#Investing for Quick Returns

[yestobetop]

Top 10 Smart Ways To Make Money Fast And How To Apply Them

Discover the Top 10 Smart Ways To Make Money Fast And How To Apply Them #makemoneyfast

Introduction In today’s uncertain economic climate, the quest to make money is as natural as breathing and as common as the daily sunrise. This article focuses on fast money-making methods to ease the weight on our financial shoulders and pave the way for financial stability and freedom. Time is a currency, and every second counts, seizing smart money-making opportunities not only earns quick…

[zunikh]

Explore the benefits of long-term and short-term property development projects in the UK with Zunikh. Learn how stable income, capital appreciation, and quick returns can optimise your investment strategy. Contact Zunikh for expert advice tailored to your property development goals and make informed decisions for success.

[rederiswrites]

And yes, now I really really have to dig out the paint and fix the spot where the masking pulled up a bit of paint. :|

Step one: use hall bathroom instead of master bathroom, notice that Builder Beige switchplate is horrid with lovely new purple walls. Take it down and wash it thoroughly.

Step two: dig out stash of old seed catalogues saved for this purpose. Get super crabby because you can't find the Mod Podge anywhere. Give up, then have daughter find it immediately, in the "glue box" you forgot you created.

Step three: decide on a color scheme, and start cutting. I asked @phantomtheraccoon if we should coordinate or contrast and she cleverly said both.

Step four: collect your flowers and fiddle with layout.

Step five: paint item with Mod Podge, place your images, and paint them again. Leave to dry, which honestly doesn't take long.

Step six: trim edges add cut out holes. I didn't actually cut out the screw holes; I just cut little X's there for the screws to go through. Worked fine to put it up, we'll see someday how it survives taking it apart again.

Step seven: coat everything with Mod Podge at least one more time, paying special attention to edges. Dry elevated on something (say, the top of the Mod Podge bottle) so it doesn't stick down.

Step eight: okay, wow, that's awesomer than expected!

*jazz hands*

[em1i2a3]

Embrace

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

Summary: After a year hiatus from dating, you decide to get back on the apps and begin the search again for the one…Only to find out that the pool of guys in New York has extremely slim pickings. Every time you return from a date though, Bob and a glass of wine are always waiting to hear the latest story from your dating chronicles.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI! Smut, Fluff, and just a little small hint of Angst (like a dusting of angst…a little peppercorn of angst lol), Reader and Bob have an established friendship and they are super close, Bob just wants the reader to be happy…But I mean…At the same time he’s a bit jealous of course, Swearing, Talks about relationships and awkward interactions with guys lol.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…please protect yourselves, I beg of thee), Sensual/Super frickin soft looooove makin’ lol, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Fingering, Biting, Scratching, Leaving Marks by accident but kind of on purpose? Heheheheh. It’s been a while since reader has had sex, Worshipping/Praising Kink,

Author’s Note: Thank you Anon for requesting this! I went off the damn rails with this one because I really loved the concept, and thought it would be great to put a really cute little twist to it! I truly enjoy writing this type of stuff, it’s just so scrumptious for my brain. Hope y’all enjoy <3

Word Count: 16,826

The cold bit at your knees the second you stepped out of the restaurant.

You wrapped your arms tightly around yourself, pulling your jacket closed as you shifted your weight from heel to heel. It was a nice jacket–mid-thigh length, fitted, soft beige wool with a classic belt–but it didn’t do much to protect your bare legs from the peak fall weather that plagued New York. You were wearing a navy-blue satin slip dress that skimmed your thighs and clung in all the ways the mirror at the compound had promised would be flattering. You had paired it with a delicate rose gold necklace and matching heels that now dangled from your fingers–replaced with the fold out flats you always brought. The outfit had felt elegant when you left earlier tonight…Now it just felt cold.

You were standing a few feet away from your date, Jeremy–the man who insisted on dining at Le Pavillon because he ‘had a connection there’ and claimed it was ‘just upscale enough to set the mood.’ He was scrolling absently through his phone, occasionally glancing toward the street like he was trying to manifest his ride faster.

You shifted again, arms crossed under your chest. Your Uber was three minutes away…Three minutes too long.

The dinner itself had been passable. The wine was decent, and the risotto was rich enough to almost make up for the conversation. But…He had a habit of interrupting. Correcting. Smiling too long. You insisted on splitting the bill after he made a smug comment about being ‘happy to invest in a beautiful woman’–and he had not taken it well. You could feel the awkward tension humming between you now, like static off an unplugged cord.

His phone buzzed and he quickly glanced down at it, “That’s me!” He exclaimed, stuffing it into his coat pocket. He turned toward you, giving the kind of grin that probably worked better in dim lighting, “I’ll text you, yeah? We’ll set up something for next week.

You forced a tight, polite smile, “Sure…” He leaned in for a hug, and you let him–quick, loose, impersonal. He smelled like cheap cigars, chlorine, and headache inducing aftershave. When he pulled back, you already had your phone out.

The second his back turned and he slipped into his rideshare, your whole posture deflated–your shoulders dropped, your jaw unclenched, and the carefully pleasant expression faded off your face in the chilly fall air.

You opened your text thread with Bob and typed with cold fingers:

“Heading back to the compound now, no need to be worried. Will talk soon.”

Three dots appeared almost immediately, and he responded:

“No problem, see you soon. Send the location tracker thing when you get in.”

You smirked at his message, thumbs already moving before you could stop yourself:

“Such a worrier Robert…Kinda hot though 🥵”

You sent it before you could think twice. The moment it was delivered, you stared at it–head tilting slightly, your expression catching somewhere between amusement and embarrassment. Of course it was meant to be a teasing, lighthearted message. The kind of dry humor you always used when Bob got extra overprotective.

But you knew how he was about safety, especially regarding your safety, and especially since you started going on these dates.

You could still hear Yelena’s voice echoing in your head–“You’re turning into a hermit. A sexy, socially-anxious, wine-drunk hermit. That’s not hot, babe…Download some apps for the love of god.”

So you did, and now you had been on six dates, with six different men, and had been introduced to six different brands of disappointment.

And for the first time tonight, as you froze outside, with your fingers brushing the familiar edge of your phone case, the thought crept in that maybe it was you…

You weren’t exactly inexperienced, you had been in a relationship prior to this that had a bad falling out due to you moving to New York…But you were a Thunderbolt, for God’s sake–trained, capable, unflinching in combat. But when it comes to this kind of intimacy? Emotional vulnerability? The whole practice of letting yourself be seen? It felt harder than dodging bullets sometimes.

The Uber driver–a soft-spoken woman with calm eyes–pulled up to the restaurant and greeted you, confirming your name before you stepped into the back.

“Y/N…” You responded, returning a tired smile to her. You placed your heels beside you on the seat and sank into the warm leather, finally feeling the muscles in your back relax. You had one more task before you could switch off for the night–you opened Bob’s pinned thread and tapped the location share icon, putting a note below.

“Tracker sent…Unless the driver turns out to be a serial killer, you’ll see me in twenty.”

The reply came a second later.

“Don’t joke about that…I’m already watching your route.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and let your head fall back against the seat. Of course he was already watching, because that was just Bob. He was always two steps ahead when it came to you. Every time you mentioned a new guy he always asked to read through the profile, but he never said anything critical–like he just wanted to put a name to the face, and see the little blurb they wrote. Then he would always stay up for you, and wait till you got back to the compound safely.

You exhaled softly, watching the city blur past your window. It was late enough that traffic was light, and the closer you got to the Tower, the more you felt the tension bleeding out of your body in slow waves. The warmth of the car helped, but so did knowing who was waiting at the end of the ride.

Twenty minutes later, the familiar glass front of the Watchtower loomed into view. The car came to a slow, quiet stop along the curb.

The driver turned slightly toward you, smiling, “Wow,” She said, tilting her head a bit to get a better look outside the passenger window, “What a nice building.” You followed her gaze toward the glass-fronted façade of the Watchtower, the compound’s lower half glowing faintly from the lobby lights still burning behind reinforced panes. The upper floors were dark now, a few security strobes blinking red against the skyline. It looked sleek from the outside–imposing, even. But from within, it was just…Familiar. The only place in New York that really felt like home. You gave a soft, tired smile.

”Still under renovations,” You replied, gathering your shoes up in your arms, “But it’s comfy.”

”Looks very secure,” She commented with a grin, you chuckled a bit.

“Yeah…That’s definitely the idea.” You slipped out of the back seat with a gentle murmur of thanks, heels in one hand, Your small clutch tucked beneath your arm.

“Have a great night,” You added, closing the door behind you. “Drive safe.” As the car pulled away, you turned and padded toward the entrance, cold air nipping at your legs again. You reached for the key fob clipped to the inside of your jacket and scanned it against the reader beside the reinforced door. A soft chime, then a green light blinked.

Click.

You slipped inside before the wind could follow you.

The lobby was dim and quiet, lit mostly by the soft glow of recessed ceiling panels. The walls were a combination of blackened steel and warm wood accents–part utilitarian fortress, part sleek design prototype. A sitting area to the right was still cluttered with folded blankets and someone’s abandoned socks (Walker’s, probably). One of the wall panels buzzed faintly as the security system refreshed. Somewhere in the back hallway, a cleaning drone hummed past.

Your cheap fold-out flats squeaked against the polished concrete floor as you walked toward the elevator bay, the straps starting to chafe against the inside of your toes. You pulled out your phone and quickly left the driver five stars and a generous tip before sliding it back into your pocket.

The elevator dinged a few seconds later.

You stepped inside and hit the button for the 80th floor–Thunderbolts’ private quarters. The doors slid shut behind you with a whisper.

Then came the feeling. That familiar weightlessness.

The elevator ascended fast–too fast for your already sensitive post-date stomach. You felt it in your ribs first, that swooping g-force pull that lifted the pit of your stomach an inch higher than it was supposed to sit. You leaned your head back against the cool mirrored wall with a quiet sigh and let your eyes fall shut for a moment, letting yourself go completely still.

You felt the shift in your knees when the elevator slowed.

Then–ding.

The doors opened.

You stepped out of the elevator, the doors whispering shut behind you.

The 80th floor always had a particular stillness to it at this time of night, one that could be felt from miles away. The air was cooler here, tinged with the ever-present scent of industrial concrete, stale coffee, and the softest trace of Bob’s cedarwood laundry detergent. Someone–probably Ava–had left a sweater draped over the back of one of the common room chairs, and the hallway light above flickered once, then steadied. Everyone–but you and Bob–were sent on their own missions for the next few weeks, so the both of you had settled in this rhythmic routine of soft conversations and silence. It was peaceful, and for once you didn’t feel like you were being pulled every which way like a medieval torture device.

You bent near the wall, carefully setting down your heels with a soft clink of buckles. Then, with a quiet sigh, you toed off your fold-out flats one by one, nudging them beside the heels in a tired pile. Your toes stretched gratefully against the cold floor.

Soft sounds filtered in from the common room–a low, rhythmic rustle of fabric.

You padded forward.

Bob was sitting on the far end of the couch, folding a small pile of freshly washed clothes on the coffee table in front of him. He wore his usual nighttime uniform–dark sweatpants, slightly too-long sleeves pushed up on a navy crewneck. His light brown hair was still a little damp at the ends, like he had showered not long ago, and gave up halfway through blow drying his locks.

He didn’t notice you at first. His head was bent in quiet concentration, fingers folding a t-shirt with slow, precise care. But the second your footsteps hit the carpeted edge of the room, his head lifted.

His eyes met yours. And then, briefly–barely–they flicked down.

Your jacket had fallen open slightly, the soft beige parting just enough to reveal the satin navy-blue slip beneath. The dress caught what little light there was, glinting at the edges where it hugged your waist and dipped at the neckline. Your makeup was still intact, though your lipstick had faded, and your eyeshadow had begun to crease. But there was something else too–something vulnerable in your eyes now, without the polite mask you’d worn earlier.

Bob swallowed.

His gaze returned quickly to your face, and he offered a soft, crooked smile.

“G-Guess the d-driver wasn’t a s-serial killer, hmm?”

You shook your head with a tired huff. “Disappointing, right?” That earned a soft laugh. He shifted on the couch slightly, still holding a half-folded towel in his lap.

“H-How was the d-date?” You gave a groan that seemed to come from your soul and reached up to rub your fingers along your temple.

“Let me take my face off first,” You muttered, already turning toward the hallway. “Then I’ll divulge the gory details.”

Bob let out another quiet laugh, head tilting slightly. “A-alright. I’ll be here.”

He always was.

You made your way to your room, the door swinging quietly shut behind you. The ritual was muscle memory now: a warm shower to get the city off your skin, your fingers pulling pins from your hair one by one, the hiss of the micellar water bottle as you soaked a cotton pad and wiped away the eyeliner that always smudged more than you expected.

Fifteen minutes later, you emerged again in your night robe–pale gray and soft as clouds, cinched at the waist–and your fluffy white slippers, the thick soles muted against the floor. A cooling gel mask clung to your face, pale green and slightly shiny, promising to soothe the irritation blooming beneath your cheekbones from where you had rubbed too hard.

You looked like a woman who had been to war and came back with just enough energy to report what had happened.

Bob looked up the second he heard your approach.

You didn’t speak right away–just shuffled back into the common room and dropped into the spot on the couch beside him with a dramatic grunt, your limbs folding into the cushions like you were eighty years older than you were.

“W-Want me to get y-you a glass of wine?” He asked quietly. You nodded immediately at his offer, adjusting your robe with a small tug at the collar to cover the exposed curve of your shoulder. The cooling mask clung a little tighter as your expression settled somewhere between

Bob smiled–crooked, and fond–before rising from the couch, stretching out his long limbs, shaking off the stiffness.

He padded softly across the room, bare feet silent against the concrete floor as he stepped into the kitchen. The fridge opened with a quiet suction-pop, casting a muted glow across the space. He pulled out the bottle of red you’d been nursing your way through all week–a California Pinot Noir with plum notes and just enough bite to make you feel like your post-date venting was sophisticated instead of sad, disappointing, and embarrassing.

He poured it carefully into the large glass you always used–stemless, wide-rimmed, and shimmering from the last time you cleaned it.

Then he grabbed himself a can of lemon-lime sparkling water from the side shelf and cracked it open. The hiss echoed softly in the quiet. He grimaced slightly at the first fizz.

It tasted like the static from an old TV, but it was better than caffeine this late at night.

When he returned, he handed you the glass slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you out of the soft space you’d found yourself in.

You looked up and accepted it with both hands, the glass cool against your fingers. “Thanks, Bob.” He nodded–shy, and timid–before he reclaimed his spot beside you on the couch, legs folding underneath him as he resumed his slow, methodical folding of socks and towels and the occasional Thunderbolts t-shirt.

A beat passed.

Then: “S-So…You’re all c-comfortable now…” He paused for effect, glancing sideways with a small, expectant raise of his brows. “D-Divulge.”You let out a long sigh and stared into your wine like it might come alive and answer for you.

“It started okay,” You began. “Really. The place was nice, I actually liked the risotto. He was polite at first, made some decent small talk–asked about my job, what I do with my team. I kept it vague, obviously.”

“O-Obviously,” Bob echoed, smiling faintly as he folded another shirt.

“But then…” You took a slow sip to try and give yourself time to choose your words carefully–letting the sweet tinge of plum settle on your tongue before swallowing, “Something shifted. I don’t even know how to describe it. Just–this weird vibe started coming off him. Like I owed him something for showing up. Like just agreeing to dinner meant I was suddenly locked into…I don’t know. Some kind of romantic contract.”

Bob’s hands slowed their movement. “H-He said that?”

“No,” You muttered, shaking your head. “But he didn’t have to. He looked at me like that. And then I said I wanted to split the bill because he made this smug little comment about ‘investing’ in me.”

Bob’s face twitched. Slightly. His fingers resumed folding, carefully adding another towel to the growing pile. “And h-he didn’t like that?”

You snorted. “Not even a little. He got all passive aggressive about it. Like he was trying to hide that he was annoyed, but it was obvious. Barely made eye contact the rest of the time. Kept checking his phone. He didn’t even wait for me to get my ride.”

Bob’s jaw ticked for half a second, and you missed it. You were still staring into your wineglass, lips pressed into a faint pout that he’d seen too many times lately. He wished he didn’t love that face. He wished you didn’t have to make it so often.

“I just don’t get it,” You started quietly after a beat. “Am I giving off the wrong energy? Is there some neon sign over my head that says ’emotionally exploit me’?”

Bob’s voice came soft. Gentle.

“No,” He replied, “Y-You’re just going out with the w-wrong people…I-I’m sure if you k-keep looking you’ll find someone.” Bob swallowed hard. You could see it–how his throat moved around the sound he didn’t quite let out. His jaw flexed once, and his hand paused in the middle of folding a t-shirt, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric.

The stutter had come on stronger, and you watched as he tried to shake it off, attempting to get a handle on it, even though it wasn’t completely possible. He hated that it got worse when he was around you. There was no way for him to get rid of it–even though the lab techs in the med bay said they would try to help him–but lump the issue in with the anxiousness he felt when you came around him, it became an issue.

Bob wanted to say ‘Maybe that person is me’, he wanted to say ‘The right one could be sitting right in front of you actually’.

But instead, he stayed quiet–letting it rot in the back of his throat like a fruit that never quite ripened. Because the fear of losing this, whatever it was you shared together, was louder than any hope he might’ve harboured.

There was something tragic all poetic about it, really. How close you were, how often you leaned on him, how easily he could reach out and touch you right now–and how impossible it felt to close that final, aching inch.

You took another sip of wine, rolling it across your tongue slowly before swallowing and sighing into the glass.

”All I want is simplicity,” You muttered, eyes fixed somewhere off in the distance. Bob’s hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then he began folding again–but his pace quickened. Not rushed. Just…focused. Sharpened. Like he couldn’t afford to let himself freeze.

His voice, when it came, was soft but pointed. “A-And w-what does that entail e-exactly…? ‘Cause if you can explain it well, y-you should put it in your profile.” You let out a surprised laugh–small and warm–and nudged your shoulder gently against his.

”Yeah,” You chuckled, “And I should absolutely put a picture of me in this face mask too…It’ll really give off an Osiris vibe.” Bob gave a breathy little laugh of his own, glancing sideways.

”I-I don’t know…M-Might give off the w-wrong impression.” You raised both brows in a mock challenge.

”Who wouldn’t want to go out on a date with the god of fertility, agriculture, the afterlife, and resurrection?” He grinned.

