#this goes for every outing and not just the pool

[sixeyesonathiel]

HEAR ME OUT. TELL ME Y’ALL SEE THE VISION IMMEDIATELY.

satoru gojo is the hot mess heir to a political empire. not a real politician. just the kind who goes viral for saying, "honestly, i think more senators should be sexy."

you’re a journalist. you write about real things—corruption, nepotism, the tragic death of ethical standards—and yet. somehow. every week, you end up writing about him.

he shows up at your press conferences. gets caught on camera mid-wink. once sent you a bouquet of white roses after you called him a “walking diplomatic hazard” in print. he signed the card: “you forgot 'hot'.”

your editor thinks you're obsessed. your coworkers whisper. you keep getting anonymous tips about where he'll be—some gala, some scandal, some airport in rome shirtless with a wine glass—it doesn’t matter. you go.every. single. time.

and every single time, he catches you.

“oh my god,” he says, flashing his teeth, sunglasses halfway down his nose. “are you stalking me?”

“this is my job,” you say, like that means anything to him.

“you’re obsessed,” he grins. “honestly? it’s a little sexy.”

and then he walks away, leaving you red-faced with your press badge and a notebook full of quotes you’ll never publish.

(what you don’t know is: he sends the tips. he watches your articles go up like clockwork. every headline you write with his name in it is printed and pinned above his bed. like trophies. he treats the exposés you write about him as love letters.)

and the next time he sees you? he doesn't even wait for you to settle in, doesn't give you a second to breathe before he's smirking and saying, “jesus, you're here again? you need a restraining order or a diary.”

and then softer yet somehow crueler, “or is this just how you flirt?”

a/n: i’m actually gnawing at drywall from the need to write this. like. do you understand the spiritual pull of writing a reader who’s just trying to do her job but keeps catching this menace shirtless??? every time you follow a tip, he's coincidentally halfway into a pool, toweling off in front of a mirror, or just. inexplicably sweaty in a silk button-down that’s never actually buttoned. your editor’s like, “why do your pieces keep going viral?” and you’re just staring blankly at the analytics spike the moment THOSE EIGHT-PACK ABS hit the frame.

[mrs-understoods-blog]

Because someone requested, X-Men First Class Headcannons

Erik sleeps with the door fused shut with metal. Charles found this out because he would go to Erik's room to rant about the kids.

On the topic, Erik's bedroom is in the farthest corner from the main hall, looking out on the grounds. He likes to keep watch.

Charles tried to sleep in a different bedroom to distance himself from the memories in the manor, but it felt too wrong, and he moved back to his childhood room after the first night.

Raven is using this opportunity to go into every room she wasn't allowed in as a kid. Charles is the opposite; he still respects his parents' rules for the first week or two.

Charles and Raven both are very on edge in the first few weeks in the manor. Raven jumps when people knock on her door, and Charles can't let the phone ring for more than two rings before answering. Neither will talk about why.

Charles and Erik go on runs together. Erik doesn't tell Charles he usually goes on a run when he first wakes up. Because it's his second of the day he and Charles keep pace pretty well.

The kids tend to get drunk most nights and fuck around. Charles has to use every ounce of self control to not join in (he's responsible now!!!)

On the road trip, Erik would pass the time by asking Charles hyperspecific questions about mutations. Charles talked his ear off because he just got a PhD in this like a month ago.

Erik also hears all about Charles's plans to be a scientist. Years later he will bring this up to Charles, and Charles will be shocked that Erik remembered.

Erik wasn't actually very good at chess when they first met, he hadn't gotten much chance to play, but his moves were so ruthless and he was so smart that he quickly started beating Charles.

Charles did not go easy on Erik but he would pretend to think much longer than he needed to so it seemed like a fair fight.

Hank makes breakfast for everyone in the mornings. No one likes Hanks cooking but they are polite so everyone's eating oatmeal.

Charles and Alex spend a lot longer training than anyone else. He works with Alex every single day for at least a hour to unlearn all his beliefs about his powers.

Erik is annoyed by Sean to a unreasonable extent and he cannot explain why. It might be the hair.

Raven started a betting pool on if Charles and Erik had a crush on each other. Everyone's gut reaction was 'oh my gosh Raven no they are two MEN??' and then they had one (1) dinner as a group and yeah no Raven they see your point.

Hank and Raven are hooking up and absolutely insufferable to be around.

Erik never liked Raven, he flirted to further his political agenda.

Charles might actually die of nostaliga, he thinks he will be the first person. Sometimes he goes into his fathers old study, pours a drink, and talks to him and asks for advice. It's the closest Charles gets to praying.

Erik won't eat anything for the first week. Like, not one bite of food. Charles finally realizes that nothing is kosher and goes out and buys kosher food. It's a little... weird... but Erik will very gratefully eat the canned tuna and peaches.

Raven organized a squirt gun fight and no one told Erik. He walks in and gets assaulted before everyone realizes he was in fact, not playing, and they have to scatter.

(Charles knew Erik wasn't playing and squirted him anyway)

Erik went to Charles's room one night and asked him if he could unlock any other happy memories of him with his mother. Charles told stories about his biological father as a trade.

Kurt Marko is only referenced as 'our crazy step-dad'. One time, when Charles and Raven aren't there, everyone puts together what they know about him. It paints a pretty ugly picture.

[melaniegrass]

Turning but Resisting

Remmick x female reader

Summary: You're the one with the voice that lures Remmick to the juke joint and he succeeds in killing everyone, but you. Sooner than later he catches you in his wicked grasp eventually.

Warnings & Tags: ⚠️ MDI ⚠️ , preacher girl reader, coward reader, primal play, reader gets turned into vampire, dark Remmick

A/N: This is only proofread once, sorry for any grammatical errors. Please enjoy.

It’s been done and it’s game over for everyone. All their bodies lie limp, drowning in pools of blood. Everywhere in the juke joint is nothing but rubble. Chairs broken for weapons, tables flipped upside down, blood splattered on walls and the floor. Remmick did the place in with plenty of time left as the moon still shines.

Far off into the woods nearby your sobs echo. They are loud and pathetic, ruining the silence of the woods. It disturbs the animals running about in the darkness, but to Remmick it’s a beautiful symphony to his ears. His haunting laughter fuels your burning legs to keep going. Flashing on replay before your very eyes is the bile inducing events from the juke joint.

In bone-freezing fear, you beheld their brutal deaths one by one. Each of them put their lives on the line for you. They protected you from that vile monster, Remmick. Yet, your body wouldn’t even allow you the privilege to aid them in the fight. All you did was cling to your guitar and cry. Like a true coward you listened to Smoke’s last words as the light faded from his eyes.

“Run…hurry up and never look back.”

You spared him one last glance. Jumped out of the juke joint’s door from high up, tumbled to the ground in a crash and never looked back. Just as he told you to. Originally when you made it into the tree filled land you thought maybe you could escape the white devil. But that hope quickly shattered when you heard him calling out to you.

So, now you sprint, breathlessly. Dodging every branch, bush and log with precision. However, you don’t know how long you’ll last. Not to mention his mocking echoes seem to loom closer with each dashing step you take.

“Run all you want, but you know I’ll get you soon.”

Hearing his voice so close nearly trips you as your feet tangle from daring to peek over your shoulder. He’s right because the more you keep pushing onward the more your limbs grow heavy as lead. The arm carrying your guitar goes limp and a cramp blossoms to life in your ankle. Distracted by the new pain in your bone, a rock trips you.

Your body crashes, rolling wildly on the damp grass. You don’t stop until your side slams into a tree. It knocks the wind out of your lungs and for some time you lie there writhing in pain. The terrified little voice in your head yells for you to get up, but your body cries the opposite.

Grass crunching beneath a pair of shoes stirs you awake. It’s him and he’s not too far away.

“Aww, look at ya. You done went and hurt yourself. Poor thing,” he coos.

Shaking away the pain burning in your side you spring to life on your feet. You try sprinting away, but he’s faster. In a blur your back is slammed against the tree’s hard bark. His long, sharp claws hold you still. There he savors the sight. You, nails digging into his sleeve. Fresh tears threatening to fall as you whimper in his hold.

He licks his lips. “Be still, this'll only hurt a bit, darlin.”

You squirm in his iron grip like prey desperate to live. “No, no, no! Please, stop it! I don’t wanna die,” you sob.

Your cries fall on deaf ears as he leans in, sinking his razor teeth into your delicate flesh. Your skin easily tears and blood sprays everywhere. He hums, enjoying the sweet taste. The way your hands shake, gripping his shirt to how your voice wavers in pure shock. It fills him to the brim with cruel delight.

Misery comes, finding you quick and it brings guilt as well. They chew you to bits before spitting you out and worse of all remind you of the lives lost earlier. Each of their dying breaths sparks something new in you. An emotion you haven’t known all night—rage.

Ignoring the burning of your muscles in your arm, you slam the guitar in his head. He stumbles back on his feet, the guitar’s silver disk splitting his skull.

Free of his grip, you slip away past him. The aching pain spreading in your neck slows you. You silently sob, applying pressure on the grave wound. It’s pathetic, really. The way you drag your feet in a limp like an animal who barely escaped its hunter. Step after step your vision blurs. Regardless of the amount of pressure you force on your neck, the blood doesn’t stop gushing out.

“I don’t want to die. Please, god, please.”

Weak and tired from all the blood soaking your neck, your body leans on a tree. Slowly you sink to the grass. Your hand still resiliently presses on your neck as your head spins in endless loops.

A voice rings in your ears. It’s not yours. No, it’s his.

That’s it, just let go.

A wave, powerful and strong, hits you hard. It’s like your drowning, sinking further to the dark abyss. Deep where the light doesn’t shine. You fight against it, mind thrashing around.

Don’t fight the inevitable.

You can’t stop what’s already been written in blood, darlin.

Hanging on to what’s left of life by a thin thread, you see him. Through your blurry gaze you watch helplessly as he cradles you closer in his hold. His muscles flex, hooking around your torso leaving no space between you two. Instinctively, you tightly grasp at his shoulder for support.

He softly hushes you, kissing and licking away your tears. “It’s okay I’ve got you. I’ll take care of you.”

Then his voice comes again, but it’s everywhere in you.

You shove weakly at his chest, whining. “No, stop…get out.”

“Just let it happen, darlin.” His blood stained lips curl as he chuckles. “After all, you’ll let me in eventually.”

Part two?? Maybe?

@boogiemansbitch as promised I tagged you!! I hope this is how I’m supposed to do this loll

Preacher girl fanfic: https://www.tumblr.com/melaniegrass/785318948714446848/preacher-girl

[osapuppy]

BrothersBestfriend Eren! x FemReader!

Content: pantie sniffing and stealing, fingering angry sex, recording/photo taken, Mean n pervy, after care -ish, reader calls Eren rennie >o< !!

BBF (brothers best friend) ♡

BBF!EREN who’s: such a big meanie to you! Always teasing you, making fun of how you dress, telling you how bad you are at Mario cart, being all flirty to make you all flustered and shy.

BBF!EREN who: lifts up your skirt to see what kind of pretty pair of panties you decided to wear that day- AND to see that salty expression on your face,

BBF!EREN who: does all these mean stuff to you behind closed doors. Making sure your big brother doesn’t get suspicious. Especially when he grinds up behind you when you’re just trying to get water!

BBF!EREN who: goes to the bathroom just after you left from your shower to fish out the pair of panties you left in the hamper— putting them in his pocket for later.

BBF!EREN who: thinks you’re so so so pretty with your reading glasses on, he adores the way they slide down your nose as you suck his cock. He hates when you refuse to let him cum down your throat- but that only means he gets to cum on your face! And see his cum drip from your glasses to your cheek !!

BBF!EREN who: fingers you under the table at your family’s party, his fingers rubbing your puffy folds and sliding slowly in and out- hushing you to be more quiet already gaining the attention of your brothers growing suspicion

BBF!EREN who’s: addicted to your tight cunt, it’s truly like a drug to him- he can’t get enough of how your pretty pussy wraps around his cock. even if you start to whine and cry about how big he is, he only try’s to shush you and praise you for being so good for him.

BBF!EREN who: pulls you away from the pool party just to grope and kiss you all over, just cause you looked a little tooo pretty in your bikini.

“r-rennie stop! Someone’s could catch us!” “Nobody’s gonna catch us baby, not if you keep whining like that at least” he said as he puts his hand over your mouth and makes his way to untie your bikini straps. . .

BBF!EREN who: got soo mad when he over hears you talking to some random guy at party. The whole night he was just watching as this guys eyes you down and makes cringey small talk.

BBF!EREN who: bully’s his cock into you the whole night, calling you all sorts of cruel names- leaving harsh red marks all over your body, making you count how many times he spanked you. You don’t even remember how many times you even came, or how many times to came inside you!

"How often do you spread your legs for every dickhead who looks your way?" he snarls against your ear, slamming your hips into the wall with each thrust. His words are cruel and mean "How would your big brother feel knowing his little sister's a fucking whore?" He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him. "Such a pretty crier, you look pathetic under me dolly " His thrusts become more brutal.

BBF!EREN who: isn’t don’t with fucking your body til he’s stuffed you to the brim, he doesn’t stop to take a break- not for him or you. He keeps going til your belly if filled with his children.

BBF!EREN who: records you in every single angle and every single position you can possibly fathom. He has galleries beyond galleries of your stuffed pussy and photos of your fucked out face.

BBF!EREN who: walks to the bathroom to grab a damp towel and whispers sweet praises as he cleans you up. He grabs you a fresh pair of panties and brings you a new set of clean clothes. He stays there with you til your both ready to come back to the party

BBF!EREN who: loves you deeply and wants to keep you to himself, Eren doesn’t care about your brother anymore- he only wants you, and he WILL have you whether you like it or not :-)

Eren brainrot hitting hard- I WILL be writing more Eren you guys trust 🙏

[layce2015]

Stranger Things (Steve Harrington x Female!Reader)

Chapter 8: Suzie, Do You Copy?

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summer of 1985

It had been months since Max and I had first moved into Hawkins and finding out about the dark secrets the small town held. We also made some friends since moving here. Max became friends with Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin but she barely got to see Eleven as Hopper had to keep her secret and safe at his home.

And also, Lucas and Max were dating which I thought was great, Lucas is a good kid. Robin and I became best friends but I also grew close with Steve as we started talking and hung out after school. About a month ago, we both graduated from high school and Steve had tried to get into college but he never got accepted. And because of that, he had to get a job at an ice cream parlor, Scoops Ahoy, in the brand new mall called Star-court Mall.

And he wasn’t alone in getting this job. Robin and I ended up getting this job as well. I needed this job cause I wanted to save up to get an apartment as I wasn’t gonna go to college because I didn’t want to go. The only downside to this job was wearing these ridiculous sailor outfits.

The three of us were working tonight, which was extremely busy, and Steve and I were in the back parlor as I was cleaning up and he was gathering up supplies when we hear the bell ring and Robin call out to us. “(Y/n), Dingus, your kids are here!” 

Steve goes over to the window and open it up while I come up next to him to see Max, Mike, Lucas and Will at the front desk and I sighed. “Again? Seriously?” Steve asked them and they all look at us, trying to look all innocent.

Steve and I lead them to the back of the parlor and into the door that connected to the back area of the mall where they could get around to stores or the movie theater without anyone noticing. “I swear, if anybody hears about this...” Steve threatens the kids as they walk out of the door. “We're dead!” They replied in unison as they keep walking.

Steve sighs and I shake my head. “Kids.” I muttered as we walk back into the parlor and got back to work. Then a few minutes later, the power to the whole mall went out and everyone gasped as we look around. “That’s weird.” I muttered as Steve goes over to the light switch and keeps flicking it, like that would do something.

”That isn’t gonna work, dingus.” Robin said. “Oh, really?” Steve said and he aggressively flicks the switch, repeatedly, as a way to annoy Robin. I place my hand over my face and shake my head at this while Robin was beyond annoyed.

Finally, the lights came back on and Steve shrugs. “Let there be light.” He said, smugly, and he walks away and Robin scoffs then she turns to me. “You seriously have a crush on him?” Robin asked me, quietly, and I shoot her a glare. “Shut up.” I growled at her before I walk away and got back to work.

