out, confused, "this entire time you had this sketchy vibe and said it was just your stupid waste management and bars?"

"I do own those baby." he sighs, wincing a little

the back of your mind notes that your previous thought about him being an abusive mafia man is a farce, he seems so...defeated that you know now. he's not threatening you.

"what exactly do you do." you say through gritted teeth, stressed at the situation and still trying to decide which of your instincts you should follow.

sukuna, hands still clasped with yours, gets on his knees and brings his forehead against your fingers, "doll, let's just go inside and I'll explain to you. I'm not as horrible as you're starting to think I am."

it's a little true considering he wiped a previous thought off your mind earlier, but still

this is dangerous

this is bad

but you nod your head, still angry, telling my the knit of your brows, "fine."

sukuna eyes you carefully as he gently closes the glass door to the balcony, you're already seated at the center of the bed, arms crossed over each other as you glare at him.

he wants to shoot his foot for the sole fact that he's made you so mad at him and that even that's not enough for him to not want to kiss that angry pout off your face, no matter how upset it is.

"so," you start, "how many people have you killed?"

its so venomous that sukuna closes his eyes in defeat.

"princess, that doesn't matter." sukuna sighs as he sits at the edge of the bed, facing you.

"what do you mean it doesn't matter how many people you've killed?! wouldn't it matter if I had a kill count of-"

"all you need to know is that it's not over thirty," he exhales and licks his lips, "and that every single one of them were some of the most shitty evil scum there is."

"and who do you work for?" you grumble

sukuna avoids your eyes when he answers, "people work for me."

you're still looking at him so sternly.

sukuna says your name and reaches his hand out towards you, planting it on the sheets right in front of you as an act of begging for your mercy

"I do bad things," he begins, eyes begging when they look upon you, "but I don't do them to good people."

but you're still numb because

"I can't-" your eyes water and your bottom lip wobbles, "I'm involved now! I-i want to be with you and marry you and everything! and you're stuck in this!"

sukuna's eyes widen at your burst

you feel a panic attack incoming as you keep speaking, your heartbeat escalating by a million and body starting to shake.

"you're a criminal! and you've probably got so many charges waiting on you! this isn't good! it's illegal and I don't want to go through seeing you in jail! I dont want to go to jail if I get caught in the mixup!"

and all sukuna does upon seeing your reaction then is lean forward, encroached on the bed as he grasps your feet fondly, placing tender yearning kisses on them.

"I'm not going to jail my love."

he places another kiss on your ankle

"and you aren't either."

"how do you know that?" you ask, still angry teared

"there's a system, there's people, I know too much."

ugh, you're still so mad at him,

so overwhelmed

you gently push him off, making a sound of frustration, and stomp over to the bathroom.

unable to completely shut him out, you leave the door slightly ajar as you take a bubble bath to soothe your body, both mentally and physically from last night.

there two soft rasps on the door before the door swings open a little and sukuna enters a bit awkwardly, slightly braced for you to suddenly kick him out.

his shoulders drop and relax when he sees that you just stare at him as he walks in, getting closer and closer to you.

"do you want me to order lunch in?" he sits at the edge of the tub cautiously, watching for any distress from you

serious and mildly stressed still, you couldn't deny how much your stomach was starting to hurt out of hunger.

"what's there for lunch..."

"anything you want."

you're looking up at sukuna sternly at the same time he's decided to move back a piece of stray bubbly hair from your bun away from your face

"well I don't know what kind of food there is here..." you huff a little, not denying his touch

"there's this uh," he thinks for a second, swirling your hair around his finger gently, swallowing before continuing, "the place with truffle pizza we watched on the tv nearby."

it's so confilcting to still feel so mad at him even when he's being so charming like this, he remembers everything you like.

"that a yes?"

"yeah." you look to the side feeling flustered at how tender he is with you

"I love you." he says, hand caressing your cheek and his face near yours so he can convey his sentiment wholeheartedly with his eyes.

you stare at him for a second

this is all such a whirlind for your mind, but

"I love you too."

it's not as lovey dovey as he just said it, nor as calm, but you mean it, even if you're irritated.

tentatively, he places a gentle, sensual kiss on your lips.

which you instinctively reciprocate, tilting your head up for more.

your boyfriend isn't kissing you as roughly as he was last night. these kisses were full of yearning and the plenty apologies you'd get tired of hearing if he were saying them into your ear again and again.

you moan softly into them, your breath starting to labor from need.

the hand that sukuna had on cheek starts to caress your knee gently. maybe he intended for the following or maybe he didn't but he understands you and your body when you spread your legs open under all the bubbles.

you sigh in relief when he starts fondling your folds under the water. and you can feel sukuna kiss you only a smidge harder at your reaction.

he slides two fingers in softly, hooking them thrush against your gspot instead of pummeling you like the night before.

you stop kissing--you're unable to kiss back when he starts to repeatedly press against the spot, hard, again and again.

"ah-ah," you pant, nails digging into his neck while he places loving kisses on yours

you cum hard, scratching hard down sukuna's neck, but he doesn't say anything, watching you in desperation as you come undone.

you're holding onto the edge of the tub for your life when sukuna drags his fingers out. you're still shaking terribly from the aftermath.

exhausted and gulping, you watch as he licks off his fingers what wasn't washed away by the bath before placing both of his hands on the underside of your arms.

"you wanna get out?"

"mhm." you nod shakily

you're still a bit serious throughout the next couple of days. not as pissed off as the first day, but you find it hard to wear down all your worries so quickly.

yet you manage to enjoy the little things sukuna had planned out and taken you to do.

so even though you're a little grumpy, you're not as grumpy as when you first found out, clinging onto him without a word as you both fly back home on his private jet and then on the car ride to his place.

"when we get there," sukuna begins to eye you tentatively, holding onto your hand harder while the other mans the steering wheel, "I'm going have to leave to deal with some things, but I'll be back for dinner."

knowing what you know, you carefully ask, "you mean deal with that guy?"

"yes," he exhales awkwardly, "the people he works with...they're not safe. I wouldn't be able to sleep if he was walking the same streets as you."

"well..." you start, looking at the road nervously

"just be safe. please?"

it's the first time you've shown any sort of conciliation with what he does and sukuna knows it, eyes widening and exchanging between you and the oncoming cars.

"yeah, I will sweet face," he kisses your hand, calmed features suddenly furrowing and tensing when he spots something he doesn't like.

'tch'

sukuna pulls over in a familiar area, parking perfectly before he starts to get out of the car. "it's nothing bad," he says, a little exasperated, "you can stay in the car, just let me help real quick."

and he dashes out of the car, jogging towards-

he's helping that elderly lady you helped so many weeks ago. except she has more bags on her this time and sukuna's stolen all them from her to help her cross the street.

now that you think about it, you're parked in front of the same apartment complex she lived in.

quickly, you get out of the car too, meeting them halfway, marveling at the both of them in confusion.

she smiles when she sees you, happy eyes looking between you and sukuna.

"h-hi." you try to greet her, still confused

but she's looking between you and sukuna like she knows something, more so him, like they have an inside secret between them.

head popping out from the many bags engulfing him, you see your boyfriend shake his head at her in a panic, eyes widening and trying to express the well known symbol for 'don't say anything don't say anything.'

you're really confused now and you're about to ask a question when the old lady bonks sukuna's head with a store magazine and it illicits an answer out of him for you

"this is my grandmother." he huffs, grumpily looking down at her from the corner of his eye

"what?" you're quick to try and polish yourself in front of her, leaping foward to shake her hand with both of yours, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know. It's so nice to meet you, I'm ryomen's girlfriend!"

she laughs a little, and it kinda reminds you of mama odie's mischievous laugh from princess and the frog.

"I know," she giggles a little before walking towards her apartment complex, motioning for the both of you to follow her inside.

so you follow and

"babe, is that a gun sticking out her purse?!"

[em1i2a3]

Instant Crush

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

Summary: Bob has been avoiding you and when you find out the reason why, you decide that the only way to make it up to him would need to be thorough and obvious.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, Angst (the triforce of doom I say lol), Bob and Reader have known each other since the beginning, this takes place about a year into living in the compound together. There is a lot of miscommunication happening here between reader and Bob regarding their feelings for one another, and I frickin love that trope. Jealousy from Bob/Sentry, and The Void puts Bob down a bit for not being more forward with his feelings because he would actually have her if he tried. Oh. And Bob stutters in this.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (I don’t need to tell y’all to wrap it up do I?), Semi Public Sex Acts (sex doesn’t happen in the area, but there is a lot of stuff that does happen before they need to stop themselves), Breast Play, Worship/Praise Kink, Bob is absolutely touch starved and he can’t get enough of the reader touching him, and he can’t stop touching her either, Oral Sex (both Male and Female Receiving), Hair Pulling, Messy Sex, Dirty Talk, Cum Play/Eating, Biting (with marks left), Bob and reader ar both switches (trust me on this one y’all will see lol), and some edging.

Author’s Note: This was a request made by @bellaisasleep , I loved putting my own little angsty twist on things, because a lot of people have been requesting more angst lol! Hopefully you enjoy!! I loved writing this sososososo much! Thanks for requesting it :) Also side note: I literally blasted through writing this because I listened to a live album by Daft Punk. I think I’ve found my Red Bull replacement lol.

Word Count: 21,222 (whoop whoop)

Bob Reynolds was the kind of man who made you believe in quiet things.

He made you believe in stillness, in silence, in softness not born of weakness, but of discipline so complete it bordered on sacredness. He wasn’t the loudest voice in the room, he wasn’t the first to speak or one to interrupt. He just was–in the way the moon just is above the Earth…Constantly pulling the tides of your heart before you even understood what direction you were moving in.

You met him during a mission–before you joined the Thunderbolts officially–that should’ve broken both of you. And maybe it did, in some sort of poetic, irreversible way. Because ever since that night–with blood dried on your tactical gear, and your hands trembling from adrenaline as he whispered ‘you’re safe, I’ve got you, you’re okay’–you had not really been the same.

And neither had he.

Something tethered the both of you together after that. Something deeper than any language could explain. It wasn’t love, not at first at least. It wasn’t romance. But it was something that took refuge in your bones and your soul. Something that pulsed like gravity beneath your skin every time he walked into a room.

And for a while, that was enough for you to survive off of.

You shared everything–your time, your food, your silence. You’d have late-night check-ins, and breakfasts eaten side-by-side. You would pass books back and forth with scrawled notes in the margins, sometimes you’d sit with your legs over his tracing your fingers over his handwriting, smirking at his comments and making light of what he was mindlessly writing when he was reading.

You knew how he took his tea, and coffee. You knew what his favourite drinks and snacks were, and what his preferences were in almost anything. You knew how his voice sounded first thing in the morning, and how he fell asleep faster when you were near–only because when you sat together on the couch you would hear him snoring within minutes.

You knew his rhythms and he knew yours.

Sometimes he brushed your knuckles and didn’t pull away. Sometimes you caught him watching you when he thought you wouldn’t notice. And you often considered turning to him and asking ‘what are we?’, but the answer already lived too loud between your ribs to speak it out loud.

So you smiled through it, and neither of you said a word.

Because whatever it was–it was fragile. Sacred. And the both of you were too afraid to shatter it by asking for more and overstepping.

And yet–somewhere in the folds of all that closeness, you started to ache. Because as much as Bob let you near, you still never quite knew what was going on inside his head. You didn’t know what lived behind that long, glassy eyed look he gave you when you made him laugh, nor did you know what it meant when he lingered outside your room before you turned in, like he wanted to cross the metaphoric line, but never did.

You didn’t know if you were special, or if he was just kind. Or if the way he touched your arm to steady you after a mission was the same way he’d touch anyone. If his gentleness toward you was a language he spoke to everyone–or if you were the only one fluent in it.

And maybe you were afraid to ask, because deep down you didn’t think you stood a chance. Not with someone like him.

Not with someone who was part god basically. Not with someone who saw every part of you–your scars, your rage, and your weaknesses–and still folded himself smaller around you like you were something worth protecting somehow.

He deserved someone better, someone far more stable and less scarred. Less haunted by the things that she needed to be strong for.

Maybe he thought the same thing about you…Maybe he thought you deserved someone less fractured, less burdened, and less…Him.

So you both stayed in each other's orbit, close enough to feel the warmth, but too far to burn each other.

Until one night–stupid, and thoughtless–you came home from a bar with Yelena and Ava, laughing too loud with a glow in your cheeks that wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. You dropped onto the couch, stretching out with a grin, drunk on your three tequila pineapples.

”I don’t even know how many numbers I got, but it’s like they were handing them out like coupons!” You exclaimed, waving your phone around. Yelena and Ava had laughed with you at this comment, and you divulged in details.

What you didn’t know was Bob had been walking past the common room at that exact moment. You hadn’t heard his footsteps pause behind the wall, and you certainly didn’t see his shoulders tense up. You didn’t realize your voice–bright, careless, and sweet–carved something open inside him.

Because to you, it was a joke, but to him, it was proof.

Proof that the attention you deserved was already out there–waiting for you in the hands of someone who could say what he couldn’t. Someone who wouldn’t hesitate or stammer. Who wouldn’t hold his feelings behind walls made of fear and light.

Bob went quiet after that night. Not cold, or angry…Just…Distant.

A slow withdrawal, like the tide was pulling out to sea.

You tried to tell yourself it was nothing, maybe he was tired or stressed.

But every time you passed him in the halls and got a stiff nod instead of a smile, every time you curled up on the couch alone and stared at the empty spot where his knee used to brush yours, and every time he walked into a room and kept his eyes down like he couldn’t bear to meet yours…

You felt it.

The ache.

The fracture between what you thought you were to each other and what you maybe never were at all.

You missed him, and maybe that was the cruelest part–because he was still there. Still Bob. Still your friend,

But he wasn’t yours in the way you wanted him to be.

You told yourself it was fine. That being near him was enough. That friendship–real, solid, soul-deep–was a gift not everyone got, and you should be grateful for it all. That you had no right to want more from someone who already gave you so much.

But your heart didn’t care about rights, it only cared about the shape of his silence, and how it shifted.

And it wasn’t the safe kind of shift–to the soft, companionable hush that always existed between the two of you like a favourite song on low volume–but it was something colder, and distant.

It was the kind of silence that felt like a door being slammed shut. It was becoming worse and worse by the minute.

Because now he couldn’t even look at you–his eyes used to linger on your mouth, your hands, your eyes, and now they seemed to look off into space all together.

And it only made you spiral into trying to figure out what you had done to deserve something like this. You turned every event over and over in your mind like a worry stone, each day shaving another layer of calm off your nerves.

Did you somehow push too hard, or did you say something wrong? Was it something you didn’t say to him that was making him this way? You had no clue.

But you knew you missed him so much it was settling in your chest like a bruise. Because the truth–the raw, bitter truth–was that you didn’t just miss your friend. You missed him. The way his voice dropped when he said your name to get your attention. The way he leaned in when you spoke like you were saying something important, even when you weren’t. The way his gaze would fall to your lips to see the way they wrapped around the words you were saying, or how they tilted up into a smile.

You were afraid that if you reached for him, you’d ruin everything.

So you didn’t.

That’s what brought you to Yelena’s room that night. Not to confess, but to collapse. You didn’t knock. You just pushed the door open and stepped into the scent of gun oil, candle wax, and citrus-scented dry shampoo that clung to the air and made your lungs burn.

Yelena was stretched out on her back across her bed, with one leg bent, and blade sharpener balanced on her stomach. Her eyes flicked to you, then back to the ceiling she was looking at just moments before.