And for a second–just a second–it was easy. Light. You and Bob, trading quiet jokes in the warmth of low light and soft fabric piles. But then the moment shifted again, softening at the edges as the laughter tapered off.

Your voice dropped, just slightly.

“I just want…Small gestures,” You said. “To show that I’m appreciated…Like a bouquet of daisies or something…I’d take anything…”

Bob’s hands stopped moving completely.

“I don’t need extravagant dinners, or to be treated like I’m royalty,” You continued, still not looking at him directly. “I just want some… calm. This life that I lead is already so chaotic. Every mission, every city, every week is different. I want to come home to someone who–” You hesitated, just a beat, “–who will hold me. Who’ll tell me everything is alright. Who won’t ask me to be anyone except exactly who I am.”

Bob’s jaw clenched again. He didn’t realize you were watching him now. Not fully. Not in that slow, deliberate way you only looked when you were trying to see something.

And there it was–the soft pink rising at his cheeks. Not just from your words, but from the fact that he couldn’t hide how much they meant to him. How much they wrecked him.

He swallowed once more, eyes darting to the pile in front of him like it was his lifeline.

Then he cleared his throat and said–voice low, cracking slightly:

“Y-You should… P-Put that down.”

You tilted your head, amused despite the emotion threading your chest. “In my profile?”

Bob nodded quickly–too quickly. “Y-Yeah. All of it. Just—j-just like that.” There was something raw in his voice now. A quiet gentleness. Like he’d been handed a blueprint for the life he wanted most, and it was yours. You leaned back slightly against the couch cushions, one hand curling gently around your wineglass.

“You sure I’m not asking for too much?”

“O-Of course not…” Bob said, his voice low but sure, even if the edges of it still wavered. “I-It’s what you want… I-I don’t think it’s that big of an ask.”

You took a slow breath, one that stretched deep into your chest and pulled at something behind your ribs. Then you tipped back the rest of your wine, letting the last few sips warm your throat as you swallowed down the lump forming there.

You set the empty glass gently on the table and looked down at your hands, thumb brushing along the curve of your palm.

God, Bob.

You’d always known he was a good man. Not just kind, but tender in a way most men didn’t know how to be–especially in your line of work. Bob had that softness that didn’t come from fragility, but from surviving pain and choosing not to become bitter. He was loyal in a way that felt bone-deep. Present without being overbearing. He saw people. He saw you.

And the worst part was…You’d wanted him for a long time.

Not in a crush-on-your-teammate way. Not in a reckless, post-mission hookup way.

But in the quiet way. The real way.

You wanted the version of love that grew slowly between two people who already knew each other inside and out. Who’d seen one another covered in blood and grief and stubbornness. Who’d still shown up anyway. You and Bob had fallen into this rhythm over time–a pattern of mutual tending. Him reading the signs of your stress before you spoke. You reminding him to drink water, to eat, to rest. Him folding your laundry when you left it in the wash too long. You buying his favorite weird little snacks for the pantry without saying anything.

There was so much care between you. So much love, if you were brave enough to name it. But you weren’t. Not really. Because Bob had been through so much–too much–and he was still trying to heal, still trying to be here. You didn’t want to complicate that. You didn’t want to reach for more if it meant tipping the balance.

So instead, you gave him a small, quiet smile and reached out to pat his shoulder once. Just a light tap. Friendly. Familiar.

“I wish they made carbon copies of you, Bob,” you murmured.

He blinked, startled by the comment, and glanced up at you with slightly flushed cheeks. “W-W-Why’s that?”

You shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t a dagger of truth tucked inside a half-joke.

“I think the dating pool would be a lot less disappointing,” You said casually, but your eyes lingered on him just a second too long. Your voice softened. “Maybe then I’d actually have a chance at something good.”

Bob’s brows furrowed faintly.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Tilted his head like he was trying to solve a riddle.

“W-Wait, d-do you mean–like–m-more guys who c-care about safety? Or–uh–laundry?” He asked, uncertain, lips pursed slightly.

You smiled–tight, almost fond. Of course it went over his head.

You turned back toward the couch cushion, pulling your legs beneath you and tucking your robe a little tighter at the waist.

“Never mind,” You said, voice easy and light, but your heart thudding just a little harder. “Forget I said anything.”

Bob looked at you for a moment longer, like he could sense something more behind the words but didn’t quite know how to reach it.

Then, slowly, he nodded and went back to folding.

You watched the way his fingers moved–so gentle, so meticulous. As if every wrinkle mattered. As if it was easier to smooth out cotton than the knot slowly forming in his chest.

Neither of you said anything for a long time.

But your hand stayed close to his on the cushion, only an inch away.

————————

Two days later you were walking up the familiar steps of the Watchtower again, this time with your hands deep in your jacket pockets and lips pressed into a thin, tight line.

It had started off fine–actually, better than fine. Leo had chosen something casual, a walk through Central Park with lattes in hand. Low-pressure, decent weather, and a chance to talk. You’d worn jeans this time, a cozy knit sweater tucked into a belt at your waist, a cream scarf wound loose around your neck, and boots that were comfortable enough for walking.

You tried. Yet again.

But about twenty minutes in, you realized you were asking all the questions. You asked what he did, what he liked to do, where he grew up, what kind of music he liked–trying to keep the flow natural, easy. But every time you paused to take a sip of your coffee, hoping he’d ask you something back…He didn’t. Not once.

Worse still, every other sentence seemed to reference how close his apartment was. ‘Just a few blocks up, fifteen-minute walk tops, I could make us some drinks, you like mezcal?’ You smiled through it, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just nervous. Maybe he wasn’t great with conversation. But the more time passed, the more it felt like you were auditioning for the role of “hookup of the night.”

Eventually, you stopped walking.

“Hey…” You started, wrapping both hands around your coffee cup for warmth. “I don’t want to waste your time. You seem nice, but…I’m not really feeling a connection here.”

Leo blinked, shrugged, and gave a crooked smirk. “Well…Your loss.”

You smiled back. Not because it was funny–but because it was so damn predictable.

You peeled off from the sidewalk and ordered an Uber back to the Tower before he could say anything else.

The elevator doors whispered shut behind you as you stepped out onto the 80th floor, your boots thudding softly against the polished concrete. The air smelled different up here tonight.

Warm.

Sweet.

Soft citrus curled into your nose before you even reached the hallway–sharp and bright, softened by a buttery undercurrent that clung to the air like steam from a kettle. It smelled like sugar and zest and something just on the verge of golden brown.

Lemon.

You breathed in deeper. There was vanilla too–just a touch–folded gently beneath the tartness. Something baked. Something familiar.

Lemon poppyseed.

Of course.

You kicked your boots off by the wall, nudging them neatly beneath the little bench just outside the elevator bay. You could already hear movement coming from the kitchen–quiet shifting, the muffled rattle of a spoon against ceramic, and the hum of the oven fan cycling low in the background.

“H-How did i-it go?”

His voice came from around the corner, soft and hopeful and already laced with a nervous edge.

You paused mid-step.

For a moment, you just…Stood there. Breathing in the smell. Letting the warmth settle somewhere in your chest. Then, slowly, you reached up and unraveled your scarf from around your neck. The soft wool slipped free with a sigh of fabric, and you tossed it over the hook near the elevator. Your jacket followed, shoulders slumping as you shrugged out of it and hung it up too.

You padded forward.

“Another dud,” You announced plainly, turning into the wide open space of the Thunderbolts common kitchen. The lights were low, golden, casting soft amber glows across the granite counters and brushed steel appliances. Bob was perched at the far end of the kitchen island, elbows resting on either side of an open book, one knee pulled up on the stool.

He looked up from the pages immediately.

The sleeves of his dark thermal sweater had been shoved up to his forearms, revealing his pale blue veins that traveled up the inside of it. His cheeks were pink–not just from the oven’s warmth, but from the way your voice had settled into something tired and close. He closed the book slowly, a thumb marking the page.

“R-Really?” He asked. “I-I thought you said he w-was awesome…” You moved toward the oven without answering, hands absently dragging along the edge of the counter as you passed. Your fingers reached for the switch beside the stovetop, flicking on the tiny oven light. The inside glowed to life.

A loaf tin sat in the center rack–round and golden, the top just beginning to dome. Tiny cracks laced the surface where the batter had risen, flecked through with little black seeds. A small pool of sugar syrup had glazed part of the crust, catching the light like glass. It was almost done.

You stared at it for a beat. The warmth from the oven kissed your knees through your jeans. Then you exhaled through your nose, lips curling faintly.

“What’re you making?” You murmured, though you already knew.

He cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “L-Lemon poppyseed l-loaf…Your f-favourite.”

You turned slowly to look at him over your shoulder, one brow raised, a knowing smile twitching at your mouth. “You know me too well.”

Bob flushed immediately–his chin tucking just slightly as he looked down at the book again, shifting like he didn’t know what to do with his hands now. He fiddled with the edge of the spine. “T-Thought we would be c-celebrating a successful first date…”

You let out a small, quiet laugh–not because it was funny, but because he meant it. Because he’d baked your favorite thing, timed it to be warm for your return, because he had hoped.

That was the thing with Bob. He hoped for you when you didn’t even bother anymore.

You stepped away from the oven and came around the island, hands brushing along the edge again as you moved. You leaned one hip against the stool beside him and glanced down at his book–Dune, from the looks of the cover. An older edition. His finger still held the page bookmarking it as he kept his attention on you.

You reached for the lemon syrup bowl he had left near the stove and dipped one finger into it absently, then touched it to your tongue. Tart. Warm. Sticky. He watched the way you closed your eyes for a brief moment and sighed before glancing up at him.

“Guess I don’t know how to read people too well.” Bob stared at you like he could read you better than anyone else ever had.

But he didn’t say it.

He just nodded once, shy and small, and reached for a folded tea towel beside the cooling rack, laying it out for the loaf even though it wasn’t quite ready yet.

Your eyes lingered on his hands for a second too long, and then your voice broke the silence–gentle, but teasing. You dipped your finger into the syrup again–just to give yourself something to do other than daydream about the gentleness of his touch–then licked it clean with a soft sigh and turned toward Bob.

“Why haven’t you gotten on the dating apps?” You asked, voice quiet but genuine. “I mean, I’m sure there’s a girl out there who’d be dying to have someone like you.” Bob’s head snapped up slightly, like you’d just suggested something obscene. His brows pinched together, and then he let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head almost immediately.

“N-No, no…That’d mean b-both of us would end up swapping b-bad date stories every other day,” He said, waving the idea off like it might physically catch fire in the air between you. “I-If the dating pool’s treating you this badly…I think I’d be incinerated on the first go.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t think you’d have as much trouble as me, Bob.”

He gave you a small, confused glance. “W-Why not?”

You shrugged, your tone casual, but your eyes stayed trained on him. “Because you’re…You. You listen. You care. You’ll literally do anything to make sure someone is comfortable, and you don’t make people feel like they’re a burden. That’s…A lot more rare than you think.”

Bob blinked. Then flushed again–his jaw tightening slightly as he looked down at the tea towel like it held the answer to everything he didn’t know how to say.

He didn’t joke this time. He didn’t deflect.

Instead, his voice came soft, honest, and out of nowhere.

“I-I think you deserve someone who c-could give you the world…” Your eyes lifted to his–soft and searching, your expression unreadable for just a breath.

“You really think so?” You asked, your voice quiet. Too quiet.

Bob met your gaze, hesitant at first, like he didn’t quite believe he was allowed to look at you like this. But he nodded, slow and sure.

“O-Of course…” He said, the words trembling just slightly. “Y-You’d want the same for m-me…w-would you not?”

Your brows lifted a touch, surprised by how gently–how truthfully–he turned the question around onto you, so the spotlight would no longer be directed to him.

And for a second, you forgot how to breathe.

Then, almost instinctively, you smiled. It was small, lopsided. But real. Something soft tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you had to glance away for a moment just to keep your chest from cracking wide open.

“…Yeah,” You murmured, clearing your throat faintly. “Yeah. I would.”

It wasn’t just a platitude.

You meant it.

You wanted the world for him too. You always had.

And maybe, for the first time, you realized he knew that.

Bob blinked a few times, like he was trying to ground himself in the moment–trying not to let the weight of your answer topple him over. His hands twitched slightly on the tea towel, and he looked like he was about to say something else–something important–when–

Beep.

The oven timer broke through the silence, sharp and shrill in the golden warmth of the kitchen.

Bob jolted slightly, blinking hard as if the sound yanked him out of a dream. “O-Oh,” He breathed, rising quickly from the stool. “T-That’s the loaf.”

He turned, his sweater sleeves falling slightly down as he grabbed an oven mitt and opened the door.

Heat spilled into the kitchen in a rush–rich and fragrant. The scent of sugar and lemon intensified, thickening the air with sweetness and steam. Bob carefully slid the tin out and onto the counter, setting it on the tea towel he’d laid out earlier.

You watched as he worked–his hands steady despite the pink in his cheeks, despite the subtle tension still sitting at the base of his neck.

The moment between you still hummed there, quiet and full of everything unsaid.

But you didn’t press it. Not yet.

Because something had changed. Because even though the timer had interrupted the words, the feeling still lingered. Settled between you like the scent of lemon zest and vanilla.

You stood beside the counter as Bob leaned over the loaf, gently brushing the syrup glaze over the top with a small silicone brush, careful not to let it pool too fast.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you.

But your arms brushed once, barely.

And he didn’t move away.

You stayed there–close enough to feel the warmth rising off the pound cake, close enough to feel the air shift every time he breathed.

Close enough to wonder if maybe, just maybe…

You hadn’t been looking too deep into it at all.

————————

Three days later, you were sitting in the corner of a quiet coffee shop downtown, holding a half-full latte that had long gone cold.

The man across from you–Jason? Jordan?–was talking. About something. Work, maybe. Or CrossFit. Or how his ex still texted him sometimes, but it wasn’t weird because “she’s just not over me yet.” You’d stopped tracking it somewhere around minute seven. Your eyes were on him, your chin resting on your palm, but your mind was far, far away and sharply focused on Bob.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since that night in the kitchen. The smell of lemon glaze still lingered somewhere in your senses, curling around you like a memory you didn’t want to shake off. You kept replaying the sound of his voice–the way it cracked when he said you deserve someone who could give you the world. The way he looked at you when you asked if he meant it.

It wasn’t fair to sit across from someone new while thinking about him—but here you were, watching this guy check his reflection in the window for the third time while your mind looped the image of Bob brushing syrup across golden crust like it was an act of devotion.

You sipped your latte again. Cold.

“I mean, what kind of girl doesn’t like tequila?” the man asked suddenly, with a scoff and a shake of his head.

You blinked. “Hm?”

He laughed. “I said–I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t like tequila. Like, if a girl says that on a date, I’m already checking out.” He grinned like it was charming. Like it was some kind of universal truth.

You offered a tight smile and checked your phone. No new messages. But Bob’s pinned thread sat right there at the top, quietly glowing like a lighthouse in fog.

“Excuse me,” You said suddenly, pushing your chair back, grabbing your coat before he could say anything else. “I just remembered I have to be somewhere.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond, you just apologized and rushed out.

The cold slapped your cheeks the moment you stepped outside the café, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even flinch.

Your boots hit the pavement hard, one after the other, your hands jammed deep in your coat pockets and your mind racing with every step. You didn’t call for a car this time. You didn’t need to. The Watchtower was just a block away–rising tall and familiar through the gray city haze like it had been waiting for you. Like he had been waiting for you.

You crossed the street on instinct, breath catching at your throat as the compound’s glass façade came into view. You didn’t even register the security team at the front desk. You just nodded once, clipped your badge at the scanner, and pushed your way through the reinforced door like it owed you answers.

The elevator opened with a quiet chime.

You stepped in, hit the button for the 80th floor, and leaned back against the mirror, exhaling through your nose.

Your fingers were trembling. You folded your arms across your chest, trying to keep still. But your hand started tapping against the side of the elevator anyway, bouncing in a quick, nervous rhythm. One. Two. Three. Tap tap tap.

This wasn’t just about the date anymore. This wasn’t about frustration or exhaustion or bad conversation. This was about Bob.

This was about all the quiet gestures. The folding of your laundry. The checking of your location to make sure you were safe. The lemon loaf. The way he had looked at you like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. You couldn’t sit on it anymore. You couldn’t wonder if you were imagining it. You had to know.

The elevator dinged.

You stepped out.

The air on the 80th floor was warm–quiet. Like the world was holding its breath.

Your boots hit the polished concrete with familiar weight, but you kicked them off quickly near the bench, letting them thud softly as they landed side by side. You padded forward in thick socks, heart thumping loud in your ears, and turned the corner toward the common room.

“Bob?” You called softly, voice catching on the edge of your breath. “Are you here? I… I need to talk–”

You stopped mid-step.

The words caught in your throat like smoke.

Because there, right in the center of the coffee table, beneath the soft glow of the standing lamp–

Was a vase of daisies.

Your breath hitched quietly.

Not roses. Not peonies. Not anything dramatic or overt.

Just simple, white-petaled daisies–dozens of them–tall and bright and a little uneven, like he’d picked through the bunches carefully to find the right ones. The ones that felt like you. Gentle. Honest. Unassuming.

Beside the vase was a small bowl–ceramic, navy blue, the one you always used for popcorn on movie nights. But instead of popcorn, it was filled to the brim with Lindor truffles.

Every kind.

White chocolate. Dark. Sea salt. Milk. Hazelnut. Pistachio.

Your breath left you in a soft, shaky exhale.

He remembered. You’d once told him–months ago in a conversation you barely remembered yourself–that you didn’t have a favorite flavor. That you just liked the surprise of reaching in and never knowing which one you’d get. That it felt like a reward no matter what.

You stepped forward slowly, almost on instinct, like the moment would vanish if you moved too fast. You came to stand before the table, eyes wide and soft, lips parting just slightly as you reached out.

Your fingers brushed the rim of the vase.

The stems were fresh. Still damp with condensation. He must have gone out earlier today–probably snuck them in while you were on your date, hoping to surprise you when you got back. Hoping to make you smile.

And God, it worked.

Your eyes shimmered slightly–not with sadness, but with something else. Something warm and aching and full.

You smiled, small and stunned and tender.

Then you heard it–the quiet shuffle of footsteps from the hallway behind you.

You turned.

And there he was.