Yes, in the last couple months I’ve developed a crush on Steve. I mean sure, he can be an idiot at times and a bit irritating…but he can also be sweet and caring. He did try to protect the kids and I from Billy after all. We really got to know each other back in December and never stop talking through out the rest of the school year. Before I knew it, I had developed feelings for him.

The next day, I was driving Max over to Lucas’ house since Billy went to his work as a lifeguard at the pool. Dustin had been gone this past month at camp and today he was supposed to arrive back home, and the others wanted to surprise him. 

“So, you excited to see Dustin again?” I asked her. “Yeah, honestly, I missed that nerd.” Max said and I chuckled. “Yeah, that kid’s special.” I said. “So, how’s it at Scoops?” Max asked me. “Not too bad. Although, Lucas’ little sister is getting on my nerves on coming in every day just to taste test the flavors we got. I’m about to charge that little brat.” I grumbled and Max giggles.

”Yeah, and I’m sure it’s nice to work there since you got Steve there to look at.” Max teased and I scoff as she starts to make kissing sounds at me. “Stop it!” I said and she laughs again. “Come on, (y/n). It’s obvious you like him.” said Max. “No, I don’t.” I said, defensively, and I glance over to notice her giving me that look that said Really? 

“Okay, fine, I like him! But I don’t even know if he likes me in that way.” I said. “Have you ever tried talking to him about it?” Max asked me like it was so obvious. “It’s complicated.” I said. “How? Just go up to him and say hey, Steve, do you like me or not?” Max said. “When you get older you find out dating is a lot more complicated and complex.” I said and Max scoffs.

”Or maybe you’re just making it complicated.” She said and I rolled my eyes. “Look, it’s just…I don’t want to ruin the friendship we got now. Because I just know that if I ask him and he turns me down, then it’ll just be weird between us and I don’t know how to handle that.” I said before I let out another sigh. “Besides, he hits on any pretty girl that comes into the parlor to get a date with them. Robin’s been keeping scores.” I added.

”Is it bad?” Max asked and I chuckled. “He’s had five girls reject him.” I said. “Oh, damn.” Max mutters just as we pull up to Lucas’ house. “Okay, enough talk about my nonexistent love life. You go and have fun.” I tell her as she unbuckles her seatbelt and gets out of the car. “Will do.” Max said. “Love you.” I said. “Love you too.” Max said. “Tell Dustin hi for me.” I called out as she shuts the door. 

At work, Robin and I were in the back area of the ice cream parlor when Robin looks out then pats my shoulder. “Oh, he’s trying again.” She said and we stand by the open window that leads out to the front desk where I see Steve serving ice cream to a couple of pretty girls.

“Alrighty, one scoop of chocolate. That's a buck-twenty-five. Anything else?” Steve asked but one of the girls, who was wearing a college shirt, hands him the money. “Ooh, Purdue. Fancy.” He said. “Yeah, I'm excited.” The girl said and he ran she friend chuckle.

“Yeah, you know, I considered it, Purdue, but then I was like, you know what? I really think I need some real-life experience, you know, before I hit college, see what it feels like. Kinda like, uh, I don't know, see what it's like to earn a working-man's wage, you know? Uh...” Steve stumbles as he works on the register. Both Robin and I share a look at this as the register beeps.

“Oh, I'm sorry. I think that's, like, really important.” Steve said, embarrassed. “Yeah, totally.” The girl said. “Yeah, anyway, this was, like, so fun. We should kind of like, you know, I don't know, maybe hang out this weekend or...” Steve said as he tries to hand the girl her change but either she didn’t catch it or he missed her hand.

“Oh, sorry about that. Uh...I don't know. Maybe next weekend or...” Steve stammers. “Yeah, I'm busy.” The girl said, obviously not interested. “Oh, that's cool. I'm...I'm working here next weekend, so...the following weekend's better for me.” Steve said. “No. I'm sorry, I can't. Okay. Thanks.” The girl said as she chuckles, politely, then her and her friend leaves. 

“Board?” I asked Robin and she nods and I grab her board, which on one side that said You Rock and the other side said You Suck which had five tallies under it, and hand it to her. “And another one bites the dust.” Robin said. “You are oh-for-six, Popeye.” She said as she adds another tally. “Yeah, yeah, I can count.” Steve grumbles as he turns to us.

“You know that means you suck.” Robin said, a bit proudly. “Yep, I can read, too.” Steve said, annoyed. “Since when?” Robin asked, in fake surprise, and I chuckled a bit. “It's this stupid hat. I am telling you, it is totally blowing my best feature.” Steve groans, gesturing to the sailor hat on his head, as Robin sets the board aside. “Yeah, company policy is a real drag.” I said. “You know, it's a crazy idea, but have you considered...telling the truth?”

“Oh, you mean, that I couldn't even get into Tech and my douchebag dad's trying to teach me a lesson, I make three bucks an hour, and I have no future? That truth?” Steve asked me and I shrugged. “Honesty is the best policy.” I said, obviously, and Steve scoffs then Robin looks over Steve’s shoulder.

“Hey, twelve o'clock.” She said and he turns and I look over to see a group of girls walking in. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Okay... Uh...” Steve mutters as he turns back to us. “I'm going in. Okay? And you know what?” Steve said and he grabs his hat and tosses it aside. “Screw company policy.” 

“Oh, my God, you're a whole new man.” Robin said, sarcastically. “Right? Ooh.” Steve said then he turns around to the girls. “Ahoy, ladies! Didn't see you there.” Steve said, loudly, making the girls gasp. “Would you guys like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain. I'm Steve Harrington.” Steve said and the girls laugh a little.

“Can I get you guys a little taste of the Cherries Jubilee? No? Anybody? Banana Boat? Four people, four spoons? Share it in the booth? Anybody? It's hot out there.” Steve said and Robin and I share a look before she hands me the marker and I go over to the board and add another tally.

*3rd Person POV*

“Suzie! This is Dustin. Do you copy? Over.” Dustin said into his radio that he built at camp. He brought all of his friends outside to a hill just so he could show off that he has a girlfriend that he met at camp. But as the day turned to evening and no response from Suzie, Mike and Eleven had already left to go to her house. 

That left Lucas, Will and Max with Dustin as he continues to try and contact Suzie but still nothing as the evening turns into night while the other three were laying in the grass. “Suzie, this is your Dustin. Do you copy? Over.” Dustin said again but nothing but static. “Suzie...” Dustin said again but then Max speaks up.

“Dustin, come on! She's not there.” Max said, exasperated. “She's there, all right? She'll pick up.” Dustin said, defensively. “Maybe Cerebro doesn't work.” Will suggests as he sits up. “Or maybe Suzie doesn't exist.” Lucas says, annoyed. “She exists!” Dustin exclaims. “She's a genius and she's hotter than Phoebe Cates? No girl is that perfect.” Lucas said and Max sits up and glares at him.

“Is that so?” She asked and Lucas sits up, realizing his mistake. “I mean...you're perfect. I mean, like, per...perfect in your own way. In your special...your own special way.” Lucas stammers and Max chuckles. “Relax, I was teasing. I'm obviously perfect and Dustin's obviously lying.” Max said and Dustin frowns as Max gets up.

“Come on, Don Juan.” She said as she helps Lucas up and they start walking. “Where are you going?” Dustin asked. “Home.” Max replied and her and Lucas leave. “Well...guess it's just you and me, Byers.” Dustin said. “Um... it's late. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow we can play D&D. Or something fun. Like we used to?” Will suggests. “Yeah, sure.” Dustin mutters, upset.

“Welcome home.” Will said and he walks away, leaving Dustin all by himself. “Yeah. Welcome home.” He grumbles but then his radio starts to chatter. “Shit.” He said as he gets down on the ground. “Suzie? Suzie, is that you?” He asked into the radio but it wasn’t Suzie.

It was a man speaking a foreign language. 

He was speaking Russian.

*(y/n)’s POV*

I walked out from the back of the parlor, finishing up closing down the place, only to notice Max sitting in on of the benches outside of the parlor. “Hey, what are you doing here? Figured you’d be at Lucas’.” I said and she shrugs. “I’m a bit tired. Wanted a ride with you.” Max said and I nod. “Okay, well I’m done here.” I said and we start to leave.

”How did it go with Dustin?” I asked and Max goes on to tell me how they’re day went and that it kinda go boring when Dustin tries to contact a girl he claimed was his girlfriend from camp. “Dustin has a girlfriend?” I said, surprised, as we get into my car. “Well, he says he has one but I think he’s full of shit.” Max said and I shake my head. “I don’t know, Dustin doesn’t seem like a kid that would make that up.” I said and Max gives me a look of disbelief.

”Well, I mean, yeah, he has a great imagination but…lying about getting a girlfriend…I’m not sure.” I said. “Seriously? You believe it?” She asked me as I start the car. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just I want to see you guys happy, especially after what happened a few months ago.” I said and Max shrugs and we leave the mall and head back home.

[mirick-vn]

just got home from the pool so here's some vnc headcanons i have on how vnc characters would act at the pool

vanitas cannot swim. he can't. that man cannot swim. he is the very definition of a soppy wet cat, and i will stand upon this hill.

noé keeps getting out the water to go and eat little tidbits from the food table in their cottage. he probably got scolded by a lifeguard/staff for bringing food close or inside the pool.

i also like to think that domi thought jeanne was gonna come out of the changing room in a cute swimsuit or two-piece bikini but instead she's wearing a full-body rash guard (doesn't change a thing though, jeanne looks as beautiful as ever and domi is fawning over that fact)

speaking of swimwear, vanitas probably just threw on a cotton shirt and some shorts and called it a day. noé, like jeanne, also wore a full-body rash guard and by god did he look handsome. like domi, vanitas is also drooling over his partner. well not literally but you get my idea

[selfishpresley]

Listening to Lana Del Rey’s Honeymoon album and licking these photos…

This is Ultraviolence coded.

I neeeeed to be his young girlfriend with daddy issues!!

[croagunnnk]

wondering when my mom will lock the fuck in and get her shit moved out…

[holeforzenin]

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ TOJI LOVES YOUR CUNT EVEN MORE AFTER YOU GAVE BIRTH

Tw- Pussy & ass eating, prone bone, daddy kink, heavy breeding. Lots of dirty talk tbh, praising. Toji lowkey goes crazy. Not proofread.

You don’t quite understand the obsession but you don’t mind it either. The moment you place your baby in his wooden crib and sink into the living room couch, savoring the precious little time you have before your baby boy wakes up again.

Toji’s kneeling behind you. Both of his broad hands gripping your soft cheeks, tantalizingly spreading them apart— desperately trying to gain the best access to your little holes as much as possible.

You’re trying to relax into the warm fluffy pillows, trying to catch your breath but Toji doesn’t let up— he’s buried between your thighs, his lips and nose gliding over your dripping cunt and puckered hole, shamelessly coating his face in your slick and groaning like a fucking animal as if it’s the best thing in the world.

Toji swears your pussy’s been damn near addictive since you gave birth. He says it’s sweeter, messier— flooding the second he so much as brushes his fingers over you. He’d smirk and tells you he can smell it the moment you get horny, like your cunt’s dripping and calling for him before you even know it yourself.

His breath is hot against your skin, his deep groan sending vibrations straight to your core. “Told ya, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up the slick seam of your folds, his nose bumping against your clit. “You’re so fucking sweeter now. Like this pussy was made just for me after I knocked ya up”.

You shudder, burying your face into the couch cushion as his hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to his eager mouth. You’re still sensitive—your body changed after giving birth and Toji has been nothing but obsessed with every little difference.

The way your thighs are softer, the way your belly has a gentle curve to it now, the way your cunt practically flutters for him the moment he gets his hands on you. “Fuck,” you whimper, hips jerking as his tongue dips into your entrance, lapping up the wetness that seems to never stop pooling for him.

He hums in satisfaction, the sounds downright filthy as he drinks you up like a man starved.

“You don’t even realize it, do ya?” His voice is husky, dripping with something dark and possessive. “How easy you open up for me now. How much hungrier this cute pussy is”.

He presses a kiss to your swollen clit, grinning against you when your body trembles. “Bet I could slip in right now without a fight. So damn wet for me”.

Your face burns but the heat pooling in your belly is undeniable. You don’t understand it— why he’s so obsessed, why his hunger for you has only intensified after you gave birth. But the way he devours you, the way he worships every inch of your body makes it too impossible to care.

“Toji,” you gasp, fingers gripping the couch as his tongue flicks against your clit in teasing little strokes, his pace deliberately slow. He wants to savor this, wants to draw it out and you know he won’t stop until you’re shaking from overstimulation.

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is muffled as he buries his face deeper between your thighs, groaning like he’s addicted to your taste. “Go on, tell me how much you love it when Daddy eats your pretty pussy”:

He presses a few affectionate kisses to your messy clit and leaky entrance, drawing cute little whimpers and hums from you before his hands spread you wider, thumbs digging into the plush of your ass as his tongue trails higher, circling the tight ring of muscle.

You stiffen, a shiver rolling down your spine as his hot breath fans against your most sensitive spot. “Daddy— mmph, m’sensitive there!”.

“Relax baby,” Toji rasps, pressing wet kisses along the curve of your ass. “Already know how much this tight little hole loves me”.

Your breath catches when he licks a slow, teasing stripe over your rim, his tongue warm and slick as he coats you in his spit. He groans deep in his chest like he’s savoring the taste like he’s getting off on knowing how vulnerable you are beneath him.

“You never used to let me touch you here,” he muses between wet licks, his fingers gripping your hips, digging into your skin, and keeping you exactly where he wants you. “Now look at you— spread open, and winking against my tongue”.

A whimper escapes you as he flicks the tip of his tongue over the tight ring, pressing just enough to make you clench. He chuckles at your reaction, his fingers kneading the flesh of your ass as he works his tongue in slow savoring circles.

“Fuck,” you whisper, trying not to make too much noise in fear of waking up your baby. You buried your face further into the couch cushions, your body betraying you as your hips arch into his hungry mouth.

Toji hums in satisfaction, his tongue pressing more insistently against you now, licking and prodding until your walls flutter. The sensation is foreign but toe-curling all the same. His spit drips down to your already-soaked cunt, mixing with your arousal as he devours you like he can’t get enough.

“Should’ve been doing this sooner,” he groans, pulling back just enough to admire the way your hole twitches, shiny with his spit. “So fucking pretty like this. All mine”.

His words send a rush of heat straight to your core and when he dives back in, lapping and sucking, making a filthy mess of you— you can’t do anything but take it, your body melting under his relentless tongue.

And if the two of you are lucky enough to get more time alone, he’s pinning you down and climbing on top of your helpless body, fucking you deep in a rough prone bone, your soaked pussy squelching loudly with every thrust.

While he’s gently stroking your hair, whispering the filthiest sweet nothings like he’s not currently stuffing you full and dragging more cum out of your messy, overstretched hole and leaking down his cock and coating his thighs.

He fucking loves the mess you make— thick cream smeared all over the base of his fat cock, dripping down and matting into his curly pubic hair. It’s so filthy and proof to him of just how good he makes you feel— how wrecked you are for him.

He grinds in slow, deep circles just to watch it spread more, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he mutters, “Look at that, baby… all fucking mine”. And with you laid out flat beneath his big, muscular figure, helpless in prone bone— there’s nowhere for you to run.

He’s got a palm pressed firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down like the fucktoy you are, grinding his cock deep into your used sloppy cunt.

“Fuckin’ tight cunt,” he growls, rutting into you harder and rougher now like he’s trying to mold his shape into your body all over again. “Fuckkk, You’d think one kid would be enough but this greedy cunt’s begging me for another”.

He presses his chest flush to your back, hips grinding in deep, letting you feel every inch as he rolls his hips just right— thick and mean like he’s made to breed. “Carried my baby once, didn’t you? Took every drop and swelled up all pretty. You were made for it. This pussy was made to take my seed”.

You whimper, trembling beneath him and he just laughs— low, dark, and possessive. “Already stretched you out once and you still get this fucking tight around me. You want another, don’t you? Want daddy to stuff you full again till this pussy swallows it all and you’re knocked up and waddling around with my next one?”.

He slams back in hard, groaning at the wet slap of your bodies. You can barely answer— your body is too overwhelmed by the pounding rhythm, your pussy so full, so stretched from the first fat load he gave you.

But he doesn’t care. He just wants more. Wants to feel you swell up again, wants to see you overflowing full of his seed, a reminder that you belong to him and only him.