You didn’t speak, you just walked in, and fell face-first into the spare pillow beside her with a loud flop. She didn’t say anything at first, but it seemed like she was expecting a visit from you.

The quiet filled the space between you like water in a sinking ship.

Then, finally–

“What happened now?” She asked, shifting a bit to look at your collapsed figure.

”I don’t know what I did to Bob that made him ignore me…” Your voice was muffled against the bedding, “But it’s starting to really get to me.” You added, flipping onto your back to stare up at the cracked swirl of white stucco that coated her ceiling. Yelena’s eyes lingered on you a second longer, then she sat up, legs crossing under her, abandoning the knife sharpener to her nightstand.

”You didn’t do anything.” She replied, this earned her a side eye from you.

“That’s what people say right before they tell you that you did.” You commented, picking at the dry skin around your nail bed, which was already raw from the prior days.

“I’m serious,” She insisted, “You didn’t do anything.” You bit the inside of your cheek.

”Then why won’t he look at me? Why does it feel like I don’t exist anymore? Your voice cracked, “I feel like I’m going insane. I thought we were–“ You stopped as the word ‘closer’ got caught in your throat like a splinter. You could see Yelena hesitate, just long enough for you to notice.

“What?” You demanded, sitting up a little, perching yourself on your elbows so you weren’t lying against the spare pillow anymore. “You know something.” You accused.

”I’m not supposed to–“

”Yelena.” You interrupted. She closed her eyes for a second, then sighed, rubbing at her temples with her fingers.

”Three nights ago,” She started slowly, “He showed up at my door in the middle of the night. I thought he was gonna pass out in the hallway.” You stared at her, a worried expression pulling at your eyes.

”Bob?” You confirmed, just to be sure, and she nodded.

“He looked wrecked. He was pale and shaking. His hands literally wouldn’t stop moving–it was like he was trying to wring the thoughts out of his bones.” You now sat up completely, your breath catching at the images that began to snap through your mind. The nervousness, the wreck that you had seen countless times before, it was easy to picture because you were the one that normally helped him through these little bouts, but this time he didn’t come to you.

”He said he heard you the other night,” She continued, “When we got home from the bar. The whole thing about getting all those guys numbers…He said–“ She swallowed nervously, “He said it felt like someone had hollowed him out.” You could feel your heart gallop at those words, stuttering even, like it stopped for a second before resetting.

“He kept saying it wasn’t your fault. That you deserved it–all the attention, and that it made sense that you wanted someone who could give you what you need. Someone who wouldn’t make you wait.” You could feel your stomach drop into the floor, like it slipped out of you and all you could feel was emptiness.

”Then he said…”Yelena’s eyes flicked to you, “He said he knew he should let go. That maybe he had finally been shown the truth–that you were meant for someone less…Burdened than him.” Your throat burned at her words, as you tried to blink away the tears that began to form in the corners of your eyes.

“That’s not true.” You said quietly.

”I know that,” Yelena snapped, “But he doesn’t.” Your fists clenched the blankets beneath you.

”Why didn’t you tell me any of this?” You asked, staring at her, watching as she shook her head.

”Because I shouldn’t have to,” She said, “Because you’re both idiots.” Your jaw clenched.

”Excuse me–“

”You’re both in love and too scared to breathe wrong around each other in case it breaks the spell,” She said, eyes flashing with anger, “I’m not your emotional translator, but I’ll put it plain and simple for you so your brain can understand. You want to know why he’s acting like a ghost? It’s because he thinks you found someone better. And you want to know why you’re sitting her on the brink of fucking tears on my mattress? It’s because you think you were never enough for him.” You were stunned by the way she had lost her composure on you. Rarely did Yelena snap like this, but it had become something that burdened her so much and killed her to witness that she just needed to let it all out, and unfortunately you were the one she lost it on.

“All you’re doing is killing each other with all this stupid silence. All this pretending. All this worship-from-a-distance bullshit.” You stared at her, the heat of her words stinging like a slap to the face.

She shook her head, quieter now.

”“What do you want me to do? Force the two of you to talk? Drag you by the hands into a room and lock the door until one of you finally confesses? That only works in movies. Real people don’t change when you corner them–they break.” You closed your eyes tightly, and sighed.

”He really thinks I want someone else?” You asked, gently.

”He thinks you already have them.” Yelena’s gaze softened–just barely, “And he thinks he missed his chance.” You shook your head, scratching the back of your neck with more pressure than needed, feeling your nails sting your skin.

“I didn’t even keep those numbers. I deleted them the second I woke up the next morning. I didn’t even think he’d care.” Yelena’s expression didn’t shift when you said this, but her voice did.

”Of course he cares,” She said, the words clipped and firm, “Because it’s you.” She stood, pacing once to the edge of the bed like she couldn’t sit still any longer.

“You know how fragile he is when it comes to you,” She continued, measuring the tone of her voice perfectly, “You’ve seen it. Felt it. You know how he quiets down when you walk in the room. How his hands settle when you’re near. How he breathes easier when you touch his arm, or sit beside him, or just fucking exist in his line of sight.”Your throat tightened, and your gaze dropped from hers, but she didn’t stop.

”And it’s not just Bob,” She added, “You know how all his other counterparts feel about you too.” Your chest stilled.

”Sentry…And The Void…” You whispered, not even considering what they must’ve been doing to him at this point. Yelena nodded.

”You think he was jealous? That was before The Void started whispering in his head about how someone else would be undressing you. How someone else would get the version of you he’s spent months trying not to dream about.” She said it without cruelty–but the truth hit like lightning to the ribs.

”You think Sentry’s any better? That part of him worships the ground you walk on…And you know how emotional he gets when it comes to being challenged.” You stared at the floor, with your stomach twisting in grief. You weren’t sure if it was anger or heartbreak in your bones, but it ached the same either way.

“I…I need to take care of this.” Yelena looked at you, and finally she eased up a bit. The tough love flickered down into care.

”You really do…It’s time. Just push all your thoughts out of the way, and for once in your life, don’t overthink it. Make it clear, and for the love of god…Make it obvious, because I don’t think either of you can survive another miscommunication.” You gave her a nod, then got up, feeling your heart fluttering.

Because this time…You weren’t going to be seeing Bob, wondering if he wanted you. You were going to be seeing him knowing he did.

——————

The next morning you had gotten ready. The sun had not even fully risen yet. It was early–so early the light outside still looked like a haze of dark purples and light blues. The hallway lights buzzed faintly as you padded down the corridor, slipping some socks onto your feet in the process. The tower was still asleep. But you knew where he’d be.

And sure enough, you found him.

Bob stood in the living room, half-crouched as he fiddled with the strap of his messenger bag. He looked like he hadn’t slept–at least not well. His shoulders were hunched, his hair damp like he’d just showered in a rush. The navy blue hoodie he wore was tight across the chest now, the fabric catching slightly as he moved. His black sweatpants clung to the muscle of his thighs, hinting at the training he’d been doing in silence for weeks now.

But it wasn’t his body that made your breath catch.

It was his face.

The exhaustion in it. The hollow weight behind his eyes.

His irises were darker than they used to be. Still blue–but not quite. Not only blue. It was like something black was blooming out from the center, bleeding toward the edges like ink dropped into water.

It wasn’t just sleep deprivation.

It was The Void.

You recognized the way his jaw clenched slightly, like he was trying to stay grounded in his body. Like he was fighting voices you couldn’t hear.

You cleared your throat gently.

He looked up, startled–then confused.

“…Hey,” You said quietly. “Mind if I join you?”

He blinked at you, slow. Like he wasn’t sure you were real. Like his brain was buffering, unsure how to process the request.

“I–Uh…I was j-just…”

”Heading to the mall,” You finished for him, offering a soft, warm smile, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater, “You…Mentioned it a few times this week. Something about your clothes fitting too tight and stuff…” Bob’s pale skin flushed slightly at the comment, as his gaze fell to the floor.

”Y-Yeah…I g-guess so.” You took a careful step closer, slowly closing the space between you both, wanting to see how he would react–he didn’t move back.

”I’ve got my car,” You added, “Might be easier than taking the bus…” He looked up at you again and this time you saw it: the hurt still flickering at the edges of his face, the wall he’d put up, and the little white dots that began to form in the middle of his pupils.

Bob could hear the voice scraping away on the inside of his skull.

“She’s just being kind…She’s taking pity on you, you know how she is. She doesn’t mean it. Don’t read into it. Don’t be pathetic. You’re not her first choice, you’re nobody’s first choice. She deserves someone better than you.” The Void hissed. Bob swallowed hard, feeling a burn tingle the back of his neck.

”…A-Are you sure?” He asked finally, voice rough around the edges, “I–I don’t want to be a b-bother.” You tilted your head.

”You wouldn’t be.” And then, with just enough softness to cut through the static buzzing behind his eyes you added, “I want to.” His hand was still on the strap of his bag, tightening around it enough to turn his knuckles white. You watched him for a moment longer, and then you reached out and brushed your fingers against his forearm. The contact was barely there, just the tips of them grazing the fabric, but you could see his entire body tense up, like something deep inside him folded at the contact. Like your skin reminded him where he was.

His breathing steadied slightly, and you didn’t comment on it, you just gave him a small smile.

“C’mon, I’ll drive.”

—————————

The drive was quiet to say the least.

It wasn’t awkward, it was just heavy, in that unspoken way that happened when hearts were too full and throats were too afraid to work. You didn’t push it.

You let the silence bloom between you. It was strange how familiar it felt again–like muscle memory. Like you’d both spent so long in each other’s rhythms that even this quiet was something you shared.

Bob sat beside you with his hands tucked in his lap, his back pressed to the passenger door like he was trying to stay small. His eyes stayed mostly on the window, but every now and then they drifted–toward the dash, toward your hands on the steering wheel. Once or twice, you caught him glancing your way, like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust his voice not to tremble.

You cleared your throat softly, your eyes on the road ahead.

“Have you been sleeping?” You asked, keeping your voice low, careful not to sound like you were prying. “You look…” You trailed off, searching for a word that didn’t wound, “Tired.” Bob shifted slightly in his seat.

”Y-Yeah, I guess.” He replied, but it wasn’t convincing, because he wasn’t telling the truth, it was obvious. You gave a small hum, gaze flicking toward him before returning to the road.

”Haven’t really seen you around much this week…” His fingers curled tighter in his lap, and you caught the motion in your peripheral, how his knuckles pressed into the soft fabric of his sweatpants like he needed something to hold onto. Like he needed something to fiddle with.

“You’ve been…Kind of distant lately,” You said, and even though you tried to keep it neutral, the words came out soft, almost close to hurt. Bob exhaled quietly through his nose, eyes locked on the window like he was trying to will the city into blurring away.

”J–Just been in a mood…T-That’s all.” You nodded slowly, one hand loosening its grip on the wheel.

”Care to share why?” There was a pause. A longer one this time. Then his head gave a short, silent shake.

“It’s n-nothing,” He murmured, voice low and cracked. “Just something stupid.” But even as the words left him, something twisted deep in his gut, and then The Void spoke again.

“That’s all you are to her, isn’t it? Something stupid. Clinging to scraps, sitting beside her like a dog begging for food.” The voice was slick, slow and unmistakably cruel–like molasses laced with venom. Bob’s stomach clenched, and his eyes stung. For a second his bottom lip trembled, and he turned his face a little more toward the window, trying to hide it, willing himself not to break. He couldn’t crack now, not here, not when you were being so kind to him.

You noticed the shift though. The way his shoulders locked up, the way his breath hitched in his throat like he was swallowing something too big for his chest.

You didn’t press though. You just let your voice drift gently over the space between you, like a blanket being unfolded in soft hands.

”…Okay,” You whispered, nodding slowly, “Well…I’m here if you ever want to talk about anything.” Bob let out a shaky breath and dragged one hand up to his face, rubbing his palms hard across his eyes like he could erase the wetness threatening to spill.

“O-Okay…” He responded quietly, but the sound of it cracked in the middle, and the fragility of it nearly shattered you. The silence returned, but it wasn’t sharp this time. It was soft around the edges, like warm fog curling up against the windows.

When you finally pulled into the mall parking lot, the sun had risen enough to cast a thin gold glow across the tops of the buildings. It wasn’t crowded yet–just the early shoppers beginning to trickle in, and a few food court workers gathered near the entrance, sipping coffees out of paper cups. You shifted the car into park, then turned slightly toward him.

He was still staring down at his lap, his jaw tight, his hands curled loosely in the fabric of his hoodie. He looked like he hadn’t taken a full breath in minutes.

You let your gaze linger on him a second longer before speaking.

“Hey,” you said softly, and when he looked up at you, your voice dropped just enough to make him flinch slightly. “You know you’re allowed to feel things, right? Even the stupid ones.”

He blinked at you. His mouth opened like he might try to argue. But he didn’t.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” You added, your expression gentle, but firm. “Not ever.”

For a moment, Bob just…Stared.

And then your next words slipped out like sunlight between clouds:

“You’re my favorite person to sit in silence with…But I’d rather listen to your voice than anything else…”

His breath caught.

His heart stuttered like a blown fuse, and a faint red crept into his ears. You saw it happen in real time–the way his face flushed, his lashes lowered, and his entire body seemed to pull inward just slightly, like he didn’t know what to do with the heat rising under his skin.

He fumbled for the door handle a beat too late, awkward but endearing, mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

You bit back a smile, then slipped out of your side of the car.

He followed you a moment later, hood tugged up, bag slung loosely across his chest. You waited until he stepped beside you, shoulder to shoulder, before moving toward the entrance.

The automatic doors slid open, letting in the scent of polished floors, faint cinnamon from a bakery down the hall, and the sterile chill of early-morning air conditioning.

The mall wasn’t busy yet–just soft ambient music echoing through the wide halls, janitors mopping along the corners, and the distant hum of espresso machines powering up.

Bob walked beside you in silence, but it felt…A little different now.

Not as heavy.

He didn’t look at the floor this time. He looked at you.

Like maybe he was starting to believe he hadn’t missed his chance.

———————

The coffee shop inside the mall was one of those early-bird places–half-lights still dimmed, pastries just hitting the racks, and the first drip of espresso perfuming the air like warmth incarnate. The floor glowed underfoot with the reflection of sleepy pendant lights, and the hum of milk steaming was the only thing louder than your breath.

Bob hesitated near the register for a moment, before you stepped up and began to speak.

”One medium caramel macchiato with light vanilla, and one medium Earl Grey with two milks and one pump of honey please.” You said, voice casual and kind, “And two plain croissants, one warmed…Thank you.” Bob blinked at you, his eyes wide behind the lashes that immediately dipped toward the floor when you gave the drink order like it was muscle memory.

“H-How did you remember my order so e-easily?” He asked softly, a little stunned, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him until just now. His voice was low–barely above the murmur of the espresso machine–but there was something raw and unguarded in the way he said it. A quiet awe.

You shrugged, trying to keep it casual despite the warmth blooming under your ribs. “I used to make it for you every morning, remember? Before you decided it was–” You leaned slightly closer, lowering your voice into a teasing register, “–‘too much for my busy schedule.’” You even put up air quotes around the phrase.

Bob’s lips parted slightly, then closed again. His lashes fluttered and a pink flush crept up his neck and spread over the apples of his cheeks. You saw it rise like candlelight catching a wick. He ducked his head with a soft, embarrassed breath of a laugh, then reached for his wallet with fumbling hands.

“R-Right… I remember…” He mumbled, pulling out a folded bill and sliding it toward the barista.