Bob stood just past the hallway arch, bathed in the low amber light spilling from the living room. His light brown hair was soft and fluffed at the crown, like he’d run a brush through it half a dozen times and still thought it wasn’t enough. There was a faint wave to it, the kind that always tried to curl when he let it dry naturally. His sweater–charcoal gray with sleeves pushed up to his elbows–clung slightly to the line of his shoulders, and the soft cotton of his navy sweatpants hung low on his hips, loose but familiar.

He looked so domestic it nearly broke your heart.

He froze when he saw you standing there, still in your socks, still inches from the daisies, still wrapped in the kind of silence that only ever came before something life-changing.

“I-I didn’t expect you to be b-back so early…” He stammered, eyes flicking to the door like he was trying to reorient himself in real time.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth tugging with something soft–something bruised and full of clarity.

“I left.”

Bob blinked.

“I stopped the date,” You added, voice quiet, but steady. “I couldn’t be there anymore.”

His brows drew in with sudden concern. “A-Are you okay?”

You hesitated.

Then shook your head again–then nodded. A small, helpless sound left you, somewhere between a laugh and a breath. “No–I mean…yes, I’m okay, I just…”

Your hand lifted slightly from your side, like the words needed a physical anchor. Your fingers hovered in the air between you.

“I left because of you.”

That stopped him.

Completely.

His mouth parted slightly, confusion flickering across his face, chased by something softer–something more dangerous. Hope.

You stepped toward him.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Bob.”

His whole body stilled. His shoulders lifted–just a little–like the breath in his lungs was suddenly too big to keep quiet.

And then you said it.

“I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that it’s just friendship. That it’s just comfort. That I’m just tired or lonely or healing from something else. But it’s not. It’s never been that.”

Your voice was trembling now. But it didn’t falter.

“Every time I sit across from someone new, I realize that all I’m looking for is you. I’m hoping for your laugh, your voice, your hands. I’m comparing everything to how it feels when I’m sitting beside you on that couch folding towels and drinking wine like we’re building a life together in the quiet.”

Bob’s eyes shined. Wide and liquidy. Like the words were pouring into him faster than he could hold them.

“I don’t need someone who’ll try to impress me. I don’t want someone who’ll try to win me. I just want someone who’s already here. Who sees me, who remembers the truffles I love, who bakes lemon poppyseed loaves not because I asked–but because they knew I’d need comfort.”

Your voice cracked, and you let it bloom raw and real between you.

“I want someone whose voice I miss when I’m surrounded by people. I want someone who listens like the world goes quiet when I speak. I want you, Bob. Not a maybe. Not a someday. Not if you ever get around to feeling the same. I want you now. Exactly as you are.”

Silence stretched.

Your chest rose and fell, breathless and stripped bare.

Bob didn’t speak. He just stared–like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right. Like the words were still echoing in the space between you, too fragile to touch.

His mouth opened slightly. Then closed. His eyes flicked across your face like he was trying to memorize it again, all over again–trying to understand how something he’d wanted for so long had just unfolded in front of him like a gift he didn’t think he deserved.

You could see it–the way his fingers twitched at his sides, the way his chest rose too fast and shallow beneath the soft cotton of his sweater. For a heartbeat, he didn’t move.

And then he did.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Each step he took was measured, careful–like if he moved too fast, it might startle you, might wake you both up from the spell that had settled over the room like warm syrup and late summer light. And the closer he got, the more the air shifted.

That scent–his scent–wrapped around you before he even reached you. Clean cedar. Fresh laundry. Something faintly earthy, like he’d gone out earlier and carried the scent of wind back with him. It hit you like a comfort you hadn’t realized you’d been starving for. And then he was right in front of you.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just looked at you.

And then his hands rose and found your cheeks.

Warm. Gentle.

His thumbs swept forward, brushing softly beneath your eyes, tracing the delicate skin there like it mattered to him more than anything. And maybe it did. His fingers curled along your jaw, tilting your face just enough to meet his eyes.

They were glassy blue–pale and bright and shining with something barely held back. The kind of color that looked like sky at the edge of winter, but deeper somehow. More infinite. His lashes fluttered just once as he took you in, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. His gaze searched every inch of your face–your lips, your brows, your tear-glossed lashes–like you were a question he already knew the answer to.

He was smiling.

So soft.

So vulnerable.

Like it hurt, but in the best way.

“I-I’m very sure y-you know how I f-feel…” he whispered, voice fraying around the edges. “I… I t-think it’s obvious…R-Right?” You couldn’t breathe, not with him this close. Not with that look in his eyes. But your hand lifted–nervous, slow–and slid to the back of his, pressing your palm against his knuckles where they cupped your cheek.

“…Can you say it?” You whispered, barely audible. Your voice cracked on the last word.

Bob’s breath hitched.

His forehead tipped down, brushing just slightly against yours as he closed his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. You could feel it in the way his chest trembled when he exhaled. And then he nodded–just once, almost imperceptibly.

“I-I love you.”

The words were quiet and raw. Just pure truth.

“I’ve l-loved you for months,” He added, his breath hot against your cheek. “I–I just didn’t know how to say it without losing you.” You made a soft sound, somewhere between a gasp and a laugh, and his eyes opened again–so blue, so open it made your knees weak.

“You’re not losing me,” You whispered.

Bob gave you the smallest smile—barely a curve, barely a breath—but it lit up every inch of his face. His eyes glimmered, lashes low as they flicked down…

To your mouth.

And God help you, your gaze did the same.

You saw it happen—the moment everything between you shifted. The air went still, thicker somehow, humming with anticipation. Your chests rose in perfect rhythm, and when your eyes met again, it was like every hesitation had burned away under the weight of the moment.

You leaned in at the same time.

Not fast.

Not urgent.

But with a certainty that stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Your lips met with a soft, searing press–a sigh shared in skin.

Warm. Delicate. Then deeper.

Bob kissed like he’d been waiting his entire life for it.

He tilted his head just slightly to the side, coaxing you closer with a trembling inhale against your mouth. His lips parted slow, brushing yours again–this time with more heat, more surety–and you responded in kind, your fingers curling into the soft cotton of his sweater as your body folded into his.

You could feel it in the way his chest moved–tight, uneven, like the kiss had undone something at the center of him. His hands left your face then, slow and reverent, sliding down the line of your neck, over your shoulders, down your sides until his fingers found the soft denim belt loops at your waist.

He tugged gently.

And you stepped into him like you were meant to be there.

The front of your body pressed against his fully now–your sweater brushing his, your belt buckle hitting just right against the soft curve of his hips. He pulled you closer by those loops, anchoring you there as his mouth moved against yours with more purpose.

This wasn’t a tentative kiss.

This was discovery.

He kissed you like he was trying to memorize everything–how your breath caught when his tongue teased the edge of your bottom lip, how your fingers fisted tighter in his shirt when he deepened the kiss just slightly, how you sighed into him like you were pouring your soul through your mouth.

And God, the sound he made when you kissed him back like that–a low, broken hum that spilled from his chest and straight into your skin–made your knees falter. He caught you without thinking, his arms tightening around your waist as he walked you backward gently.

Your knees hit the couch with a gentle bump, and Bob slowed just enough to ease the kiss, to make sure you were still with him–still saying yes in every way your mouth and hands and breath could offer it. His lips lingered against yours for one last soft brush before he pulled back just slightly, just enough to breathe.

His eyes searched yours–wide, awestruck, dazed with heat and disbelief. His breath was shallow, his chest rising fast against yours. He looked drunk on you. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Like it was better than any dream he’d dared to have.

“That was…” He whispered, voice raw and ragged. “That was b-better than what I-I imagined.”

Your lips curled into a smile. Slow. Deep. Smug in the softest, most tender way.

“You’ve been imagining this?”

Bob flushed instantly–pink rising to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears. But he didn’t deny it.

“…Every night,” He murmured, like it was a confession too intimate to speak aloud, but too honest to bury. “S-Since the mission in Prague. W-When you fell asleep in my room…And you–”

You didn’t let him finish. You leaned up and kissed him again–fast, needy, grateful.

He groaned softly into your mouth, and then he moved.

One arm wrapped behind your thighs, the other around your back, and with a soft grunt of effort and a gentle grip, Bob lifted you–just enough to make you gasp quietly against his lips.

You clung to him instinctively, your arms winding around his shoulders as he eased you down onto the couch, laying you out gently across the cushions. His body followed, covering yours in one slow motion. His weight was careful, braced on his forearms, but the closeness was unbearable in the best way. Every line of him pressed against you–chest to chest, hips cradled between your legs, the fabric of his sweatpants brushing your jeans.

The world outside that couch didn’t exist anymore.

Not the cold, not the city, not the weight of bad dates or missed signals or time spent pretending. There was only this–the heat of his body pressed to yours, the sharp rise and fall of his breath, the way your legs cradled his hips like you were carved to fit him there. His nose brushed yours once–just the lightest touch–before his mouth returned to yours with a kiss slower than the last. A little deeper. A little more certain.

Then he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours again. His breath ghosted across your lips, shaky and uneven, and his eyes fluttered closed for half a second like he needed a moment to just exist inside the feeling.

“C-Can I…?” He whispered, the words barely a sound. His hands hadn’t moved—still braced beside your ribs, still careful not to overwhelm you with his weight. “C-Can I kiss you there…? J-Just your neck, I—” He swallowed hard. “I-I’ve imagined it s-so many times…” Your heart thudded in your chest, and you tilted your head without a word, exposing the soft skin that lined your neck and slipped beneath the collar of your sweater.

And that was all it took.

Bob bent slowly, reverently, until his mouth met the curve of your throat. His lips brushed there once–so gentle it felt more like breath than contact–before he kissed again, then again, a little lower each time. His nose nuzzled against your skin, and you could feel the way his breath stuttered as his lips found the hollow just above your collarbone. He lingered there. Soft. Warm. Like he needed the taste of your skin to make sure this was real.

You reached up slowly, fingers weaving into his hair, and the soft sound that left his chest–half a whimper, half a sigh–nearly undid you. His mouth parted against your neck and he kissed deeper this time, tongue flicking out to taste you with a need so gentle it ached.

“You’re so…” He murmured between kisses, lips brushing the base of your jaw, “s-so beautiful…”

Your breath hitched as you felt him mouth along your pulse, each kiss more tender than the last.

“B-Bob…”

The sound of his name in your voice–it wrecked him.

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with awe, and looked down at you like you were the center of the universe. Like he’d been holding back every star just to make sure they didn’t blind you. His fingers moved finally, trembling as they skimmed along your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your sweater with devastating care.

“I… I want to see you,” He whispered, and even though the words were quiet, they carried the weight of everything he’d never let himself say. “I w-want to kiss all of you. I w-want you to feel how long I’ve been waiting…”

You lifted your arms in silent answer.

He tugged your sweater up slowly–inch by inch–like every new patch of skin was something sacred. His eyes never left you. Not even when the fabric caught at your elbows, not even when it bared your ice white bra and the delicate slope of your waist beneath. He was trembling when he helped you sit up just enough to pull it the rest of the way off, his breath hitching as he took in the sight of you–soft and flushed beneath him, chest rising fast.

“Oh my god…” He breathed, voice frayed and full of light. “You’re…y-you’re unreal…” You could see him drinking you in. His hands moved on their own now, cupping the sides of your ribs, thumbs brushing up just beneath the line of your bra. But even then–trembling and overwhelmed–he looked up at you for permission, eyes wide, desperate for yes.

You gave it with a kiss–hot and slow and aching–and his body folded into you like it was breaking.

His hands moved with more certainty now, finding the clasp at your back, undoing it with a shaky exhale. You felt the tension melt out of him when the bra slipped away and your bare chest was revealed. His mouth parted slightly. His pupils blew wide. His gaze swept over you like poetry he didn’t know how to write.

Then he bent.

And kissed the swell of your breast–so gentle, it made your back arch into him desperate for more. His lips lingered there for a moment, breathing warmth onto your skin before giving a soft, open-mouthed kiss that left heat blooming across your skin. He moved with aching restraint, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you with his mouth. You gasped as his tongue slipped out to taste you, the barest flick before he suckled gently at the skin, then moved down again. His breath hitched as his lips dragged along the swell just above your nipple, and his fingers dug tighter into your waist like he needed grounding.

“You smell so good,” He whispered hoarsely, words barely audible against your skin. “Y-You taste like…Like vanilla and heaven and–God, I don’t know, I…”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.

His mouth moved lower again, and this time he parted his lips around the top of your breast and sucked–softly, then increasing the intensity. You felt the pull of it all the way down your spine. His teeth grazed just slightly before his tongue smoothed over it, like an apology and a promise in one. Your back arched, your fingers threading tighter into his hair, and that made him groan. Deep in his throat. Almost possessive.

And then he did it again.

A slower suck. Firmer. Longer.

And then another.

He moved to the other side, leaving your skin glistening and flushed in his wake. And now you felt it–cool air where his mouth had just been, and the slow, heady sting blooming beneath the surface as blood rushed up to meet the bruises he was pressing into you.

Little love bites.

He was marking you.

Not out of control, not careless–but worshipfully. Intimately. He wanted to see the proof of how much he adored you, how much you wanted this. Wanted him.

His hair had fallen forward now–messy, loose strands tickling across your chest, brushing against your collarbone and the top of your stomach. The softness of it contrasted the way his mouth worked–hot and unrelenting now, like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to.

You whimpered–soft, broken–and he moaned at the sound, dragging his lips down again to leave another kiss, another suck, another blooming ache just above your rib cage.

When he finally pulled back, breathless and dazed, he lifted his head and stared down at you.

At the marks.

His eyes darkened. And a smile–barely there, but unmistakably real–curved the corner of his mouth.

He looked proud.

His thumb traced one of the little bruises, and he hummed softly, like it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever made. “C-Can’t believe… I get to do this,” he murmured, voice rough with disbelief and reverence.

And then he bent lower, slowly, slowly, until his mouth hovered over your nipple.

His breath hit you first. Hot. Shaky.

Then–just once–he sucked.

A soft, teasing pull that made your whole body jolt.

“B-Bob…” You whispered, your voice shaking like it couldn’t contain the sound of his name and the feeling at once.

He looked up at you through his lashes, hair falling into his eyes, lips still parted over your skin.

“I-I’m sorry,” He whispered, but the wicked glint in his eyes betrayed him. “I-I’ve wanted this f-for so long… I c-can’t go slow anymore…”

And then he closed his mouth over you fully.

Heat exploded through your chest as he sucked harder this time, tongue circling, flattening, flicking over your nipple in fast, rhythmic passes. He moaned again–loud and broken–like just having you like this in his mouth was overwhelming him.

His hand came up to cup your other breast, thumb brushing the peak, coaxing it to life while his mouth ravaged the first.

You arched against him, hips lifting, your fingers tugging his hair hard now–and that only made him groan louder. He pressed himself closer to you, grinding just a little, like he couldn’t help it, like the pleasure of this was sinking through every inch of him and setting his nerves on fire.

His mouth worked with feverish devotion–sucking, licking, pulling until the pleasure had you gasping, trembling, whispering his name like it was a prayer.

When he finally released you, your nipple wet and swollen from his mouth, he kissed it once more–soft, lingering.

Then his voice came again, low and reverent.

“You’re…Y–You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He was visibly shaking.

His eyes were glassy with heat, with awe, with everything he’d been holding back for months.

And still… He wanted more.

Bob’s lips lingered against your chest, breath coming in shallow waves, his mouth still slick from the last kiss he’d left on your skin. His hand was trembling slightly where it cupped the side of your waist, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, the blue in his eyes was molten–liquid with heat, gentleness, and just a trace of hesitation.

“W-We…W-we can stop now, if you want…” He whispered, voice raw and uneven. “I-I know we’re going, like…R-Really fast right now and I just–”

You shook your head immediately, too fast, your hand reaching for his jaw, thumb brushing his cheek like you needed him to hear you–really hear you.

“No. No, I like this,” You said, breathless but sure. “Fast is fine with me. Please don’t stop.” Bob’s brows lifted just slightly, his expression wrecked with awe and something softer–something close to disbelief

“A-Are you sure?” he asked, the words catching on the edge of a breath. “I-I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t wanna rush y-you or–”

You cut him off with a whisper

“I haven’t been touched like this in over a year, Bob.”

His breath hitched hard in his throat. His lips parted, but he didn’t speak.

“I forgot what it was like,” You continued, voice cracking with emotion and need, “To want someone to touch me this badly. To feel good with it. Safe with it. Wanted like this. Like I’m…Something you can’t stop worshipping.”

Bob made a quiet, broken noise in the back of his throat. His hand fisted gently in the cushion beside your head, his whole body taut with restraint. You pulled him closer, your leg curling around his hip as your voice dropped even lower–soft and hot against the shell of his ear.

“I want to feel all of you. I want to feel your hands everywhere. Your mouth, your breath, the way you look at me like I’m yours. I don’t want to slow down, Bob. Not with you. I’ve been waiting a long time… And it’s only ever been you in the back of my mind.”

A shudder rolled through him like a wave. His head dropped to your shoulder for a beat, breath heaving once, twice, as he soaked in your words.

When he lifted it again, something had changed in his eyes.

There was no hesitation now. No uncertainty. Just wonder. Just hunger. Just the overwhelming need to give you everything.

His hand slid down to your thigh, trembling but firm, and his voice was barely above a whisper as he pressed his forehead to yours and spoke.

“O-Okay,” He said, with a nod so soft it felt like a vow, and then he kissed you again–deep and devastating and full of everything he had left to give. His tongue swept into your mouth with a low, muffled groan, meeting yours in a rhythm that made your thighs clench around his hips. You kissed him like you needed to breathe him in–open-mouthed, gasping, letting the slick heat of it slide between your teeth as your fingers curled into the back of his neck. His moan vibrated against your mouth, and you swallowed it down, letting the sound melt between the drag of your tongues and the quiet, breathless whimpers it drew from both of you.

It was messy in the best way–saliva slicking the seam of your lips, the soft pull of his bottom lip between your teeth, the desperate glide of his mouth returning to yours like he couldn’t stay away for more than a second. Your fingers drifted down from his neck–shaky and eager–sliding past his collarbone to the hem of his sweater.

You tugged once.

Bob pulled back from the kiss, breath shuddering, and looked down at you with flushed cheeks and glistening lips. A string of wet heat broke between your mouths as he hovered just above you, eyes dark, dazed, and wrecked with reverence.

He reached behind his head and took hold of the back of his sweater–then in one slow, fluid motion, pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.