He shifts his hips, pounding harder and deeper, grinding his cock around your sensitive, already abused walls. His heavy, cum-filled balls slap against your sloppy cunt as he groans. “Gonna fill you so full that you won't be able to walk straight after this”.

He grins wickedly as he feels the way your body twitches around him. He knows you’re close— he could expertly feel the tension building in your cunt, the way your body is ready to take everything he has to offer. “Say it,” he demands, his voice rough and dark. “Say you want another. Say you want me to fuck another cute little baby into you”.

You don’t need to be told twice. Your words are a broken plea, desperate and eager. “Mmm— Please, want another… p-please fill me up again, fuck wanna carry your baby again, daddy”.

That’s all he needs. He slams into you one last time, pushing deep and letting out a low growl as he empties into you, filling your cunt with his hot, thick cum. His grip tightened on your hips as he spills every last drop.

He fucks you through it, dragging out the orgasm and making sure you’re full. When he finally stops, he’s still breathing hard, sweat decorating his chest as he pulls out slowly, watching his cum spill from your hole before he plugs his tip back in.

“That’s right,” he breathes, his voice rough and husky. “Gonna keep you full. Gonna keep stuffing you until you carry every single one of my babies”.

After, with a tender kiss on your forehead, he slips out of bed, moving around to get you water, snacks and whatever you need. He lets you relax and recover while he takes care of the baby for the rest of the day.

It’s a quiet, peaceful moment— nothing but his soothing presence and the soft sounds of him playing with your baby boy in the next room. You can rest and do whatever you need to recharge, knowing he’s got everything handled while his next baby is in the process.

[goaskangel]

nanami really loving you on valentine's day!

cw : aggresive, perv nanami, groping, dry humping, breeding(?), alcohol mention, yummy asfff

word count : 1.8k

you may have gone overboard with the cleaning. your apartment doesn’t look lived in, more like an IKEA showroom. it’s not like nanami’s an inspector, he’s your boyfriend. new though, you’re not very close and it’s only been a couple of months but he was manly enough to ask you to be his valentine, how could you resist!

he’s just so perfect, you daydream while flattening the creases of the couch’s pillow. golden and groomed blonde hair, ironed suits, old fashioned manners. how his voice goes softer when he’s speaking to you, his strong teeth and subtle smile only coming out for you. it feels like you’ve won a national prize every time you break his calm and collected attitude and manage to make his pale complex warm up. you dimmed the living room since you planned a casual movie-night with him, hopefully not too casual for him. 

god knows he’ll show up in his signature suit and sit up-right while you play a stupid rom-com. that would be kind of nice. finally all alone, together, on a comfy couch. you could crawl onto his lap, tug on his tie, lick on his collared neck. kiss him like you mean it, no fear of the public. 

you squint at your suddenly changed thoughts and get up with a sigh, knowing him, he might not make a move. but he’s only a man…?

you wait for the door’s bell. when it comes, you give yourself a few seconds and fix your hair before walking to the door. you can’t make it seem like you’d been waiting, that’d be ridiculous. suddenly your thoughts of changing your clothes because it’s a bit too chilly pass your mind when you see him. like lava streams in your blood, you warm up to a casual nanami. a pretty man dressed in a gray sweatshirt that painfully compliments his skin showed up timely to spend time with his girlfriend on valentine’s, you could faint!

“hello. picked up flowers on the way, these are for you.” he tilts the bouquet, your favorite, towards you gently, grinning warmly, making his eyes squint. you swear you could eat his face. 

“thank you, thank you!” you’re handed the flowers as he steps closer to you, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead as you take them, inhaling the floral aroma mixed with his peppery and woody cologne.

“i love them, but you didn’t have to, really.”

“it’s valentine’s day and the least i could do.” same soft smile on his lips. 

you smile, too hard, at his gesture and move to the side to let him in. he kicks off his shoes as you quickly close and lock the front door, placing the flowers on the kitchen counter. 

“it’s not too hot in here, i hope.” 

“it’s just fine,” he offhandedly observes the room, an appreciation for what you’ve done to the place. he tugs at his sleeves and rolls them up, revealing strong forearms. jesus christ. you snap out of your gaze and rush to sit at the couch, a thick blanket and a couple of fluffy pillows decorated the comfy space. rich chocolate and drinks already set at the coffee-table, and his favorite desserts from a bakery? you pat at the spot next to you and hold back a giggle when he sits next to you. his black pants spreading neatly over his thighs, your eyes carefully wandering to the seam of the zipper, your mouth pooling. 

“here, get comfy.” you toss the large pull-over on the both of you, taking in the sight of him, shuffling closer to you and warming up to the blanket around him. 

“quite a fine home you’ve got, it’s extremely cozy.” he throws an arm over you. 

“i try. it’s not usually this… tidy.”

“what? you’re trying to impress me?” he teases. 

“it’s your first time over, i wanna make you feel good an’ comfy.” 

“well, it’s working.” he smooths his hand over your hot cheek, the metal of his ringed index finger brushing over you.

you spend the remaining time opening chocolate and bakery boxes, feeding each other and occasionally kissing while a movie plays in the background. you hope for any move during the time he’s with you, any move at all. maybe a lingering kiss. it’s so distracting the way the shadows of the dark room and light source from the tv brighten his sharp features. you’re leaning into his warm chest as his fingers graze over your exposed thighs, sipping the wine you bought that he surprisingly, and thankfully, really enjoyed. 

another scene of the characters just talking and spilling lore, he sets the half-full glass down and focuses on you. eyes on the screen but his palm has splayed to soothe and grope over your thigh. he notices your obedience, spreading your legs just by the tiniest bit. his slips his hand into your inner thigh and that’s where you roll your body slowly. 

his eyes are now on you, and your bodies mingled under the sheet as you watch the movie. mmm, thank god you wore thin shorts and a random t-shirt. you feel as his fingers graze over your thinly covered cunt, tips coming down to rub your clit. your gaze stays straight but you don’t focus, you’re unable too.

“c’mere,” nanami fixes your slouched posture so you sit with your back on his chest, your legs open and pliable for him to touch and grope at your body. 

“kento.” you mumble, dazed, when his hand slides underneath your damp panties to tease at your folds. 

“mhm, you’re so beautiful.” he sniffs at your hair as his other hand grips under your bra to hold and fondle your breast. the wine was really getting to you both. a sudden pulse at your lower back as he grinds gently into you, how tight had his pants gotten? 

finally, finally, he got his hands on you. even under a blanket, you look down to watch the fabric move in waves as he rubbed your most sensitive parts, the alcohol heightening your senses. skilled hands pacing gentle but greedy circles on your buds as you gripped the remote. you appreciate his sexual activity, it’s just so much more aggressive than you thought he ever could be. his sweet words and gestures all hid his intrusive and perverse actions.

“god, i need to feel you.” he highlights his eagerness with an extra squeeze. you pathetically push the blanket off the couch and with trembling hands, you move yourself to face him. he lays himself down as you sit on his lap. you moan quietly when you feel him against your soiled shorts, bucking your hips down to get more of the twitching sensation below his belt. humping the fat chub under his pants, you craved it more than anything.

“uh-huh, that’s good. baby, you’re so good to me. that’s it.” his hands hold a bruising grip on your hips as you grind slowly but firmly on his hard cock. 

“couldn’t stop thinking about this,” he groans when you rub your fat cunt directly on his tip, “this pretty body on mine, you’re so fucking hard to resist.” his cursing going right to your achy clit. you hop off and watch him violently take his belt off, switching your spots and filling the void between your legs with his hips. pulling his sweater off and tossing it as you do the same with your top. his pale skin so handsome and soft with his softer muscles and a layer of fat on his stomach from eating all his favorite breads. so sexy, you wrap your legs around his waist. you shake your head at the condom he pulls out from his pocket. 

“needa feel you, your cock in me, please. don’t want anything between us, kento, please please. it’s valentine’s, let me do this for you.” 

“perfect girl, you’re gonna kill me.” but he complies, gladly tossing the latex and pulling the confinements of his cock down. you whine at his contents. big and hard, the first time you’ve seen this part of him. you love it, he hasn’t even fucked you and you already love it, love him. 

you nod aggressively when he lines his chubby, weeping tip against your soppy pussy. letting it catch a few times as he rocks back and forth, the moves of his sexy hips making you throb. he fulfills his own fantasies of his raw cock on his beautiful girl’s wet cunt whilst she begs for him to fill her up and make her his. 

“you want it, sweetheart?”

“more than anything, yes yes yes.” 

“no protection, nothing protecting you? you sure, love? it’s risky.”

“don’t care. i’ll have your babies if you want to, if i have to – jus’ give it to me.” 

“mmm, babies, huh… you sure that’s not the wine talking?” sick, even if it wasn’t the lust from being slightly tipsy, he wouldn’t, couldn’t, stop himself.

you could cry with all the teasing he’s doing but you lose your breath when he pushes himself into your perfect, tight cunt. all his. he takes your limp and delicate upper frame to his advantage and undoes your bra. nanami rolls himself deeper into you as he watches your pretty tits bounce with every move. 

“so good, ken, thank you..!” as he presses himself into the depths of your cunt. you're unbelievably tight and so warm when he bottoms out as far as he can without really breaking you in. 

he’s slow, eager and certainly not collected as he usually is but he takes his time to fuck you. you’re so drunk on lust and sex that you just agree to whatever he says. his pretty girl wants to be all his? have his kids? marry him and be taken care of and fucked so good daily? you nod and babble to all of it. as he speeds up, his sloppy kisses and skilled tongue on your nipples slow and he concentrates on making you both come. the movie ended a while ago and the rooms filled with groans and moans, sloppy and slippery squelches and slaps. 

his kisses his thumb wet and massages little circles into your sensitive clit. you writhe at not only the delicious friction but how you tighten up again around his cock, stretching you out all over again. 

“close, i’m close. keep fucking me, kento, yes, mhm. yesyesyes..” you jump at the overwhelming, intense orgasm and milk out every single ribbon of creamy cum into you. growling and furrowing his dark brows as he creams directly at your cervix. 

“good, good girl.” he snaps through his teeth as he finishes inside you. smoothing his hand over your pelvis and under your naval. gasping and panting as you both collect yourselves. he sinks down to rub his sweating face into your neck, kissing you gently again as you pull and stroke his blonde locks. ending such a day with all his love! <3

happy valentine's day you FREAKS

masterlist

[screampied]

✧ ⁺˳ cw. fem! reader, unprotected, vīrgin gojo, established relationship, doggy, whiny gojo, premature ejac, mdni.

loserboy gojo who’s so confident to fuck you stupid once you give him a chance but folds the moment he goes inside raw for the first time.

he blabbers and blabbers to you on a daily of how there’s over ten thousand nerves in the clit, how he’s just so ‘good with his fingers’ and even brags at how his good his strokes are.

but the moment he’s leisurely delving his cock into your sopping walls, ogling at how easy his blushing pink tip disappears onside you, he grunts. so warm, you’ve got the stretch that’s so gripping that it practically gives him whiplash. “ngh, such a pretty girl, thaaaat’s it,” a single breath rips from his windpipe, combing a few fingers against the fat edges of your ass. you moan, instinctively wriggling your hips against his pelvis and he hisses. “fuck, fuck baby, godddd.”

and already, he’s a mess.

naturally sheeny slick lips rub against each other as he digs his slender fingers, slender fingertips into the soft parts of your flesh. gojo’s shaking, he’s never felt it from the inside, he’s shaking so much that it’s almost mouthwatering. a swirling pool of saliva starts to fill inside his mouth as he’s gradually trying to make a thorough piston of his hips. “s- satoru, harder,” you moan, and you feel his dick twitch inside of you almost immediately.

as he’s deepening himself inside, he shudders.

by now, his eyes become droopy.

gojo stares at your body, perfectly arched and hunched over.

as you’re in such a lewd position of doggy, a plump, sweaty thumb of his traces against the curvature of your body.

“s- sooo pretty,” he coos out, and he’s feeling the crazed repetitive throb on his tip accelerate. each second he spends inside, trying to give you every inch, he’s about to lose it. he’s panting, huffing out short breaths as the squelches of your cunt makes him ten times harder. once his hips finally start, he yanks onto the back of your shirt. the fabric makes a shrilling riiiip and you could hear it tearing a bit from his feral grip. “ugh, ‘s warm inside baby, ‘m not gonna last.”

and he doesn’t last—

all that talk about fucking you stupid, making you moan his name, and he’s the one babbling yours.

lengthy snowy lashes squeeze themselves tight as he’s barely even giving you any pumps. he’s practically humping your cunt like a pillow, trying to memorize specific positions from this one thread he’s read. a thread that had a title of ‘how to fuck a girl right, no clickbait.’

and of course, with a smug conceited grin, satoru clicks the link, jotting down everything in his notes.

he was gonna be the best you’ve had.

yet, the moment he’s stuffed inside your sloppy pussy, he could barely last a few seconds. because as his breaths continue to grow raspier and raspier, he’s already cumming.

it shoots out quick— it’s hot, velvet ropes pour inside between your folds as he’s trying to reel you back against him.

clashing, rutting hips that come to a brief halt once he realizes he came too quick. pretty lips curl into a surprised ‘o’ and his husky grunt makes your own cunt pulsate. his hits against you was sloppy, rhythm barely able to keep up a pace. you’re on all fours, feeling his entire cock from his flustered crown plug you in until you feel his body rumbling against you.

“o- oh, fuck fuuuckkk,” he whimpers, trying to thrust some more but he’s already finished.

out of all the enemies he’s fought, gojo satoru was never no match for your sweet, sweet cunt.

the real villain,

he’s feeling himself dump into you raw and he can feel droplets of drool dribble down his chin.

it’s so tepid inside, sweltering your gummy walls up to your womb with his sticky, oozing cum. you moan, raising your ass up as he’s still got clammy fingertips burying into the depths of your skin.

you’ve got him drooling for more, heaving heavy pants exiting from his full lungs and his bottom lip quivers. he watches with docile, blown irises at the way your pussy sucks it up.

he’s dimwitted, witnessing as a pretty milky, translucent form around his weighty base. his tip was a reddened pink, and the thought of pulling out only makes him whimper. he’s addicted, and more importantly, he’s whipped.

a bundle of slender fingers wisp near your runny, full pussy before he swipes a thumb across, getting a taste himself.

“y- you taste so sweet with my cum,” he hiccups, hissing almost immediately after you teasingly jerk your hips back against him. “ngh, baby. wish you could see this mess. ‘s sloppy ‘n so pretty,” and he’s still buried deep, to the very hilt before slowly pulling out.

the moment gojo does, your folds gradually emits out his seed and it’s so sexy.

the way his sloppy seed bubbles out, he licks his lips, a feral look burning against his pupils for more. more of you.

he could watch this view all day — you’re curling up your toes in blissful rapture as you feel his bright, blue eyes burn into your backside. “god, ‘s gonna spill out. hold on, baby.”

“s- satoru,” you whine, and that’s when you heard a bit of shuffling. without even thinking, he gets down and flicks his tongue against your soddened cunt, lapping up the bitterly sweet taste of his own cum. he moans against your entrance, burring low grunts vibrate against your clit before his faint sucks turn into filthy slurps. “mh, good boy, ‘toru. jus’ like that.”

and he feels his flaccid dick twitch at your praise. gojo reaches down toward his twitching shaft, a big hand wrapping around it before stroking it off to your sweet, melodic voice. “again,” he whines, his rickety hips now humping against the thick cloudy bedsheets. as his nose brushes up against your pussy, he continues to drink you clean, swirling the tip of his feverish pink tongue against the mess he created.

“call me a good boy, w- wanna be your good boy, baby.”