You didn’t stop him from paying.

You just smiled quietly to yourself as the two of you stepped to the side of the counter to wait, tucked in that little corner beside the bakery case where the light hit just right through the large window. You could smell cinnamon and sugar hanging in the air, mingled with the scent of warm milk and the faint cedar wood cologne that came from Bob’s hoodie.

He stood so close that you could feel his warmth radiating off him–steady and grounding. Not overwhelming. Just…Comforting. Like the first time you sat shoulder to shoulder on the Thunderbolts couch after a mission, both of you too tired to speak, but not ready to separate. His presence filled the space beside you like heat seeps into a cold mug–slowly and entirely.

You glanced sideways at him.

He looked tired. Still quiet. But something in his shoulders had eased. And god, you wanted to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest. You wanted to tell him everything–the longing, the ache, the nights you couldn’t sleep without thinking about how he used to hold your wrist loosely in his sleep when you nodded off beside him on the couch.

But now wasn’t the right time, you just stayed still and waited for your order, sipping on your drink when it came, and nibbling on your croissant.

——————

The first store you entered was some midrange basicas place–comfy fabrics, soft lighting, warm neutral palettes. It smelled faintly like cotton and burned plastic. It seemed like the store may have been under renovations or it was new, but it had a wide range to offer.

You wandered between the racks with Bob, fingers brushing hangers and the occasional sleeve. He didn’t speak at first, just lingered near you, letting the space between you stay comfortably small.

Then, after a while, he pointed at a sage green hoodie.

“Y-You think this would look okay?” He asked, lifting the sleeve with a tentative expression. You tilted your head, eyeing the color against his pale skin.

“It looks really flattering.” Your voice came out even, but a little softer than before, “Might make a few people swoon.” Bob looked away so fast you nearly laughed.

”D-Don’t say stuff like that…” He mumbled, ears turning a beet red. You gave a shrug and kept moving.

”Just being honest.” He ended up gathering a couple of things: the green hoodie, two crewneck sweaters, and a pair of slate grey sweatpants that looked impossibly soft.

“I–I think I’ll try these on,” He said, holding the small stack close to his chest like it might slip out of his grip if he didn’t hug it tight.

“I’ll hold your tea,” You added, taking the cup gently from him as he moved toward the changing room.

You leaned against the wall just outside, sipping your own drink slowly, content to wait.

And then, after a minute or two, the door creaked open.

Your breath hitched.

Because there he was–soft grey sweatpants hanging just right off his hips, cinched gently at the waist. A dark green hoodie with the tag still half-tucked under the collar, the fabric just snug enough to outline the lines of his chest and the breadth of his shoulders. His sleeves were bunched at the elbows, revealing strong forearms you always forgot he had until they were on display like this. His hair was still a little messy from earlier, his cheeks still pink, and there was something so painfully Bob about the way he stood there–awkward, shuffling his feet, eyes flicking up and then quickly back down like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I-Is it…Okay?” he asked, his voice hesitant, but hopeful. “It feels…Like me, I think…” He looked like home. Like warmth poured into fabric and held in your hands. Like something you’d missed even before you’d ever had it.

You didn’t answer his question at first, you just let your eyes sweep over him, memorizing every line and fold.

Then you nodded, your voice barely more than breath.

”It looks great.” And for the first time in weeks, he smiled. It wasn’t a big one, just a small sincere curve of his lips.

But it was enough to show you that you were breaking through to him.

Bob let out a quiet breath, still standing in the doorway of the fitting room as if unsure whether he was allowed to be seen like this—so soft and unguarded. But when you gave him that look, the one that reached all the way down to the place in him that still doubted he was wanted, he stepped out fully.

“I–I’ll get them then,” he said quietly, gathering the small stack of new clothes against his chest again. “I…Uh…N-Need things that fit anyway…” There was a shy smile tugging at his mouth now–nervous, but real. The kind you hadn’t seen in weeks.

You handed him his tea back with a gentle brush of fingers, and he looked down at the cup like it was more than a drink. Like it was proof of something unspoken. Something important.

You walked beside him to the register, watching as he paid–hands fumbling a little with the card, thanking the cashier too softly, shifting awkwardly in place while they bagged his items. You could practically feel how tightly wound his nerves were, like the very idea of doing this in front of you was enough to set off a whole chain of overthinking in his head. But he kept glancing at you, too–like he needed to make sure you hadn’t left.

You didn’t.

You waited. Quietly. Steadily.

And when he turned back toward you, you smiled again. Not big. Not loud. Just steady.

The two of you wandered the mall after that, nowhere in particular–just drifting from one store to the next like nothing had broken between you. Like the silence hadn’t once turned sharp enough to bleed. You lingered near a small bookstore where Bob picked up a paperback and flipped it open with a flicker of interest; you guided him briefly through a stationery shop, pointing out pens you thought he’d like. There was something gentle about it all–something close to healing, like you were on that brink of mending everything back together.

You were standing near a shelf of scented candles in a small boutique that sold a strange mix of home goods and novelty items–everything from mugs with sarcastic quotes to little booklets of affirmations and bath bombs shaped like animals. Bob was beside you, thumbing the edge of a journal with a soft leather cover, his thumb tracing the stitching like he was trying to decide if it was worth picking up. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up again, and you could see a faint pink mark at the bend of his elbow–maybe from leaning against a counter too long, or maybe a training bruise he hadn’t noticed. It made your chest ache a little, how much you’d missed these small details. How much you’d missed him.

Your gaze drifted up–just idly, like looking for the next thing to wander toward–and then froze.

Across the mall’s broad walkway, nestled beneath a curved arch of dark wood and glass, sat a boutique lingerie store. You knew the kind. Low golden lighting. Sheer curtains hanging in the windows, filtering the sunlight into a soft, honeyed glow. The mannequins in the window weren’t the aggressive kind with red corsets and feather boas. No–these ones were elegant. Understated. They wore lace bralettes in blush pink, satin in deep forest green, high-waisted sets trimmed in delicate embroidery, and sheer robes that caught the light like whisper-thin smoke. The whole store was intimate without being overt. Classy. Soft. But undeniably sensual.

You could almost smell it from here: some blend of vanilla, amber, and whatever fabric perfume they used on the delicate silks and velvets.

You blinked.

Yelena’s voice echoed through your head, sharp and clear:

“Make it obvious.”

Your heart gave a strange little stutter. And then–without warning–a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. A slow, sly thing that bloomed without permission. The idea came out of nowhere, but it stuck. Bright and stupid but brave.

You glanced sideways at Bob.

He hadn’t noticed your change in expression yet. He was still reading the back of a candle labeled “Blueberry whipped icing.” The soft rise and fall of his chest was steady now. A good sign. He looked a little more grounded than earlier–still quiet, but a kind of quiet that meant he was starting to feel safe again. With you.

You didn’t want to push too hard. You didn’t want to shatter this fragile warmth that was finally returning between you.

But…

You wanted him to know.

So you cleared your throat lightly.

“Hey,” You said, careful to keep your tone breezy, “Can we check out one more store before we head back?”

Bob looked up, startled, blinking once.

“Uh–y-yeah, sure. W-Which one?”

You nodded subtly toward the other side of the walkway.

His gaze followed yours.

The moment he saw it his entire body stiffened, like someone had yanked a string inside him. You watched his jaw tighten just slightly. His eyes flicked away almost immediately, but not before you saw the faint pink rush to his ears.

“Oh,” he said quietly.

You smiled sweetly. Innocent.

”Wanted to just browse, see if I can find something.” You said, already beginning to walk toward the storefront, “I’m due for a little bit of a closet upgrade myself.”

Bob walked behind you, just a step off pace, like his feet weren’t quite sure they were allowed to follow. His grip on his shopping bag had gone white-knuckled, and the tea in his free hand barely sloshed–it was held that tightly. You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. You could feel the heat rolling off him in thick, clumsy waves–nerves and tension and that unmistakable Bob flavor of hesitation that meant he wanted to say something, but was afraid he’d combust the moment he opened his mouth.

The motion sensor bell above the entrance gave a delicate chime as you stepped inside.

Warmth. That was the first thing you noticed. The air was heavy with scent–rich amber, something floral, and a hint of musk that made you think of bare skin and tangled sheets. The walls were soft matte cream, accented with blush pink panels and gold railings. Velvet display tables lined the floor with bralettes folded like secrets and panties laid out in precise rows, every pair a whisper of silk or mesh or lace. The mannequins were tall, faceless, draped in slip dresses and see-through robes that shimmered when the light hit them. The ceiling lights were low and gold-tinted, casting everything in honey.

It didn’t feel like a store.

It felt like a bedroom someone loved you in.

Bob hovered just inside the threshold, blinking once, twice. His eyes flickered towards the displays and then were quickly pulled away–like just making eye contact with a lace thong might ignite him on the spot, because all he could picture was you in them. His jaw worked as he swallowed, throat visibly bobbing.

You moved casually to one of the racks, fingers drifting across rows of soft underwire and balconette bras. Pale lilacs, buttery creams, deep navy satins. You held up one and studied the lace against the light, just enough stretch to hint at comfort–just enough sheerness to suggest anything but.

Behind you, Bob stayed rooted.

He looked like he was trying to figure out how to hold his breath and exhale at the same time.

“Wonder who she’s going to wear that for…”

The whisper was cold. Low. Inside his skull, it slithered between his thoughts like oil on water.

“Probably someone who can touch her without trembling. Someone who doesn’t have to fight off every part of himself just to keep his hands at his sides.”

Bob stiffened.

The Void didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. He only had to lean close enough that the words touched a nerve already raw.

“You think she’ll let them take it off slow?” The voice purred, mockingly curious. “Or will they rip it off with their teeth?”

Bob shut his eyes at that comment, trying to shake it off as much as he possibly could, attempting to not show any weakness, or to make you aware of the fact he was hearing something.

When he opened his eyes again, you were holding two bras–one powdered blue, and the other a dark red–in one hand, and a sheer black babydoll slip in another. You glanced up at him with an expression that was maddeningly unreadable.

Casual, but not distant. Confident, but not arrogant.

Intimate.

Then you turned to the nearby fitting room attendant–a woman dressed in a long mauve cardigan and platform shoes that made her look taller than she was–and asked:

“Do you allow, like…Second opinions in the fitting room?” Motioning to Bob behind you. She glanced up from her clipboard and smiled.

”Course we do…Happens all the time.” You turned back to Bob, and this time your smile was unmistakable.

”Perfect, cause I’m going to need your opinion.” You said softly.

“I-I don’t know much about l-lingerie…” Bob stammered, frozen in place like his shoes were bolted to the floor.

You raised an eyebrow, tone light but edged with something quieter. “But you definitely know what would look good.” You turned just slightly, letting your voice drop just a little–low and warm, like a match striking the dark. “And maybe I value your opinion.”

That did it.

Bob swallowed so hard you heard it.

“…O-Okay,” He murmured, nodding once. His voice cracked just slightly around the edges, and he followed you past the velvet rope into the fitting room hallway.

The rooms were small–just a few feet wide–but the space inside felt private. Dim golden lighting pooled softly overhead, like candlelight filtered through sheer fabric. There was a bench beneath the mirror, a small side table holding a glass bowl of lavender-wrapped mints, and a faint scent of fruity body spray hung in the air–berries and peach and something a little more sugary than it needed to be. The floor was carpeted in pale rose, and the door had a long mirror mounted across it, angled to reflect the whole space in a soft, diffused glow.

“Sit,” you said gently, motioning toward the bench as you placed your items on the hook. Bob obeyed without argument, setting his shopping bag beside him. His knees knocked slightly as he sank down, hands fidgeting in his lap.

You reached for the hem of your sweater.

He inhaled sharply.

You peeled it over your head slowly–not teasing–but it still left the air crackling. Beneath it, you wore a soft, ice-toned bra that hugged your figure perfectly, the lace delicate across the cups, and the straps tucked lightly over your shoulders. Your skin was warm from the air in the store, flushed faintly from the earlier walk.

Bob didn’t dare speak. But his breath hitched again.

There was a mirror in front of you. You met his eyes in it.

He was already looking.

You lifted the two bras, powdered blue in one hand and dark red in the other, the lace delicate and soft beneath your fingers.

“Which one should I try on first?” You asked, keeping your tone even, but watching him carefully in the mirror.

His lips parted. “W-Whichever one y-you want,” He said, too quickly. His voice wobbled a bit, but he didn’t look away.

“Hmm.” You considered. “Then blue it is.”

You turned your back slightly–not to hide, but just enough to unclasp the bra you were wearing. You let the straps fall from your shoulders, slow and smooth, the lace sliding down your skin like a secret. You didn’t cover yourself immediately. You didn’t rush. You let your chest rise with a slow breath, your bare skin catching the warm light like satin, full and soft, your nipples slightly pebbled from the air.

You could see him in the mirror.

Bob looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

His knuckles were white against the bench. His thighs were tight. His eyes locked on your reflection with reverence and disbelief, lips parted like he was about to speak, but couldn’t find words. Like he was choking on awe.

You clasped the powdered blue bra in front first, then twisted it around your torso to hook it at the back. The lace molded to your breasts beautifully, lifting them just enough, shaping you with a soft elegance that made you smile faintly to yourself.

“Oh,” You said, tilting your head at your reflection, “Wait…I’m missing something.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your sweatpants, and began to push them down slowly–inch by inch, letting the soft fabric slide along your thighs, past your knees, pooling at your ankles.

You stepped out of them in just your red underwear.

They were lace-trimmed–soft, but revealing. Dark red against your skin, high at the hips, clinging just enough to show the dip of your waist and the curve where your thighs met.

“I guess you’ll just have to picture the matching color,” you said, voice warm and coy, glancing back at him through the mirror.

Bob looked like he might combust.

His eyes darted from your back to your hips, then quickly to your reflection again. His jaw was clenched tight, but his breathing was uneven–shaky in that way you’d come to recognize when his emotions were spiraling between restraint and something far deeper. Something harder to control.

You stepped closer to the mirror, smoothing a hand over your hip.

“I like the way this one fits,” You murmured, more to yourself than to him, but still loud enough to let it hang in the air like perfume. You ran your palms lightly down the lace of the powdered blue bra, watching your own fingers in the mirror–how they traced the delicate embroidery along the cups, how the fabric hugged your shape like a secret.

Bob’s breath was shallow. You didn’t have to turn to know. You could feel the heat coming off him from across the room like it had its own gravitational pull.

Your eyes met his in the mirror.

He was already looking–face flushed, mouth parted slightly, the soft tremble of his hands now visible where they gripped the edge of the bench.

“I-It looks…” He started, voice catching in the back of his throat. He swallowed thickly. “…It looks really nice.”

You raised a brow, a smirk drawing up on your lips. “Nice?”

His gaze flicked away instinctively, but he couldn’t keep it there. His eyes found you again–first your reflection, then the lace against your chest, and back to your mouth.

“I–I mean it looks…r-really good. On you. I mean…” He was unraveling by the syllable. You let the silence stretch for a beat, then hummed softly as your fingers continued gliding over the cups. You shifted your weight a little, hips tilting as you turned sideways in the mirror.

“Definitely a contender,” You sighed thoughtfully.

Then, without turning around, you reached for the next piece.

The babydoll slip–black, sheer, soft as smoke in your hands. It shimmered subtly in the golden lighting, the thin mesh draping across your fingers like a sigh.

You unclasped the powdered blue bra again, letting it slide from your body with one smooth motion. You didn’t cover yourself.

Bob’s inhale was so sharp it sounded like pain.