It hit the floor with a soft thud. Your breath caught.

The sight of him–bare and warm and glowing in the soft amber light–made your stomach tighten with want.

His chest was all soft muscle and broad lines, defined but not super intense, he looked strong without even trying. There were faint shadows where his ribs curved beneath smooth skin, and a constellation of freckles scattered across his chest and shoulders like the stars had kissed him once and left their mark. You traced them with your eyes, then your hands, fingers feathering over the slope of his abdomen, feeling the warmth of him, the subtle tremble in his stomach as you dragged your touch lower.

There were beauty marks near his ribs. A scar just beneath one. A thin, faded line on his left hip. You memorized each one like they were holy things.

His breath hitched.

He looked down at you, blinking slowly, and then he smirked. Just barely. Just enough to steal your breath all over again.

“That s-suit…” He rasped, eyes flicking across your face as your hands continued their soft exploration, “R-Really doesn’t do all of this justice.”

You let out a breathy laugh, thumb brushing a freckle near his sternum. “What, the Sentry suit?” You teased, eyebrows lifting as you let your gaze drag down his torso again. “No kidding. That thing hides the good stuff.” Bob’s laughter was soft and hoarse–more a puff of breath than a full sound–but it shook through him all the same.

His shoulders trembled slightly as he ducked his head, the flush creeping up from his chest to stain his neck and cheeks a deep rose. He shook his head slowly, strands of light brown hair falling over his brown, then looked back down at you with a gaze so open and adoring it made your heart lurch.

“Y-You’re ridiculous,” He whispered, smiling like he didn’t know what to do with how much he wanted you. Your fingers brushed slowly down the center of his chest, and he shivered under the touch. His breath caught, and before you could say anything else, he reached down gently–his hand curling around your wrist like it was made for his palm. He brought it up between your bodies, eyes never leaving yours.

Then, with infinite care, he pressed a kiss to your palm.

It was slow. Hot. The kind of kiss that burned straight into your skin and stayed there. His lips parted slightly as they brushed your hand, and the sigh he breathed out as he kissed it again–so tender, so loving–made your throat tighten.

“C-Can I take your j-jeans off?” He asked, voice barely above a breath, almost shy despite the way his eyes darkened with want.

You nodded.

His expression flickered–relief, desire, awe–and then he shifted. Slowly. Carefully.

Bob sat back on his heels between your legs, hands moving to the waistband of your jeans with trembling fingers. He leaned down as he worked the button open, pressing a kiss just beneath your navel, right where your stomach dipped gently in.

You gasped.

And he paused, glanced up at you, searching for permission.

“Please,” You whispered, your voice breaking slightly from how badly you wanted it. “Keep going.”

He nodded–swallowed hard–and began to shimmy the jeans down.

He kissed his way down with them.

Every inch he uncovered, he honored. The denim slid inch by inch over your hips, down your thighs, and as it went, his mouth followed. He kissed the curve of your hipbone, the soft dip above your inner thigh, the top of your kneecap. His nose nuzzled into the skin as he worked, lips brushing tenderly along the sensitive flesh of your upper legs, and every kiss made you twitch, gasp, sigh.

By the time your jeans were completely off and tossed to the side, you were panting—half from anticipation, half from the weight of his mouth on your skin.

Bob’s hands ran up your calves, slow and wide-palmed, then curled behind your knees, spreading you open just a little more, until you were fully on display for him. His gaze dropped then.

And when it landed, it stuck.

You could see his breath catch. His mouth parted slightly as his eyes took you in—laid out beneath him in a delicate black pair of underwear trimmed in lace, the shape of your body flushed and trembling and framed by the soft glow of the room.

His fingers drifted toward your hips again, calloused pads skimming along the waistband.

He swallowed.

“V-Very pretty…” he whispered, almost reverent. “So, so pretty…”

Your face burned. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your chest, your neck. Not from embarrassment. From the intensity of the way he looked at you. Like you were something priceless. Like he wanted to take hours just exploring every inch of you.

His fingertips traced the lace slowly–just once–before he bent down again.

This time, he kissed just above the waistband. Soft, warm, slow. Then lower.

A gentle nibble at the curve of your lower stomach made you jolt, your breath catching in your throat as your hips twitched under his mouth. He kissed the spot soothingly, tongue brushing the skin like an apology–or a tease–and then did it again, just a little to the left.

You whimpered. And he smiled against your skin.

“You’re so warm here,” he murmured, brushing his nose along your lower belly. “S-So soft…”

His hands caressed your thighs, thumbs rubbing gentle circles near the crease where they met your hips. You felt your legs fall even wider at his touch, inviting him in, your fingers tangled tight in the couch cushion now, fighting the urge to cry out from how badly you wanted him.

Bob looked up then, his breath hot against your stomach.

“I… I d-don’t want to rush this part,” He whispered. “I-I want to remember every single second of it.” And then he kissed your belly again–longer this time, slower. His lips parted against your skin, and his breath fanned out in warm, reverent waves as his hands slid down to anchor you by the hips.

He looked like a man starving.

And you were going to be his first meal.

Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth as your hips lifted–barely, instinctively–chasing the heat of his mouth like it was the only thing that could soothe the ache blooming inside you. Bob let out a soft laugh, low and wrecked, the sound curling in his throat like smoke.

“P-Patience,” He murmured, the word half-teasing, half-sincere, as he kissed the sensitive skin just below your belly button again. “I–I wanna savor this…All of you…” You whimpered, the sound involuntary, and he moaned softly in return, like the sound alone had done something to him.

Then his hands slid down.

They curved around your hips again, warm and steady, and you felt the fabric of your underwear catch under his fingers–tugging gently, down your thighs. His mouth followed, lips brushing every newly revealed inch, teeth grazing the soft skin just above your hipbone as he slowly pulled the lace past your knees, then down over your calves. You lifted your legs for him, obedient, trembling, and he pulled them the rest of the way off, tossing the panties to the side without looking.

Bob shifted on the couch again—his body moving fluidly, slowly, like he didn’t want to jostle a single nerve in you. He settled lower, then gently reached for your legs.

“C’mere…” He instructed, voice thick and shaking as his hands slid beneath your knees.

He lifted one leg, then the other, and placed them over his broad shoulders with exquisite care–his palms gliding down the backs of your thighs before curling around to brace you, spreading you open for him. Your breath caught at the position–so exposed, so vulnerable–but Bob didn’t take his eyes off you as he adjusted, settling his weight between the cushions and anchoring himself close to the edge of the couch.

His breath hitched the moment he looked down.

You saw the awe flood his face–the wide, hungry eyes, the parting of his lips, the quick, sharp intake of breath that sounded almost pained.

“C-Can’t believe y-you’re this wet from j-just kissing me…” He commented, voice ragged and hoarse with disbelief.

Your cheeks burned. Your breath came faster. But you didn’t look away.

“I’ve been aching for you, Bob,” you whispered, voice raw with truth, “You have no idea what you do to me…” Bob let out a small whimper, and then his gaze dropped again. His hands smoothed down your thighs, thumbs gliding reverently over the soft skin before slipping outward to spread you wider–just enough to bare you fully to his eyes. He looked like a man who’d found something holy. His lashes lowered briefly. Then he bowed his head.

And kissed you.

Not where you thought he would. Not yet.

He kissed your right thigh–just inside, just above the crease–soft and slow. Then your left. Then lower, right above your knee. And then he returned to the center, placing a final kiss high up between your thighs, right above your aching core.

It was gentle.

Like he was making an offering.

Or a promise.

A cross traced in heat and mouth and meaning.

Then he exhaled–and the warm gust of his breath ghosted across your slickness, and you whimpered again, hips twitching upward. His gaze flicked up to meet yours one last time.

Then he lowered his head…And tasted you.

His tongue didn’t drag.

It pressed in with a short, purposeful stroke–just enough to part you, just enough to collect the slickness waiting there. His mouth sealed around the heat of you, and he groaned. Loud. Shattered. As if the flavor of you had broken him open from the inside.

“God…” He groaned against you. “Y-You taste so s-sweet.” He dove back in.

No more teasing. No more waiting.

Bob’s mouth opened fully, tongue licking again–slow but deliberate–lapping in tight, precise motions as he held your thighs wide around his shoulders. His nose brushed just against your mound as he angled in deeper, and the moment his tongue swiped over your clit–just once–you gasped aloud, back arching off the cushions.

“B-Bob–!”

He moaned again at the sound of his name–drawn out, broken, overwhelmed. His hands held you steady now, fingers digging slightly into your skin as his mouth worked with growing confidence and hunger. He licked again–short strokes, then longer ones. His tongue flattened and dragged through you like he was savoring every drop, then circled your clit with devastating patience, only to pull back and kiss the tender, flushed skin around it again like he was apologizing for the pressure.

You were trembling.

Every touch, every flick of his tongue sent lightning up your spine. You were so sensitive and yet not enough. Your fingers buried in his hair, fisting it tight, pulling him closer. He groaned at that, the vibration of it sending another wave of pleasure through your core.

“P-Please don’t stop,” you gasped, voice cracking.

His answer was another lick–firmer, more focused, his tongue curling at the end to pull a strangled cry from your throat. He latched on then–mouth sealed over your clit, tongue flicking in a rhythm that felt like worship, felt like penance, felt like a man trying to pray with his mouth and be answered through your moans.

And he was.

Because you were moaning for him now, falling apart under the heat and wet and weight of it all. Your thighs quivered, toes curling against the couch cushions, and your voice turned to broken breaths and whimpers, each one gasping his name between sobs of pleasure.

You could feel it building–already, too fast–coiling low and molten in your belly. But you didn’t want to stop him. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Especially when Bob pulled back for just a moment–just long enough to murmur:

“I c-can’t stop, Y/N…Y-You taste too good…”

And then he was back again, eating you with feverish reverence, moaning like the pleasure was mutual, like he was addicted to the slick heat of you and had no plans to come up for air. The wet, obscene sounds of his lips moving against you filled the room, thick and echoing off the walls like music made just for you.

Then his hand moved.

You felt it the moment the heat of his palm slipped from your thigh, slow and steady, like he didn’t want to lose an ounce of pressure from where he held you open for him. But he let go, trailing his palm upward, over the sensitive crease of your hip, then lower…Lower…Until his fingers hovered just beneath the place his mouth was devouring.

You gasped as two thick fingers dragged through your slick heat–teasing, testing, coated instantly in the arousal spilling from you in waves. And then, with the same aching care he’d used to undress you, Bob pushed them in slowly, curling slightly.

Your body jolted.

“Ah–fuck, Bob–!” Your hips lifted off the couch, back arching violently as the stretch filled you in a way nothing else had, in a way that made your head spin and your toes curl and your lungs seize on a sob.

Bob moaned against your clit like your voice alone could shatter him. His fingers stilled for just a moment, buried inside you, and then he pulled back slightly–just enough to look up, lips wet and swollen, chin slick with your arousal.

“Y-You like that?” He asked, breathless, his voice cracking at the end with the weight of it. “D-Does that feel good?”

You couldn’t even form words. You nodded hard, trembling, your hand fisting tighter in his hair.

His lips parted in a dazed smile. “G-Good. That’s… God, you’re so tight around me…” His fingers curled gently inside you, stroking the front of your walls in a slow, searching rhythm–testing, learning, worshipping.

And then he ducked his head again.

And sucked.

Your clit disappeared into the hot, wet seal of his mouth just as his fingers pumped into you again–this time firmer, faster, curling on every thrust. The pressure of his mouth matched the rhythm of his hand, and the combination sent lightning straight through your core.

Your thighs trembled on either side of his head, muscles spasming as you cried out, hips rocking in time with the rhythm he’d set.

His tongue flicked over your clit again–fast and tight and focused–and you keened. Loud. Desperate.

“B-Bob–please–don’t stop–”

He groaned in answer, the sound vibrating right against your nerves. He sucked harder, then released you with a pop and murmured hotly against your skin:

“S-Say it…”

You gasped, hips stuttering.

His fingers curled again. Slipped deeper. Rubbed just right.

“Say it,” He moaned. “T-Tell me how much you l-like it. Please. I-I need to hear it. Please–”

Your head fell back against the cushions, neck bared, eyes fluttering shut as your body began to unravel. You were so close. So, so close.

“I love it,” You sobbed, voice cracking. “God, Bob–I love it–I love the way you’re touching me, please don’t stop, I’m gonna–”

He moaned at your words like they were a blessing–his mouth sealing over your clit again, tongue lashing in tight circles, fingers thrusting in perfect time. He was desperate with it now–mouth and hand working together in a rhythm that shook you to your bones, each movement driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“J-Just like that,” He whispered raggedly between strokes. “W-Want you to come for me…W-Want to feel you break…”

And then he sucked again. Hard.

Your orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing into the shore.

You cried out–raw, loud, trembling beneath him as your walls clenched around his fingers, your thighs shaking, back arching high off the couch as your climax tore through every nerve ending. He moaned against you, riding it out, never stopping–his tongue slower now, soothing, coaxing you through it as your body spasmed in his hold.

Even when your cries turned to gasps, then to broken sobs, Bob didn’t let go.

His movements stilled inside you, fingers curled as if holding your heartbeat in his palm.

And then, slowly he pulled his mouth away and looked up at you.

Your thighs were still shaking. Your chest was heaving. Your skin was flushed, dewed with sweat, lips parted, eyes glassy with the kind of bliss that rewrote memories.

Bob’s lips were red and swollen, and his chin was glistening with your arousal.

Bob’s chest was rising fast. His lips were swollen, chin slick with you, breath still uneven as he blinked up from between your thighs like he’d just emerged from a dream he never wanted to wake from. His fingers gently slipped from inside you, slow and careful, glistening with the aftermath of your release.

“I-I don’t know w-what you do to taste that good…” he murmured, voice hoarse and reverent. His eyes never left yours as he gently lowered your legs from his shoulders, his hands lingering on your thighs like he didn’t want to let go. “…B-But I’m going to want to t-taste you on a daily basis.”

Your breath caught.

The warmth of his words settled in your stomach like a second pulse. Your fingers flexed where they still clutched the couch cushions, your thighs trembling as he shifted upward, bracing one palm near your hip for balance.

But then…His eyes flicked down.

You followed them–lower, between your bodies–and saw it too.

The thick line of him, straining against his sweatpants. The dark, damp spot blooming near the waistband. The outline of his erection was impossible to miss, thick and long, twitching visibly beneath the soft fabric like he’d been trying to keep still and failing. Your breath hitched. It had been so long… and he was–

Bob saw where you were looking and stilled completely.

“I-I…w-we can stop here,” he said quickly, breath catching, voice laced with concern even as arousal made his cheeks flush a deeper red. “If you’re not ready, I–it’s okay, I swear.”

You looked up at him. The way he was shaking slightly. The way his hair fell messily across his forehead. The way his mouth was still wet with your pleasure.

And something inside you lit up.

“No,” You whispered.

You reached for him–slowly, reverently–your palm resting gently over the hard ridge in his sweatpants.

“I don’t want to stop,” You murmured, fingers curling slightly over the thick outline beneath the fabric. “Not even a little.”

Bob let out a soft, broken breath, but he didn’t move–not yet. You leaned up slowly, pressing your lips to his jaw, letting your voice brush across his skin like silk.

“I want you,” you whispered, softer now. “All of you. I want to feel you inside me. I want to be full of you. I want to fall apart with you.”

Bob made a low, ragged sound in his throat, like he’d been hit. The muscles in his stomach tightened as you continued, voice barely a breath now.

“I want to feel you lose control inside me, Bob. I want to know what it feels like when someone loves me that deeply.” His hesitation shattered.

He surged up and off the couch for only a moment, just enough to strip.

His sweatpants hit the floor, followed quickly by the soft cotton of his boxers.

And when he straightened again, you saw him.

Your breath caught. Your eyes widened. He was…Beautiful. And daunting.

Thick. Long. Flushed red at the tip and leaking, veined and curved with a weight that made your thighs clench in anticipation and awe. Even with how wet you were—how utterly undone you’d already been by his mouth and his fingers—it was clear this would be a stretch.

Bob followed your gaze and immediately blushed, a deep, flustered pink rising up his chest and staining his cheeks.

“A-Are you o-okay?” He asked gently,

“You’re just…Really big. And it’s been a while.” Bob’s brows furrowed slightly, gaze darting back to your face as he lowered himself between your legs again, careful, attentive, bracing one palm beside your shoulder.

You reached up to cradle the back of his neck, grounding him.

“You’re going to have to be a little gentle with me,” you said, your voice low, reverent. “I think I’m going to need to adjust to your size.”

Something in his expression broke–melted.

He looked down at himself, then back at you, and nodded. Slow. Careful. In awe.

“O-Okay,” He nodded, like it was a promise. “I-I’ll go slow. I s-swear.”

You leaned back, spreading your thighs open for him. Welcoming him in. His hands found your knees, slid slowly down to your hips, and he settled into the cradle of your body–bare skin to bare skin, heat meeting heat.

Then his mouth found yours again.

This kiss was different. Wet with the taste of your own release, it was heady, consuming. You could taste yourself on his lips–sweet and a little salty from the sweat of your skin–and the intimacy of it made you whimper into his mouth. Your hands slid up the warm lines of his back, curling over his shoulders as his tongue stroked yours in slow, languid passes.

He tasted like want. Like you, and like something ethereal.

When he pulled back, he kissed your jaw, your cheek, the soft spot beneath your ear, and then whispered:

“A-Are you ready?”

You nodded. Breathless. Eyes wide and glassy. His mouth pressed to your neck again with wet aching lips brushing just beneath your ear before trailing slowly down to the curve of your shoulder. You could feel the tremble in his breath, the way he lingered there, like he was gathering himself.

Then you felt his hand move between your bodies.

Careful. Gentle. Fingers trembling slightly as he reached down and took himself in hand, nudging gently between your thighs.

The weight of him settled against your entrance–hot and heavy, already slick from your arousal. You both gasped at the contact. Bob’s breath stuttered, his forehead pressing to yours for a moment as he adjusted, dragging the head slowly through your folds, coating himself in the evidence of how badly you wanted him.

“I-I just wanna m-make sure it’s easy…” he whispered, voice thin with restraint. He leaned back slightly on one arm, propping himself up so he could see you. His eyes flicked to your face, searching.

Terrified.

Like he was afraid you wouldn’t say anything even if it hurt.

And then slowly he moved his hips and started to push in.