[em1i2a3]

Spanish Sahara

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

Summary: After a rough week at the Thunderbolts Compound, the team goes out for some drinks to wind down and enjoy themselves.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts because Bob and other characters from the movie are in here. Fluff, and Smut are the main warnings here, Bob and Reader have an established friendship.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (wrap it up y’all), Praise/Worship Kink, Breast Play, …Something involving a mirror, Very light choking, Oral Sex (f! And m! receiving), Fingering, Swallowing, Bob is a frickin softie as usual because that’s hot but he definitely has his moments in this, Overstimulation, Teasing, Aftercare to the max because being taken care of after hot sex is…Wheew lol. I don’t think I missed anything

Author’s Note: I saw a lot of people requesting more smut and I thought as a nice little break from the super long fics that I’m working on (that request box has a lot of them and I’m chipping away at it as much as possible!) I’d write a nice little one-shot for y’all to celebrate a random Friday in May 😂 enjoy!! (Side note, I also had a funny little ask about how I name my posts lol, I literally just picture the songs in what I’m writing, the title changes like three times by the time I post it lol)

Word Count: 13,796

The bar was loud, crowded, and hazy with cheap smoke and too many conversations happening at once–but Bob was only paying attention to you, and attempting to look normal in his surroundings, which was always a complicated feat for him.

You sat across from him in the booth, your body framed in golden lamplight and neon beer signs like some half-lit portrait in an art museum. You looked too good to be real–flushed with warmth from your second tequila pineapple of the night, bare-legs crossed just enough to make his brain short-circuit, lips glossed a cherry red like you’d done it just to ruin him.

And maybe, somewhere deep down, he thought you had.

The others were scattered across the bar like background noise–Ava and Yelena flanking the bar with their usual chaotic grace, Walker and Alexei pounding back shots and shouting about God-knows-what, and Bucky leaning over the pool table, unknowingly feeding lines to a group of women who didn’t care if he could shoot or not.

But Bob hadn’t looked away from you in nearly half an hour.

Not when you uncrossed and re-crossed your legs beneath the table, the movements slow and fluid, like you wanted to give him something to look at. Bob’s eyes had followed the motion instinctively–drawn to the soft slide of skin, to the way your thighs shifted beneath the hem of your black tailored shorts. They were high-waisted and fitted, hugging the dip of your waist and the curve of your hips, cinched with a single gold button that glinted every time you moved.

You’d paired them with that wicked bodysuit–the one that clung to your body like second skin, high-cut at the hips and daringly low in the front, just enough to frame the soft curve of your cleavage without giving away too much. It was backless, sleeveless, and made of some silky, matte fabric that shimmered faintly in the bar light. You wore it like armor, like a challenge.

Your legs were bare, golden under the dim glow, crossed at the knee with one foot tucked behind the other–long, lean, and deliberate in how they were presented. Every detail about your look tonight felt curated–not in a fake way, but in the kind of way that said I know exactly what I’m doing to you. And Bob? Poor Bob looked like he was under your spell.

He couldn’t stop looking.

Every time your drink got dangerously low and you leaned forward–elbows resting on the table, cleavage pressing softly together–you dragged the last sip from your straw with a slow, teasing pull that made something in him twist. He watched the way your lips curled around it, how a single droplet of condensation slid down the side of the glass and clung to your fingers. He was transfixed.

You laughed at something the waitress said–he didn’t even register what–and it echoed in his chest like a bell. That sound always got to him.

And tonight, he wasn’t hiding it. Not well, anyway.

His eyes kept drifting–over your mouth, the curve of your collarbone, the smooth stretch of your exposed shoulders, down to the shadowed dip between your breasts. Then he’d catch himself and flick his gaze up like he could undo what he just saw. Like he was trying to remind himself that he respected you too much to stare, even though he’d been staring for months.

He was trying so hard to be polite. His hands were clenched in his lap, fingers tangled and twitching like they were holding back something much stronger than impulse. His posture was rigid, like his own body was betraying him one muscle at a time.

He was always like that around you–reserved, yes. But it wasn’t just shyness. It was respect. Fear. Like every thought he had about you was too big to name out loud. Like if he touched you, he’d never forgive himself for crossing that line.

But he’d already crossed it, hadn’t he? Not physically–but emotionally, because Bob Reynolds had been in love with you for a long, long time.

And you knew it.

You saw it in the way he always noticed when you were tired after a mission, the way he made you tea without asking, or stayed behind in training sessions he wasn’t even involved in just so you’d have someone to spot you. You saw it in the way he flinched when someone else made you laugh, or how his voice went into a cracked whisper only when he said your name.

He was putty in your hands. And you loved it. Not because it gave you power–but because he let you have it. Because he trusted you with it.

And as much as the friendship meant to you–deeply, intimately–you’d stopped lying to yourself months ago. Your brain was always a few steps ahead, mapping the timeline of how you’d get from here–from this bar booth and his helpless eyes–to there. To a place where Bob Reynolds was no longer just your best friend, but something closer. Something that meant yours.

So you didn’t say anything. You just watched him.

Watched how his breath caught every time you shifted. How he wet his lips nervously when you leaned forward. How the pulse in his neck jumped like he could feel your eyes on him.

His fingers twitched again, folded too tight in his lap. You followed the motion, noted the way his knuckles went white.

There was a sheen of sweat on his temple now–barely noticeable unless you were looking for it, which you were.

And poor Bob didn’t even realize how obvious he was.

So you decided to make it worse for him.

You slipped off your shoe under the table and slowly–very slowly–ran your foot up the length of his shin. A gentle drag, barely a touch, but intentional. Controlled. The kind of touch that said I see you. And I want you flustered.

Bob jolted like you’d zapped him with a live wire.

His leg knocked the underside of the table with a hollow thunk, and his hand shot out, sloshing his Coke Zero just short of the edge. His knuckles were white around the glass. His jaw dropped slightly like he meant to say something but forgot what language was.

His cheeks–already pink from the warmth of the room and the low buzz that he was getting from just being around you–flushed deeply, the color spreading up his neck and painting his ears red. You swore even his throat blushed. He pushed his light brown hair out of his face nervously, like he was afraid it would cloud his vision of you.

You tilted your head, smirking. “Cold in here?”

He blinked like he’d just come out of a trance. His lashes fluttered rapidly over wide blue eyes–those eyes, impossibly pale and clear, glassy with surprise and something raw beneath it. Want, maybe. Or fear.

“Y-Yeah,” He stammered, voice cracking slightly. “A–A little drafty.”

“Mmm.” You stretched in your seat, arms rising lazily above your head, making sure the movement pulled the neckline of your bodysuit lower. The fabric shifted with you, stretching softly across your chest, exposing a bit more of the delicate skin he’d been trying so hard not to look at.

His gaze dropped like he didn’t even mean to let it.

And then he swallowed–hard–his Adam’s apple bobbing visibly in his throat.

But Bob didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His breathing had gone shallow, his tongue caught against the roof of his mouth like he’d forgotten how to form words. He looked like he was choking on air.

You didn’t let up.

Your foot moved again–slow, deliberate, and this time it brushed higher, just right on the inside of his thigh, where the heat of his body was more noticeable. Where he was trembling.

His breath hitched instantly, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped him–a sharp exhale, half-panic, half-arousal. His fingers dug into the wooden edge of the booth like he was bracing for impact.

You leaned forward again, closing some of the distance between you, letting your arms rest on the table and your chest push together ever so slightly in the low light. He couldn’t look away.

“You’ve been looking at me like that all night, Bob,” You said, your voice velvet-soft, the tone curling up his spine.

His head snapped up like you’d struck him–eyes wide and wild with guilt, pupils dilated in the low light. His brows pinched upward with alarm, his mouth parting in a panicked breath.

“I… I didn’t mean to–” He rushed out, but it came out broken.

You reached across the space between you, wrapping your hand around his wrist before gently cutting him off

“I want you to look.”

He froze.

His whole body went still, like he was afraid to breathe. His eyes–so ocean-bright and boyishly soft–flicked over your face with disbelief, feeling your thumb run over the exposed skin of his wrist.

You smiled at him again, slower this time. Not to tease. But to reassure.

“I like that it’s you,” You said, your voice dipping into something quiet and unshakably sincere.

He blinked, slow and stunned. His lashes cast little shadows under the low-hung light, and you saw the exact moment something cracked in his chest.

“You’re the only one,” You continued, “Who’s never looked at me like I’m a game to win. Or a body to take. You look at me like I’m something you’re afraid to break. Like I’m something you cherish.”

His lips parted again–slightly dry, slightly trembling.

And you saw it. The shimmer in his eyes. That wide, overwhelmed expression he wore when you said something that hit too close to the truth. He looked like he might cry. Or faint. Or bolt. But instead…He stayed.

Frozen, but present.

You reached for your drink again with your free hand and took the last sip, dragging the straw into your mouth with deliberate slowness, never breaking eye contact.

Bob’s eyes tracked every inch of the motion. You could see the subtle twitch in his jaw, the little hitch in his shoulders, like he was physically holding himself back.

Then you licked a drop from your bottom lip.

And that did him in.

His breath faltered again, and his eyes–so blue, so open, so obviously in love with you–looked at you like he’d forgotten where he was. Like the world had narrowed down to just your lips, your voice, your body framed in shadow and gold light.

You tilted your head, gaze gentle now. That look you always gave him when he was spiraling. When he needed to know he was safe. That he was wanted.

He looked like he didn’t deserve it.

But you knew better.

And finally, after a long, shaky breath–his lashes fluttering like he was about to pass out—he leaned forward.

His voice barely rose above the din of the bar, cracked and breathless and close enough to touch.

“I…I think about y–you.”

The words came out like a confession. Like a sin.

He didn’t stop.

“More than I should,” He said, gaze darting to the table, then back up again like it physically hurt him to hold your eyes. “More than…What’s okay.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t interrupt. You let him say it.

“I just…” His throat worked again. “If I ever got to touch you–I don’t think I’d want to stop.”

Your chest ached at how sincerely he meant it. Like it wasn’t just about sex. Like it was everything, like it meant everything.

Your hand on his wrist slid down so your palm was over his, feeling the warmth of him–the quiet trembling, the softness of his skin.

“Bob,” You said softly. “What would you do if I didn’t want you to stop?”

His lashes fluttered at you–confused, hopeful, scared–but he didn’t pull away, not like he would normally. If anything, he leaned in like you had said something that brought him closer.

Your hand stayed where it was, palm against palm, but your fingers began to move–softly tracing the lines in his hand like you were reading him. Like you were studying a map only you had permission to follow. You let your fingertip trail along the length of his lifeline, then up the curve of his thumb, dipping gently between the web of his fingers. He flinched–barely–but you felt it. Saw the way his breath shuddered quietly through his nose, the way his fingers twitched like they wanted so badly to close around yours but didn’t quite dare.

He was holding himself back.

Even now, even here.

Your gaze lifted, meeting his–they were wide and glossy, pupils blown wide now, eating away at the blue, and there was something deeply aching in the way he looked at you. Like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment in case it vanished.

“Don’t look at me like that,” You murmured, your thumb ghosting over the calloused edge of his ring finger. “Like you’re not allowed to want this.” Bob swallowed hard–again. It was the only thing he could do that didn’t give him away. His breath stuttered. His fingers twitched. His mouth opened like he might say something, but no words came.

He looked at you like you were everything he’d ever prayed for and was terrified to touch.

You watched the war inside him–want versus restraint. It played out in the flicker of his lashes, the shake in his hand, the tension braced through his shoulders like he was trying to keep himself from combusting.

So you let go of his hand, and moved your foot away from his inner thigh.

For a heartbeat, his face dropped–just a flicker of devastation in his expression.

Until you stood up, and moved around the table.

Bob’s head turned like he couldn’t believe you were really coming to him, like some part of him had convinced himself this was all a hallucination brought on by too many Coke Zeros–cause he couldn’t drink–and too many nights thinking about your hands, your mouth, and your voice in his ear. But then you slid into the booth beside him, your thigh pressing flush to his. He was still frozen, spine straight, hands in his lap like they might betray him if he moved them. Your perfume radiated off of you, the one that you always modestly sprayed on yourself, the one that he loved sneaking in your room to smell when you weren’t at the compound or out on a mission–the one that smelled like sugar, berries, and ripe oranges, like a succulent dessert…Made just for him.

You leaned in slowly, brushing your arm against him. You didn’t have to look at him, you didn’t have to…You knew he was already looking at you, or trying to look at you.

When he was finally able to feel your hot breath curl over his cheek he could immediately smell the pineapple juice on your tongue. It made him want to lean in right then and there just to get a taste, just to suck the essence off of it, to drink from you, but he needed to hold himself back, to stay in control of himself before he did something prematurely.

Then–with the grace of an angel–you reached up and touched him.

Your fingers found the side of his jaw, the pads of them smoothing against his freshly shaven cheek, tilting his face gently toward you. He followed the motion like a man possessed–like you had pulled him by a leash tied to his soul. He closed his eyes at the sensation, parting his lips slightly to take in a small breath–a quiet plea.

Slowly, you leaned in, your mouth resting just close enough to graze his ear, and you whispered–low, and sultry:

”Every time I touch myself, I imagine it’s you…” Bob shattered. A noise escaped him–broken and breathless. A half-gasp, half-whimper that he couldn’t contain if he tried. His body went tense beside you, his thigh flexing under yours, his fingers twitching like they were about to snap.

But you didn’t stop there.

“I imagine your fingers,” You murmured, your lips brushing his ear, “Big and clumsy and desperate, the way they always look when you’re nervous. I imagine them moving inside me while I ride your hand, while I beg you to kiss me like you mean it.” Bob exhaled–hard. His jaw clenched under your touch, his breath fogging hot against your forearm. You could feel how close he was to breaking–how close he was to falling apart in front of a whole bar full of people he couldn’t even look at in the eyes. Your fingertips moved slowly across his cheek, your nails didn’t scratch–they ghosted, mapped, and worshipped. You traced the slope of his cheekbone, then slid down to the soft dip beside his mouth, like you were learning his face the way others learn scripture.

Bob was unraveling. Every word from your mouth was gasoline on the fire he’d been trying to smother for months. His breath caught in his chest like a prayer that didn’t know how to end, and he stared at you—lips parted, lashes trembling–like he couldn’t tell if this was heaven or the moment before he burned.

And then your other hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him–and pushing him closer to the edge all at once.

He was breathing too hard now. Too fast. His chest rising in shallow, shaking swells. And all he could do was sit there, hands fisted in his lap, as you leaned in and whispered into his ear again–closer this time, like you were whispering to his soul.

“I think about tasting you,” You said softly. “So achingly slow, until you lose your mind.”

Bob’s knees went weak beneath the table. He didn’t even know how he was still upright. The only thing keeping him tethered to the earth was the press of your thigh against his, the weight of your palm on his shoulder and face, and the sound of your voice curling into his bloodstream like silk-wrapped sin.

He tried to speak–tried to gather some string of thought that could resemble language–but all he managed was a broken, desperate breath. “I–” He rasped, his voice shredded at the edges.

But you didn’t let him finish.

You shushed him. Gently. Sweetly. Your thumb swept across his cheek.

“Don’t,” You murmured, so close your lips touched his ear, “Don’t talk. Just feel it.”

And God, he felt it.

Every molecule of you.

The heat of your breath melting against his skin. The sweetness of your perfume, dizzying and intimate. The way your hands touched him like he was more than a body. Like he was a secret. A sacred thing you’d been aching to unwrap.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to move, to reach for you, but he didn’t dare–not unless you asked for it. He’d give you anything, everything, but he didn’t want to take a single thing you didn’t offer first.

Still, he couldn’t help it–his head tilted toward your touch, his eyes fluttering shut, mouth parted in something so tender it almost hurt to witness. His throat flexed as he swallowed another breath that wouldn’t steady.

You moved even closer–until your mouth nearly brushed his. Until the distance between you was a lie.

“I want to make you lose control,” You whispered. “I want to feel how much you’ve been holding back.”

That did it.

Bob’s whole body trembled under your hands–his restraint hanging by a thread, his jaw clenched like he was trying not to whimper. He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at you, and his eyes–those soft, wrecked, worshipful eyes–were completely undone.

“Y-You don’t know what you’re d-doing to me,” He breathed, but you smiled, soft and knowing.

“Then maybe we should go back to the compound so you could show me.” You whispered back, your thumb stroking the corner of his mouth like you’d been dying to touch him there. Bob’s breath hitched.

The corner of his mouth twitched beneath your thumb like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to shape it into a sentence. His brow knit–tight, anxious–as if he were on the edge of a precipice and could already feel the wind pulling at his shirt.

“I…” His voice cracked. He turned his head slightly, his cheek brushing your palm, but his eyes–those trembling, desperate eyes–held yours like you were the only thing anchoring him to the floor. “I don’t… know w-what happens if I lose control…I h-haven’t had s-sex since before the S-Sentry serum…”

Your chest softened at the vulnerability in his tone–raw, boyish, torn straight from the deepest part of him.