You stepped slightly back from the mirror, barer now than you had been before–shoulders relaxed, chest lifted with slow breath. Your nipples had peaked again in the cold air. You knew what you were doing. But you weren’t mocking him. This wasn’t a power play.

It was clarity. Honesty. Boldness.

You bent forward slowly to slide the babydoll over your thighs, letting the hem fall like liquid ink as you straightened. The mesh was translucent–barely there–and the neckline dipped into a deep, soft plunge that framed your chest beautifully. The fabric caught on your curves in all the right places before settling delicately around the swell of your hips.

Bob stared like he’d forgotten his own name.

Because when you bent forward, his eyes had dropped–not out of lechery, but because something inside him shattered. The long slope of your back, the shape of your ass in those red lace underwear, the stretch of your thighs beneath sheer fabric–it burned into him like holy fire.

And then–

“She is divine.”

The words didn’t come from Bob.

They rang in his head–low and velvet and terrible in its beauty. Sentry’s voice.

“She’s carved from the very atoms that undo me. She was made to be worshipped. Look at her. Look at her and tell me that heaven doesn’t kneel at her feet.”

Bob blinked, eyes wide and glassy.

Sentry wasn’t shouting. He wasn’t demanding control. But he was there.

Watching. Wanting.

“Let me touch her,” The voice whispered again, smoother this time. “Let me hold her the way she deserves. Just once. Just once, I swear–”

Bob pressed his palms hard to his thighs. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe properly.

Because even without Sentry’s voice curling like gold-leaf flames through his thoughts, the image in front of him would’ve undone him.

You adjusted the thin straps gently, your fingers brushing across the neckline. The mesh hugged the curve of your breasts and fell soft as shadow over your waist. You looked like something from a fever dream–ethereal, vulnerable, and completely, deliberately real.

Then you turned slightly, catching his gaze again in the mirror.

The hem of the babydoll swayed just above mid-thigh, sheer and impossibly delicate. You brought your fingers down to it, rubbing the mesh slowly between your thumb and forefinger–absently, like you were testing the texture, like this was just another thing to consider.

But it wasn’t absent.

Not with the way his eyes followed every movement like they were tethered to your hands.

You turned around slowly.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, his back rigid against the wall, his hands planted hard on his thighs like they were the only things anchoring him in place. His jaw was slack, his lips parted. His pupils were blown, but not entirely black–there was still a sliver of that tender blue left in them, touched now with something gold and shimmering around the edges. The faintest glow. Like sunrise barely breaching the horizon.

They weren’t just his eyes anymore.

They were all watching you.

And god, he looked so beautiful like that–wrecked and reverent, trembling and quiet, staring up at you like you were the only real thing in the world.

You stepped closer.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

His eyes trailed up your body–your thighs, the curve of your hips beneath the mesh, your waist, your breasts barely concealed beneath the sheer fabric. And then they met yours again, wide and pleading.

And then, quietly, hoarsely, like the words were made of splinters:

“W-Why are you doing this t-to me?”

His voice cracked in the middle–soft and aching. He looked up at you like you had your hands around his ribcage and were squeezing. Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to let go or hold tighter.

The lighting in the room caught his face just right–glossed over and glowing. You saw it clearly now, that strange shimmering in his irises–blue and gold, and something ghost-white blooming near the pupils. A storm barely held at bay.

You tilted your head, slow and deliberate, your tone laced with innocence.

“Doing what?”

His breath hitched.

“T-Torturing me…Y/N…”

The way he said your name–it landed like prayer in the quiet.

You didn’t answer right away. You just stepped closer, close enough for your knees to touch the edge of the bench, close enough for the hem of the slip to brush his knuckles.

His fingers twitched. Tightened. Dug into his thighs like he was trying to keep them there. Trying not to move, not to reach, not to shatter.

You shook your head softly.

“I’m not torturing you…” You murmured.

Then you leaned down slowly, slowly–until your lips hovered near his ear, until your voice was a secret you whispered against his skin.

“I’m making it obvious.”

And then you took his wrists.

Gently. Carefully. Like he was something sacred.

You guided his trembling hands up, your fingers wrapped around his wrists like ribbons, until they reached the curve of your hips. You placed them there–held them there.

Warmth.

His palms grazed the mesh first, then the shape of you underneath. He didn’t grip. Not yet. His breath stuttered like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you like this. But then you gave him a tiny nod–barely perceptible, but real.

He got the hint.

His fingers spread slightly, molding to your skin. One thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the lace waistband. His breath caught like it physically hurt, and he looked up at you like you’d handed him the sun and told him not to blink.

He was already shaking.

You watched his expression shift–fear and awe, restraint and need, all woven together. The Sentry’s reverence. The Void’s hunger. And Bob’s aching, terrified love.

“Y/N…” He breathed, like your name was the only thing holding him together.

Then you just whispered:

”Touch me Bob.”

He gulped audibly, before he began to move slowly, like he thought rushing might wake him from a dream he wasn’t ready to lose. His palms traced the curve of your waist with agonizing care, sliding from the edge of your hips down over the soft slope of your thighs. His fingers splayed slightly, grazing the lace along the top of your underwear, then drifting lower. Each pass was like worship–like the act of memorizing, not exploring. He breathed out softly, the sound shaky, a quiet exhale against the electric silence of the room.

You let go of his wrists then and brought your hands up slowly, fingers brushing along the curve of his jaw until your palms framed his face, cradling him with a tenderness you hadn’t dared give voice to until now.

His skin was warm–feverish almost. You rubbed your thumbs lightly under his eyes, brushing along the shadows there, and his breath hitched. His lashes fluttered shut, lips parting just slightly, like he was absorbing every ounce of contact through his bones.

God, he was touch-starved.

You could feel it in how he leaned into your hands without even realizing it, like he was afraid if he pulled away, he’d lose the only safe thing left in the world.

You leaned down.

And pressed a kiss to his cheek–slow and gentle. You felt the tremble run through him like a current.

Then you whispered, barely louder than a breath:

“Do you know how long I’ve liked you, Bob?” His jaw clenched. You felt the subtle twitch beneath your fingertips–right before his nails grazed your thighs, dragging lightly through the skin just beneath the mesh. Not enough to scratch. But enough to leave a trail of heat in their wake.

He shook his head.

Not in disbelief–but like the truth was too big to imagine. Too painful to hope for.

You kissed his other cheek–longer this time. Slower. Your breath curled against his skin as you whispered:

“I’ve liked you since the very beginning…” Your voice cracked just faintly with the weight of it. “…I thought I was unworthy of you.”

His head snapped slightly–not harsh, just desperate–as he finally opened his eyes and looked at you again. And for a moment, all you could see was grief. Longing. The pain of every silent night and missed opportunity that had nearly broken the two of you apart.

And still, his hands didn’t stop moving.

They drifted up again, this time underneath the sheer babydoll, sliding over the skin of your waist, and your ribs slowly. He stopped at the waistband of your underwear–just resting there, barely touching, thumbs rubbing soft circles against your hips like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to be here.

You leaned in again–closer this time.

And kissed him.

It was slow. Deep. Sensual.

Not rushed. Not greedy.

It was the kind of kiss you gave someone who’d been starving for too long. Someone who didn’t know what it felt like to be wanted in the open. Someone who still didn’t believe he was enough.

Bob moaned into it–so soft, so desperate it broke something inside you.

His arms wrapped around your waist before he even realized they had moved. He pulled you in tight, like gravity wasn’t enough on its own. His hands slid along your back and dipped beneath the mesh to hold your skin like it anchored him to this moment. His lips trembled slightly against yours, but he didn’t pull away.

If anything, he kissed you harder. Like he couldn’t bear the thought of the space that had existed between you ever again. What started as soft and reverent turned hungry in a heartbeat. Bob’s mouth opened just slightly, enough for his teeth to catch your bottom lip, the faintest scrape sending a spark straight to your core. You gasped into him–eyes fluttering–and your fingers tightened in his hair, threading through the golden strands and tugging gently, just to feel the way he responded.

He groaned.

It was guttural–low and raw and laced with a desperation you hadn’t heard before. It rumbled out of his chest like he couldn’t contain it, like your touch had coaxed something from the deepest part of him that had been waiting for permission to surface.

His hands slipped downward, slow but deliberate, ghosting over the curve of your hips, down the backs of your thighs–and then suddenly he was gripping you, lifting you just enough to guide you into his lap.

You straddled him.

The motion made your sheer slip flutter like smoke around his knees, pooling soft against his hoodie. Your thighs slid across the firm shape of his lap, settling on either side of him. You could feel him now–hard beneath you, restrained but unmistakable–and it made your breath catch again, the heat between your legs pulsing in time with your heart.

Bob’s hands curled into your thighs, like he needed to hold on or risk falling apart completely. His mouth found yours again with more force this time–messier, wetter, desperate in the way he kissed you like he was trying to drink you in. There was no hesitation anymore. Just need.

One hand slid up your back, warm under the slip, his palm splayed between your shoulder blades, pulling you down into him. The other stayed low, gripping the swell of your thigh, fingertips brushing against the crease where your leg met your body. The way he held you–tight and trembling–sent shivers down your spine.

You moaned softly into his mouth, rolling your hips once against him–slow and intentional. The friction made both of you gasp. He bucked up instinctively, just slightly, just enough, and you broke the kiss with a shaky inhale, your forehead pressing to his.

He looked wrecked.

Flushed and panting, eyes half-lidded and dazed with lust. His chest heaved beneath your hands as you smoothed them along his jaw and down to his collarbones, feeling the pulse hammering in his neck like it might burst through skin.

“I–I don’t know h-how to stop,” He whispered, voice frayed and cracking like old paper. “You…Y-You feel like heaven…”

You smiled softly, still breathless. Your hands cupped his face again, grounding him.

“I know.”

His hands moved again–one sliding along your ribs, the other dipping beneath the hem of your underwear now, just barely brushing the curve of your ass. You shivered.

“I’ve w-wanted you for so long…” He admitted, like it was being torn from him. You kissed him again–quicker this time, mouths opening, tongues brushing in heat–but as your hips rocked once more against him, you felt the coil tightening too fast.

His hands were trembling. His breath was shaking. And you knew if you didn’t stop now, you wouldn’t.

Your breath hitched–just once–before you pulled back.

Still straddling him, still shaking, still so close it felt like any more contact might ignite both of you into ruin. But you reached up, pressed your hands to the sides of his face, and whispered through ragged breath:

“…We can’t do this here.”

Bob’s eyes searched yours–wide, dazed, glassy with restraint he was barely holding onto.

“I want to,” You continued, voice low, your forehead resting against his. “God, I want to. But not like this. Not here. Not where I can’t fall apart properly. Not when I can’t take my time with you.”

He made a sound in his throat–half-groan, half-whimper–and his hips rocked up into you once, instinctively, helplessly.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut for a second as his erection pressed against your center through the thin layers. Heat bloomed through your core like wildfire.

His hands trembled against you.

”I-I agree…” He whispered. But his voice crack, like it nearly broke him to say it, “I d-don’t want our f-first time t-to be rushed. I c-can’t…” His words were barely audible now, and you could hear the raw self-control in them, stretched to its limits.

With shaking hands, he shifted beneath you, guiding your hips off him gently–like it hurt to let you go. His fingers gripped the waistband of his sweatpants, adjusted awkwardly, then quietly, discreetly tucked himself up into his waistband to conceal the obvious hardness straining against the fabric. He hissed through his teeth at the contact–too sensitive now, too desperate–but he made himself breathe through it.

You slid off his lap fully, legs still trembling, and reached forward with slow, tender hands to fix his hair where your fingers had tugged it out of place. His eyes closed at your touch, his whole body leaning forward like he was still chasing the heat of you.

You smiled faintly, still breathless. Your voice was a hushed vow.

“I’m gonna change,” You murmured, pressing one last kiss to his jaw. “Then we’re gonna buy these…”

You stepped back just enough to meet his eyes fully, gaze dark with promise.

“…And speed back to the compound. Because I want you so fucking bad right now it hurts.”

Bob nearly collapsed.

His knees buckled slightly where he sat, his head tipped back against the wall like he needed the cold surface to keep from slipping under. A choked noise escaped him–almost a laugh, almost a moan–and he covered his face with both hands, exhaling like your words had hit him in the soul.

You leaned forward, just close enough to murmur in his ear before pulling away.

“Get ready, Bob. Because when we get back…I’m not holding back either.”

And then you turned toward the hooks on the wall, your slip still clinging to your skin, your thighs still warm from where you’d pressed into him.

Behind you, Bob stayed silent.

But if you had looked, you would’ve seen his hands still trembling in his lap… and a faint golden glow returning to the edges of his irises–bright, divine, and waiting.

———————

The drive back to the compound was electric. You could feel it in the air–like static clinging to your skin. Bob sat in the passenger seat, trying so hard to keep his breathing steady, his hands folded neatly in his lap for the first five minutes.

But then…His hand slid to your thigh.

It wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t accidental.

His palm settled there slowly, like he was testing a boundary he was terrified to cross–but desperate to claim. The weight of it was warm, grounding. But his fingers…They weren’t still.

They flexed.

Gripped.

Curled gently into the softness of your skin where your sweatpants were bunched up mid-thigh. His thumb dragged a slow, agonizing stroke along the inside, brushing just beneath the fabric, right where the heat of you still pulsed from earlier. The contact was searing. Deliberate. Just barely restrained.

You sucked in a quiet breath, knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

Bob didn’t say anything. But you could see it in his jaw—the way it flexed, locked, trembled. He was holding back. Every time his fingers inched higher, he stopped himself. Every time your legs shifted wider to invite him closer, his hand tensed like he was fighting himself not to slide his fingers past the waistband and straight into the wet heat waiting for him.

His forehead pressed lightly to the passenger window, eyes shut tight, breath fogging the glass. You didn’t need to hear the words to know what he was thinking.

It was written all over him.

I want her. I need her. I can’t lose control. Not yet. Not here.

But god, it was killing him.

And it was killing you.

The second you pulled into the underground garage of the compound and shifted the car into park, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire drive. His hand slid away reluctantly, fingertips dragging along your thigh like he didn’t want to leave the heat of you.

You didn’t speak. You just moved quickly–grabbing the shopping bags, handing him his, your hands shaking faintly as you both made your way across the garage toward the elevator.

The doors opened with a soft chime.

You stepped inside.

And the moment they closed behind you–

He dropped everything.

The bags hit the floor with a soft thud.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation this time. No fear. No silence.

Just lips crashing into yours, hands gripping your waist, pulling you into him like he needed to feel your heartbeat to survive. His mouth devoured yours–hot, messy, open. Tongues sliding, breath catching. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet.

It was starving.

You moaned into it–high and breathless–and your fingers flew to his hair, threading through the light brown strands and tugging, pulling, just to hear the noise it dragged out of him.

He groaned into your mouth–deep and ragged–and the sound nearly dropped you to your knees.

His hips pinned you gently to the elevator wall, just enough pressure to feel the tension simmering through both of you. One hand gripped your jaw, the other slid under the hem of your hoodie, palm splayed wide across your back, hot and insistent.

You didn’t stop kissing him. You couldn’t. Your hands slid down his chest, grabbing fistfuls of the hoodie that still smelled like cedar and warmth and him, clinging as his tongue swept against yours again, this time slower. Dirtier.

The elevator chimed.

The doors slid open–

Empty hallway, no shoes, meaning nobody was there.

Thank god.

You broke apart with a gasp, both of you breathing like you’d just survived something. Bob’s eyes were glassy, his cheeks flushed, his lips wet.