The pressure bloomed instantly. It wasn’t painful, but there was a stretch, heat, and fullness that pulsed through you. You gasped, lips parting around a soft, unbidden sigh as the head of him slipped past that first resistance. Your hips shifted instinctively, your hands curling tighter into the muscle of his arm.

Bob froze immediately. “A-Are you okay?” He asked, his blue irises searching you, wide and worried.

You nodded, breath catching. “Y-Yeah,” You whispered, “I-It’s just a little overwhelming…” He exhaled shakily, chest shuddering, and leaned down to kiss your cheek. Then your nose. Then the corner of your mouth.

“S-Sorry,” He said softly, pressing another kiss just below your eye. “I–I’ll keep going s-slow, promise. Y-You’re doing so good…”

You moaned softly at the praise, your hand sliding up to his bicep again. It was taut beneath your palm, flexing slightly as he braced himself, inching deeper with agonizing care. You felt every centimeter. The stretch, the drag, the slow, steady push. And with each inch, the pressure grew–delicious and deep. He took your hand then–your free one–and brought it to his mouth. Kissed it. Soft and lingering. Then he laced your fingers together, his grip firm but tender as he pressed in deeper still.

“You feel so warm…” He moaned, “Y-You’re so p-perfect Y/N.” You pulsed around him, involuntarily, and he groaned–a low broken sound escaping his chest. He brought his hips forward just a little more, a sigh of relief coming from him, now that he was fully inside you.

Your hips adjusted slightly beneath him. You felt stretched open, filled completely, every inch of you claimed by the weight and warmth of his body, like he was blanketing you from the rest of the world. A whimper broke from your throat.

Bob’s face crumpled. He looked down at you like he was witnessing something sacred. His eyes were wide, glassy, blown dark with awe. You could feel the subtle twitch of his cock inside you–your sound had undone him.

“Y-You okay?” He asked, so softly it barely made it past your ear. You nodded, dazed by all the sensations that flooded your body.

“You…I’ve never felt this full be…Before…It’s just a lot.” You breathed. Bob swallowed hard. He ducked down, pressing his lips to yours with trembling reverence, and then shifted–slipping his arm carefully beneath your neck. He cradled you against him, drawing you closer so that your chests pressed together, your heartbeats stumbling in time.

“I-I’ll hold you,” He murmured. “I’ll kiss you the whole time. J-Just breathe, sweetheart…”

You nodded, lips brushing his, and then he moved.

Slowly. Gently. A careful pull back–just an inch–before he rocked forward again, his hips rolling in a rhythm so soft, so intimate, it felt like poetry being written in the space between your skin.

He kissed you through it.

With every thrust, he pressed a kiss somewhere new–your cheek, your jaw, the swell of your breast. His mouth never stopped. His praise never stopped.

“You’re s-so beautiful…”

“You’re doing s-so good for me…”

“Y-You feel…Incredible…”

His movements stayed slow. Reverent. Deep. You felt each one ripple through you, stretch you, soothe you. You gasped against his lips, moaning softly as he filled you again and again, each thrust brushing the deepest part of you with aching precision.

And every time you whimpered, every time your fingers squeezed his tighter–he whispered your name like it was the only thing that he knew or had in this world.

Bob leaned down and kissed you again.

Not like before.

Not with urgency or hunger or even the heat of building need.

This kiss was slow. Deep. A brush of mouths that didn’t ask, didn’t beg, didn’t even need to speak. It just…Was. The way lips pressed and parted, the way his breath filled your lungs between kisses, the way he moaned softly into you like kissing you was the only prayer he had left to give.

It was the kind of kiss that made time feel irrelevant. That made the ache of your bodies, the rhythm of your hips, the trembling of your hands–secondary to the fact that you were kissing. And that he was still here. Inside you. All around you. Filling every inch of your body and soul.

His forearm shifted beneath your neck, so he was able to cup the back of your head, cradling it, guiding you deeper into the kiss like you were the most fragile thing he was given to protect.

And all the while, he kept moving inside you.

Slow. Measured. So deep it felt like he was shaping himself into the spaces that had always longed for him.

You gasped into his mouth with each thrust, your hips beginning to rise now–slowly, instinctively–meeting his rhythm, chasing it, deepening it. Your thighs bracketed his hips with more urgency. Your walls fluttered around him, slick and desperate, and Bob’s body jolted at the sensation.

“Y-You’re… God, you’re getting even wetter for m-me…” He rasped. He rocked into you again–deep, slow, the drag of him catching every sensitive spot inside you–and you sobbed a sound against his mouth. Your arms wound tighter around him, clutching his back, feeling the muscles work beneath your palms as he moved.

“B-Bob…” You gasped, your voice cracking on his name.

He kissed you again. Tender, open-mouthed. Then down your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your lips.

You were trembling. Your hips rolled in time with his now, your breath stuttering every time he bottomed out.

And then, you said it.

“My God…Bob…” You moaned, voice thick with love and ache, “I fucking love you so much.”

Bob’s eyes fluttered closed for a beat, like the words physically hit him. When he looked at you again, he was smiling–soft and wrecked and full of light.

He kissed you like it broke him.

Then he rocked his hips faster.

Just a little.

Just enough.

You gasped. Your nails dug into his bicep, and your joined hands clenched tighter between your bodies as he began to thrust in a rhythm that built and burned and bloomed.

“You’re mine,” He whispered, breath hot against your mouth. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I’m never letting go.”

You broke.

Your walls clenched tight around him, pulsing as your orgasm overtook you–trembling beneath him, crying out his name, breath lost to the stars. Your nails carved crescents into his shoulder. Your thighs locked around his waist. You were unraveling in his arms, and Bob never stopped kissing you.

“Oh fuck–baby, I can feel you,” He groaned, voice strangled. “You’re so tight–so perfect–God, I c-can’t–”

He thrust deep, once. Twice. Then he gasped.

“I wanna cum inside you,” He whispered against your lips, voice low and desperate. “Wanna fill you up, sweetheart. W-Wanna give you all of me–everything I’ve been holding back–please, can I?”

Your breath hitched. You reached up with your free hand and cupped his cheek, eyes wide and full of nothing but love.

“I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

That was it.

He groaned–loud and broken–and buried himself deep as his release tore through him. His body trembled violently, forehead pressed to yours, and his hips bucked once, twice, then stilled as warmth spread inside you. You felt the heat of it–felt him pulse, empty, surrender.

And then–like the final vow of devotion–he bit your shoulder.

Gently. Carefully. A love mark. A claim. His lips soothed the skin after, kissing where his teeth had grazed, his arm wrapped tight around your body like he never wanted to let go.

You were both still breathing hard.

Bob’s body pressed to yours, skin warm and slick with sweat, his chest rising and falling in fast, shallow waves. His forehead was still resting gently against yours, his breath ghosting across your lips like it didn’t know how to stop being close. But eventually, he shifted–just slightly–and pulled back just enough to look at you.

His fingers slipped free from your tangled grip, moving up slowly to cup your cheek instead. He held your face in his palm like you were still fragile, like the weight of his love was something he didn’t want to accidentally bruise. Then he leaned down and kissed you again.

Just a peck this time.

Soft.

Lingering.

Like punctuation at the end of the most beautiful sentence he’d ever written with his body.

When he pulled back, he was smiling. Flushed and glowing.

“Y-You look so beautifully w-wrecked,” He whispered, voice still rough with what you’d just done. “I wish y-you could see h-how you look.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound half-dazed and full of affection. Your cheeks burned immediately under the praise, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand where it held your face.

“That’s your doing,” You complimented, still breathless. “But my God… I think we should’ve considered where we did this…”

Bob blinked.

And then glanced down to the cushions beneath you.

His ears flushed even redder.

“I-I have a strange feeling,” You continued with a weak smile, “…That we stained the hell out of this couch.”

He looked horrified for all of half a second…And then shrugged, sheepish.

“W-We can always flip the c-cushions…” He mumbled. “I-I’m sure it’s…Able to be hidden.”

You both burst into soft laughter–warm and tangled and helpless. The kind that carried all the release and joy and post-orgasm euphoria you couldn’t put into words. His arms tightened around you again, pulling you in like the laughter had made something loosen in his chest, and then he kissed you.

Again.

And again.

Short, slow, breathless kisses against your mouth, your cheek, your jaw.

“I-I love you so much…” He admitted again, lips brushing your skin between words. “A-And I’m s-so glad you said something.”

Your hand curled over his shoulder. You could still feel him softening inside you, the warmth of him lingering where you were joined. You smiled as your lips found his again, soft and slow and sure.

“Me too,” You murmured into the kiss, with the taste of the beginning of something new lingering between the two of you.

[mariasont]

What if the team has slowly been finding out that Spencer has a girlfriend, so one day while on a case they basically play 20 questions trying to figure her out. However, Spencer is struggling to answer because he’s dating reader and she works with the BAU. (sorry if that isn’t broad enough, I just wanted more of the secret relationship trope)

Dimple Deductions - S.R

summary: when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: fluff, secret relationship, reader has dimples, morgan & jj being shit stirrers wc: 1.4k

Watching Spencer read feels vaguely inappropriate. His fingers ghost over the page before settling, skimming the text like he's absorbing it through sheer proximity. His lips part, just slightly, like he's tasting the words, rolling it over his tongue before swallowing it down, taking it apart, making it his. The cabin light catches in his hair, making his curls glow like some kind of bookish deity.

It's distracting, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the unconscious flick of his lashes as his mind devours information faster than you can process a single thought.

He's mesmerizing in a way that feels almost unjust, a spectacle of intellect wrapped in a body far too beautiful for reason.

You don't even realize you're staring until he speaks.

"I will pay you to stop talking."

It's not aimed at you, Morgan and JJ are doing what they do best, picking apart his every move, but the sound of his voice breaks through you like a snapped thread, severing whatever trance you'd fallen into.

Morgan whistles, all amusement. "Now, why would you be so eager to change the subject, pretty boy?"

Spencer finally looks up, dragging his gaze upward with the slow resignation of a man who knows resistance is futile. He sighs, shaking his head.

"Because I value my peace?"

JJ grins, practically giddy now. "Too bad. We don't."

Your magazine is just a forgotten accessory now, lying stiff and ignored on your lap. Pulling your eyes from Spencer feels unnatural, but somehow, you manage.

You turn at last to JJ and Morgan, who are, without question, enjoying this way too much.

"What exactly are you guys talking about?" you ask, flipping the magazine with indifference, as if that somehow proves you'd been deeply invested in its pages and not making heart-eyes at Spencer.

JJ's eyes gleam with unfiltered delight. "Oh, just that Spencer here has been acting different lately."

"Suspiciously different," Morgan corrects, side-eyeing Spencer. "Relaxed. Preoccupied. Dare I say... a little too happy?"

"So, let me get this straight, you're bullying him for being in a good mood?" You cross your arms, biting your lip to keep from laughing, while Spencer looked genuinely offended.

Morgan stretches his arms behind his head, looking quite pleased with himself. "We're observing."

Spencer, who returns his gaze to his book, doesn't even flinch. "It's harassment."

"Wait. Wait." JJ points at Spencer, squinting. "Are you seeing someone?"

You tell yourself to be cool. Unbothered. Just another face in the crowd, a neutral bystander in this totally-not-terrifying conversation. You even try to breathe like you're not on high alert, but your body immediately mutinies, shoulders locking up, throat tightening, nerves snapping taut like piano wire. 

A single stupid, microscopic flinch that must, on some subconscious profiler level, set off JJ's internal alarm bells. Because she looks at you.

It's quick, so quick you almost miss it, but you feel it like a pinprick of static against your skin. A flick of her eyes, a fleeting brush of attention, there and then gone. 

Just as swiftly, she's back on Spencer.

Across from you, Spencer freezes for half a second. It's subtle enough that if you weren't staring at him, directly, shamelessly, obsessively, you might have missed it entirely.

Instead, you watch as he carefully schools his expression, turns a page, as if it matters, as if you couldn't see the calculations running in that big, brilliant brain, trying to find the most efficient escape route. 

And then, with a levelness that would be impressive if it weren't so obviously practiced, he finally says, "I don't see how that's relevant."

Morgan's smile is positively wolfish. The kind of smile that spells out, he smells blood in the water. "Oh, so that's a yes."

You watch Spencer. Closely. Nothing. Just that calm, emotionally bankrupt expression as he lifts his gaze, eyes so flat, so opaque, they may as well be made of glass.

"That's an assumption."

But Morgan isn't buying it. And then, he leans in. Hands clasped. You already know where this is going.

"Alright. First question. Is she blonde?"

"I am not doing this," Spencer says flatly.

"So... not blonde."

JJ taps her fingers against the table. "Brunette, then?"

Spencer exhales through his nose, all restrained patience, all carefully manufactured impassiveness. If you didn't know better, you'd think he still wasn't affected by the topic of conversation.

But you do know better.

He does this thing, barely a tell, not noticeable to an unloved eye, where his jaw tenses just slightly, the muscle feathering like a tremor beneath his skin. It's the same thing he does when you're being particularly difficult, when you're testing him, teasing him, saying something so unserious that he refuses to dignify it with anything more than this.

"This is ridiculous."

"You being weird about it is way more suspicious than just answering." Morgan shrugs.

Spencer clamps his mouth shut so hard, it's a miracle his teeth don't crack.

"Freckles?"

Spencer just presses two fingers to his temple like the headache they are causing him has officially become chronic. "This is — as I have said — harassment."

Morgan smirks. "Dimples?"

It stops Spencer mid-motion, like a misfire.

His fingers twitch, pull away from his temple, then hesitate midair, caught between freezing and fixing whatever just broke his expression. His mouth presses into a firm, flat line, but not before he falters, just once, lips parting like a reflexive inhale of shock he didn't mean to take.

JJ practically convulses, hands flying to her mouth as she gasps. "Oh my god, she has dimples!"

"See that? That was a pause, man. You're cooked."

Spencer snaps his book shut, the sound sharp, final, entirely too loud. 

His gaze cuts to you, like maybe he's checking to see if you're as deeply mortified as he is, and then he's back on Morgan and JJ.

"Even if, she hypothetically — had dimples, that means absolutely nothing," he starts, too fast, too precise, like he's clinging to logic as a life raft. "Dimples are present in roughly 20-30% of the population. That is millions of people. Trying to deduce someone's identity from that alone is not only statistically absurd, but frankly, beneath you."

Morgan and JJ exchange a look, one of those wordless, holy shit did he just say that? looks.

"So there is someone's identity to deduce?" 

A pause. A smirk.

"And she has dimples?"

They had kept going. Of course they had. 

More questions, each one shot off like a bullet with no time to dodge. What's her favorite colors? Does she drink coffee or tea? Dogs or cats? Landmine. Landmine. Landmine.

What does she do for work?

That last one had been dangerously close to blowing your cover.

Spencer had paused. Just long enough for you to panic. Long enough for your reflexes to kick in (literally), and you'd kicked him, hard enough in the shin under the table to snap him out of it. He'd blinked once, then shrugged, as casual as ever. 

Something intellectually stimulating, he'd said.

Which was, technically, not a lie. 

And Morgan and JJ had finally, finally let up after a while, though not before making sure Spencer left with at least three lingering smirks, two unsubtle eyebrow raises, and one last dig at his mysteriously happy mood.

It had been exhausting, but that was a tomorrow problem, because now you were home. 

Spencer's couch was too big for him but just right for you, and at some point, you had stopped being separate from him altogether, folded yourself into every available space he had left vacant, legs draped over his, arms wrapped loosely around his waist, cheeks smushed against his chest. 

It wasn't cuddling so much as absorbing him, your entire body molding to his like a particularly determined barnacle.

"You really almost sold us out there," you murmur, basically burrowed into his sweater. Your face is half-hidden, mostly because you are simply too tired to function, but also because he deserves to be shamed for this.

"The dimples, Spencer? Really?"

Spencer sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you, fingers brushing over your spine. "I can’t help it. I really like your dimples."

You squint up at him. "Yeah, I noticed."

Spencer's lips twitch, just the faintest pull at the corners, like he's not entirely willing to let it happen. "They're cute."

His thumb presses into the hollow of your cheek, just barely, just enough to test it. Like he's confirming that, yes, it's real, it exists, and it belongs to him now.

Before you can roll your eyes and tell him to stop being ridiculous, he leans in.

And kisses it.

Like he's stamping his approval.

You let out a slow, lazy sigh as he pulls back, stretching out against him. "You really need to work on your poker face."

Spencer hums. "You think so?"

"I know so," you tease, shifting just enough to get a good look at him. "I mean, if I had been interrogated like that, I wouldn't have cracked."

His brows lift. "Oh really?"

"Not even a little."

You should have seen it coming, the way his fingers tighten at your waist, the way something sharp and knowing flickers behind those honey-brown eyes, but you don't.

Not until you're flat on your back with the couch swallowing you whole and Spencer braced over you, grinning in pure satisfaction.

"Oh?" His voice is smooth, as he leans in just a little closer, close enough that the warmth of his breath kisses your skin. “So if I decided to test that theory — ask you a few things — you wouldn’t crack?”

Your stomach flips.

"...That's not what I meant."

Spencer's laughter is soft but wicked, full of certainty, full of amusement at your expense. His fingers trace absentminded shapes against your hip, a contrast to the sharp intent in his voice.

"Mm. Too bad." His voice dips lower. "Because I already know you would."

Your part your lips to argue, but no sound comes out.

"See?" he murmurs, brushing his lips over your jaw. "Cracking already."

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[buriedpentacles]

Low-Energy Ways to Work with Nature and her Spirits:

Look outside. That's it - just open the curtains and see the sunlight, find the trees outside your window and watch the birds.

Put on a documentary or youtube video about a cool animal, ecology, the natural world etc

Talk to nature - whisper, talk out loud, say it in your head - just talk. Compliment pretty flowers, chat about how creepy but cool you think spiders are, picture light dancing off morning dew.

Trace the shapes of leaves/flowers/animals etc on your bed sheets or skin - try to see how many different shapes make up the natural world, find the patterns and fractals within them

Learn the name of one new local plant a week! Just one a week! If you have the energy, research a little about their ecology, history or medicinal uses

Make a flower crown/daisy chain/leaf crown

Take up nature photography - you don't need a fancy camera, jsut your phone!

Collect some shells/rocks/bones etc!

Just sit outside! can be just outside your front door, next to an open window, or in the woods (whatever you can manage)

Take your daily activities outside!! Read in the garden, eat your breakfast under the sun etc

Create art from nature - paint rocks, press flowers, create patterns using feathers or leaves as paintbrushes/stamps

Cloud watching!