“I’ve felt it before. The…Shift. T-That moment before it gets too much.” His throat worked hard around the next words. “The Sentry, he–he comes through w-when I feel too much. When I want too much. A-And I want you so badly it terrifies me.”

Your thumb stroked over his jaw again, slow and reverent, like you were trying to soothe the trembling just beneath his skin. He didn’t pull away.

“Bob,” You whispered, voice like velvet heat, “I’m not scared of him.”

His breath caught, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t care if the Sentry shows up. I don’t care if he tries to carry me off into the sky or crack the moon in half because I kissed you too hard.” You smiled gently, your nose brushing his. “Because it’s still you. All of it. The fear, the ache, the power–none of it changes the fact that it’s your heart underneath. And I want all of it. I want all of you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, lashes wet. His chest heaved like he’d just exhaled something he’d been holding in for years. Like you’d opened a dam inside him and now he couldn’t stop it–he didn’t want to anyways.

“Y-You don’t know w–what that means to me,” He whispered, voice trembling like glass on the verge of breaking. “To not be t-the golden boy in your eyes…To just b-be me.”

You leaned in then–so close he could taste your breath, taste the sweetness of pineapple and something far more sacred.

“You were never a monster,” You said, lips brushing his. “You’re the kindest thing I’ve ever touched.”

And that broke something open in him.

His shoulders sagged forward, like a weight had slid off them, and he pressed his forehead to yours, his hands finally–finally–lifting from his lap to ghost up your sides, hesitant and aching. You felt the way they trembled as they settled on your waist, as if touching you too firmly might shatter the moment.

But you didn’t shatter. You melted. Right into him.

“Take me home,” You whispered, your hand curling around the back of his neck. “And let me be yours.”

Bob let out a shaky breath–half-sob, half-surrender–and nodded.

“O–Okay…”

—————————————

The moment the two of you stepped out of the elevator and the doors slid shut behind you, the weight of what was about to happen descended over you like dusk spilling into a quiet room–slow and golden and thick with gravity. It wrapped around your shoulders, soaked into your skin. Each step down the quiet hallway felt amplified, padded in the hush of possibility. The compound, usually so full of voices and footfalls, now felt sacred. Empty in a way that invited something tender to unfold.

You glanced over at Bob beside you–his hands in his pockets, shoulders stiff beneath his shirt like he didn’t know how to hold his own body anymore. His eyes flicked toward you, then away again. You could see it in the twitch of his fingers, in the slow rise and fall of his breath: he was fighting the urge to run and the urge to fall into you all at once.

“Whose room?” You asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath as you stopped just shy of your doors, which were across from one another.

Bob turned to face you, and for a moment he just looked at you. Really looked. As if the question was too big to answer all at once. But then he shook his head and murmured, without hesitation, “Yours.”

Your brows lifted a fraction, surprised by the immediacy of it.

His voice came again, quieter now, barely able to hold its own weight: “I want to be surrounded by everything that’s you.”

And God, he meant it. You could see it all over his face–that quiet, overwhelmed awe. That whisper of longing woven into his breath. Like being near you wasn’t just about want–it was about safety.

You opened your door with a hush of hinges and warmth poured out–soft and golden like it had been waiting for you both. Bob hesitated on the threshold just for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to step into something so intimate. But you reached back and curled your fingers around his, pulling him through gently, and he followed without a sound.

Your room welcomed him like a heartbeat.

The lights were low, softened to a muted amber by the shade of your bedside lamp, and the shadows cast across the walls were familiar, worn-in. The kind of quiet you could only earn by living in a space long enough to leave parts of yourself tucked into the corners.

There were little signs of you everywhere.

A cardigan draped over the back of your chair, still shaped by your shoulders. A couple mismatched mugs on the windowsill, half-full of dried flowers and pens that had long since run out of ink. A battered paperback with your thumb pressed into the spine, abandoned on the edge of the bed. The faintest scent of that sugary sweet skin-warm perfume. He could taste it in the silence.

And then there was the window.

It stretched across nearly half the far wall, a wide mouth of glass looking out over the city, where the skyline pulsed like a living organism–silver and gold lights blinking in lazy succession, cars reflecting off the windows threading down the streets like blood through veins. Bob walked toward it like he was drawn by gravity itself, like it called to the aching part of him that had spent too long looking at the world from above and never this close.

His reflection caught in the tall mirror near the bed–a fractured echo of himself, backlit by the skyline, a man made of longing and light. If he laid down, he realized, he’d be able to see you both in that mirror. Your bodies. Your faces. The way you might look reaching for each other.

He swallowed hard.

Behind him, you closed the door.

The soft click of it sealing shut sent a shiver down his spine–final and quiet and full of promise. He turned toward you, and that’s when he saw you undoing your leather jacket, slow and unhurried. The matte black of it peeled away from your shoulders like a second skin, and the way you moved–fluid, unfazed, and sure–made the air around him feel charged, like static clinging to cotton.

You stood in front of him now, illuminated by citylight and the low lamplight behind you. The bodysuit clung to your frame, catching the warm glow across your collarbones, your throat, the tender curve of your chest. You shrugged the jacket the rest of the way off, and it hit the floor with the softest thud.

Bob was frozen in place. Watching you like a man watching lightning hit the ocean.

He looked around your room again, slower this time. You saw it in his eyes–how he drank in the soft mess of your sheets, the collection of little rings in a porcelain dish, the stack of notes taped to your wall with scribbled to-dos and song lyrics and scraps of thought. It was chaotic and real and you, and he loved every single thing about it.

You were standing so close now that he could feel the warmth radiating off of your skin. The glow of your room wrapped around the two of you like a whispered secret.

You tilted your head slightly and whispered, “You okay?”

And Bob–whose hands were clenched at his sides, whose chest was rising like a tide he couldn’t hold back–nodded, barely. His voice was a whisper scraped raw:

“I-I don’t think I’ve ever been t-this okay.”

Your smile broke like a sunrise, and you reached up for him, touching his face. Just your fingertips at first, featherlight against the edge of his jaw, your thumb brushing along the corner of his mouth like it was something precious to you. Bob’s breath stilled at the contact, lips parting slightly, his chest fluttering with anticipation. He leaned into your palm like a man starved for warmth, even though he was burning up as he stood in front of you.

You pulled him gently toward you.

It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was something softer—something built from all the times you’d brushed hands in passing, or caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. It was built from every whispered laugh, every longing silence, every moment the world made you ache for one another without saying a thing.

And now it was here. Finally.

Bob bent to meet you, slow and hesitant, his breath brushing yours like a question. Your noses bumped slightly, awkward and tender, and he let out the smallest nervous laugh—one you swallowed as you tilted your chin and brought your lips to his.

The first kiss was a hum. A hush. A held breath.

His lips were soft, unsure at first, warm and slightly parted like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to kiss you back–until he did. Until he melted into it. You felt the exact moment the tension in his shoulders unraveled, when he stopped hovering on the edge and let himself fall. His arms came around your waist–slowly, carefully–as if he was still afraid to hold too tightly.

But he did hold you.

God, did he hold you.

One hand splayed wide against the small of your back, the other settling higher, thumb grazing the edge of your exposed skin where your bodysuit dipped low. His palm was hot. Too hot. Like he was burning just from touching you, and yet couldn’t bring himself to pull away. The feel of your skin against his fingertips made his knees go weak.

You kissed him deeper.

Not rushed, not rough–just more. More pressure. More presence. You tilted your head and sighed softly into him, and Bob exhaled like you’d opened a door in his chest he didn’t know had been locked. His mouth was gentle but eager, tasting you in little swells, lips moving with hesitant gentleness as if trying to memorize the shape of you. He breathed you in like you were air after drowning.

You pulled back slightly–not apart, just enough to rest your forehead to his. The two of you stood there in that golden hush, breathing each other’s breath. Bob’s chest rose and fell against yours, and you felt it–every tremble. Every ounce of his restraint.

He looked at you with eyes half-lidded and dazed, lips flushed and glistening from your kiss–and from the remnants of your lip glass–the faintest tremor in his breath like he couldn’t quite believe it had happened.

Your voice was soft, just above a whisper. “Still okay?”

He let out a broken laugh–full of wonder, full of you–and nodded.

You leaned in again–gentler this time, slower–not because you were unsure, but because you wanted to savor the way his breath hitched when your lips brushed his. You wanted to draw it out. To feel every shiver he tried and failed to suppress.

Bob met you halfway with a soft, aching sound–something between a sigh and a whisper of your name. His hands flexed slightly at your waist, his fingers pressing just a little deeper into the curve of you. You felt how he trembled. Not because he didn’t want this. But because he wanted it so much he was afraid he might burst.

You kissed him again–deeper, slower this time, mouth parting just enough to taste him. His lips were warm and sweet with nerves, and he kissed like someone who had thought about this a thousand times but never believed it would happen. There was a reverence to it, a hush in the way he moved his mouth against yours, like he was still halfway convinced he might wake up at any moment.

Your hands left his face, drifting down–slow, steady, and full of quiet intention. You traced the slope of his neck, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, then down the broad plane of his chest. You felt every breath he took, shallow and aching, beneath the soft cotton of his sweater.

Bob, always layered like he needed something between himself and the world, was wrapped in a slightly oversized charcoal crewneck, its fabric thinned from wear and faintly scented like detergent and something uniquely him. Beneath it, you could feel the ridges of another layer–a t-shirt, soft and well-worn, probably one he slept in or hid in on quiet mornings when the world was too loud.

You slid your hands beneath the hem of the sweater and pushed upward, your palms skimming the warm skin of his stomach as the fabric lifted. Bob made a quiet, broken sound into your kiss–like the feeling of your hands on his skin short-circuited something vital inside him. He froze for a moment, his breath catching like he wasn’t sure he could survive the sensation.

You pulled back just far enough to speak, your lips brushing his. “Can I?”

His nod was immediate. Frantic. “Y-Yeah. God, yeah.”

So you tugged the sweater up slowly, watching the way his arms lifted, watching the exposed inch of his abdomen rise with it–the pale skin dusted with soft little beauty marks, the gentle definition carved by years of holding tension. As the fabric cleared his chest, he flinched slightly, sucking in a breath like cold air had touched him, though your hands were warm.

He helped you the rest of the way, dragging the sweater and t-shirt off over his head with trembling fingers, slipping away like the last layer of armor. And then he was bare from the waist up, bathed in citylight and lamplight, all golden and blushing and unsure.

He stood there, chest bare and breathless, as if you’d peeled back the sky and found the sun trembling underneath.

Bob’s body wasn’t sculpted in the way of soldiers or statues. It was something softer, something more human. But there was strength in it, undeniable–earned. It was the kind of build that came from holding onto things that were out of his control. Broad shoulders that carried guilt and gentleness in equal measure. A solid chest dusted with faint hair and the occasional mark of time–tiny clusters of faded scars, blemishes, and bruises the world had forgotten but his skin remembered.

His collarbones were sharp under the golden lamplight, framed by muscle that swelled and dipped like lines in a poem you wanted to memorize. His arms, strong and thick, looked like they were made to hold someone through the storm–and right now, they twitched faintly at his sides like he didn’t know how to be held himself. There were scattered freckles on his biceps, a pale crescent scar on one rib that curved like the moon, and small, raised knots near the shoulder from training or trauma–you weren’t sure which. Maybe both.

He looked like a map of ache and effort and quiet resilience.

And you adored every inch of him.

You stepped forward slowly and pressed a kiss to the center of his chest–just over his sternum. His breath stuttered at the contact, sharp and startled, like he’d never been kissed there before. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe no one had thought to.

You trailed your fingers down the plane of his stomach, the muscle there tense and trembling, then lower–toward the waistband of his pants. They were a pair of charcoal slacks, slightly loose around his waist, cinched just right at the hips, but soft and comfortable like he’d chosen them to blend in. Like he’d never expected to be undressed in them.

Your fingers hovered over the button, and you looked up at him. Bob nodded once–barely, but enough–and you slipped the button free. His breath hitched, and his hands flexed at his sides again like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You dragged the zipper down slowly, deliberately, your eyes never leaving his. He looked dazed–like he was being unwrapped for the very first time, and the air itself might sear him.

The fabric fell down his thighs with a soft whisper, pooling at his feet, before he moved out of them, kicking his shoes off in the process.

Bob stood in front of you in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, backlit by the shimmer of the skyline and the amber hum of your bedroom lamp. His chest rose and fell like the sea—steady, but stirred by undercurrent. His eyes hadn’t left you since you touched him. Not once.

And now, it was his turn.

He lifted his hands slowly, reverently, like he was reaching out to something holy. His palms hovered over your hips, not quite touching, until you gave him the smallest nod. That was all he needed.

His fingertips brushed the waistband of your shorts, undoing the golden button in the front of them.

You kicked off your shoes, one at a time, and let the silence stretch between you as he hooked his fingers through the belt loops–slow, hesitant, like he was afraid of doing too much too quickly. He eased them down your legs inch by inch, watching the fabric surrender to gravity. You stepped out of them delicately, and for a beat, he just stood there, looking at you like he didn’t know how to survive the sight of you standing in nothing but that black bodysuit and a pair of simple underwear.

He swallowed hard.

His hands returned to your sides, smoothing over the dip of your waist where the fabric clung tight. You watched his throat flex as his eyes flicked over you—your curves, your bare legs, the way your body caught the light like it had been painted for his gaze alone.

When he moved to the clasp of your bodysuit, his fingers trembled. You could feel it. The concentration in him. The hesitation. Like he was unhooking something precious, something secret.

You reached up and touched his jaw gently. “It’s okay,” You whispered.

And Bob, poor, wrecked Bob, nodded like he needed your permission to breathe.

The clasp gave with a soft snap. The bodysuit loosened instantly, slackening at your shoulders. His eyes met yours again, searching, silent, and then he helped ease the fabric down your arms, over your chest–slowly, like he was undressing a memory he wanted to savor for the rest of his life.

You stood there, bare from the waist up.

Bathed in citylight and lamplight. Breasts soft and exposed, skin flushed and dappled in gold. Your breath was steady, open, trusting.

And Bob… Bob stared like he’d never seen anything so sacred. His lips parted. His chest rose, shallow and quiet, as his eyes drifted over every inch of you—your collarbones, the curve of your sternum, the soft line of your stomach. His hands didn’t touch right away. He just looked. Like the act of looking was too intimate already.

But when he did touch you–finally, gently–his hands moved with such aching care. They rose to cradle your waist, thumbs brushing just below your ribs. You watched his pupils expand, the breath he tried to hold leaking out of him in slow, reverent exhales.

“You’re…” His voice cracked. He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because he didn’t have to.

You stepped into him again, bringing your bodies closer, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts brushed his chest and he nearly gasped, his head dipping low, lips brushing your shoulder like he needed a place to put all this overwhelming wonder.

Bob’s lips were trembling against your skin before you even realized he’d moved. Gentle, searching–he kissed the place where your shoulder curved into your neck, just beneath your collarbone. His mouth was warm and wet, like each kiss was a vow he didn’t know how to speak aloud. He moved slowly, dragging his lips along your skin like he was painting devotion in brushstrokes–across the dip of your clavicle, up the slope of your throat, back to your jaw.

You let out the softest sigh. A sound full of breath and want. It made him shudder.

Your hand slid into his hair, curling at the nape of his neck, guiding him until his lips found yours again. This time the kiss felt hungrier–not in haste, but in depth. In need. Like the space between you could never be close enough. He kissed you with a kind of desperation laced in awe, like he still couldn’t believe this was real. And maybe you felt the same way, because your heart was stammering against your ribs, and the heat blooming between your thighs was dizzying.

You pulled back slowly, just enough to look into his eyes–flushed and wide and soft around the edges, pupils blown so far they nearly swallowed the blue whole.

“Come here,” You whispered, voice like silk unraveling in candlelight.

You took his hand and led him gently around the side of your bed, the sheets still rumpled from a day that no longer mattered. The mirror caught both of your reflections in passing–your bare back, his bare chest, the golden curve of lamplight gilding the two of you like you were something from a dream neither of you dared name.