Without a word, you both grabbed the bags–awkwardly, fumbling through the haze–and half-stumbled into the hallway. The bags were dumped just inside the entryway, forgotten the second they hit the floor.

Then he grabbed you again.

Lifted you.

You squealed, legs wrapping around his waist like instinct, arms flinging around his shoulders. He kissed you again immediately–hot, breathless, unrelenting. Your back hit the hallway wall once, a gentle thud, before he adjusted you higher, hands gripping under your thighs.

You moaned into his mouth as his tongue slid over yours again, kissing like he was burning from the inside out.

And he was.

Bob groaned against your lips, stumbling forward as he carried you–still wrapped around him–down the hallway, toward his room. You nipped at his lower lip, then kissed it better. You dragged your hands through his hair again, tugging just enough to make him gasp your name into your mouth like a confession.

He barely made it into his room.

The door slammed shut behind him with a muffled thud, his hand still pressed flat against it while the other clutched you tight to his body–your thighs locked around his waist, breath hot and mingling as he chased your lips again like a man starved. He didn’t even bother to turn the light on. He didn’t need it.

The afternoon sun spilled through his window in golden ribbons, catching in his messy hair and painting long streaks across the floor, the wall, your bare thighs where they clung to his hips. It made everything feel dipped in amber–molten and slow and holy.

He pulled back for just a second–just to look at you–and then carried you toward the bed in a few staggering steps. The second his knees hit the edge, he dropped you onto the mattress with a breathless grunt.

You bounced lightly on impact, letting out a startled giggle as your back met the sheets. Your hair fanned across his dark comforter like a halo, and your eyes sparkled in the soft light. Bob just stood there for a second, staring.

His hair was a complete mess–flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling fast beneath his hoodie, lips kiss-swollen and parted like he was still catching up to what was happening. But his eyes looked like they were drinking in the sight of you. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then he dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed and leaned over you, catching your mouth again in a kiss that was gentler this time—slower. He kissed down your jaw next, reverent and shaky, then down your throat, his lips soft and open, trembling against the skin of your neck.

And then, like it broke loose from him before he could stop it, he whispered—

“G-God, I can’t believe you’re on m-my bed right now.”

His voice cracked on the word “bed,” and the wonder in it made your heart catch.

You laughed softly, breath brushing his cheek as you reached up and cupped his face.

“Well…” You murmured, stroking your thumb along the edge of his jaw. “You better believe it. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, glassy and overwhelmed, like he didn’t know what to do with all the softness you were offering. You traced your fingers down his cheek, and he leaned into the touch instinctively–then turned his head and pressed a kiss to the very tips of your fingers. One, then two, then three. Each kiss was slow, sacred, like a promise he couldn’t speak out loud.

And then–wordlessly, breath trembling–he sat up just enough to tug the hem of his hoodie over his head. His shirt followed, wrinkled and clinging, and when it came off, your breath caught.

God, he was beautiful.

Not just in the obvious way–though that was undeniable. He was all lean lines and pale shimmering skin, scattered with light brown freckles and stretch marks that caught in the light like constellations. But it was the rawness of him that undid you–the way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his stomach tensed as your eyes moved over him, the way he looked down like he was afraid you’d flinch or look away.

You sat up without a word and ran your hands slowly along the ridges of his stomach, smoothing your palms over the heat of his skin. He gasped quietly at the contact, breath catching in his throat, but didn’t stop you.

You leaned in, pressed a soft kiss just below his sternum. Then another, a little lower. Then another along the edge of a faded scar near his ribs.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Bob,” You whispered between kisses. “Do you know that?”

He shook his head–too stunned to respond–and you laughed softly against his skin, letting your mouth trail lower. You kissed the slope of his abs, the dip of his waist, the notch between his hip and belly, letting your lips worship every inch like it was sacred. His hands hovered near your shoulders, shaking slightly, like he didn’t know whether to touch you or to fall to pieces.

“I could do this forever,” You whispered.

He let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a whimper, his hand coming to rest lightly at the crown of your head. Just the tips of his fingers. Just enough to anchor him.

You looked up at him from where you knelt between his legs, kissed his navel one more time–and then you felt it.

His hands sliding down slowly to the hem of your sweater.

They hesitated.

Shaking.

“C-Can I?” He whispered.

His voice was so reverent. Like he was asking to peel back the sky.

You nodded.

“Please.”

And then–very carefully, like he was unwrapping something fragile—Bob tugged your sweater up and over your head, slow and tender, his fingers brushing your skin like he didn’t trust himself not to tremble.

The sweater hit the floor, and the golden afternoon light spilled over your body like it was meant to find you there. His hands hovered midair–still trembling slightly from where they’d dragged your sweater off–his breath held tight in his chest, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to look, even now. Even after everything. His eyes were wide and glassy, lips parted, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, gaze dragging slowly over every inch of you like he was memorizing a prayer in real time.

Not because of what you were wearing. Not because of what you weren’t. But because it was you. Because you were here. In his room. In his bed. In his light.

The sunlight struck you like it was trying to worship too–glinting off the curves of your collarbone, catching in the soft line of your bra, painting warm shadows between the valley of your breasts and the slope of your shoulders. You looked almost surreal like that–so warm and real and close. Like a daydream he hadn’t dared put words to.

He exhaled–slow and ragged–and brought one hand forward, palm outstretched, fingers splayed like he was reaching toward something celestial.

His voice, when it came, was soft. Awed.

“Y-You’re…You’re r-radiant…”

The word barely made it past his lips.

You gave him a small, teasing smile, though your heart ached with the way he looked at you–like you were something sacred that might break if touched too roughly. Like if he blinked, you might be gone.

“You make it sound like I’m glowing,” You whispered.

He nodded without hesitation.

“You are.” And then finally, he touched you.

His fingertips met the soft skin of your waist first, brushing just above the band of your underwear, and sweatpants.

They lingered there, delicate and trembling, as if your warmth might scorch him. Then he slid them up slowly—achingly slowly—over your ribs, along the side of your body, until his palm flattened just beneath your breast. He stopped there. Just breathed. His forehead gently bowed until it pressed to your sternum like he was saying grace.

“I-I don’t…” He murmured against your skin, “I d-don’t know how I’m s-supposed to survive this…”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, cradling the back of his head, and whispered against the crown of it, “Think we just need to take it one step at a time…I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

He groaned quietly–like the weight of that kindness broke something in him–and kissed the center of your chest. Then he kissed lower. And lower. His mouth moving with aching gentleness, like every kiss was a vow.

When he reached your bra strap, he paused. Pressed a final kiss to the edge of the cup.

“C-Can I take this off?” He asked, voice hoarse with restraint.

You nodded slowly, arching slightly to help him.

He unclasped it with careful fingers–then pulled it away like he was parting the curtain of a temple. His eyes drank you in with a hunger that was soft, not frantic. Worshipful. Full of wonder and heat. His eyes drifted over the soft slope of your chest, the way your breasts rose and fell with your breath, the subtle curve of skin that caught the golden afternoon light like it had been painted there just for him. He didn’t speak at first. Just exhaled slowly, shakily, like the air itself was too heavy to hold.

Then, slowly, he lowered his head.

The first kiss he pressed to the top of your breast was featherlight. His lips barely grazed your skin before pulling back again, his breath shaky as he let his mouth trail across the other side. A small, broken sound escaped him.

“Oh my g-god…” he whispered, his voice cracking. “Y-You feel…you feel so soft…”

He brought his hand up next–tentatively–his fingers trembling slightly as they cupped the underside of one breast. His thumb brushed gently along the outer curve, then rose higher, tracing lightly across the peak without quite touching your nipple. His palm was warm–big and careful, like he didn’t want to squeeze too hard and break the moment.

“I-I didn’t know skin could be this s-soft,” He stammered, his breath catching again as he glanced up at you–eyes glassy, wide, rimmed faintly in gold and white. “Y-You’re…y-you’re beautiful. You’re–y-you’re so–”

He broke off, shaking his head slightly like the words just couldn’t come fast enough. Like none of them were enough.

Then he dipped his head again–lower this time.

His lips trailed slowly toward the center of your chest, kissing along the swell until they hovered just beside your nipple. His breath fanned warm against the sensitive skin there, and he hesitated for a beat–watching your face.

You met his gaze. And nodded.

Your fingers slid gently into his hair, threading through the soft waves at the crown of his head, grounding him.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He leaned in and kissed right beside your nipple. Softly. Gently. Like a promise. Then again, this time a little closer. Your breath hitched, your grip tightening just slightly in his hair. His lips brushed over the hardened peak, not yet sucking, just dragging over it, teasing. His tongue flicked once, testing the heat of you there.

You gasped.

And that sound made something snap loose in him.

He groaned–low and shaky–then parted his lips and sucked your nipple into his mouth.

The heat of it sent a shock through you. His mouth was so warm, so tender–his tongue swirling softly as he drew you in deeper, sucking just enough to make your hips twitch beneath him. His eyes didn’t close. They stayed open–locked on yours, half-lidded and burning with something too big for either of you to name.

You saw it then–the faint shimmer of white blooming in his pupils, gold dust clinging to the edges like light at the center of a storm. But it was still him. He was in full control.

Your head tilted back as you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair as he sucked harder, moaning softly against your breast like the taste of you undid him. His other hand rose to cup the untouched breast, squeezing gently, thumbing the nipple as his mouth continued lavishing the other. You could feel his fingers shake, even now. Could feel how hard he was trying to stay grounded, to stay present. Not because he didn’t want to lose control.

But because he wanted you to know he was choosing this.

Choosing you.

Every second. Every touch.

He moaned again against your skin, then pulled back just slightly–your nipple slipping from his mouth with a soft, wet sound. His lips were red now, kiss-swollen and damp, his breath heavy and ragged. He looked up at you again, and god, the look in his eyes–

Wrecked, and still trying to believe this was real.

“S-So beautiful…” His mouth was already moving to your other breast. His tongue traced a slow, trembling circle around the nipple first, warm breath hitting the damp skin as his hand continued to gently knead the other. Then he sealed his mouth over the soft peak and sucked.

Your back arched, a sound slipping from your lips that wasn’t quite a moan but something deeper, hungrier. He moaned too–low and hot–against your chest like the taste of you was dragging the restraint from his bones. His hips shifted at the same time, a slow grind of heat against heat, and the sudden pressure of him rubbing up between your legs made you cry out softly, gasping.

Your fingers threaded tighter into his hair.

He grunted softly against you, and then his free hand–shaking but sure–found yours, linking your fingers together like he needed to anchor himself. His grip wasn’t tight. Just intimate. A promise made skin-to-skin.

He pulled off your breast with a soft, wet pop, and his mouth was pink and glistening now, his lips parted and jaw slack like he couldn’t get enough of the way you tasted, the way you looked writhing beneath him.

“G-God…” he whispered, breath hitching as he rutted forward again—slow, desperate, a grind that made your hips twitch up to meet him. “I–I want to worship every inch of you… I–I wanna taste every goddamn part of your skin until you’re c-crying my name.” Your eyes blew wide at that. Your breath caught. A sound–needy, wrecked–escaped you.

“Bob…” He sat up, only for a second.

Just long enough to hook his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. He glanced up for permission–barely–but you nodded, hips lifting instinctively. That was all he needed.

He peeled them off slowly–achingly slow–dragging the fabric down your thighs, over your knees, baring more of you with every inch, and he hummed at the sight of the red underwear before him, smiling. Your fingers curled into the comforter beneath you.

“Bob…Please…” He looked up sharply at that–like the sound of your desperation hit him somewhere primal.

And then he bent forward.

His mouth pressed kisses to the inside of one thigh. Then the other.

Slow. Gentle. Worshipful.

Then he did it again–lower. This time, his lips parted, and his tongue slid out just enough to lick a stripe upward along the soft skin near the edge of your underwear. You cried out, hips twitching, and his hands immediately pinned them gently down–holding you steady, grounding you.

He groaned–louder now–pressing his nose briefly to your inner thigh, his breath hot as he inhaled the scent of you. It made his whole body shudder.

You were soaked.

The dark spot on your underwear was undeniable, and when his eyes locked on it, he cursed again under his breath.

“Y-You’re so wet…”

“Bob,” you whimpered, breathless and shaking, “Please…Please touch me. I need your mouth, I–I need it so bad, I’m fucking aching.”

He pressed a kiss just beside the wet spot.

“Shhh…I-I’m gonna take my time with you…” He murmured–his voice lower now, slipping toward something more controlled but just as desperate. Bob pressed another kiss to your soaked underwear–right at the center this time–his lips lingering just long enough for the damp heat to soak into him, his breath shaking as he pulled back slightly.

Then he did it again.

And again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses. Each one slower than the last, his mouth dragging across the wet fabric like he wanted to memorize the shape of you through it.

You whimpered, thighs trembling beneath his palms.

“B-Bob–” You gasped, voice cracking, “Please, please don’t tease, I c-can’t–god, I need you–need your mouth…” A broken sound spilled from his chest. Somewhere between a moan and a plea.

“Y-You don’t even know what you’re d-doing to me.” His fingers curled around the sides of your underwear, and you lifted your hips for him, trembling with anticipation as he slid the lace down your thighs–inch by aching inch. His knuckles brushed the heat of your slick folds as he worked the fabric over your legs, and his breath caught sharply.

When they hit your knees, he paused–pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh, then slid the panties the rest of the way off.

He balled the lace softly in one hand.

Then tossed them aside like they were no longer necessary in the world.

His hands returned to your legs, and this time he gripped them firmly–fingers splayed wide as he lifted them, draped them over his shoulders, and leaned in until your thighs framed his face like a crown.

You gasped, hips twitching upward toward him, but he just…Looked.

Stared like he was witnessing something holy.

And then he exhaled–slow and trembling–and lowered his hands to your stomach.

His palms spread flat against your skin, fingers splaying across the soft curve just above your hips. The warmth of them grounded you, anchoring you, keeping you from floating away.

“I’ve d-dreamed about this,” He whispered, voice trembling with awe. “About touching you here…K-kissing you here…Tasting you…” You whimpered again, one hand flying to his hair, the other clutching the sheets beside you. Your thighs quivered over his shoulders as he bent lower, his thumbs sweeping lightly over your skin, just enough to soothe, but not enough to still the trembling that rolled through your body.

Then he kissed your belly, right at the center.

A slow, open-mouthed kiss that left a trail of heat behind it, and when he pulled back, he blew softly against the spot–his breath cooling the wet spot.

He did it again. Lower.

Kiss. Warm. Lingering.

Then another gentle puff of air that left you gasping, your thighs tightening around his shoulders like your body was trying to anchor him closer.

“Bob,” you whimpered, arching just slightly beneath his touch, your hips shifting like they couldn’t stay still, not when he was this close, not when every breath against your skin made your core pulse with need.

He kept going.

Slow. Measured. Torturous.

He trailed kisses downward–along the soft curve just above your mound, the edge of your pelvis, the place where your thighs met the heat of your center–but never quite where you needed him. His eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, half-lidded and blown wide with awe, his lips pink and swollen from kissing every inch of you but the one you ached for.

Your hips jerked.

One of your hands clenched the comforter; the other tugged desperately at his hair.

But his hands never moved from your stomach.

He held you there, palms splayed like a vow, thumbs brushing softly across your trembling skin while your legs shook around his neck.

You whimpered again–helpless, broken–and your head tipped back with a soft cry.

He lowered his head.

Pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

Then another, closer to the edge of your folds.