More High Energy Activities:

Go for a walk or hike outside and take some offerings. Introduce yourself to the trees and plants and streams and leave them a gift.

If there's one nearby, visit a local farmer's market and buy some local produce; honey, meat, vegetables, fruit, etc! Chat to the sellers and talk about their practices and produce

Do a small spell outside! Find a secluded, comfortable spot and invite the spirits to observe your spellwork - let them get used to your energy and way of working

Make a small diary of your time outside! Don't worry about filling it in regularly, just whenever you have the energy! Write down when the bees start coming out or leaves return after winter. What plants stay during the cold season?

Research local plants and come up with your own correspondences based on their ecology/medicinal use/folklore etc

Go on a walk to see what plants and animals exist in your area! Research them - are they native? Invasive? What is their ecology? Medicinal uses? Even the most urban areas tend to have some wildlife!

Join a local facebook group for birdwatching!

Research your area and figure out what plants or animals would be native, or used to live there - create artwork or something to honour and remember them

Research gardening groups nearby - some cities will have volunteer gardening projects or local groups that help maintain natural spaces! See if any would be feasible for you to join and get out there

Join a local allotment or community garden if you have the means - do some weeding, plant some tomatoes, say hello to the coal tits nesting in the old shed!

If you have the means - invest in a hardy houseplant! Name it, research its care and talk to it! Make a ritual out of watering and talking to it.

Take an online ecology course! Free courses exist and can be super interesting!

Watch youtube videos on a favourite taxa and make notes - build your own knowledge at a pace you're comfortable with on the things you're interested in!

Invite some nature spirits in for a meal - cook something you enjoy and set the table (if you can) for the spirits. Enjoy a meal with them.

Please add any suggestions you have below and I can add them! Everyone has unique energy levels and capabilities, but I hope that I've given people a quick idea of things they can do, if they want!

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

The Hoodoo Apprentice

Summary: Amelia packed her things and took a train to Clarksdale Mississippi to reunite with an old friend, Annie. Annie promised she’d teach Amelia the art of Hoodoo. After a month, Smoke and Stack return with a plan to open a Juke Joint.

Warnings: SMUT

Part Three

—

Desire to us

Was like a double death,

Swift dying

Of our mingled breath,

Evaporation

Of an unknown strange perfume

Between us quickly

In a naked

Room…

The illegal hooch coursing through Stack’s body faded away, bringing back his senses. He was able to smell the lingering fragrance of fried catfish, savory collards, and honey butter cornbread. His back felt stiff against the floorboards. His tongue was dry, dehydrated from drinking too much Irish Beer. The Mississippi heat engulfed him, even in the confines of the home his brother and Annie owned. 

Stack shifted his body to a more comfortable position, turning onto his left side, facing the wall. He shut his eyes, trying to capture sleep once more, but the sound of a bed frame thumping against the floorboards kept his eyes open and alert.

“Smoke…Smoke!”

“Get this dick in you!”

He’d been in this position plenty of times.

THUMP! SQUEAK! THUMP! SQUEAK!

Sitting up, Stack stretched his arms above his head. He rubbed his eyes and blinked to focus against the darkness. As his vision grew, he sought out Princess.

Only to find her bed empty.

Stack lifted to his feet. He made his way over to the door, moonlight casting sensual shadows against the muscles of his back. His fingertips brushed against the wooden door and he tapped it slightly to open it up. He peaked out, wondering where Amelia had gone to. The bedroom door to Annie and Smoke’s room is completely shut with light seeping from beneath the door.

Stack entered the room again, slipped his feet into his shoes and snatched his button down shirt from a chair. He didn’t bother to enclose the shirt, walking out into the main area of the tiny home. He could distinctly make out the sound of the kerosene lamp going out. Stack made his way out back first. He checked the time on his gold watch, tapping the face of it.

3:20 am

An unknown insect grazed his cheek. Stack swatted the air before making his way down the steps and into the yard. The moon casted a white glow over the ground, giving him enough light to see where he was going. Stack strolled over to the outhouse to relieve himself. He did a quick piss before using a wash bucket and some soap.

Out in the yard again, Stack shoved his hand into his left pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette. He pat his back right pocket and found his old lighter. Stack lit his cigarette and continued on walking until he made it to the front of the home. Puffing on the cigarette, french inhaling the smoke, he furrowed his brows.

No sign of Princess. Interesting.

Stack was too curious. Too invested in wanting to know where she’d gone. His size nine feet led the way through the trees and along a dirt path that led to Annie’s apothecary. He’d taken this walk plenty, so it wasn’t hard for him to find his way. After ten minutes of walking and searching, Stack caught the sound of water splashing. His footsteps slowed down until he stopped at a willow tree.

The inky pond was so dark that it was hard to see where it ended. The night sky was full of stars, but it revealed nothing of the pond’s inky depths. The serenity of it was a welcome respite from the vast, flat alluvial plain filled with plantations and little freedom.

Back stroking above it, was Princess.

Amelia. She waded through the water before disappearing beneath it. Stack watched her from behind the willow tree, cigarette burning down and long forgotten. His once dry tongue became a slippery appendage that he couldn’t keep hidden, constantly licking his lips at the stunning visual before him.

Amelia popped back to the surface wiping her hand over her face. She didn’t know he was watching her. She sang, caught up in the rapture of the warmth of the pond and how it carried her body.

“Blackbird, blackbird singing the blues all day right outside my door…Blackbird, blackbird gotta be on your way…Where there's sunshine galore…”

The water trickled down her chestnut skin and if Stack could lick every single droplet off with his tongue he would. She brought her hands into her long, wavy hair that sat flat against her scalp and back from the weight of the water. Full, round, breasts with a tan line. Hourglass waistline with the cutest navel.

“Make my bed and light the light, I'll arrive late tonight, Blackbird, bye, bye…”

Stack felt the wind knocked out of him. Breathless and lost for words. The vision before him stunned him. The usual chatty tomcat with a slick tongue rendered speechless. How was it possible to feel all the blood in his veins rush to the tip of his dick to his tallywags.

Princess splashed around in glee, a true ethereal vision. Like a fairy in her own world.

She swam closer towards the edge of the pond. Stack took a step back.

SNAP.

Amelia cast her eyes towards the tree. Stack had nowhere to run. She would see him.

“Who’s there?” Amelia says, looking around to see where the noise came from.

Stack cursed under his breath. He dropped his cigarette.

“…Stack, is that you?”

He hung his head. Fuck it.

Stack appeared from behind the tree. He pushed his hands into his pockets, locking his eyes with Amelia’s. She didn’t chastise him or even question his being there. Not put off in the slightest. The silence between them was unbearable. Stack had to say something.

“Uh…this what you do at three in the mornin’?”

Amelia tilted her head, studying him. Reading his body language.

“It’s what I’m used to. Did it all the time back home.”

Stack walked up to the edge of the pond. He stared down at her, hands still in his pockets. Amelia looked up at him, the tops of her breasts visible.

“Why you here, Stack?” Amelia asked with a soft spoken voice.

“Annie and Smoke woke me up. All that noise they was makin’,” Stack chuckled, “Then I seen ya’ bed empty.”

Stack crouched down. He picked at the grass and a few dandelions.

“Can’t remember the last time I been swimming,” Stack cut his eyes to Amelia with deep concentration, “water does look nice.”

“Feels great. Nice and warm…”

Amelia cupped some water in her hands.

“Why you ain’t get all jumpy when you saw me?”

Amelia shrugged, “‘Cause I ain’t.”

Stack squinted his eyes at her, “But you…you naked.”

Amelia giggles.

“Stack,” she shook her head, “I don’t care ‘bout that. Ain’t like ya’ knew.”

He chuckles, “Fair, Princess…you got a pretty voice.”

“Thank you.”

Amelia braced herself on the edge of the pond. Stack immediately jumped up to help her. He saw her towel and grabbed it before reaching out a hand to lift her out. She grasped his hand and pulled him in the water.

SPLASH!

“AHA!” Amelia laughed hysterically.

Stack broke the surface, wiping water from his face. His button down shirt was plastered to his skin and hanging from his shoulders. His hair for sure was fucked up, curling up into its usual coily fro. He glared at Amelia with a practiced scowl, but her continuous laughter made him cave. He couldn’t be upset with her.

“Ya’ sneaky, lil’ thang! Whatchu do that fa’?!”

“You said the water looks nice! Had to show ya’!”

Stack splashed water in Amelia’s direction. She tried swimming away, but Stack caught up with her. He circled his arms around her waist, trapping her. Beneath the water, Stack could feel her backside brush against his crotch. Dispite her skin being covered in pond water, the faint smell of sweet peaches lingered on her neck.

“Think you slick, huh?” Stack whispered in her ear.

“Slick enough to double cross a gangster…”

Stack loosened his grip around her waist. He backed away and Amelia paddled over to him. Water collected on his lashes, curling them. Brown skin glistening as liquid glossed his bottom lip. Amelia swayed forward, somehow guided by the water.

“Feels good, right?”

Stack stroked the water with his arms.

“Yeah, Princess.”

Amelia gave him a bashful smile.

Stack’s eyes fell to her lips.

“…I wanna kiss you.”

Amelia tucked her chin, “I’m sure you do, Stack.”

“Elias.”

Amelia blinked at him softly. She circled around, Stack following her. An evening wind picked up, blowing pussy willow into the pond. Some of it latched onto Amelia’s hair.

“I like Stack…rolls of the tongue real nice,” Amelia arched a brow, “No please?”

“C’mere…before I take it.” Stack said with a grin.

“You take often…”

Amelia glided over to him. Close. The flesh of her breasts feathered against his pecs. Stack sank his teeth into his bottom lip.

Amelia trekked her hands over his shoulders, “What about me makes you go crazy?”

Stack swept his eyes over her face. He wanted to touch her. Consume her.

“Can’t explain it,” He huffed, “You just…make a nigga weak. And I ain’t known you a day.”

“Crushin’ on me?” Amelia beamed, “Really?”

“Fuck you mean really. You gorgeous.”

Stack thumbed Amelia’s chin.

“You just want me to say it. Look at you, eating it up. Like a Princess.” Stack said.

“What can I say, I love praises.” Amelia bat her lashes.

She tired to swim away again but Stack gripped her elbow.

“Where you goin’?”

Both arms in his grip, he leaned in, face fo face with her, noses touching. Amelia stared into his eyes deeply. Her breasts fully flattened against his chest.

“Let me go, Stack…”

Amelia wiggled. Stack chuckled sinisterly.

Her breath hitched.

His pillow soft lips pecked her cheek. Amelia exhaled.

“See,” Stack locked his gaze on her, searing hot, “I got my kiss.”

He released her arms. Amelia tracked his movements in the water. Stack backstroked towards the edge of the pond. Fireflies began to commune, circling above them with their bioluminescence. Amelia swam over to him. Stack felt her presence, facing her. He flashed her a charming smirk with a single dimple.

Amelia draped her arms over his shoulders and then her legs around his waist. Stack’s thick fingers rubbed along Amelia’s waistline, outlining the flare of her hips and the dip in her spine. He was acutely aware that her vulva, pouty and rounded, was situated against his clothed dick. That made his dick jump. She was a true ethereal vision and the reverence in his eyes must've stalled any thoughts she may have had of him being a creep watching her.

“You were in the war,” Amelia stroked the circular dog tag hanging from Stack’s neck.

“Me and Smoke.”

“Must of been awful…”

Stack gave Amelia a one shoulder shrug, “I had my brother with me. All that other shit don’t matter. The war did teach us how to fight. How to fire a gun. But it reminded us that we still the same even to them foreigners…”

Stack flashed Amelia a charming smile, “this water gettin’ cold.”

“We can get out.”

Amelia tried to separate herself from Stack but he wasn’t ready to let her go so easily.

“Come back to my place tonight.”

Amelia arched a single brow, “You askin’ or telling me?”

“Princess,” Stack replied with a laugh, “C’mon, baby…let Smoke and Annie be. Unless you wanna hear them fucking all damn day and night.”

Amelia splashed water on Stack. He chuckled at her attempts at annoyance.

“So you can fuck me?” Amelia flashed Stack a knowing smile, “I ain’t one to be tricked.”

Stack let Amelia go. She swam to the edge and lifted her body from the water. The shine of the moon highlighted the beauty of her sinewy body. He stood still in the pond, watching the water flow down her body. Amelia rung out her hair while staring down at Stack in the pond. Everything on her body was a mouthful. That shape almost made him bark like an alpha.

“You comin’ out or what?”

Stack glided over to the edge and pushed himself up. Immediately he felt weighed down from his clothes being soaked. Amelia wrapped her towel around her body, hiding away all that mouth watering goodness. He’d never seen a pussy with hair like hers. A patch of swirls perfectly groomed above a puffy slit.

Amelia tossed him the towel.

Stack removed his shirt and pants. Amelia got dressed while watching the way Stack’s dick looked outlined by his white boxer shorts. He was good and solid. Annie’s words from earlier echoed in her mind. It’s been a while for her. And after catching a glimpse of what the SmokeStack Twins carried…

Definitely heavy artillery.

Nathaniel gave Amelia what she assumed was good dick. Most of their tryst were sneaky link ups, quick and easy. And boy, was Nathaniel a quick pumper. Couldn’t last long enough to make Amelia cum. Annie’s lips and fingers did more than Nathaniel’s pecker. Something about Smoke and Stack carried much more. She needed to experience it. Jezebel be damned. It was in the way Smoke held his pipe after lighting it. The way he tracked Amelia like a predator to his prey. Stack’s suave demeanor and toothpick–laden mouth. Attentive eyes and knowing hands.

“Race me to the house. If you win, I’ll come home wit’ you.”

“Now hold on—”

Amelia took off running. Stack cursed something fierce. He snatched up his shoes, socks, and shirt before sprinting after Amelia. She could hear his heavy footsteps darting toward her. She whisked away as fast as she could, between trees and blades of grass. The house came into view, and Amelia turned to look behind her.

Stack was on her heels. He picked up speed, Amelia screeching like a banshee. His arms captured her waist and Stack tossed her over his shoulder. Amelia saw the world upside down, eyes blurry from being spun around.

“You put me down, Stack!”

Stack lifted her in the air by her waist.

Just like in those romance novels Amelia read.

Amelia clung to his shoulders, staring down at Stack beyond her frizzy curls. His strong hands brought her down and she circled his waist with her thighs.

He excited her. Made her skin prickly with lust.

“Gimme some tongue before I change my mind.” Amelia ordered with a sigh.

Stack thrust his slick tongue into her mouth. His lips were moist and soft. Tongue warm and skillful. Amelia sucked on his lips and mixed her saliva with his. Stack’s thick fingers tangled in her curls. He groaned into her mouth and thrust his hips. Sloppy lips covered in spit. It was a heated kiss that left Amelia dizzy. Their teeth clashed and Stack hissed.

He broke away from her, “I win,” Stack exhaled, “You coming with me.”

Amelia simply nodded her head.

He wasn’t asking. He was telling.

Amelia hung her head against the car door. Stack stopped in front of a cozy home with a wrap–around porch and a tree swing. Tucked behind the home was a shed, and Amelia could make out grave stones. Stack killed the ignition and hopped out the car all improper because he did what he wanted. Like the world was his playground. He jogged over to Amelia’s side of the car and opened the door for her. He was halfway tempted to lift her out of her seat, but Amelia declined with all giggly.

Stack grasped her dainty hand in his calloused one and they urged forward. Amelia darted her eyes around the property, trying to make out the head stones and what they’d read. Stack tugged on her arm gently and she climbed the stairs to the front entrance. Stack unlocked the door and held it open for Amelia to enter first.

This rural home was more spacious than Annie’s. Amelia took it as the Twins needed a place to do business with more leg room. Amelia could tell that the home had been renovated and properly cleaned. Stack most likely hired someone to take care of the place while they were gone. Amelia slipped off her leather, ballerina flats, walking barefoot along the carpet that felt so soft and lush beneath her feet.

“Persian,” Stack emptied his pockets onto a heavy duty wooden table covered in playing cards, a pocket watch, coins, and a half drunken glass of whiskey, “Snagged it from my apartment back in Chicago.”

“It’s nice.”

Amelia sauntered over to a piano. She absentmindedly pressed keys, the different notes titillating her ears. She could feel Stack’s heat against her back. Amelia looked up and over her shoulder at him. Stack went in for another kiss and then he wrapped an arm around her curvy waist.

“Whose piano?”

“…My Pops.”

“You play?”

Stack scuffed, “Hell nah. When he was breathing, he ain’t like me and Smoke touching it. Used to get so fucking angry ‘bout it.”

“So, why you keep it?”

“Adds personality to this place. Might get Delta Slim to come on over and play a tune for us sometime,” Stack jokes.

“Delta Slim?” Amelia gave Stack a quizzical look.

“Harmonica man. Unc.”

“Okay,” Amelia slipped away from Stack, “Where you sleep?”

Stack removed his toothpick from his mouth and pointed behind Amelia. She whirled around to face a short hall that led to a room with the door left ajar. Amelia made her way down the hallway, Stack behind her. She pushed open the door, standing at the entryway.

“So…this you?”

“Is. You like it?”

“Pretty snazzy. Definitely all you.” Amelia replied.

Amelia took a seat on Stack’s bed and rubbed her hands against the soft quilt. Stack watched her closely, twirling the toothpick in his mouth. Amelia leaned back against her hands.

“I need to freshen up before we…you know…”

Amelia flashed Stack a timid glance.

“Got just the thang for ya’ princess.”

Stack reached for her hand. Amelia interlocked her fingers with his. Stack led the way out into the yard. It was nothing but overgrown grass. Amelia noticed that Stack was leading her towards two rectangular wooden structures. One of them had a crescent moon carved into it. The other a star.

“This here is the outhouse,” Stack pointed to the one with the moon, “right here’s the shower.”

Stack opened the door to the shower room. Amelia peeked inside. She was impressed.

“Water ain’t hot though. But it gets the job done.”

“Perfect…”

Amelia thumbed the thin straps of her lavender chemise over her shoulders before shimmying her hips to get the rest of the slip off. Once again, she stood deliciously nude before Stack. Amelia swept some of her hair behind her ear before stepping forward and entering the shower room.

Stack followed the sway of her backside, each cheek moving like jello. Amelia pulled a chain and the cold water hit her breasts, causing her to jump back.