“Lay down,” You said, and Bob obeyed without a word. He eased himself back across the mattress, exhaling like the air had been caught in his lungs for hours. The sheets crinkled beneath him, warm with your scent, his chest rising in uneven waves as he stared up at the ceiling like it held some sort of answer for how to survive this moment without coming apart entirely.

You climbed onto the mattress after him—slow, certain, fluid like breath moving into lungs. Bob turned his head just in time to see you crawl toward him, and God, the look on his face—pure wonder, trembling with reverence—made your heartbeat skip off rhythm.

You straddled him gently, knees bracketing his hips, your hands finding their way to his chest again, palms splayed flat over the warmth of him. You felt the stutter of his breath beneath your touch, the tight coil of tension building under your thighs.

He looked up at you like you were everything.

You bent down and kissed him again—deeper this time. Your lips claimed him slow and full, your mouth parting just enough to taste his sigh as it melted into yours. One of his hands slid up your thigh, barely daring to grip, while the other cupped your hip like he was anchoring himself.

And that’s when you felt it.

Hard and hot, nestled beneath you. The growing swell of him pressed against the soaked fabric of your underwear, separated from your heat only by the thin stretch of your panties and his boxers. He groaned softly into your mouth, the sound involuntary, and it made your whole body pulse with want.

You rolled your hips forward–just once, a slow grind–and Bob gasped. His head tipped back, throat arched, lips parted as his eyes fluttered shut. His fingers tightened on your waist as if bracing against the force of it.

You did it again–deliberately, letting your clothed center slide against the length of him. The friction was hot, barely enough, almost unbearable in its precision. You could feel the tremor in his thighs, the desperate way his breath stammered in his chest.

“O-Oh m-my,” He whispered, almost like a prayer. “You’re…Oh God–”

You smiled softly against his cheek, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “You feel that?”

He nodded, barely, eyes dazed.

“I’m soaked,” You whispered, dragging your hips once more, pressing down just enough to make him bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut, “And it’s all for you…” You kissed the line of his jaw And then you started to move down.

His hands twitched when you kissed his throat—soft, slow, trailing heat with your mouth as you shifted backward, kissing lower, following the pulse at his neck to the center of his chest. You paused there, pressed your lips to the spot where his heart beat fastest.

He stared down at you, dazed and helpless and holy.

You kept going.

Kissed his sternum. The soft dip beneath it. The slight rise of his stomach where the muscles tightened beneath your breath. Your mouth was tender, open, slow as silk. You licked a soft line down his abdomen and felt him shiver violently. His hands moved into your hair without thinking, not pulling–just holding.

Just needing something to hold.

You reached the waistband of his boxer-briefs, and looked up.

His lips were parted, his cheeks pink with heat, his pupils huge and swallowing. He nodded without needing to be asked, lifting his hips slightly as you hooked your fingers into the band and drew it down—inch by inch, like you were unwrapping a gift meant only for you.

Bob was flushed, hard, and trembling. His cock stood against the plane of his stomach, thick and aching and already leaking from the tip. You watched the way it twitched when the cool air touched it, watched how he tried to stifle a gasp and failed.

“O-Oh god,” He breathed, like it physically hurt. “I don’t–I don’t even k-know what to do with myself–”

“You don’t have to do anything,” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the sharp line of his hip. “Just let me take care of you.” His breath hitched–shallow and wild–and his hands gripped the sheets.

And then you bent your head.

And licked a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of him–base to tip.

Bob choked on a gasp, hips jolting before he stilled himself with sheer force of will. His hands flew to his forehead like he was trying to cover his eyes, but he couldn’t stop watching.

You flattened your tongue along the underside of him again slowly feeling the way he twitched under your touch, the way his breath hitched like it was caught in the delicate space between need and disbelief.

His hand found yours blindly–grasping, desperate for something to hold on to. You laced your fingers with his without hesitation, anchoring him as you opened your mouth and took him in.

The weight of him on your tongue was dizzying, intoxicating. He was warm and already leaking, the taste of him faintly salty as your lips sealed around him and began to move–slow, deliberate strokes of your mouth, your hand curled around the base of him in rhythm.

“Y-you’re…” His voice broke, breath catching, almost like a sob. “You’re really… Oh…”

The sound he made when you took him deeper went straight to your core. It was soft, wrecked–an overwhelmed whimper that made your thighs clench and heat spill low in your belly. You moaned around him, low and throaty, and he gasped your name like it physically stunned him.

You glanced up through your lashes and saw him–his head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted in disbelief. His free hand was fisted in the sheets now, his chest rising and falling in frantic waves.

You hollowed your cheeks and twisted your wrist just slightly, dragging your mouth back and then sliding down again, slower this time. You could feel every tremor in his thighs, the way his hips flexed involuntarily and then stilled, fighting the instinct to thrust. He was trying so hard to be good for you. To be still. To savor.

You let your hand drift lower, stroking him in time with your mouth, the slick sounds of your lips meeting his flushed skin only driving you further into the heat building between your own legs. You could feel how wet you were through your panties—soaked from the way he whispered your name, from the way he whimpered when you gave him just a little more.

“Oh,” Bob whispered again, breathless. “You feel so good. I don’t… I didn’t... I…” You moaned softly again, taking him deeper, loving the way his voice cracked, the way his fingers squeezed yours like he was hanging on by a thread.

And you didn’t stop.

You licked and sucked and worshipped him, letting the tension build, letting him teeter right there on the edge. His legs were shaking now. His hips stuttered once, and then again.

“I—I think I’m gonna…” He gasped. “I don’t know if I can…P-Please don’t stop—please—please—”

You didn’t.

You kept going. Swirling your tongue around the tip, easing him deeper again, moaning softly just to feel the way it made his whole body jolt.

He came with a sound like he was breaking—high and soft and breathless. A shattered gasp of your name, followed by a long, trembling whine as he spilled into your mouth.

You swallowed it all. Every last drop.

And even then–you didn’t stop.

You licked him gently, slowly, carefully–savoring him through the aftershocks. His body twitched beneath you, overstimulated and undone, his voice going quiet and airy.

“I-it’s too much,” He breathed, eyes wide and wet with disbelief. “Oh God—it’s so much…”

You finally pulled back, lips glistening, your breath ragged. You kissed the inside of his thigh tenderly, then wiped the corner of your mouth with your fingers and gave him the softest smile.

Bob looked at you like you’d just handed him a piece of the universe he never thought he deserved.

You crawled back up the bed and laid beside him, resting your head lightly on his shoulder, letting your hand fall to the center of his chest. His heart was pounding beneath your palm, like it had forgotten how to slow down.

He turned to face you.

And then he kissed you–without thinking, without pause.

His mouth was hungry, lips moving against yours like he wanted to pour his gratitude and longing into every stroke of your tongue. You let out a soft hum into the kiss, and his hand found your waist, curling around you like he needed you against him. All of you. Bob kissed you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

His hand tightened at your waist as he deepened the kiss, his mouth warm and earnest, his tongue slow against yours—like he was trying to memorize the taste of your breath and the taste of himself on your tongue. Then he shifted his weight just slightly, moving over you, and your body followed without hesitation.

He rolled smoothly, gently, so that your back met the mattress and his body hovered above yours. His thigh slid between yours, his chest flush to your own, and his face hovered just inches from yours–eyes wide and wild with something more than lust. Something closer to awe.

You let out a surprised giggle, breathless beneath him, one hand slipping up to brush back the messy strands of his light brown hair. It stuck up in every direction from your earlier touch, and now it framed his flushed face like a halo that couldn’t decide if it belonged to a saint or a sinner.

He gave a small, dazed laugh too, his lips curving in wonder as he looked down at you.

And then he murmured, soft as velvet:

“It’s your turn.”

His voice sent a shiver straight through you–because it wasn’t just desire in his tone. It was reverence. Like this was sacred. Like you were sacred.

He dipped his head and kissed your throat, slow and sweet, and you tilted your head to give him more. His hand slid up your side, warm and sure, until it cupped your breast. He paused there, looking at you–asking, even now. Even after everything.

You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your ribs.

And Bob leaned down to worship.

His mouth wrapped around the swell of your breast, lips so soft, tongue teasing the peak until it pulled a soft sound from the back of your throat. He groaned at the noise, like it physically did something to him. He kissed across your chest–open, adoring–then sucked gently at the other nipple, swirling his tongue in slow circles until your fingers curled in his hair. You felt his teeth graze the sensitive skin just around your nipple–just enough to make your breath hitch and your hips twitch slightly beneath him.

You gasped, soft and surprised, and his mouth pulled back with a small, wicked smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His breath was warm against your damp skin, and then he exhaled slowly–cool air brushing across the nipple he’d just teased, and your whole body shivered in response.

Bob chuckled under his breath–low and breathless. Not cocky. Amazed. Like your reactions lit up something inside him he never even knew he needed.

Then he kept going.

His lips traced a winding path down your body–each kiss like a benediction pressed into skin. The slope of your ribs. The softness of your belly. The place just beneath your navel where you felt everything coil tight with anticipation.

You shifted slightly, drawing your knees up, thighs falling open to make space for him as he reached the waistband of your underwear. The fabric was soaked with you–already clinging, already begging to be removed. Bob looked up once, eyes wide and full of silent question, fingers brushing your hips.

You nodded. Your breath was caught somewhere behind your teeth, but your legs were already parting further, your spine already arching to help him slide them down.

He pulled the underwear off slowly, taking his time with you, watching the way the fabric peeled away from your slick heat. Your body practically glistened in the amber light, folds swollen and flushed with need. He swallowed thickly, the sound audible even in the hush of your room, and let the underwear fall to the floor like a silk offering.

Bob settled between your thighs like he’d found the center of the universe.

His hands slid up the insides of your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin as he leaned forward, mouth trailing open kisses along the tender flesh–first one thigh, then the other. You twitched at the contact, gasping as his lips dragged up the curve of your leg, warm and wet and wanting. He paused just at the crease where thigh met hip, and then–without warning–bit gently, sucking until the skin flushed pink and bloomed with a bruise.

Bob smiled into your skin. “S–Sorry,” He murmured, clearly not sorry at all, his voice thick with breath and worship. “N–Needed to leave s-something to remember me b-by.”

And then–finally–he kissed your core.

His tongue swiped through your folds in one long, slow motion, and your whole body jolted like he’d reached inside your chest and rung out your soul. You felt the flat press of his tongue against your clit, the deliberate drag upward, the way his lips wrapped around you and sucked–soft, rhythmic, maddening.

Your back arched off the bed.

Your hand flew down and found his wrist–one of the hands bracing you open–and you held onto it like a lifeline, anchoring yourself to the feeling. His other hand splayed across your stomach, warm and grounding, fingers spread wide over trembling muscles.

He licked you again–deeper now. More intentional. His tongue moved like he was mapping you, learning every reaction, every twitch, every soft cry like it was sacred text. He flicked the tip of his tongue in slow, focused circles, then flattened it again, pressure building just right, just there–

“Fuck—Bob,” ¥ou breathed, voice high and frayed. “Jesus Christ…”

He moaned against you, the sound vibrating through your body and sending another jolt through your spine.

And then you tilted your head back.

The mirror caught everything.

Your body sprawled across the bed–glowing, undone, your knees spread wide and your hair wild pointing every which way. Bob’s shoulders bracketed your thighs, his face buried between them, dark hair mussed and damp with sweat and your slick. You saw the way your stomach rose and fell beneath his hand, how your hips bucked slightly with each flick of his tongue.

And then–God–

You looked down at him.

And he was looking up at you.

Eyes glassy and wide, pupils blown with hunger. His mouth was still moving, still lapping at you with slow swirls–but his gaze stayed locked on yours like it anchored him. His brow was pinched in concentration, his cheeks flushed, his lips glistening.

It was intimate in a way that felt deeper than skin. Like he was beholding you, not just touching you. Like the act of pleasuring you was its own kind of worship–and he couldn’t look away from the way your body bloomed beneath him.

You whimpered, your hand tightening around his wrist.

He groaned softly, and the sound reverberated through you.

And then–without breaking eye contact–he slid two thick fingers inside you.

Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp, spine arching. The stretch was slow, sweet, perfect. He curled them just right, finding that place inside you that made your breath stutter and your thighs twitch.

“Y-Yeah,” he rasped against your core, voice hoarse, lips brushing your clit between licks. “There. T-That’s it, I–I feel you…”

You clenched around them while his tongue kept moving—never stopping. His fingers pumped slow and deep, curling with every pass, and your legs started to shake.

The sight in the mirror was unholy–your head thrown back, his mouth buried between your legs, fingers working you open while your body writhed beneath him.

“Bob—Bob I’m gonna—”

“I–I know,” He whispered. “I’ve got you..Y-Y/N.”

With a sharp cry and a desperate buck of your hips, you came–shattering like glass under floodlight. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, your thighs trembling against his shoulders, your hand crushing his wrist as you pulsed around him.

Bob didn’t stop until you whined, breathless and broken, hips twitching from oversensitivity. Even then, he pulled back slowly, mouth flushed, chin slick with you. He pressed one last kiss to your thigh, and looked up at you again.

Completely wrecked.

Completely in awe.

You let out a laugh of disbelief–shaky, breathless, still caught in the afterglow of everything Bob had just pulled from you. Your body was humming, twitching with sensitivity, your thighs trembling around nothing now as he lifted his head from between them.

Bob looked like he had just witnessed a modern day miracle, a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

Then he started to move slowly, crawling back up your body on his elbows, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses into your skin as he went. The curve of your hip. Your stomach, still fluttering beneath the aftershocks of your orgasm. Each kiss was a brushstroke of heat and devotion, like he wanted to taste every inch of what he’d done to you.

When he reached your chest, he paused, nuzzled into the soft swell of your breast and pressed the gentlest kiss there too. Then higher–your collarbone, your throat, the corner of your jaw. You turned your head slightly and met him as his mouth finally reached yours again.

The kiss was warm, a little messy, but full of affection. Your taste was still on his lips, and he didn’t hide it–he kissed you like he wanted you to know he’d savor every drop.

“Y-You’re unreal,” He mumbled against your cheek. And then he gave a shy, breathless laugh. “I think I–I forgot how to breathe.”

You smiled, brushing your fingers through the soft mess of his hair, and he leaned into the touch like it grounded him.

“I’m already ready again,” He admitted sheepishly, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt it him hard and warm again between your thighs, flush against your soaked center. Your breath hitched.

But then Bob hesitated. You felt it in the shift of his weight, the tremor in his next breath.

“We could leave it at that for tonight,” He said softly. His voice was a whisper of restraint, even though his hips twitched against yours like his body was begging him not to stop. “If you don’t want to have sex—”

You didn’t let him finish.

You kissed him–deep and sure and full of heat.

When you pulled back, your voice was firm and breathless. “I want you.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, lips still parted in surprise. “S-Should I run and grab a condom?” You tilted your left arm back slightly, resting it behind your head on the mattress, and with your free hand, pointed to the small, barely visible scar just beneath the skin of your inner arm.

“Implant,” You said softly. “We’re good.” His breath caught audibly and his hand hovered near your arm for a second, then settled gently over it–thumb brushing once over your skin.

“Y-You’re sure?” He asked, voice low and rough, like he couldn’t bear to assume. Like he was terrified of doing the wrong thing when he finally had the chance to do this right. You nodded, soft but certain, caressing his cheek gently.

”I’m sure.” Bob exhaled like it physically knocked the air from his lungs. Then he kissed you again–and this time, it was different.

There was no hesitation. No soft buildup. Just need and wonder colliding all at once.

His mouth crushed against yours, urgent and hungry, and you met him just as fiercely. Tongues brushed and tangled in wet, open kisses, teeth grazing lips, breath caught between mouths like smoke. You could feel the way he breathed you in between every kiss–little shaky exhales pressed into your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth–as if you were the air keeping him alive.

“God, y-you taste like heaven,” He murmured hoarsely into your mouth, and then kissed you again, harder.

You moaned against his lips, your body arching into his, and he groaned right back–his hand sliding from your hip to the side of your neck, fingers splayed out over your pulse point like he needed to feel the rhythm of you.

The head of his cock brushed against your slick entrance–hot and heavy and trembling with anticipation–and he froze just a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were blown wide, lips flushed, chest rising and falling like a wave cresting.

He lined himself up with a breathless stammer of your name, “J-Just tell me i-if I do anything wrong okay?” You nodded–soft, breathless, legs flinching around him slightly as he started to push in–inch by inch. Your mouth dropped open around a gasp.