Then, maddeningly slow, his lips brushed the crease just beside where you needed him the most–so close your whole body jerked.

You choked on a sob.

And then you felt his breath.

Hot and heavy.

And his voice–fragile but burning–just beneath it.

“G-God,” He whispered, eyes still locked on yours, “You’re so pretty when y-you’re begging me for it…”

Your breath hitched, before you let out a small laugh. High, shaky, and helpless.

Because it was true.

You were begging him. Practically sobbing for his mouth. And it was ridiculous and perfect and raw.

Bob gave the faintest smile–soft, wrecked, reverent.

“I-I know I’m gonna regret m-making you do that later,” he added, voice cracking just slightly, “Because when you get me back for it… It’s g-gonna destroy me.”

Your laughter melted into a groan.

”I’m…I’m glad you r-realized that…” Bob’s breath shuddered as he hovered there—face so close you could feel the heat of him, the faint tremble in his jaw as he fought to keep it together. His eyes flicked up through his lashes, locking on yours again. You were already wrecked, trembling, breathless, soaked.

And he hadn’t even started yet.

“W-Well then,” He whispered, his voice hoarse and reverent, like he was offering an apology and a prayer in one, “L-Let me make it up to y-you…”

And then he leaned in.

The first stroke of his tongue made your entire body jolt.

It was slow–just one, long, deliberate drag from the base of your folds all the way up, thick and warm and unhurried. You cried out, hips twitching helplessly, and his hands slid firmer over your stomach to ground you again. His moan vibrated against you, low and guttural, like the taste alone had knocked the breath from his lungs.

“Oh my g-god…” He whispered, his voice cracking apart at the seams. “You…You taste like heaven. L-Like I always knew you would…”

Then he dove back in.

It wasn’t gentle now. It wasn’t shy. It was consuming.

His mouth worked against you like he’d been starved for it–like it was the only thing that could keep him alive. His tongue slid into you, slow and deep, curling with purpose as he moaned against your heat, tasting the slick arousal that pulsed out of you with every trembling breath. He moved like a man who had dreamed of this for too long, cataloged every detail of you in silence, and now, finally, was committing every second to memory with his mouth.

Your fingers tightened in his hair.

“B-Bob–” You gasped, high and broken, “Oh my god–”

He groaned again at the sound, the vibration rolling into you as his tongue worked in slow, reverent thrusts–in and out, savoring every drop of you before moving higher. When his mouth finally slid up to your clit, he licked over it once, twice–teasing, lazy strokes–before closing his lips around the swollen bundle of nerves and sucking. Hard enough to make your hips jerk.

Your cry shattered the quiet.

Your thighs clamped around his head instinctively, your back arching off the bed as pleasure slammed through your core like a wave. He held firm–anchored between your legs, groaning low as he kept sucking, then pulled back just slightly.

His mouth hovered, glistening and open, breath fanning hot over your skin. He looked wrecked–lips swollen, chin slick with you, pupils blown wide with lust and awe.

“I-Jesus Christ…” He whispered, his voice lower now, stripped down to something darker. “You taste like sin and sunlight…”

Your breath caught. Your entire body pulsed with heat.

“…And I-I’m never gonna get enough of it.”

Then he was back on you again.

His mouth latched to your clit like he needed to drink from you–his tongue circling, flicking, then flattening to drag over you in waves that left you gasping. One of his hands slid off your stomach, reaching for the fist that was still tangled in the sheets beside you. He laced his fingers with yours, palm to palm, gripping tight as his tongue pressed against you again–wet and hot and desperate. You sobbed his name. Over and over, like a prayer.

“Bob–Bob–I can’t–please, I’m gonna–”

He moaned in response, and the sound vibrated through your entire body. He looked up at you through his lashes–eyes glowing faintly now, gold shimmering at the edges of blue, burning with care and awe. And he didn’t stop. He kept licking, sucking, and teasing you with his mouth like he meant to worship you apart, one tremble at a time.

Your hips bucked. Your thighs trembled. And your fingers tightened around his.

And still he didn’t let go.

As if holding your hand was the most important part. As if every sound you made, every tremor, every sob of his name was sacred, and he was anchoring you to the earth with his mouth and his touch. And you knew you were close.

Because your vision began to blur and your breath stuttered.

His grip only tightened. His mouth sucked harder. His tongue swirled with purpose. And he groaned again like he could taste how close you were. Your thighs trembled harder now–quaking around his head like they were begging to close, to pull him in and keep him there forever. Your chest heaved, hips rising again, trying to meet the maddening rhythm of his mouth. But then–God–

Bob changed.

He growled softly against you–low, primal, almost possessive–and then he truly devoured you.

His lips sealed tighter around your clit, and his tongue pressed harder, flicking and circling in messy, hungry swirls. No more teasing. No more restraint. Just heat. Pressure. Purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of him eating you filled the room, slick and desperate and perfect, and your body–already on the edge–snapped.

Your fingers twisted violently in his hair.

Your other hand, still laced with his, squeezed hard–so hard your knuckles went white.

Your whole body arched off the bed as you cried out–loud and raw, his name a sob torn from your throat.

“Bob–oh my God–I’m coming–I–!”

You were writhing beneath him, bucking, legs trembling uncontrollably as the orgasm ripped through you like fire. Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips stuttering against his face, and he groaned against your core like he loved it–like he lived for the way you shattered under his tongue.

And he didn’t stop.

Not when your legs twitched. Not when you whimpered from oversensitivity. Not when your body shook so hard it felt like you might fall apart. He just kept licking–slow, filthy drags of his tongue, drinking down every drop of your release like it was sacred.

He moaned against your entrance again–tongue sliding in one last time to taste you at the source–then up to your clit, giving it one final suck that made your whole body jolt.

Only when he felt your trembling finally ease–when the spasms softened into aftershocks and your fingers went slack in his hair–did he finally pull back.

His lips were slick. His chin was drenched. His eyes were glazed and golden and wrecked.

He looked like a man undone.

And then–without a word–he kissed your inner thigh once. Then the other. Then the soft curve just above your mound. Worshipful. Devout.

And then he crawled back up your body.

Kissing as he went.

Your hips. Your belly. The center of your chest where your heart still raced. Your collarbone. The underside of your jaw.

By the time he reached your mouth, you were already panting again, lips parted and waiting.

And when he kissed you–it was filthy.

He didn’t hold back. His mouth was slick, desperate, open. He kissed you like he needed you to feel what you’d done to him–how drunk he was on your taste, how ruined he was from the act of loving you with his mouth. His tongue slipped between your lips, and you moaned loudly into him, tasting yourself on him–warm, sweet, dizzying.

And he groaned at the sound, deep and low in his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest.

When he pulled back, his lips were still brushing yours, his breath hot against your cheek.

And then–voice wrecked, rough, so low it was almost a growl–he murmured:

“Y-You taste like you were made for my mouth…And I swear to god, I’d spend the rest of my life between your thighs if you let me.”

Your breath caught. Your legs twitched. Your stomach clenched with fresh heat. You were wrecked and soaked and trembling, and you still wanted him so bad it hurt.

You swallowed, tried to catch your breath–and then smiled, slow and dark and shaking with need.

Your hand slid over his chest.

Your lips brushed his ear.

And you whispered–

“Your turn.”

He blinked—once, then twice—like his brain was trying to catch up to what you meant. And when it finally did, when the meaning soaked through the haze of lust and reverence still clinging to him, he nodded—slowly, shakily.

“O-Okay…” he whispered, voice so soft it was almost a plea. He swallowed hard, chest still rising and falling fast beneath your touch. “B-But you need t-to take it easy on m-me… I’ll e-end up finishing really quick…”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh–gentle and wicked all at once.

“Don’t worry,” you murmured, brushing your nose lightly against his, “Wasn’t planning on making you finish that easily.”

Bob let out a half-choked groan–part embarrassment, part arousal, part awe.

“O-Oh God…”

And then he did exactly what you wanted–let himself fall back against the bed. His hair mussed further into the pillow, cheeks flushed, neck exposed, arms slightly bent at his sides like he didn’t know where to put them. You could tell he wanted to reach for you. Desperately. But he didn’t. He let you take control.

You moved slow.

Straddling him gently, you leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth–then his jaw. Then lower.

The edge of his throat. The hollow of it. The line where his neck met his shoulder.

He shivered.

Your lips traced down to his collarbone, teeth grazing it lightly before you kissed the center. He was so warm. So tense beneath you. You felt it all–every twitch, every catch of breath, every time he shifted beneath your hips like he was already aching.

You smiled against his skin.

Then moved lower.

Your mouth trailed down his chest now, lingering on the freckles scattered across his pecs–those warm, honey-colored constellations that dusted his pale skin like someone had painted the stars on him. You kissed each one that caught your attention.

He whimpered.

Then gasped when your teeth grazed the meat of his pec, a little nip just beside his nipple.

“F-Fuck…” he breathed, hands fisting the sheets at his sides now, his eyes fluttering closed like he couldn’t handle watching you do this to him. “I-It’s t-too much–y-you’re…”

You kissed the center of his chest again. “You okay, Bob?”

He nodded quickly–too quickly. “Y-Yeah, y-yeah, I just–y-you’re killing me…”

You continued your descent.

Lower now. Down the gentle slope of his abdomen, where muscle twitched beneath his skin at your touch. You traced your tongue along the soft trail of hair that led lower, then kissed the spot just below his navel.

That’s when you felt it.

The hardness beneath his sweatpant and boxers–thick and straining, the outline unmistakable against the fabric. He was ready. So ready it nearly made you groan just from the heat of him pressing up into your thigh.

But you didn’t rush.

You kissed around it.

Along his hips. His lower stomach. The spot just above the waistband.

He whimpered again–this time louder, more desperate.

His hips shifted up instinctively, trying to get friction, contact, anything.

You just smiled–sweet, dangerous–and looked up at him.

“Bob,” You murmured, brushing your hand slowly over the waistband, teasing your fingers just beneath it, “What do you say?”

He was panting now. Eyes wide, lips parted, sweat gathering at his brow. His voice cracked when it came.

“I-I’m… I’m sorry f-for teasing you…”

Your eyes glittered.

“Oh?”

He nodded frantically, breath hitching again as your hand slipped fully beneath the waistband–but didn’t pull it down yet.

“P-Please…” He gasped, chest arching up toward you. “I-I’ll never do it again…P-Please, I-I c-can’t–just–please…” Your smile turned downright sinful.

“Good boy,” You whispered.

Your fingers curled around the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers together–tugging them down slowly, until the fabric cleared his hips and the tension finally gave way.

You sucked in a breath as he sprang free–thick and flushed and already leaking, the tip glistening with pre-cum and twitching ever so slightly as the cool air hit him. He was…Big. Bigger than you’d expected. Bigger than anyone you’d ever seen before. Long, heavy, impossibly hard, the flushed head slightly curved and swollen with need. And the moment you stared, it hit you in a new way.

His thighs were trembling, his chest heaving. His whole body was braced like he was fighting not to lose it just from being touched.

“Holy fuck, Bob…” You breathed, and the awe in your voice made him twitch again.

He whimpered—actually whimpered—and leaned up onto his elbows, his eyes wide and desperate, golden light faint at the corners of his irises now.

“I-It’s n-not usually… I mean–I-I don’t–” His voice cracked, flustered, like he was about to apologize for the way his erection stood proud and leaking for you, like he was embarrassed for how ready he already was.

You reached out and wrapped one hand gently around the base of him, fingers barely managing to meet. You gave the slightest stroke, thumb brushing along the underside–and watched the way his breath stopped. His hips stuttered upward just barely, like he was trying not to buck.

”Don’t apologize.” You cooed, licking your lips slowly as your eyes dragged up to meet his again. You leaned down, so your breath ghosted over the tip, and his whole body stiffened.

Then your tongue flicked out.

One slow, teasing lick–just a soft, playful swipe across the head, collecting the salty bead of pre-come that had formed there. The taste hit your tongue, warm and slick and uniquely him, and your mouth curled into a smirk as you pulled back just enough to speak.

”You taste so good Bob.” And he felt his arms give out. He dropped back to the bed with a helpless groan, one hand flinging over his face, the other clutching the comforter like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this plane of existence.

“I-I c-can’t–oh fuck, I c-can’t survive this…”

You let your grip slide higher along his shaft, fingers gliding with slow, steady pressure until your hand circled just beneath the head. He twitched again, and your thumb gently teased the tip.

“Poor thing,” You murmured, voice syrup-slick and sinful, “Already shaking for me?”

His head tipped back with a moan. “P-Please…”

You bent down again–this time kissing the tip, soft and slow.

Then you opened your mouth.

You took just the head in first, lips sliding over the crown, tongue swirling gently as you let him sit heavy and hot on your tongue. He moaned loudly, his hips twitching again, barely restrained, and his hand shot up to grip the pillow behind his head.

You pulled back, slowly, with a slick pop, then looked up at him again–your lips glossy, your voice low.

“You okay?”

He nodded frantically. “I-I don’t know how m-much of this I-I can take…”

You grinned.

“Guess we’ll find out.”

Then you took him back into your mouth–this time deeper, slower, letting your lips stretch around him, inch by inch. You felt every pulse, every twitch of his erection as your tongue pressed beneath the shaft and your throat adjusted. He groaned so loud it echoed through the room, raw and wrecked.

Your hand stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach, slow and firm, while your tongue swirled and licked, teasing that sensitive ridge just beneath the head as you bobbed up and down in a rhythm that had him panting.

“F-Fuck–oh god–please–you’re gonna–g-gonna kill me…”

And you just moaned around him–low and hot–sending vibrations through his entire body. You didn’t stop.

Not when his thighs tensed. Not when his breath hitched. Not even when his hand left the pillow and dropped to your shoulder, fingers flexing like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or hold on for dear life.

You kept going. Letting him slide deeper with each pass of your mouth, your lips gliding down his shaft as your tongue pressed and curled beneath him–dragging along the sensitive underside just to hear the way he gasped, then choked, then whimpered your name.

Your hand worked in tandem—fisting around the base of him in slow, steady strokes that kept time with the rhythm of your mouth. And the sounds he made were everything. Guttural, helpless, and pleading. Like he didn’t know whether he was supposed to worship you or fall apart for you.

Then his voice cracked.

“J-Jesus–” He gasped, hips stuttering upward as you took him deep again. “I-I’m–f-fuck, I’m close–!”

You pulled off instantly.

Not cruelly. Not abruptly. Just smooth, controlled, intentional.

His erection slipped free of your mouth with a slick pop, strings of spit still connecting your lips to the tip as it twitched in the air–wet, flushed, leaking.

Bob choked on a sound–half sob, half whimper–and his eyes flew open, dazed and pleading. His chest heaved beneath you, rising and falling in uneven, desperate bursts as his hand shot forward like he didn’t understand why you’d stopped.

You licked your lips.

Saliva coated your mouth, your chin, even your cheek, and you wiped at it absently with the back of your hand–eyes locked on his the entire time.

He looked destroyed. Pink-cheeked and sweat-damp, pupils blown wide and blinking like you’d just left him in the middle of a battlefield without a weapon.

“W-Why’d you…?” He whispered, voice cracking on the edge of devastation. You giggled, sweet and sinful all at once. Then leaned in–close enough for your lips to brush the underside of his jaw.

“I told you,” You murmured, voice velvet-wicked and dripping heat, “I wasn’t planning on letting you finish that easily…”

Bob whimpered again–audibly this time–and his hips twitched like they couldn’t handle the tension coiling inside him. He looked down at himself–still fully hard, twitching, slick from your mouth–and then back at you like you’d committed an act of holy betrayal. You smiled wider.