“Told you, Princess.”

Stack shrugged his shirt off. Then his pants. Then his white boxer shorts that weren’t so white no more. His shoes came last, and then he stepped into the shower room behind Amelia. Stack reached around to open a little makeshift compartment that held linen rags and some Palmolive.

Amelia shivered like she’d been thrust into Antarctic waters. Her erect nipples sat rigid and uncomfortably hard while goosebumps decorated her chestnut skin. Her tangled curls were damp against her scalp again. Stack traded places with her to rinse off. He was used to the ice cold water. Amelia lathered her rag and began scrubbing away the algae and musk of being outside and swimming in the pond.

She allowed her curious eyes to sweep over Stack. Everything was identical to Smoke except for a long, jagged scar situated along the lateral side of his body. Amelia pressed her fingertips against it. Stack watched her. She was brought back to the present when Stack’s growing member tapped her hip.

“War scars. They run deeper. More so in Smoke than me.”

Amelia finished cleansing herself and offered to wash Stack’s back. He turned, placing his hands against the wall of the shower room. Amelia washed his broad back in a circular motion. She finished and rung out the rag before placing it neatly next to hers. Stack quickly rinsed his back off before turning off the water. There was a tub behind the shower room that provided water. It was nearly empty.

They left the shower room and Stack carried Amelia through the yard, bodies still soaking wet but warming up from the Mississippi heat. The air smelled like rain and the early morning clouds were a stormy gray. Stack put Amelia down and grabbed a towel from a folded laundry basket. She did a quick dry before tossing it to Stack.

The reality of what was about to happen settled into her bones. Her shoulders pulled back and her spine became stiff. Her stomach did somersaults. Her vulva twitched with anticipation. Stack tossed the towel and stared down at Amelia. She swallowed spit. He simply smirked at her.

“Nervous?”

Amelia poked Stack, “Why? you askin’? That make you happy?”

“It does. I’m ‘bout to show you why they call me Big Daddy.”

Stack hoisted Amelia up and forced her legs around his waist. The mingled heat of their sex caused her to burry her face against his neck. Stack peppered soft, reassuring kisses along her exposed skin.

They were back in his room, and Amelia felt the patchwork of the quilt against her back. Stack kneeled between her legs. He cupped both full breasts in his hands and mushed them together. His thumbs stroked her nipples.

“You got a body on you, baby. I just wanna eat you up.”

Stack feasted on her nipples. Amelia squirmed.

“I bet that pussy nice and wet right now,” Stack whispered.

Amelia didn’t have to guess that Stack was nice and solid because she felt that nine–inch pole poking her. Tension settled over her body once more. Stack could sense it.

“You ain’t no virgin is you?” Stack questioned with an elevated brow.

“No.” Amelia replied with a sigh.

“Aight then. So you know what typa’ time I’m on, Princess. Ain’t no patience ‘round here I’m tryna break you down.”

Amelia shivered.

“Open up,” He placed his hands on her knees, “Time to taste that sweet puss…”

How would Stack’s tongue compare to Annie’s?

Amelia spread her thighs and Stack settled onto his stomach. She opened up like a blooming flower, pretty pussy glistening before his eyes. Stack licked his greedy lips before diving in to devour her.

Amelia reached both of her hands up to grip the pillow beneath her head. She stared up at the ceiling, unable to bring herself to watch him eat her. She was missing out on an erotic visual experience.

Stack’s slick tongue did wondrous things to her pussy.

His lips, so full and succulent, glided across her slippery folds in a rhythm that had her moaning.

Not too hard. Not too fast.

She felt herself leaking.

Her hips began gyrating.

“Mhm,” Stack hummed with an egotistical expression.

Amelia dropped a hand to his coily bush and gripped the thick strands as best as she could. The part in his hair was somewhat visible. Amelia’s inner thighs began to quake and Stack wasn’t having that. He spread her wider.

“Fuck, Stack…”

He tongued her pussy so good Amelia felt tears brim her eyes. The closer she got to cumming, Stack rubbed his nose along her button. She looked down and directly into his eyes. If she’s the princess, then Stack is her servant.

“I’m on that spot, pretty baby?”

Amelia replied with a meek “Yes.”

Amelia tightened the hold she had on his thick hair and started feeding Stack pussy. He had her pussy talking, making gushy sounds of music. He was intoxicated from the taste and feel of her pussy on his tongue. Stack’s eyes were hazy slits and his mustache shined from her sticky juices.

“You ain’t too far, give me that shit…”

Amelia let go of his hair and sat up on her elbows.

“This my pussy, Princess?” He spoke between licks, “This my pussy.” He declared with a possessive smile.

Amelia replied with a drawn out moan.

Stack wiggled his tongue deep into her, the sensation tickling her navel with overwhelming intensity. She shoved at his forehead, but that neck was too strong.

“STACK! StackStackStackStack—I’m cumming for you!”

Amelia twisted her hips, but Stack’s grip on her thighs kept her right where he wanted her. Her continuous cries of ecstasy urged him to keep going.

“S'il vous plaît!!”

Stack eased off her button, drawing his lips back slowly to kiss along her inner thighs. His lips trailed cum and spit along her skin. Amelia felt herself clench around nothing, walls anxious for big dick. She was more than ready with her wetness. Stack sank his teeth into her skin and sucked. His thick fingers rubbed on her button.

“Ouch!” Amelia replied with a giggle.

“You’re such a good girl, Princess.”

Stack lifted up and when Amelia got a look at his dick she almost choked on her own spit.

Nathaniel who?

She’d NEVER seen dick that big. Stack kissed her as a distraction. While Amelia slipped him some tongue, Stack’s arms circled her thighs and with his skills, he lined himself up with Amelia’s pussy, impatient hips ready to shove all that big dick deep enough. He wanted to feel all that candy–coated sticky on him. From tip to balls.

Amelia slipped away from Stack’s mouth when he began folding her legs back hard enough to lock her in place. She didn’t have time to catch her breath when he thrust in. Amelia squealed so loud from the intrusive nature.

“Ooo? You nice and tight!”

The girth of him tugged on her clit. Stretched her wide enough to invoke panic. Annie warned her. Amelia wasn’t prepared.

“Stop tryna push me out.”

Amelia clawed his biceps.

“Shit! I got myself a gripper.” He chuckled.

Stack sucked on Amelia’s neck.

“Stack, you so big…”

He pulled out to the tip. The fullness she’d felt disappeared. For a moment, she was able to breathe easily.

Stack stared down at her, “This your first big dick?”

The teasing lilt of his voice pricked her.

“It is. Look at the mess you made.”

Amelia glanced down between her legs. She painted Stack’s dick creamy.

“Bet you ain’t know you could do all that, huh?”

Stack’s fingers played in her cum–covered pubic hair. He gave her a second to catch her breath. He stroked between her folds before his tip sat at her entrance. Amelia shut her eyes. Stack slowly invaded her again.

When he started thrusting faster, Amelia almost screamed. Stack interlocked his fingers between her toes and plowed her into the mattress. The more he fed her wet pussy some dick, the more Amelia cried for more.

“DADDY!”

“That’s right, you used to this dick now, I see that little pussy!”

Stack was hitting that bottom. As soon as he did that, Amelia sprung a leak. She didn’t have a chance to register what happened because seconds later she was cumming so hard on his dick she lost the ability to speak.

Stack’s eyes shined with lust at the sight of her cumming on his dick.

He slipped out and Amelia opened her eyes, blinking to focus.

“You got some good pussy, Princess.”

“So I’ve been told,” Amelia replied with a smile.

“Taste you on this dick,” Stack pointed his dick towards her mouth.

Amelia licked her mess from his dick before sucking as much as she could.

Stack had her pussy wide open. So open.

“I want you on top.”

Amelia sought his gaze with her tongue in his slit. He chuckled at the look of excitement in her eyes.

“C’mon, Princess. Sit on your throne.”

Stack settled onto his back and kept his dick pointed to the ceiling. Amelia threw her leg over him and bent forward.

“Hold your cheeks open…there ya’ go, baby…”

Amelia gasped when Stack pushed into her from a different angle. When she was fully seated on his dick, Stack popped her on the ass to get moving. Her doe eyes connected with his while she rode the tip.

“That shit feelin’ good…squeezing on my tip like that…you nasty bitch…”

Amelia rocked back and forth until she could easily ride his length. Her thick hips jiggled from the momentum. Stack was meeting her with his own thrusts. Hands on her waist, he dug his heels into the bed.

“You gon’ make me cum! Woo, shit,” Stack popped Amelia on her rump, “Gahdamn!”

Amelia bounced, titties jumping, pussy gripping, hair wild.

“STACK!”

Stack plowed up into her. The bed rocked. He growled into her ear. Amelia cried out.

“That’s it, Princess! Fuck, I’m a cum!”

Amelia shot up off his dick and wrapped her lips around him. Stack palmed the back of her head and forced as much of his big dick down her throat as he could. Amelia gagged and coughed, his warm cum painting the back of her throat.

“Drank all that shit down!” Stack commands.

Amelia struggled. She pushed off of him, cum oozing down her chin.

“You cum a lot,” Amelia wiped her mouth off with her fingers, “my throat hurt.”

“That pussy hurt too, don’t it?”

Amelia swatted Stack’s arm. She was indeed sore, but beyond that, she craved more of him. She needed more.

“I wanna go again,” Amelia cuddled against Stack’s side, drawing circles along his chest.

“In a minute, baby. I’m tired.”

Amelia peeked at Stack. He had his eyes closed while stroking her soft back. It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. Amelia closed her eyes and drifted off into her own slumber.

Roosters crowed. The birds chirped. Bleats of sheep in the distance. Church bells rang.

Annie awoke.

Smoke’s obnoxious snoring pierced her ears. Annie lifted his heavy arm from around her waist as she climbed out of bed. Underworked muscles ached as she stretched her arms and legs. She slithered her feet into a pair of slippers and grabbed a robe from her wardrobe, securing it around her waist as best as she could. It fit her snuggly, large, pendulous breasts fighting to break through. Annie had lost her scarf in the middle of sleep, frizzy coils smashed to her head.

She made her way out into the main area of the home and sauntered over to the open flame. Grabbing a tea kettle, she filled it with water before placing it on a hook. Annie made a fire. The flame grew before her eyes. She entered the yard when she’d heard a sound.

The night men were late. They waved to Annie after collecting the waste receptacle from her outhouse, replacing it with a clean one. She took that opportunity to use the bathroom. After reliving herself, Annie prepared fresh bath water in the large iron tub on her back porch. It took her a minute to fill from a well in her yard, but at least she didn’t have to worry about it until the following day.

Still, Smoke slept. Probably the most sleep he’d had in a long time.

Annie took a quick bath standing up before drying off. She put her robe back on and covered her hair with a head wrap. She decided to prepare some ham and eggs for breakfast. There was still some left over corn bread as well. The tea kettle steamed, and Annie pulled coffee from her cupboard for Smoke. Cast iron skillets greased and ready to go, Annie went to wake Amelia.

She knocked on her door.

“Lia?” Annie called out beyond the door.

She tried knocking again.

Annie turned the doorknob.

Empty. Unkept bed. Forlorn blankets on the floor.

Annie pursed her lips. It didn’t take much to put two–and–two together.

Amelia and Elias were having their own fun.

She hoped Amelia would return for her lesson. But then again, Stack was probably fucking her so good she didn’t give a damn about her final learnings on Red Magick.

Annie shut the door behind her and went to prepare breakfast. As she pan seared the ham and fried the eggs, her mind continued to wander. The immediate desire between Stack and Amelia at dinner made her slightly jealous. She knew the effect Stack had on women. Hell, Annie was almost swept up into it.

Oven mitt in hand, she grabbed the cast iron from the flame.

Would she still want Annie’s pussy against her own?

Annie had wanted to try that with Amelia next. Rubbing pussies together.

The thought of her returning with Stack’s dick print molded into her lush walls stroked the green evil riding her shoulder. Annie NEVER felt like this for a woman. But she felt it. She couldn’t ward off the temptation. Annie pat sweat from her forehead before setting the table. Smoke’s tulips sat in a vase in the center of the table. Annie stroked the petals with a smile.

Her Smoke.

Annie made her way into their room. The sun shined through the window, igniting the body of her husband, still fast asleep. She looked down on him from the foot of the bed. Beyond the thin sheets, Annie could see Smoke’s morning wood. Annie slowly pulled the sheets away, revealing a mouthful.

She knelt one leg between his, and used her mouth to grab hold of him, sucking him down with a hollow of her cheeks. Smoke’s face frowned, eyelids fluttering open. He could hardly open his eyes, but his hand cradled the back of Annie’s head.

Slurping noises filled the room. The bed creaked.

“Annie, shit…”

His sleepy voice was so pleasant.

Smoke flexed his muscles when Annie swallowed him whole.

“Ahhh–huh–hhh…”

Annie fisted his big dick while sucking. Smoke poked out his bottom lip.

“I’m sensitive, baby—”

Annie knew this. But she kept on going. Smoke’s tight nuts sat against her chin the more she deep–throated.

“Fuck, Annie…”

Smoke’s hips stuttered out of control. Annie hummed, creating a sensation that had Smoke groaning.

She emptied his balls.

“Got me cumming already, huh?” Smoke said with a raspy voice.

Smoke gripped Annie by the neck. She stuck her tongue out and he sucked on it. She stroked him with both hands while they tongue kissed.

“You getting this dick, you know that?” He whispered against her lips.

Hand still around her neck, Smoke got between Annie’s legs. He snatched her robe tie off, both hefty breasts free and sitting fat. Smoke grunted, hiking her legs up in a frenzy.

“You want in this pussy so bad, look at you…”

Smoke locked eyes with her. He thrust forward and buried himself to the hilt in Annie. Her breath escalated and her eyes fluttered at the feeling of Smoke’s dick.

“So good, so, so, good.” Annie said between moans.

Smoke had his lip between his teeth and his hands all over her big titties, stomach, hips, thighs. Anywhere he could grab onto.

“Don’t make no gahdamn sense…”

Annie let her man dominate her pussy. Her elekes wrapped around her titties from how fierce Smoke worked her pussy.

“I missed my baby…I missed you Annie…”

All while making love to her so good Annie could only moan. Her sweet cries of pleasure.

“Elijah!” Annie squeaked.

He had a hold of her big tail with his strong hands.

“Don’t hold back, baby, cum on Big Smoke’s dick.”

His shit talking had her speaking Creole.

Annie coated his shaft with her cum.

“Ooof—SHIT!!!!”

Smoke erupted. He made sure to stay buried. Painting her walls.

“Baby, shit,” Smoke heaved, “Shit so good…”

Annie kissed Smoke’s fluffy lips before pushing him away.

“Got breakfast on the table.”

Smoke snatched up his boxer shorts. He slipped into them and went on the hunt for his smoke pipe. He found it, inspecting it before sucking his teeth.

“Shit need to be cleaned out.” He fussed.

“Stack left you pre–rolled cigarettes.”

Annie shoved on her robed and wrapped it around her voluptuous body before exiting the room. She walked on unsteady feet to the table. Smoke appeared with his dick poking the front of his boxer shorts. He left to brush his teeth while Annie went out to sweep the front porch. She grabbed one of her brooms and swept away, removing dirt, leaves, and any other debris.

She checked on her rue, rosemary, and St. John’s Wart before walking back inside to join her husband for breakfast. Smoke puffed on a cigarette, taking sips of his black coffee. His plate was cleaned off, nothing but crumbs and smeared egg yoke left behind.

“You goin’ down to the store today?”

“Yes. I have some bundles to prepare. If Amelia comes back, we gotta finish up a lesson.”

Smoke looked like a fire breathing dragon with the way the cigarette smoke billowed from his nose.

“She gone?”

Annie gave Smoke a look.

“…She left with Stack?”

“Mhm.”

Smoke scuffed, “That nigga couldn’t help himself.”

“Can you blame him?” Annie said.

Smoke ashes out his cigarette.

“She must got a pussy made of pure gold the way ya’ll acting.” Smoke argued.

“Thought you wasn’t gonna be all upset?”

“I ain’t upset. Just curious. Remember how you told me stories ‘bout sex demons?”

“Smoke, she ain’t no succubus.” Annie argued.

“She a floozy.”

“And? What’s wrong wit’ that?” Annie fired back.

“Getting all bent outta shape, I’m just teasing.”

Annie rolled her eyes, “Elijah, I ain’t for your games. I gotta get ready. You gon’ be here or no?”

“Not for long. Once Stack pull his tongue outta Amelia ass we got business in town.”

Annie cleared the table. Smoke got up, rushing over to Annie.

“I’ll handle this. Go on.”

He kissed Annie’s neck and slapped her on the behind.

Annie sauntered into the room while Smoke cleaned. Lit cigarette between his lips, his thoughts drifted to Amelia.

First his wife, now his little brother.

He felt an emptiness. Something he tried to shake.

That Louisiana Bayou swept little Miss Amelia to the Delta bringing hot pussy and babydoll eyes with her.

Last night, while Smoke was wedged between Annie’s legs and balls deep, he looked up and caught Amelia watching him. She locked eyes with him through the mirror, and Smoke smirked at her. She slipped away into the darkness, and since then, Smoke couldn’t get the visual of her face frowned and hand between her legs out of his gahdamn head.

He wanted to pull on all that hair. Treat her how she deserved for coming in and making a mess of things. She wanted dick and pussy? He was gonna give it to her. But on his watch. Teach her hottie–tottie ass a real lesson.

Hoodoo Apprentice turned Sex Apprentice.

Smoke’s feet carried him out into the yard where he allowed the dishes to dry. Annie appeared wearing a teal–blue dress that flared at the hips and hung from her shoulders. She wore a white headscarf and tiny gold hoops in her ears. Around her neck was a gold necklace Smoke gifted her.

“You look beautiful, baby.”

Smoke kissed her forehead.

“Thank you,” Annie ran a hand over his mojo bag, “I love you, Smoke.”

“I love you too.”

They fell into a kiss. Smoke pressed his body against Annie’s, reminding her once again that his body never forgot her. Hard dick tickled her and his tongue mingled with hers. She broke the kiss with a shaky breath.

“I gotta go…”

Smoke bent forward and snaked a hand up the front of Annie’s dress, stroking her pussy lips. Bare pussy lips.

“This for me? I’ll come down there and bend you over…”

Annie knew the routine. No panties. When Smoke wanted it, no restrictions.