”Oh–“ You breathed, hips twitching up towards him, “Bob…” He bit his bottom lip hard, trying to hold it together, closing his eyes at the sensation of you slowly taking him in.

“You’re s-so warm,” He choked out, “I can feel all of you, I–”

And then he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, both of you trembling.

You were wrapped around him, stretched and full and gasping through the intensity of it, and Bob just hovered there, buried deep, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the anchor. You cupped his cheek, kissed him once–soft, shaky–and whispered,

“I need you to move…” He nodded at your request, dragging his hips back only to press in again with a quiet groan that vibrated against your chest. His thrusts weren’t rough—but they had weight. Depth. Like he couldn’t help but want to be as far inside you as he could get.

Each time he rocked forward, your bodies met with a soft, slick sound, heat rising like steam between your tangled limbs. He kissed you through it, messy and desperate, lips parting and pressing and dragging over yours like he never wanted to come up for air. You kissed him just as hard–your tongue sliding against his, teeth nipping his bottom lip, your hands gripping his shoulders like you didn’t want him to go anywhere.

Your fingers tangled into the back of his hair, tugging gently–not to pull him closer, but to hold. To ground. The strands were damp with sweat and heat, and he gasped into your mouth when you did it, his hips stuttering in response.

Bob groaned low and soft, the sound caught between reverence and ache. Then his hand slid up, warm and sure, and cupped the side of your throat—not tight, just enough to feel the flutter of your pulse beneath his palm. His thumb tilted your chin up, guiding your gaze back to him.

“L-Look at me,” He breathed, voice ragged with want. “I…I need to see you.”

You did. Eyes wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed and heated. You were so open for him, so undone and radiant in the lamplight–and it broke something in him, seeing you like this, needing him like this.

Then he hooked his arms under your knees and lifted.

The change in angle dragged a gasp from your throat so sharp it bordered on a cry. He slid deeper—so deep it felt like he was in your chest, like he was part of the ache and the breath and the heartbeat of you. Your mouth dropped open around a broken moan, and your eyes went glassy.

“F-Fuck,” You choked, your head falling back. “Bob–oh my God–”

Bob whimpered softly, overwhelmed by the sound of his name on your lips, by the clench of your body around him. His breath was hot and frantic, his face flushed and slack with awe.

“You feel…” He started, then trailed off, swallowing hard. “You feel s-so good–so warm–you’re perfect, I–” He kissed your cheek once. Then again. Then again, softer each time, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t know how else to worship you.

And then, he saw it.

The mirror.

The two of you–tangled together, sweat-slicked and flushed with heat, your body curled around him like it was built to fit. His eyes snapped to it–and for a moment, he just stared. Breathless. Dazed. He could see the way your hands gripped his shoulders, the way your breasts bounced softly with each deep thrust. The sight of it–the raw, real closeness–wrecked him.

Your gaze flicked over his and followed where he was looking and you caught the reflection too.

“I want to watch us,” You whispered, breath ragged and full of heat. “Please.”

Bob’s breath caught hard. His hips stilled, his eyes wide, his mouth parting with something like awe and disbelief.

“Y-Yeah?” he stammered.

You nodded.

That was all it took.

He pulled out slowly–deliberately, as if the act of leaving your body was a loss he needed to mourn–and helped guide you onto your stomach, careful even through the haze of want. You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyes fixed on your reflection, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten.

He moved behind you, one knee between yours, and dragged his hand down the length of your spine in one long, aching stroke, watching goosebumps rise on your flesh before peppering a few kisses along the bare skin of your back. Then he gripped your hips and lined himself up again.

The first thrust back in was brutal in its beauty.

You let out a ragged groan–half gasp, half cry–as he sank back into you. The angle was different now. Deeper. Fuller. It felt like he was rooted inside you, like he could reach the very center of you.

Bob’s groan was wrecked.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re so…This is…Y-You’re tight–so deep, I—”

He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, and you felt the press of his mouth against the side of your neck–just beneath your ear. Then his arm slid around your neck from behind, not choking, not tight—just holding. Anchoring. His breath spilled hot across your skin, and he kissed your jaw again, reverently, trembling against you.

Your eyes locked in the mirror.

You. Spread out. Eyes heavy, mouth open, skin flushed and glowing. Bob–bare and trembling behind you, lips parted, face slack with wonder, arm curled protectively around you like he was trying to keep you from slipping away.

The reflection made your breath catch.

He looked just as wrecked as you felt.

“I’ve n-never…” He choked out, hips still rolling slow and deep, “Never seen anything so beautiful—so fuckin’ real–“ Your breath stuttered, your chest dragging in air like your lungs were trying to keep up with the sheer intimacy of his voice in your ear, his body inside you, the way his eyes stayed locked to yours in the mirror.

And then you turned your head.

Just a little.

Enough to find his lips.

Your mouths met in a kiss that shattered the edges of everything soft and safe. It wasn’t delicate this time. It was molten. You sucked gently on his tongue when he pushed into your mouth, and the noise Bob made was nearly inhuman–a muffled, desperate moan swallowed by your kiss.

The arm around your neck tightened just slightly, his palm flattening against your shoulder to hold you a little closer. He kissed you like he needed your breath to survive, and with every stroke of his tongue against yours, he thrust a little deeper, a little harder, losing the last shred of distance between you.

The sounds filled the room now.

Slippery, wet, rhythmic. The soft slap of skin meeting skin. Your gasps–broken, high, open. His moans–low, breathy, whispered things like “fuck” and “please” and your name like it was a prayer he’d never been brave enough to say out loud until now. The creak of the mattress. The rustle of the sheets. The hum of the city just outside the window, as if the whole world had gone quiet to listen.

His hips were moving faster now, not pounding but full of momentum. Urgency laced with awe. You felt every inch of him with every push, your body keening beneath him, his cock dragging against that tender spot inside you again and again.

And still–his mouth kept finding yours.

Messy kisses. Tongue and teeth and hot breath shared like something sacred. You whimpered into him, and he swallowed it, moaning in return, his pace growing more erratic with each roll of his hips.

“G-God,” he gasped into your mouth. “You feel so–so perfect–I c-can’t–” He pressed his forehead against yours, sweat-slick and shivering, his voice unraveling into something raw. “I’m gonna–Y/N–I c-can’t hold back–please come with me–please–”

You nodded, frantic, the pleasure building low in your spine like a storm. Your thighs trembled, your mouth fell open, and you barely managed a whispered, “Yes–yes, I’m close, Bob, I’m right there–”

His arm tightened around you again, holding you together as he watched your reflection–watched your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter shut, your body writhing beneath him.

“I see you,” He whispered. “I see you, I’ve got you, just–just let go, I’m right here–”

You did.

Your orgasm hit you so fast it felt like your entire body was going to give out. It was brilliant, consuming, and it had every nerve ending singing with heat. Your body pulsed around him, clenching and fluttering in frantic waves, and the cry that tore from your throat was almost too much to bear.

Soon after Bob twitched deep inside you, thick and hot, and you felt him spill–pulse after pulse of heat filling you, his hips jerking in short, erratic thrusts as he buried himself as far as he could go. His moan was wrecked–raw and full–and it tumbled from him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. It wasn’t loud. It was low. Shaky. The sound a man makes when he’s completely undone. A whimper edged with disbelief, like he was giving you the very last piece of himself.

And just then–like the world exhaled around you–you heard it.

A faint, hairline crack.

Barely a sound.

Your gaze flicked up, dazed and hazy through the aftermath, and there it was: a thin fracture running across the mirror. A small, pale lightning bolt etched in glass, splitting right where your bodies met in reflection.

You blinked.

And then you tightened your hold on him.

Your hand clutched at the arm that held you–his forearm still locked gently around your chest–and your other reached blindly to touch his shoulder. You turned your head just enough to feel the hot tremble of his breath against your skin, the way it stuttered and hitched through parted lips still struggling to return to earth.

His entire body was shaking against yours. Not violently–just overwhelmed. The way a dam trembles after it’s burst.

“Shh,” you whispered, kissing the edge of his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

He moaned again–quiet this time, muffled against your skin, and full of something so deep it almost hurt. His arm loosened slightly from around your neck and slid lower, wrapping fully around your torso as he exhaled one long, shivering breath. His body collapsed slowly over yours, his chest pressed against your back, both of you trembling, covered in sweat and each other.

He didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t–not yet.

You could still feel him twitching softly inside you, still half-hard, still pulsing faintly from the intensity of it all. His cum was already starting to leak back down between your thighs, warmth slicking your folds, but neither of you moved to clean it up. Not yet.

He kissed your shoulder.

Then your neck.

Then the curve of your spine.

Each one slow and breathless. A vow, a thank you, a grounding touch.

You tilted your head back toward him, catching his lips with your own. The kiss was soft now. Lingering. Your mouths moved lazily together, wet and tender and full of exhaustion.

“Jesus,” He whispered against your mouth. “I–I didn’t mean to… I think I…”

“I know,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the damp nape of his neck. “I saw it.”

His breath caught. “I–I cracked the mirror, didn’t I?”

You nodded once, a small smile pulling at your lips. “Just a little.”

A silence stretched between you, warm and golden and full of breath.

Then he laughed–quiet and stunned–and buried his face into your shoulder again.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered. “I–I didn’t mean to lose control.” You let out a soft sigh.

”It’s okay Bob…You were overwhelmed and feeling good…Let’s just hope Sentry is the one that gets seven years bad luck.” You both laughed–low and loose and breathless, the sound catching in the honey-thick air between your bodies. Bob’s chest vibrated softly against your back as he let out another stifled chuckle, nuzzling his nose into the space just beneath your ear.

“Only you,” He murmured, his voice warm and worn down, “C–Can make light of me literally c-cracking your mirror mid-orgasm.” You tilted your head slightly, grinning despite the ache still thrumming between your thighs.

“I mean… If you’re gonna break something,” You said, glancing back at him with a playful glint in your eyes, “At least it wasn’t my pelvis.”

That made him snort and he buried his face deeper into your shoulder, completely wrecked by laughter now. You felt the full ripple of it through his chest, the way his arms tightened around you just a little as if he could keep this moment stitched to the skin.

You turned your head, kissed him again–slow and sweet. No rush. Just the warm slide of lips and breath. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb stroking your skin as he kissed you back with the kind of quiet that said I never want to stop doing this.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his voice rough with affection. “I should, uh… I should pull out.”

You nodded softly. “Okay.”

He moved slowly, gently easing out of you with a quiet gasp at the sensitivity. You both hissed a little–his from overstimulation, yours from the sticky stretch of release leaving your body. He lingered there for a beat, fingers brushing your hip, as if he hated the idea of not being connected to you anymore.

He stayed close even after he pulled out, one hand resting lightly on your lower back, the other brushing your hip like he needed to reassure himself you were still there. The room was warm, quiet, the mirror fractured but the world around you whole.

“W–We should get cleaned up,” He murmured, his voice still dazed but laced with care. “D–Do you wanna…Maybe shower? With me?” His fingers twitched gently where they touched your side. “Only if you want to. I just—I don’t really wanna let you go yet…”

Your heart melted.

You turned slowly beneath him, shifting onto your back so you could face him fully. His hair was damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends, cheeks still flushed, lips swollen. But it was his eyes that undid you. Wide and soft and full of affection. Still a little glassy. Still glowing slightly from the shock of Sentry.

“Of course,” You whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair, a soft blush rose to his cheeks, as you leaned up to kiss the tip of his nose, “I kinda wanna be held under hot water for like…An hour. Minimum.”

Bob gave you the softest grin. “I-I can do that. I’m good at holding.” His tone was still tentative, but there was pride there too. A glimmer of purpose. “You’ll be the cleanest, most held person in the entire compound.”

You sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the soreness blooming in your thighs and core. Bob immediately reached to steady you, his hands finding your waist, his brows pinched in concern.

“I’m okay,” You promised him with a soft smile, “Just a bit sore.”His ears turned red.

“S-Sorry.” He whispered.

“Don’t be,” You said gently, leaning in to press your forehead to his. “I liked being yours.”

His breath caught at that, his hands tightening gently on your sides. Then he kissed you–slow and soft and grateful. And when you pulled back, his hand brushed along your arm as he helped you out of bed.

You led the way to your en suite bathroom, flicking on the light that glowed soft and golden. The room was warm, fogged slightly from earlier use, and your spare towels were already folded neatly on the rack. You reached for two, tossed one onto the nearby counter for later, and handed Bob the other to keep nearby.

He looked at it like it was some sacred token.

You turned the water on and waited for it to warm while he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms gently around your waist and nuzzling the back of your neck.

“I could get used to this,” He whispered.

“What, showering?” You teased, smiling as you leaned back into his chest.

“No,” He said, shaking his head slightly. “Just…Being with you. Like this.”

You turned in his arms, heart thudding, and kissed him slow and sure. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The water turned to steam.

You stepped in first, guiding him in with you. It was small, a bit cramped–but it didn’t matter. You made room for each other. Bob pressed close, arms winding gently around your back as the water poured down over you both. His mouth found your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, peppering you with soft, adoring kisses as the heat melted the soreness from your limbs.

He helped you wash your entire body. His fingers in your hair, gentle and careful as they massaged your scalp with your favorite shampoo. His palms smoothing body wash over your skin like you were something precious and breakable, his lips brushing your shoulder every few seconds just to stay close.

You did the same for him, trailing your hands down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath your touch even now. You cleaned him carefully, quietly, the lather sliding down both your bodies in pearled rivulets. Every time you looked up at him, he was already looking at you. Eyes soft. Lips parted. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

At one point, you turned under the spray and leaned your back into his chest. Bob immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush to him beneath the stream of water. His chin came to rest atop your head, his breath steadying.

“I—I feel like I’m gonna cry,” He admitted quietly, after a long silence.

You tilted your head back just enough to look up at him. “Why?”

“Because…” He swallowed. “B-Because I’ve never felt this safe. And that’s… Not something I ever thought I’d get.”

You reached up, touched his jaw, and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “Then I’ll just have to keep giving it to you.”

His arms tightened around you, and he let out a long, trembling breath.

“Promise?” He whispered.

“Always,” You said. And meant it.

In the shower’s warmth, with your bodies tangled and your hearts steadying into one rhythm, nothing else in the world existed.

Just you and Bob. Soft skin. Steam. And the quiet knowledge that everything had changed.

[foldingfittedsheets]

I was a pretty sickly kid. I'm a pretty sickly adult too I guess. But one of the issues I had was constant ear infections. I almost went deaf because I just had near continuous swelling and inflammation going on. I had tubes in my ears twice because they fell out the first time.

If you're unfamiliar that's where they put a tiny gauge in your inner ear to help force it open. It's meant to stop water getting trapped back there. I had to put wax in my ears before contact with pools, baths, showers, anything, for years, to prevent water from slinking through that narrow channel and festering long enough to spawn bacteria.

It was miserable. To this day my inner ear is blighted with so much scar tissue that every single ear exam the doctor goes, "Woah." You never want to hear a doctor say woah. It's never good.

Eventually my constant rounds of antibiotics and misery was pinned on my tonsils. A doctor declared there was just too much ick hiding out in there and they had to go. I was about five or six at the time. Having surgery as a little kid is already pretty scary but I was determined to be brave. I'd already had vacuum suction tools used on my inner ear weekly a practice so painful it's banned now. I was also promised a coveted troll dinosaur for good behavior.

So I walked tremulously into the hospital to have an organ removed. By all accounts I comported myself admirably. Afterward I was coming out of anesthesia quite slowly. The nurse was carrying me back to my parents when I rasped a whispery, "Knock knock," at her.

She paused and looked down at me, "What?"

A little stronger I repeated, "Knock knock."

She was shocked her tiny patient was trying to tell a joke while higher than a kite but dutifully said, "Who's there?"

"Adam," I said in a wavery little voice.

She leaned closer to hear me, "Adam who?"

I bellowed through my raw throat, still freshly bleeding from surgery, "Adam my way, I'm gettin' outta here!"

The nurse had to stop she was laughing so hard and she was in hysterics when she delivered me back to me parents, repeating the whole episode to them, turning their anxiety into delight that their doped up child was a comedy genius.

No one knew where I'd learned the joke, but it was a staple story throughout my childhood.