Then, slowly, you let your hand curl around the base of his erection again–just enough to feel him throb beneath your touch.

He gasped–eyes fluttering shut, head falling back onto the pillow.

“And besides…” You added, voice lower now, dripping promise, “If you’re going to cum anywhere…” You leaned up, brushing your mouth beside his ear, your breath hot and deliberate as your body shifted higher–lining yourself up along the length of him, not yet taking him, just letting him feel the heat of your soaked core hovering, “…It’s gonna be inside me.” His whole body jolted at your words–like the thought of being inside you, of finishing inside you, hit him somewhere primal.

His hands found your hips–hot and trembling–his fingers splayed wide like he was trying to hold himself together with touch alone. You watched the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered down to where your body hovered just above him, and then back up again.

“I-Is it…Is it safe?” He asked softly, voice frayed and wrecked and barely holding together. “I-I mean, f-for you…?”

You smiled–slow and knowing–and leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth, letting your lips linger just long enough to feel the way his breath stuttered.

“Yes, Bob,” You murmured, brushing your nose lightly against his. “I’m clean… and I’m on birth control.”

He exhaled–shaky and hot, like he’d been holding the breath in his chest for days–and the sound of it ghosted across your lips.

But before you could tease him again–

He moved.

Fast.

You let out a surprised yelp–half laugh, half moan–as he rolled you underneath him in one sudden, fluid motion, his body moving like instinct, like he couldn’t take it anymore. Your back hit the mattress with a soft bounce and your hair splayed across the pillow as you looked up at him–eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.

“Bob!” You gasped, breathless with laughter.

But he was already there–already kissing your neck.

His mouth found the pulse point just below your jaw, then lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat as you laughed and moaned beneath him. One hand cupped your hip while the other braced beside your head, his chest flush to yours, heat rolling off his skin in waves.

“I-I knew…” he whispered between kisses, his voice ragged and thick, “I knew you’d be the person who w-wrecks me like this.”

Your breath caught. And then you smiled–soft and wicked and full of everything you hadn’t said yet. You reached up, cupped his face gently between your palms, and you kissed him like you were trying to pour the very ache of your love into his mouth, like you needed him to feel how much you wanted this–him. Not just now. Not just physically.

But all of him Forever, if he’d let you.

He moaned into your mouth, hips rocking down instinctively, grinding the thick length of his erection against your soaked core. You gasped into the kiss, fingers tightening against his jaw as he rutted forward again–slow, teasing strokes that slid his length right through your slick folds, nudging against your clit every time he rolled his hips.

“F-Fuck,” He whispered, voice cracked with need, “Y-You feel so wet…I-I can feel how bad you want it…”

“I do,” You breathed against his lips, “I want you so bad, Bob. I want all of you…”

That undid him.

He pulled back just enough to look at you–really look at you.

His eyes were wide, pupils blown, lashes damp at the corners. His lips were kiss-swollen and pink, and his breath stuttered as he propped himself on one elbow and reached down between your bodies with his other hand.

You felt it when his fingers wrapped around himself again–heard the soft, wet sound as he dragged the flushed head of his erection through your folds one more time. Up and down ever so slowly.

Your hips twitched.

And then he found your entrance.

He paused, just for a beat.

His eyes flicked up again, searching your face, checking one last time.

“Y-You sure?” He whispered.

“I’ve never been more sure,” You breathed, hand sliding down to rest over his thudding heart.

That was all he needed.

He pushed forward.

The first inch made your whole body tighten–heat blooming in your core like something sacred breaking open.

He was thick. Stretching you already. But he went slow like every second mattered. His breath stuttered as he pressed in deeper, eyes locked on your face like he couldn’t look away. Your mouth parted, a soft moan falling from your lips as you felt him sink inside you, inch by careful inch, filling you with such deliberate tenderness it made your eyes sting.

“Oh my god,” You whimpered, back arching slightly, thighs trembling, “B-Bob…”

He was shaking too–sweat beading along his brow, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to lose it from just the feeling of you wrapped around him.

“G-God…” Bob gasped, voice shaking as his hips rolled forward another inch. “You’re t-taking me s-so well, Y/N… You’re stretching around me so g-good…”

Your breath caught, hips twitching as he filled you deeper, the weight and width of him making you gasp. You could feel everything–every slow inch of him, every tremble in his arms as he held himself up, every quake in his breath as he tried to keep from sinking into you too fast.

Your arms slipped around his shoulders, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his back—not harsh, not clawing, just enough to leave small crescent reminders that you were there. That this was real. That he was inside you.

And still he pushed deeper.

Bit by bit.

Agonizing. Perfect.

Until he bottomed out–his hips flush with yours, the thick head of his cock pressed just barely against your cervix.

You gasped, your whole body jolting softly beneath him. “Ah–B-Bob–just a little careful…”

His eyes flew to yours, wide and wrecked. He nodded quickly, breathless. “Y-Yeah. Y-Yeah, I got you. I-I’ll take it slow…” You nodded, teeth catching your bottom lip as your legs curled tighter around his waist. He was trembling now—arms braced on either side of your head, his body a taut wire strung between reverence and restraint.

He kissed you.

Soft and deep, his mouth pressing to yours with a desperation that made your chest ache. Then he pulled back just enough to move–slowly.

He slid out–inch by inch–until only the tip remained inside you, slick and hot and pulsing. And then he thrust forward again.

Gentle.

Deep.

Your moan was soft, trembling, like it had been carved from somewhere sacred inside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and his were already there–locked on yours.

And oh god, the way he looked at you.

Like he was drowning in the sight of you. Like your face was the only thing anchoring him to earth.

His hips rolled again–smooth and slow–pressing into you with that same impossible depth.

You whimpered softly, your nails digging into his back again, and for a second, you half-worried that it might hurt him–but he didn’t react.

Not a flinch.

He just kept moving steadily. Like your body was the temple and he was made to worship inside it.

He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his voice cracking as he whispered:

“I-It’s like you w-were made to hold me l-like this…” You whimpered again, hips rising slightly to meet his next thrust, and the friction—slow, full, rhythmic—made your toes curl.

His hand slid to your face, cradling your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. He kissed you again–deeper this time–tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual rhythm that matched the motion of his hips.

“I-I love the way you sound…” He murmured against your lips. “Love the way you look at me like I’m s-someone worth this…”

You moaned into his mouth, your body trembling beneath him, and he didn’t stop.

His thrusts stayed slow, steady, deep.

His praises never stopped either.

“You’re so b-beautiful…You feel so fucking good around me… I-I could stay inside you forever…”

Your breath hitched, your eyes fluttering as another slow stroke dragged a cry from your throat. “B-Bob…”

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, forehead pressed to yours. “Always.”

And he rocked into you again, his breath ragged and mouth still brushing yours as he filled you over and over, every thrust a promise, every kiss a prayer.

Your hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and your voice–low and breathless–shook against his mouth.

“F-Faster, Bob… please.”

His hips paused, his breath catching. His eyes opened just enough to meet yours–wild and warm and so full of emotion it nearly knocked the wind out of you.

“You sure…?” He whispered, his voice cracking with restraint, with reverence.

You nodded, lips brushing his cheek. “Yes. I want to feel you. All of you.”

He groaned like you’d just ripped something out of him–deep and raw and ragged. Then his hips rolled forward again, a little harder this time. A little deeper. You gasped, your head tipping back against the pillow as he started to move faster–still gentle, still careful–but with a new kind of rhythm. One that made your whole body arch to meet him.

Every thrust dragged a soft cry from your lips, and he swallowed each one with kisses–down your jaw, across your cheek, then lower, to your neck. His teeth grazed the sensitive skin there, just beneath your ear, and you shivered as his breath caught.

“I c-can’t stop kissing you,” He whispered. “Y-Your skin–your neck–fuck, you taste like everything I’ve ever needed…”

Then he bit you.

Just once–just enough to leave the faintest mark. And before you could even moan his name, his tongue was there, licking the spot like he could soothe it back to calm. But it only made you shake harder beneath him.

“F-Fuck, Bob–” You gasped, nails dragging lightly down his back now, digging in just enough to make him whimper. “You feel so good–so deep–God, you’re perfect—”

He let out a broken noise, hips stuttering, and the next thrust hit deeper, grinding gently against the soft barrier of your cervix. Your moan was wrecked—high and ragged and unrestrained.

“Y/N,” He moaned hoarsely, eyes fluttering shut, his voice so low and hoarse it barely sounded human. “Y-You’re squeezing me so tight–I-I can feel you pulling me in–I can’t–fuck–”

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath trembling against your lips as he kept thrusting, deeper and faster now–wet and hot and slippery with everything you’d given him, the sound of your bodies joining filling the room like something sacred and messy and alive.

His moans were desperate–soft at first, then deeper, throatier, more broken with every roll of his hips. You could hear the tremble in them, like he was fighting himself with every breath, trying not to fall apart too fast.

“You’re so good for me,” He whispered against your mouth, voice frayed with awe. “Y-You’re everything–I can’t–I don’t ever wanna leave this body, this bed, this moment–”

You whimpered, your hands clawing at his shoulders now, your whole body rolling up to meet each of his thrusts, matching his rhythm even as your legs trembled around his waist.

“I’m s-so close,” You gasped, “Bob, I–I’m gonna–”

“I feel it,” He moaned, and he didn’t stop moving—just kept pushing deeper, grinding slower at the end of each thrust now like he was trying to drag your orgasm out of you with his body. “C-Come for me, baby–please–I-I wanna feel you lose it–I w-wanna feel it all–”

And it was messy now.

So messy.

Your slick was coating him, dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets beneath you. Your moans were tangled with his–louder now, echoing off the walls, hot and unfiltered and desperate. He was shaking on top of you, muscles taut, chest slick with sweat, the tension in his body barely held together by the grip of your hands on his back.

Your nails dragged down his spine again, and he let out the loudest moan yet–a broken, reverent cry against your shoulder.

“I-I can’t–I c-can’t hold it back much longer–” He gasped.

“Don’t,” you whispered, panting against his mouth, “Don’t hold back. Just f-fuck me, Bob…P–Please.” You whimpered.

He growled–soft and wrecked–and his next thrust was deeper, smoother, the angle perfect. You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave–rolling through you in waves that left your whole body writhing, crying out, sobbing his name. Your thighs locked tight around his waist. Your arms clung to him like a lifeline.

And he felt it.

Felt you tighten, clench, squeeze him so hard it almost pushed him over the edge with you.

He groaned–loud and hoarse–and kissed you through it, his thrusts slowing just enough to ride out the quake of your orgasm, whispering broken praises between each kiss.

“You’re so b-beautiful like this–so perfect–so good–so fucking good for me–” His hips stuttered once–then twice–shallow and trembling as he tried to hold on. But the way your walls pulsed around him, still fluttering from your orgasm, dragged a guttural moan from deep in his chest.

“F-Fuck–I’m gonna–oh my god–” His voice cracked, and then he thrust deep.

All the way in.

One last, hard, perfect stroke that ground right up against your cervix–flush, thick, shaking.

And he came.

You felt it.

The hot flood of it–spilling deep inside you, thick and molten. His whole body shuddered, his arms trembling as he clutched you, forehead dropping to your shoulder with a small, broken sound.

“Ah–fuck–ngh– Y/N–” His whimper was soft and wet, lips brushing your skin as he moaned through his release. He stayed buried inside you as he came, throbbing, pulsing with every wave, hips twitching in small jerks until it slowed–until all he could do was breathe. His arms folded under your shoulders, and he let himself settle on top of you with a low, shaky sigh. His weight was warm and grounding, not heavy–just enough to make you feel wrapped in him, surrounded by him.

You sighed too–soft and slow and utterly wrecked–and your nails grazed lightly up his back, dragging in gentle, satisfied lines over sweat-slick skin.

“Holy shit…” You whispered, your voice breathy with awe and disbelief.

Bob let out the faintest laugh–hushed and dazed and still short of breath. Then his lips started moving again. Everywhere. Pressing lazy kisses to your throat, your shoulder, the slope of your collarbone, the space beneath your ear. Tiny, messy kisses. Adoring ones. He couldn’t stop.

“Y-You’re unreal…” He murmured against your skin. “C-Can’t believe I’m here. With you. Inside you. Like this…”

You smiled, your heart fluttering.

He shifted–just enough to raise his head and look down at you, cheeks flushed, lips red, hair a golden, tangled halo. You reached up, cupped his face with one hand, and ran your thumb gently along his cheekbone, pushing his hair out of his face int he process.

“Hi,” You whispered.

His chest rose with a warm, broken laugh, and his hand came up to cradle your face in return–his palm cupping your jaw like it was precious.

“Hi,” He breathed, voice still trembling.

You both giggled–giddy, overwhelmed, barely able to process the way the world still felt like it was glowing from within.

Bob leaned in, kissed you softly–slow and messy and open-mouthed, like he was still drunk on you. Then, with visible effort, he pulled back and sat up slowly, his cock still sheathed inside you, twitching slightly from overstimulation.

You whimpered softly at the shift, and his hand rubbed along your thigh.

“I-I’m gonna pull out,” He informed quietly. “Just…Real slow.”

You nodded, biting your lip.

He moved gently–so gently–and as he slid out of you, you both gasped softly. You could feel it instantly: his cum already dripping out of you, thick and warm and sticky against your inner thighs.

Bob saw it too. His eyes widened slightly. He let out a soft groan.

“Y-You’re already leaking…”

His fingers brushed your inner thigh, trembling slightly, before carefully gathering what had come out of you on them and pushing it back into you. You jolted at the suddenness, back arching slightly with a small gasp.

“B-Bob!”

“Shhh,” He murmured, kissing your knee as he slowly pushed his fingers deeper. “W-Want to make sure you keep a l-little bit of me in you… F-For a little bit longer.”

Your cheeks burned.

He pulled back just slightly and watched–mouth parted, breath trembling–as his fingers glistened, slick with the mix of you both. He looked enchanted by it. Awestruck. And when he pulled them out, you reached for his wrist before he could wipe them clean.

You brought his hand to your mouth.

And licked.

His eyes nearly rolled back.

You wrapped your lips around the tips of his fingers and dragged your tongue along them, tasting the arousal still warm on his skin. The mix of your essence and his. His breath hitched sharply. His other hand gripped your hip.

“F-Fuck,” He whispered, voice barely holding together. “That’s… god, that’s so hot…”

You smiled against his fingers, slowly letting them slip from your mouth with a soft, wet pop. His gaze stayed locked on you, eyes dark and glassy.

And then he said it.

Voice low. Reverent. Almost dreamlike.

“I could die right now…And it’d still be the most beautiful moment of my life.”

You laughed softly–your laugh shaking a little this time, because of how honest it sounded. How completely undone he looked saying it.

And then you tugged him back down into your arms.

Because you needed to feel him again.

Because his body, warm and wrecked and trembling, belonged right there–with you.

He let out a small, contented sigh, nuzzling his nose gently into your cheek as his arms wrapped around your waist. His body still trembled faintly from the aftershocks, and he was warm–so warm, like his skin was humming with leftover sunlight and your name.

“…Y-You know…” He murmured against your temple, voice hoarse and shy in a way that was almost too soft to hear. “I-I really…Really like you. R-Right?” You blinked, and then a laugh bubbled up from your chest–sweet and wrecked and giddy.