[littlelamy]

a/n: the beginning is loosely based of S4 with rafe and sofia! I’m kinda obsessed with rafe being needy behind close doors 🥵I hope you guys enjoy!

you couldn’t stop replaying his words over and over again in your head. each syllable hit harder, cutting deeper than the last. always running her mouth? what. just a hookup, id never date a pogue.

you stood there, behind the slightly ajar door, heart pounding so loudly you were sure it could be heard. but rafe didn’t notice—he was too busy tearing you down with topper, speaking like you were nothing more than a nuisance in his life. he’d never know how those words would haunt you, how the trust you had in him shattered like glass.

your eyes burned with unshed tears, the sharp sting of betrayal settling into the pit of your stomach. but there was something else bubbling just beneath the surface—rage. not the hot, fiery kind that comes and goes. no, this was colder, more calculated. the type that stews, planning its revenge.

your fingers itched to grab your things and leave, but not without making sure he understood who held the power in this relationship. you weren’t going to walk away defeated, not when you could leave him begging for mercy.

so, instead of running, you turned, heart hardening with each step as you walked back into the room, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled out a suitcase from under the bed.

if he thought he could treat you like this, he was about to learn how wrong he was. you weren’t some weak girl who would let this slide. no, rafe was about to see a side of you he never had before.

the door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, you could hear his confused muttering. "yo, topper, i’ll catch you later."

rafe’s voice rang through the hallway, much closer now, but still carrying the same arrogant tone. you ignored him, hands moving swiftly as you tossed your clothes into the bag, each item thrown more aggressively than the last.

when rafe finally stepped into the room, his eyes immediately fell on you, and panic flickered in his expression. "what the hell are you doing?"

his voice wavered as he took in the scene—your half-packed bag, the angry flush on your cheeks, the tight set of your jaw.

"what does it look like?" you shot back, barely sparing him a glance as you continued packing.

he hesitated, taking a step closer to you, but the sight of your seething rage stopped him in his tracks. "hey, let’s just—let’s talk about this, okay?"

you laughed bitterly, slamming the suitcase shut before finally turning to face him. "oh, now you want to talk?" you snapped, the sharp edge in your voice slicing through the air between you. "funny, because earlier, it seemed like you had plenty to say."

his face paled as realization dawned on him. you watched as his lips parted, searching for words but finding none. for the first time in a long time, rafe cameron was speechless, guilt flooding his features.

"i didn’t—" he started, but you cut him off.

"save it," you hissed, stepping closer to him now, your eyes blazing. "i heard everything, rafe. every. single. word."

rafe’s breath hitched as the full weight of your words crashed down on him. his eyes widened in panic, and he took another shaky step toward you, reaching out as if to touch you, to ground himself in this spiraling nightmare. "i didn’t mean it, baby. i swear, i wasn’t thinking—i was just venting—"

"venting?" you scoffed, stepping back from his touch. "do i look like someone you just 'vent' about, rafe? am i just some girl you get to shit on when i’m not around?" your voice cracked slightly, the hurt bubbling beneath your fury slipping through the cracks.

rafe’s hands trembled as he dropped them to his sides, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he shook his head. "no, no—please, you know i didn’t mean any of that. i was just—" his voice broke, and you watched as his composure started to crumble, tears pooling in his eyes. "i was just talking, okay? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. you have to believe me."

but you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. your eyes darkened as you stepped even closer to him, your voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "if you’re really sorry, rafe, you’re going to have to prove it."

a flicker of hope sparked in his eyes, and he nodded eagerly, desperate to fix what he’d broken. "anything," he breathed, his voice shaky. "i’ll do anything."

you stared him down, watching as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with nervous anticipation. there was no trace of the cocky, confident rafe now. instead, he was a trembling mess, willing to do whatever it took to keep you from walking out that door.

you grabbed your phone from the dresser, starting the recording and letting the soft beep fill the silence. rafe’s eyes widened as he watched you, confusion and curiosity mixing with the fear in his gaze.

"get on your knees," you ordered, your voice firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

rafe blinked, momentarily stunned by the command, but the second your eyes met his, cold and unwavering, he obeyed. he dropped to his knees before you, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes. the vulnerability radiating off him was palpable, his breath shaky as he knelt before you, completely at your mercy.

"you don’t get to speak," you warned, holding the phone steady as you circled him slowly, capturing his wide eyes, his trembling hands. "you only get to listen and do what i say."

he nodded quickly, his throat tight with emotion as he blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

you positioned yourself on the bed, spreading your legs slightly, and gestured for him to come closer. "you know what to do," you said, your tone soft but commanding.

without a moment’s hesitation, rafe shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes glued to your thighs as he leaned in, his lips pressing soft, tentative kisses along your skin. his breath was hot and shaky, the desperation in every touch making your pulse quicken.

"good boy," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, guiding his mouth exactly where you wanted it. "now, show me how sorry you are."

rafe wasted no time, his tongue flicking against you with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine. his hands gripped your thighs, holding on for dear life as he worked to prove himself, his movements frantic, eager to please.

your head tipped back slightly as a soft sigh escaped your lips, but you quickly regained control, focusing on the phone’s camera in your hand. you adjusted the angle, making sure you captured every second of rafe’s unraveling—his lips swollen and red from the effort, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead.

"look at you," you cooed softly, your free hand caressing his cheek. "you’re such a mess for me, aren’t you?"

rafe whimpered in response, the vibrations from his soft sobs sending waves of pleasure through you. his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face harder against you, the tears finally spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

you could feel the shift in him—the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. he was breaking, right in front of you, and the sight sent a surge of power through your veins.

"don’t stop," you whispered, your fingers tugging on his hair as his pace quickened, his tongue working furiously. "not until i say so."

rafe let out a choked sob, his tears soaking into your skin as he continued, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. you glanced down at him, the sight of his tear-streaked face and swollen lips sending a rush of heat through you.

"you’re mine," you whispered, your voice dripping with possession as you tilted his face up slightly, capturing the tear that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. "and you’ll never forget it."

rafe’s body shuddered at your words, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he clung to you, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. another tear slipped down his face, and you leaned down, your lips brushing against his cheek, kissing the tear away.

you recorded it all, making sure you caught the exact moment rafe broke for you, his body trembling beneath your touch as he whimpered your name.

"please," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m yours. i’ll never leave you. i love you. please…don’t leave me."

his words were slurred, thick with emotion, and you smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

"good boy," you whispered, pressing one last kiss to his temple as his body finally collapsed against you, completely spent and vulnerable.

slowly, you stopped recording. rafe barely noticed, his head resting against your thigh, still trying to steady his breathing. his tear-streaked face was a picture of surrender.

you stood up, gently pushing him off you, and his body slumped against the mattress, too weak to even protest. you didn’t say a word as you picked up your phone, your fingers tapping with practiced precision.

rafe watched through bleary eyes, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths, the reality of the situation not quite sinking in yet.

the video—the raw, intimate recording of rafe at his most vulnerable—was right there, in your hand. the smirk playing at your lips deepened as you attached it to a group chat, the names of topper, kelce, and several other friends flashing across the screen. rafe’s inner circle, the same ones he was so eager to talk big around. they’d all see this.

and then, for the final touch. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for just a moment before typing: looks like the pogue got your boy.

the message was delivered, the little ‘sent’ confirmation making your heart race with satisfaction. the power was now entirely in your hands, and you relished the silence that followed, the calm before the inevitable storm.

rafe blinked, finally realizing what had happened as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “w-what did you do?” his voice was small, trembling with fear as his eyes darted from your phone to your face, dread sinking in fast.

you leaned down, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with surprising gentleness, and a sweet peck on his lips. “just reminding you who really holds the power here, rafe,” you whispered softly, your voice laced with a wicked edge. “you thought you could talk shit about me behind my back? guess again.”

rafe’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, his body weak and uncoordinated. “no, no, no—what did you send? please, baby, please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

you straightened up, staring down at him, your smile never faltering. “i sent a little reminder to all your friends. they’ll see it soon enough.”

he scrambled to reach for his phone, but it was too late. his friends were already watching the video, seeing him like they’d never seen him before—broken, crying, at your feet, worshiping you. and with that message—looks like the pogue got your boy—they’d know he wasn’t the powerful rafe cameron anymore. not with you around.

rafe’s breath hitched, panic surging through his veins as his phone buzzed incessantly on the bedside table. “no,” he whimpered, tears spilling over again, pure terror flashing in his eyes as he looked up at you, utterly helpless, still with a needy gaze.

you bent down one last time, tilting his chin up so he could meet your gaze, your thumb gently brushing against his swollen lips. “next time you even think about talking behind my back,” you whispered, “remember this moment. because there’s more where that came from.”

with that, you walked away, leaving rafe alone in the room, his phone lighting up with messages from his friends, the weight of his humiliation crushing him.

you didn’t even glance back as the door clicked shut behind you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

you owned him now. completely.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0

[qqueenofhades]

https://www.tumblr.com/qqueenofhades/743255237060689920/the-thing-that-confuses-me-about-the-dont-vote

The “don’t vote” left’s point is basically that, if Biden gets a second term, it’ll basically signal that “They’ll vote for us as long as we’re not Republicans, why don’t we do some REAL fucked up shit, if we can get away with it?” It takes the power out of the people’s hands and places it firmly in the party’s.

I can’t completely disagree with that, my caveat is that there’s no real alternative system or party in place, because top-down change is ineffective; a third party president has to contend with a two party congress.

Except no. This whole "Biden just wants to do as much fucked up shit as possible while not being a Republican, and if you give him a second term he'll do more fucked up shit deliberately to spite you" mindset is only possible as an interpretation if you a) deliberately and comprehensively ignore everything he has done to date, and b) you approach the situation with the maximum bad faith possible. Not to mention, the ultimate outcome of this Big Important Teaching Biden A Lesson is that Trump gets back into power and makes everything orders of magnitude worse, because he does in fact want to deliberately do evil shit to everyone and says so at every opportunity. There is not some magical happy alternative that springs into existence by not voting. If you choose this as a year to Teach Biden A Lesson, you are enabling Trump. Trump will be much, much worse. If you don't care about that, I still do not care what your Great Ideology is. You are not helping anyone and you are directly and irreversibly hurting everyone.

I made a post a few days ago wherein I mentioned that I want to assess Biden fairly, taking into account both strengths and weaknesses, but the rampant bad-faith, lying, misreading, misrepresentation, and open sabotage of him (especially by the online left; the GOP sometimes only wishes they were as good at turning Biden's voter pool against him) makes it really difficult to do that. My frustration with those people makes me just want to go "BIDEN IS GREAT THE END." I know he is a flawed old man (though by literally every account of a career spent in public service, he really does care about making the world a better place and any remotely good faith reading of his accomplishments thus far can see that). It is also very likely that he goes MORE left in a second term because he won't have to face the electorate again, he has always gone more left when pushed before, and he's not actually the scheming genocidal mastermind that leftist social media paints him as. Shocking, I know.

I know there are things in the world we don't like and don't want and want to stop, and therefore we blame our own president for not making it stop. But I have zero, no, none, absolutely none whatsoever sympathy for this pseudo-populist "WE NEED TO TEACH BIDEN A LESSON BY ELECTING TRUMP AGAIN, I AM VERY MORAL MUCH ACTIVIST" mindset. There's this funny thing about America wherein it is still (for now) a democracy. If Biden wins a second term, he can't run again. I would take literally anything these people said more seriously if they focused on developing their dream progressive successor for 2028 (and also figured out how to get that person elected and in a place to make real change) rather than cynically sabotaging Biden in the most consequential election year, again, of our lifetimes. If you don't like him now, find a way to make his successor a better option. Throwing a toddler tantrum and handing the country back to a senile, deranged, fascist, revenge-riddled, theocratic Trump HELPS. NOBODY. I still don't know how many times I'm going to have to say that, but yeah.

[sugarcherris]

Headcanon: Captain Price’s Pathetic Pillow

Captain price x fem! reader, suggestive theme, 18+, mentions of uterus and cum, and the whole team clowning price.

Everyone thinks Captain John Price is a hardened man of taste—cigars, whiskey, and tactical brilliance.

Cigars? Expensive.

Whiskey? Aged and neat.

Tactics? Lethal.

Beard? National treasure.

And yet… behind closed doors… lies a secret so devastating, so shameful, so soul-flattening…the single most disturbing artifact known to Task Force 141.

His pillow is the saddest object in the entire United Kingdom. Possible Europe. Maybe the entire NATO alliance.

And not just any pillow.

No.

It’s not just flat. It’s deflated. Like it gave up sometime in 80s and never recovered.

This pillow has seen wars, sweat, spit, cigar crumbs, cum, and the weight of an emotionally repressed British forehead night after night. It’s yellowed. It crunches a bit when you press it. There’s one suspicious bullet hole no one asks about.

The first sighting

Gaz stumbled on it once and physically recoiled like it bit him.

“Cap— what the hell is that?”

“My pillow.”

“…Is it… alive?”

“It’s broken in.”

“IT’S BROKEN DOWN.”

Soap tried to surprise him with a brand-new orthopedic memory foam one. Price took one look at it, gave it one half hearted squeeze it, and muttered

“Too soft. Doesn’t smell like mine.”

Then flopped face-first back onto his tattered parchment of despair.. the war-torn crêpe he calls a pillow with the weight of a thousand suppressed emotions and let out a groan so guttural it summoned ghosts from WWI.

Laswell once compared it to a flattened Yorkshire pudding left out in the rain.

Ghost swears it whispered something to him once. He won’t say what.

That pillow has no bounce. It’s a sock filled with despair.

But he won’t replace it.

Because in his heart, Price believes if his pillow can survive everything it’s been through…

So can he.

You

You tried.

God knows you tried.

But after three nights of waking up with your spine curved like a question mark and your neck sounding like a glow stick every time you turned your head, you snapped. (Somehow all his pillows were deflated flat and soggy. His remarkable pillow is the worse one, the founder, the disease spreader)

Price, meanwhile, is sleeping like some half-naked forest bear—shirtless, sprawled on his war relic of a pillow, beard glinting like wet oak in the moonlight.

“John,” you hiss. “I swear on your beard—if I have to sleep on any more of this limp, moist rectangle one more night, I will summon God Himself to smite this pillow.”

Price rolls over, glowing in the moonlight like a Michelangelo statue who drinks whiskey and shaves with a knife, He shifts lazily, one thick arm draping over your waist, eyes half-lidded with that glint as he murmurs, voice deep and rough like thunder rolling through and just goes.

“Careful, love. That attitude’ll have you face-down ‘n beggin’ before you even touch the sheets.”

Sir. No.

Your uterus shrieked.

Your spine whimpered.

And the pillow—the goddamn pillow grinned.

The Battle Begins

You steal the pillow.

You tossed the pillow in the bin.

It crunched on the way down

You pray over its resting place like a sacrificial offering.

He came home. Sniffed the air once like a bloodhound.

He finds it. In the goddamn trash.

Washes it. Rescues it.

Holds it like a cradled child. Looks you dead in the eye and says,

“This pillow’s older than half the squad. Show some bloody respect.”

He sleeps like a WWII veteran with his hands gently gripping the corners like a parachute cord.

You’re convinced it’s not a pillow.

It’s a coping mechanism.

Eventually everyone started taking action

Soap starts a betting pool. He names it Operation Flat Bastard.

Gaz calls it Flatline. He salutes it sarcastically every time he passes the room.

Ghost adds it to a list of “Top 5 Unholy Objects I’ve Seen.” (It ranks above a haunted mask from Karachi.)

Laswell mails you a care package with six memory foam pillows. No note.

Price tries one of them once—after you begged. The next morning, he stares into space, grumbling:

“Had a vivid dream about paying council taxes. Didn’t like it.”

New plan

You surrender to fate.

But you plan.

One day, when he’s gone again, you’ll hold a funeral.

Full military honors.

You’ll bury Flatline under a crooked rock in the backyard. Light a cigar. Tap the gravestone twice. Whisper, “Rest now, soldier.”

And when he comes home?

He’ll lie down on a new pillow—one you’ve secretly been punching nightly, stomping with boots, smearing it with your cum, and ironing flat to simulate three decades of war.

He’ll grunt once.

Press his face into it. Inhales it.

And murmur:

“…Finally. Feels just right.”