You tilted your head back just enough to meet his eyes, your smile tugging crookedly at your lips as you whispered, “If that mind-blowing sex wasn’t a testament to that, I’d be interested to see what is…”

Bob flushed deep red. His laugh cracked as it left him–quiet and breathless, like it had been knocked loose by your words. He kissed you again–softly, lovingly, like he didn’t want to stop.

When he finally pulled back, he was still smiling, cheeks pink and eyes glassy.

“We…W-we should drink some water,” He said, voice low and dreamy and still a little unsteady. “A-And then do it all over again…M-Maybe in your room this time…”

You arched a brow, your grin turning sly. “Oh yeah?”

He nodded solemnly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “W-We’ve got to c-christen both beds…F-For evenness.” He nodded solemnly, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck. “W-We’ve got to c-christen both beds…F-For symmetry.”

You laughed—loud and unrestrained this time, the sound muffled only slightly by his lips as they brushed along your shoulder.

“Get the water bottles,” you said, running your fingers slowly through his sweat-damp hair, “And I’ll take you up on that offer.”

He groaned softly against your skin, already rolling off the bed with a dizzy grin whispering, “A–Anything for you.”

[nocapesdahling]

Valkyries and Betting Pools

Dr. Jack Abbot x F! Nurse! Reader

My Masterlist

Summary: The staff of the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital’s Emergency Department bet on everything. One of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what’s going on with you and Dr. Abbot. The bets range from everything under the sun, but who’s going to win?

Meanwhile, you just want to figure out if the man you’ve had a crush on for months likes you back.

Rating: M (18+, Minors DNI please)

Warnings/Tags: Flirting; Banter; ER betting pools; References to sex, including oral, fingering, and praise kink; Day shift characters present all over; Night shift characters also make appearances; Fluff; A little bit of oblivious! Reader; A little bit cracky, maybe more than a little; Reader has a nickname

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Inspired entirely by the ambulance betting pool scenes because if they bet on that, then what if they bet on everything? I’m so happy to be writing again, and the Pitt and these beautiful doctors have given me lots of inspiration. This is a very lighthearted fic to take a break from some of the more serious ones I’m currently writing. Hope you enjoy!

If there was something they could bet on in the Pitt, then everyone was participating. Even Dana. She might like to pretend to corral everyone and stop the betting, but she was just as bad as them when it came to betting pools that weren’t as distracting as where a stolen ambulance might end up and how. 

There were pools on how many times Robby might curse that week — Santos had gotten lucky last week because not only had Gloria visited more than once, nothing drove Robby to curse like an anti-vaxxer and there’d been multiple — or what the weirdest case they might see would be. Jesse had won the most recent one with a guess of swallowed Barbie doll heads; it’d been a bit since they’d seen anything with dolls, so they’d been due in his opinion and he’d won a tidy sum for his troubles. They still weren’t sure how the patient had decided to stop at five. 

However, some of the more secret pools were about the interpersonal relationships between the doctors and nurses. Perlah and Princess ran those and kept them locked down tight. There’d been one about Robby and Collins years ago — Dana had used her powers for evil and won that one as well as enough to buy all her family presents for Christmas that year — and there was another one now about Mateo and Javadi, but the one that got the most bets recently was focused on Abbot and you.

What was your relationship? Would you or wouldn’t you? Had you kissed? Were you already together? Were you fucking? 

Nobody knew — well, there may have been one or two (Dana and Robby) who knew for sure and who’d recused themselves from the pool and refused to say why — and there were more bets placed every day. Because the two of you flirted and bantered with each other constantly or at least what passed for flirting for Abbot. Because Abbot was one of the most deadpan flirters any of them had ever seen, and sometimes Ellis and Shen wondered if you even knew he was flirting. It was that bad. 

But then you’d come back with a snarky comment or a similarly deadpan remark, and they’d change their minds as well as their bets. The pool was constantly shifting and Perlah and Princess had to find somewhere to store the money, because there was so damn much of it, before settling back in to watch the show.

You wondered if it was obvious that you couldn’t keep your gaze off of Dr. Abbot’s forearms while he typed patient notes into his computer. Your eyes also drifted every so often to how well he filled out his scrubs as he leaned over. God, you’d think you hadn’t just seen his butt in the shower that morning or watched his forearms flex every time he fingered you. 

You could hear his voice now, “Got to get you ready for me, baby. Don’t want to hurt you. Gotta make you come for me first. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? You’re such a good girl for me.” 

Even just thinking about it made you feel hot and you shifted in your chair, wishing this shift would be over already so you could have Jack all to yourself. 

Of course, you were unaware that almost every single person on shift that could was watching you out of the corners of their eyes and right now with the lull, that was a lot of people. 

Jack tried to not let on that he was aware of everyone’s scrutiny. It made his senses go haywire in the beginning. Some things — okay, a lot of things — from the military never left. At this point, everyone watched you both so often that he was used to it even if the only eyes he wanted on him were yours.

You were both taking a moment to enjoy the calm before the oncoming storm of more patients. Even though you’d only thought it, you knew you’d jinxed it when Ellis rushed a seizing patient back from the waiting room. Abbot turned, pulling on his gloves as he raced after her. 

“Valkyrie, you’re with me.”

You jumped up and followed on his heels, ready to help save a life.

Only Dr. Abbot called you Valkyrie. The first time Shen went to call you that, teasing you, he’d barely gotten the beginning of the word out before Abbot stopped him with a glare and Abbot’s glares intimidated the hell out of people. No one wanted to be a victim of the “Abbot Death Stare.” In fact, there was a betting pool on that too.

How many times will Dr. Abbot glare over the course of the shift? How many times will he do it to Dr. Shen and Dr. Walsh in particular? And did “The Stare of Death,” a Dr. Jack Abbot trademark, make anyone piss their pants? 

The last one hadn’t happened in a long time, but Ellis had won that one. 

It gave you a secret pride that he’d never glared at you. 

The first time he’d called you Valkyrie, you’d almost dropped the saline you were hooking up to a patient’s IV. It had left his lips smooth as you please, leaving wide eyes in its wake. 

“Valkyrie, once you hook up that saline, I need you over here in case we need to intubate.” 

The only other nurse in the room had been Princess, who’d given you a look to let you know he definitely wasn’t referring to her, and as you’d glanced over at Dr. Ellis, she’d shrugged before smirking at you knowingly. 

“Valkyrie, are you listening to me? I need you at my side.”

At that, you finished your task and hurried over. He needed you at his side? You’d be there always. 

You missed Princess and Ellis’s delighted looks as well as Ellis’s mouthed updated bet that Princess nodded at and made a note to add to the pool later. 

Once the patient was taken care of with Princess finishing up the necessary meds, you followed the doctors out of the room. Dr. Ellis headed down the hallway with Abbot following behind. 

“What was that back there?” Your voice was hesitant, causing Abbot to stop and turn back. 

His light brown eyes met yours and you watched his lips tilt up into the smallest of smiles. You wanted to jump up and down because that was the first time he’d smiled all shift and it was because of you, but you held it in. 

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?” He looked as stoic as ever, but after much practice reading his expressions, you could tell he was teasing you.

“Dr. Abbot.”

“Valkyrie.”

“See there it is again. Since when do you call me that?”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. You shivered at his proximity and his solid warmth. His voice didn’t help either. “I’ve always called you that. At least in my head. You’re like Eir, you know?”

You tilted your head in thought, biting your lip and not realizing how his darkening eyes focused in on it, before remembering the one member of the Valkyries that was focused on healing. “The goddess of healing?”

“Mhmm.”

“Me? A goddess?” 

He leaned in even closer, but it still wasn’t enough. You wanted to touch him. “Well, I’d worship at your altar any time.”

You let out an incredulous noise, glad the hallway was empty except for the two of you, and swallowed as your face heated. “I —.” 

You had no idea how you were going to respond because this felt like something out of your secret fantasies, but were interrupted before you could by Dana’s voice.

“Dr. Abbot, we have a hit-and-run victim that’s five minutes out. We need you.”

“On my way.” He turned away and quickly headed back towards the main part of the ED.

You couldn’t help but call after him, “This isn’t over.”

His response when it came was amused and a little bit husky, “Oh, I’m counting on it… Valkyrie.” 

He disappeared from view and you could hear his raised commanding voice calling out instructions as he shifted back into attending mode. 

Dana remained in the hallway, just looking at you with amusement evident on her face. “Valkyrie, huh?”

You pulled yourself together, walking over to join her. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You paused, “Well, at least not now. Can we? Later?”

“Of course, hon.” She linked your arms as you headed towards where you were both needed. “We’re off tomorrow. We can get coffee. Lord knows we’ll both need it. And you can tell me more about whatever that was.”

“I don’t really know either.”

“Well, maybe I can help you figure it out.”

You weren’t sure if you should say your thoughts out loud, but you needed confirmation. To make sure you weren’t imagining things. “Wait Dana, has he been flirting with me? Before this, I mean?”

Dana’s face cycled through a few different emotions, including fondness and resignation before her expression settled on determination. “Honey. Not only that, but you’ve been flirting back.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I think this might turn into you treating me for lunch instead. You need more help than I thought.”

Dana had taken herself out of the betting pool later that week, citing inside information that would give her an unfair advantage. And no matter how much everyone pestered her, she refused to say what it was or how she’d come by that information. 

Robby followed suit the following week and exchanged looks with Dana, knowing she had one side of the equation while he had the other and both of them refused to elaborate to the pestering members of the betting pool. When Robby joined Dana on her smoke break later, all both of them could say was “Finally.”

Dana wondered how everyone would react if they knew you’d been dating for months at this point, starting not long after the Valkyrie conversation and after she and Robby had done their part to push you both to make a move. 

You’d kept your relationship entirely a secret otherwise. The only things you’d kept up with were the banter and the teasing comments to stop anyone from being suspicious, unaware that only threw more fuel on the fire or in this case deepened the pool.

She knew you were unaware of the betting pool, but Jack on other hand was fully cognizant of it and found it funny as hell. 

He got to go home every day with the woman he loved, and Shen still thought you’d never get past the talking stage. Well, this morning you hadn’t done much talking unless he counted listening to your body and moans as he ate you out. Whenever he did something he wanted to do it right, and he’d spend hours between your legs if you’d let him.

He couldn’t wait for their reactions when they finally figured it out. Maybe, it’d be obvious after he proposed? The ring was all ready to go and he had a plan. It was one of his better ones too, and he’d made a lot of great plans in his time. He was more than ready to call you his wife. 

It looked like you'd both be winning Dr. Mohan a lot of money, which was good as you’d wanted to tell one of your best friends about your relationship earlier and he’d vetoed it with the full knowledge that Mohan would win the pool when she was one of the first people you told about the engagement. He didn't want her to get disqualified beforehand.

After all, she was the only one who’d guessed “Secret relationship. Maybe even married?” He always knew she was a smart one.

Comments, reblog, and likes are always much appreciated. Thanks so much for reading!

A/N: This is the first fic I've posted in ages and I'm so thankful to the Pitt for the inspiration. I had so much fun writing this and would love to hear your thoughts.

As an aside, the Pope Cody shower scene has apparently been hanging around in my brain like a sleeper agent since watching Animal Kingdom and came roaring back to the forefront with this. I have more Pitt fics planned for both Robby and Abbot for now that I can't wait to share with you all!

My Masterlist

[simplygojo]

Under the Desk ⸺ Nanami

author's note ⸺ I may or may not have a crush on the handsome senior consultant on my team...so what. pairing ⸺ Kento Nanami x reader teaser ⸺ "It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting." content ⸺ 18+ SMUT, MDNI, hot office nanami, age gap implied, lowkey perv nanami, office siren vibessss, oral sex (reader recv.), reader got that WAP, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

materlist || request guidelines || commissions || discord channel

Kento Nanami didn’t particularly enjoy training new hires—especially the ones who were on a short contract like you were. They were often overzealous, unpolished, and too eager to prove themselves. But when you walked in on your first day, something in him shifted.

Nanami wasn’t proud of the thoughts that crossed his mind when you walked into the office on your first day—He blamed that little skirt. Too tight, too short, hugging your hips in a way that wasn’t at all appropriate for a junior consultant. And yet, it wasn’t the skirt’s fault he couldn’t stop staring.

He cleared his throat and looked away. 

This wasn’t him. He wasn’t that guy—the type to ogle a junior or let his mind wander to places it had no business going. 

You were new, eager to learn, and assigned to him as your mentor because of his reputation for professionalism. And so, despite his initial lapse in judgment, he resolved to keep his thoughts in check.

But you didn’t make it easy.

You had this way about you—bright-eyed and ambitious, always so eager to please. Every time you asked him a question, you’d lean in, wide-eyed and genuinely curious, your voice sweet and lilting. When you listened, you bit your lip in concentration, nodding along like his every word was gospel.

Nanami told himself he was imagining it, that you weren’t actually flirting with him. You were just... enthusiastic. 

But then there were the moments that felt too deliberate to ignore. Like the time you stayed after hours, your blazer draped over the back of your chair, leaving only the silky blouse underneath. It wasn’t see-through exactly, but in the low light of the office, he could see the faint outline of your bra.

He forced himself to look at his monitor, jaw tight, and tried to focus on the report in front of him. “Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath. This was a slippery slope, and he wasn’t about to fall.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

Things escalated when you suggested the coffee chats. You’d said it so innocently, wanting to hear more about the job and his career path, but Nanami hesitated. 

Alone. With you. Outside of the office. It wasn’t a good idea.

Still, he agreed. He convinced himself it was harmless, part of his role as a mentor.

The first coffee chat was fine. He kept things strictly professional, answering your questions about client strategies and work-life balance. But then you started showing up in skirts shorter than usual, leaning forward a little too much when you laughed.

Your questions turned more personal—how he handled stress, what he did to unwind, if he’d always been this... dedicated.

He noticed your eyes drifting, lingering on his hands as he stirred his coffee, on the way his shirt sleeves strained against his forearms. And you—you—must have noticed the way his gaze followed the curve of your legs as you crossed them.

By the third ‘coffee chat’, Nanami couldn’t lie to himself anymore. He wanted you. Desperately.

He told himself it was harmless, that he could keep it professional even as his thoughts grew more explicit. But then came the late nights in his office. You’d stay back, asking for feedback on your work, standing close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off you.

“Thank you for your help, Nanami,” you said one night, looking up at him through your lashes.

He nodded stiffly, stepping back to create space between you. “It’s my job,” he replied, his voice gruffer than he intended.

He should have stopped it there. Should have set boundaries. But he didn’t.

All of this—the coffee chats, the lingering looks, the late nights—should have been a warning. 

It should have told you that eventually, you’d end up here: bent over his desk, legs spread wide for your mentor, who was more than happy to show you the ropes in a way that had nothing to do with consulting.

Nanami hadn’t intended to go this far. Truly, he hadn’t. But the moment your trembling voice broke into soft, pleading whimpers, any sense of guilt burst.

His mouth found its way to places he’d only imagined in quiet, shameful moments—places that had haunted his late nights and unguarded thoughts.

The slickness of your pretty pink folds coated his lips and chin, shining faintly in the dim light of his office. His name spilled from your mouth like a prayer, broken and reverent, as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

Nanami knew he was losing control. Knew he’d already crossed every line imaginable. But when he felt your thighs quiver on either side of his head, your fingers tugging helplessly at his hair, he could not have cared any less.

All of this—the coffee chats, the late nights, the way your body had grown so eager for his attention—should have given you an indicator—should have told you that you'd end up like this…breathless and undone in his office, his mouth working you open, claiming you in ways you couldn't have imagined.

And that, dear reader, is the story of how you were secured a permanent contract.