“Glad you know who you belong to…”

Smoke whacked her on the rump.

“Get on down to the store.”

Annie pulled away reluctantly. Smoke puckered his lips and blew her a kiss.

That made Annie blush.

He watched her walk down the dirt trail to the Shack until she dissipated.

Smoke returned inside the home and turned his gaze towards Amelia’s room.

He walked forward and opened the door.

Sweet peaches. Hibiscus.

It smelled so much like her. He took slow strides toward her vanity. The mirror there was shattered at the edges. Smoke puffed on his cigarette while using his other hand to open her jewelry box.

It was a music box. Soft lullabies filtered out. He lifted a pearl necklace with his finger, stroking it. Shutting the box, Smoke picked up a perfume bottle, sniffing it.

That’s where that sugary smell came from. He took another whiff before placing it back where he’d found it.

He glanced around her room before his nosy gaze fell upon her half open wardrobe. Smoke gripped the edge of his cigarette between his lips and opened the wardrobe with both hands.

Satin. Breathable cotton. Lace.

Pastels. Florals. White.

Nothing that stood out to him…except…

A pair of ivory cotton bloomers fell from its hiding place. Smoke took a step back and crouched down to pick them up. He removed the cigarette from between his lips, the smoke clouding his vision.

He gathered the panties in his hand and brought them to his nose to smell.

Tangy. Slightly sweet. Earthy.

His dick chubbed up immediately. Smoke felt a heat creeping up his spine. He tossed her panties back in the wardrobe and closed the doors slightly. As he moved over to a pile of books situated on top of a travel bag, the fragrance of her pussy lingered in his mustache.

Smoke sifted through an array of books until he came upon what looked like a journal.

Brown leather. Yellowing pages. Her name embroidered in gold.

Amelia Selene Broussard.

Smoke flipped the pages until he landed on the last entry.

Dear Diary,

This is a quick entry. He’s returned. Annie’s husband.

Smoke.

Chaos. Mystery.

As I move about, I can’t help but to wonder while also fear him.

Annie loves him. I can see it in her eyes. I can hear it in her voice.

I watched them make love in the shack today.

It was beautiful. And for a second, I got to see Smoke’s vulnerability.

I sense he doesn’t like me very much. Maybe he can smell his wife’s essence on my body.

This will be an interesting circumstance…

The sound of a car approaching caused Smoke to abruptly shut her Diary, placing it back where he’d gone snooping. Smoke left her room and walked towards the window in the drawing room.

Stack opened Amelia’s door for her. She clasped his hand and stepped out. Amelia tried walking away, but Stack pulled her back against him, trapping her.

They spoke closely, and then Smoke watched his little brother tongue Amelia down.

Amelia shoved Stack before sprinting to the steps. Stack caught up to her, wrapping an arm around her waist before climbing the steps.

Smoke opened the door before they could.

Two pairs of eyes met his.

It was after three in the afternoon.

Amelia was sleeping soundly.

That was, until she’d heard angry whispers.

Stack’s side of the bed is vacant. Amelia threw the quilt back from her naked body. She searched for her lavender chemise, unable to find it.

So she grabbed Stack’s white button down shirt.

Amelia did a lazy button job before she tip toed to the bedroom door. Opening it slow and steady, she could see Stack’s back at the entrance to the house. He waved his hands animatedly, clearly fussing with someone. Amelia entered the hall to make out the other voice.

She caught onto a feminine voice.

“Seven years, Stack! Do you understand how that made me feel? I waited for you! No letter! Nothing!”

“We found you a rich, white husband in Arkansas! You got what you wanted! Stop blaming me for what happened! We was never gon’ be together, Mary.”

Mary laughed bitterly, “Oh, Stack. You and Smoke forced me to Mary that man—”

“You grown enough to make ya’ own decisions! Hell, ya’ could’ve said no!”

“The both of ya’ll gave me no choice! You wanted to keep me safe, right? Do you know how hard it’s been to lay next to a man I don’t love? To fuck a man I don’t love?”

“But you spending his money. Eating that good steak. Driving his car! A car he bought ya’ ! So who’s unhappy?”

“My momma died, and all you can do is treat me like I ain’t mean nothing to you? What about all the times we shared? You forget that? Spending days in this house!”

Amelia scuffed.

“Listen to me, Mary. I’m a always love you. But—But this —this thing we used to have is long gone. You somebody else’s. It ain’t safe for you to be in the Delta. I’m sorry ‘bout your momma. She was a good woman. But…Mary, whatchu want me to say?”

Silence. So quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Then came the sniffles.

Amelia rolled her eyes with disdain.

Stack wasn’t even her man, and yet this entire situation irritated her. Clearly, he still had feelings for the woman.

A white woman at that. Amelia folded her arms and waited for Stack’s reaction to the rehearsal of tears.

“Mary…hey…c’mon now. Listen, I’m sorry. Sorry I hurt ya’…”

Amelia inched closer. She needed to see how this woman looked. She crept to the window, peeling back the curtain.

Peachy skin. Button nose. Rosebud lips. Shoulder length, bouncy brunette hair. Trim body with subtle curves. Dark brown eyes.

Mary wore a striped deep v-neck patchwork dress in black and white with a matching black cloche hat decorated with a white flower. White satin opera gloves with a lace trimming covered her hands. A tiny black purse in her right hand. Sheer pantyhose and black and white Olina pumps on her feet.

She rubbed tears from her cheeks. Amelia was staring a bit too long. Mary turned towards her direction, and her eyes caught Amelia staring.

Her face immediately went from agonized to outraged.

A pretty octoroon.

“Who was that!?”

Mary tried to push past Stack at the door. Amelia remained against the wall.

“Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout?”

“I saw someone at the window. A woman.”

“Mary, ain’t nobody here!”

“Don’t lie to me, Stack! Move,” Mary shoved Stack, “Let me in!”

Mary whacked Stack with her purse and pushed her way inside. Amelia stood frozen.

Mary faced her with vengeance.

This was not a part of the plan. The plan was to get some good dick. Not get caught up in a forbidden love triangle.

But didn’t Amelia always?

Stack shut the door while rubbing the side of his face where Mary’s purse struck him. He cut his eyes to Amelia, appearing apologetic.

“Who the hell is this?” Mary questioned grumpily.

“I’m Amelia. I take it you’re Mary?” Amelia replied with a jaded expression.

“I am,” she fixed Stack with a chagrined smile, “this your new piece of ass?”

Amelia lifted from the wall defensively. She appeared in front of Mary, hands on her hips, staring her up and down boldly. Mary’s hands curled into fists at her side and she rolled her shoulders back, chin up like she was better.

“Aight now, Mary, time to get!”

Stack reached for her arm but Mary pushed him away.

“Go to hell, Elias!”

Amelia fluttered away with a roguish smile.

“You think this bitch can replace me?”

“MARY!”

Amelia was unfazed. She sat on one of Stack’s arm chairs, crossed one shapely leg over the other, and reclined back like she owned the place.

Doe eyes be damned, Amelia could easily drag Mary by her uppity hair, but what was the point? Not her business. Not her man. No fucks given. Stack was clearly a man that did what he wanted. From what Amelia overheard last night, he was selling ass in Little Rock. Probably did the same shit in Chicago. Hell, he could have a baby or two somewhere.

“Fine. FINE. I’m leaving!”

“Shoulda been left!” Stack shouted.

Mary regained her composure before fluffing her hair. She strutted to the door, Stack opening it for her. Mary turned her eyes onto Amelia.

“Enjoy it while you can. He don’t stick around too long.”

Her derisive attitude did little to make Amelia feel any type of way.

“I will.” Amelia replied with a rapturous smile.

Mary turned her nose up before stomping away and down the stairs. Stack waited for her to drive off before shutting his door.

Awkward silence.

Amelia stood, quietly walking back to Stack’s room. Stack followed her with his eyes, watching her peel his shirt from her body. The sway in her hips and the cuff of her ass had him drooling. Amelia propped herself up in the doorway to his room, creating strong lines with her body, emphasizing her curves. An alluring smile painted her pouty lips and her doe eyes glistened with arousal.

“You coming in to finish fucking me or what?”

Stack took long strides to his room. Amelia ran inside, climbing up on his bed. Stack followed the sensual sway of her body. Arms above her head, waistline moving in slow motion, Stack watched her like she was on stage. He was her audience.

“You break hearts, Elias,” Amelia spoke in the middle of her erotic dance, “Don’t you?”

Stack licked his lips.

Amelia turned, poking her ass out. She swayed back and forth, looking down at Stack. He started taking off his pants, no boxer shorts on just dick and balls.

“You must’ve fucked Miss Mary so good before you left. Seven years of reminiscing on how that dick touched her heart in ways her husband couldn’t…”

“You’re so fucking sexy, darlin’…”

Amelia climbed down from the bed. Stack curled his finger for her to come to him. She did, gliding her hands up his chest.

“I woke up without your dick in me…why?” Amelia asked with a soft, whiny voice.

That did something to Stack.

He picked Amelia up, pointed his dick at her wet cooze, and slammed her down until she was filled. Stack had two handfuls of ass while he fucked her standing. Amelia bounced, arms circling his shoulders to hold on for the ride. Stack was hitting her bottom so good she was delighted. A smile stretched across her lips.

“Fuck this pussy, Stack! Fuck me!”

“Hot damn, baby! Tight ass pussy! Fuckin’ love this pussy!”

Amelia gleamed before a string of moans escaped her mouth.

“Take your pussy! Yes, Daddy!”

“You used to this dick now, huh?” Stack picked up the pace of his fucking, “I’m all deep in this wet shit…I’d fuck you all day if I could…good pussy…fuck, Princess…”

Amelia could feel him pulsating inside of her. The stretch and the way he continued to kiss her spot with his tip, she felt herself come undone. It was so overwhelming. He didn’t stop. Stack had her in a bear hug.

In and out…in and out…

More slip. A better glide. Increased sensation. She could feel it all. And it felt so good. He was close. Stack pressed his sweaty forehead against hers.

“You close, Daddy?”

“FUCK!”

Stack snatched Amelia off his dick and she dropped to her knees. Amelia poked her tongue out and stack sat his tip against it while jerking. He came all over her lips and tongue.

“You so nasty wit’ it, baby…”

Amelia cleaned him off.

“Satisfied?” Stack asked with a smirk.

“I could always use more…but you need to take me back to Annie’s.”

Amelia found her lavender chemise beneath the bed. Stack could go for another round.

“Annie be aight. She can hold it down.”

“I’ve had enough of you for now. My pussy need a good herbal bath. I’m sore.” Amelia said.

Stack locked his arms around Amelia’s waist. She tried to wiggle free.

“Let me go, Stack,” Amelia giggled from his kisses to her neck, “Stop it!”

“How you put that pussy on me and expect me to act right? Answer me that, gorgeous.”

“You’ll never get this pussy again if you don’t take me back to Annie’s! It’s late!”

Stack groaned before releasing Amelia.

“You lucky I got business wit’ Smoke. Otherwise, you’d be seated on this dick again.”

“Uh-huh.” Amelia rolled her eyes, “Let’s go playboy.”

A crack of thunder evoked fear into Ameila. She covered her ears and looked towards the window in Stack’s room with panic–stricken eyes.

“I don’t much like thunder…can we go?”

Stack’s probing eyes searched hers. The change in her demeanor concerned him. He grabbed a clean tank top and slipped into his white button down shirt. Pants secure and belt around his waist, stack put on his loafers before quickly leaving his room. Ameila put on her ballet flats and grabbed her handbag. Stack snatched his keys from the table before guiding Amelia out of the house with his hand on the small of her back.

It was windy and the sky was dark and cloudy. They rushed inside of the car and Stack drove off. Another crack of thunder pierced the sky. Amelia jumped in her seat. Stack placed an arm around her shoulder while driving with one hand. Ameila rested her head against his shoulder, nervously fiddling with her hands.

“We here…”

Stack slowed the car down to a complete stop. The thunder had gone away, but the sky still seemed gloomy.

A storm was expected.

“Thank you…”

Stack trapped Ameila against the car.

“You know we opening a Juke?”

Ameila tilted her head, “I do.”

“You coming I hope.”

“Maybe,” Amelia pushed at Stack’s chest, “get out my way, Stack.”

“That’s not so polite, Princess. Where your manners?”

“Long gone. Move before I bite that lip!”

“Do it.” Stack challenged with a gruff tone.

Ameila chomped at him. Stack gripped her chin and slipped her some tongue. Amelia couldn’t help but melt into the kiss. Their heads swiveled, Stack feeling up on Amelia’s behind. With him distracted, Ameila was able to shove him back. She made a beeline for the steps.

“I’m a get you!”

“Ahhhh!—”

Stack carried Amelia up the stairs with one arm.

The door opened.

Amelia’s breath hitched. Stack tilted his chin in greeting.

“What’s shakin’, nigga? Hope you don’t mind I stole this dame for one night…maybe more…”

Ameila whispered, “Stop.” Before drifting her eyes back to Smoke timidly.

“Made her feel welcome I hope.” Smoke said.

“Sure did. You know I got real good hospitality.”

Stack kissed the back of Amelia’s hand.

“See ya’ soon, Princess. Go on in there before you melt.”

“Bye for now, Stack…”

Ameila fiddled with her dress before quickly entering the home. She brushed past Smoke, grazing his arm.

“I’ll catch you in about an hour or so. Gotta get this hair slicked up.”

“Don’t take too long, Stack. We got shit to do.” Smoke argued.

“Nigga, I know.”

Stack climbed back into his car and drove off.

Alone.

Ameila paced back and forth in her room. The rain beat down on the rooftop aggressively. She could hear Smoke moving about the house. She could smell the tobacco from beyond the door. Amelia nibbled on her bottom lip anxiously.

A bath would definitely help, but not with Smoke here.

She walked over to her vanity and took a seat. Ameila grabbed a brush and parted her long, thick strands before brushing out the tangled hair. A frizzy mountain of hair that reached the middle of her back.

Dewy–eyed and twitching with nervousness, Ameila made her way to the door again, opening it and entering the hall. She moved quietly out into the main area. No Smoke in sight.

That was, until she’d heard the sound of water sloshing on the back porch.

The rain hadn’t stopped, blanketing the garden. The droplets bounced off of the porch heavily and ferociously. A misty breeze picked up and tickled her skin the closer she got to the back door.

Curiosity always got the best of her.

She’d already been caught last night.

Annie and Smoke’s fucking kept her up. Stack was so tired and wasted from the beer, but Ameila assumed he was probably used to it. Ameila sat up in bed, listening to the two of them have sex. She climbed out of bed, careful not to wake Stack.

She left her room and snuck over to peek inside theirs.

And when she did, Smoke caught her eye.

And he smirked at her. Snidely.

Like he was silently telling her “Yeah…this my woman…let me show you who fucks her right.”

Ameila could never take that away from him.

He did fuck Annie right indeed.

And she stroked her clit to it. Openly.

Like a submissive little slut.

Showing him that she understood her place.

That Smoke was in charge.

Ameila’s stomach muscles warped at that memory. She peeked her head out and found Smoke taking a bath. He had his head reclined back with a cigarette between his lips. Smoke’s biceps bulged imposingly as they draped over the edge of the tub. His hair was covered with a press cap.

Amelia cleared her throat.

Smoke paused with the cigarette at his full lips. He slowly turned his eyes on Ameila. Seemingly displeased with her standing there and interrupting his bath.

“Sorry….I was just—just wondering if—did Annie mention anything about me going to the Shack?”

Smoke didn’t answer her right away. He took a hit of his cigarette first.

“She did…said you have a lesson to finish up on.”

“Thank you, Sir—I mean—thank you, Smoke.”

Ameila flashed Smoke a cowardly smile. Smoke’s stark face and perturbed eyes had such an effect on her. It made her want to obey.

“You good at cleaning pipes?”

Amelia flicked her gaze towards him, abashed.

“Cleaning pipes?”

“That’s what I said. I need my pipe cleaned out. Think you can do that for me?”

Smoke waited for her response. A devilish grin appeared on his lips.

“You ain’t got no clue what I’m talking bout?”

“No, sorry—”

“My smoke pipe.”

“Oh!” Amelia fluttered with a laugh, “I can do that for you.”

Smoke furrowed his brows, “Whatchu think I meant?”

“Not sure.” Amelia replied.

“Mhm,” Smoke motioned towards the door, “It’s on the table in there.”

Ameila disappeared inside the house. She found Smoke’s pipe and went on the hunt for Annie’s cleaning supplies. She knelt down on her hands and knees, searching the kitchen area. Ameila found some pipe cleaners and a cloth.

Back outside, Ameila situated herself on the chaise. As she cleaned, thoughts of Annie flooded her mind. The rain slowed down, sunlight attempting to break through the clouds.

Smoke began washing off. Ameila tried to focus, but she was clearly losing the battle. Her eyes raked over his upper body. She rubbed the same spot on his wooden pipe in a circular motion, caught in a trance. Smoke could feel her staring, because he turned to look at her.

Ameila dropped her attention to cleaning the pipe again.

But her heart raced.

Her breathing choppy.

She inspected the pipe thoroughly before standing.

“Good as new.” Ameila smiled.

“Let’s see how good you did,” Smoke motioned for her to come to him.

Ameila slowly approaches him. She extended her hand and Smoke grabbed the pipe.

The soap suds in the water swirled around his crotch.

“Almost look new. Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome.”

Ameila accepted the pipe back.

“I’ll place it on the table for you.”

“Yeah, do that,” Smoke eyed her up and down.

Amelia backed away.

She exhaled, making her way over to the table. Ameila sat the pipe down carefully. Birds chirped as the sunlight rose over the yard. Smoke appeared, towel sitting low on his hips. Amelia gawked at him before quickly regaining her composure. She busied herself with pouring a glass of water from the icebox.

“You was at my door last night. Care to explain that?”

Ameila’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t even take a sip of water.

“Smoke—Smoke I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“What are you?” Smoke questioned firmly.

“What am I?” Amelia replied with a quizzical expression.

“Ain’t that what I asked?” Smoke fired back.

“I’m a woman. I’m Annie’s friend. I’m…I’m Amelia.”

Smoke glared at Ameila. She cast her eyes to her feet.

“That ain’t all you are, darling. You see, I know about you. All about you. How you fucking my wife. Fucking my brother…”

Ameila ogled Smoke.

He did know. He’d known since the moment he laid eyes on her. His disgruntled eyes made her feel apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Smoke, please…it wasn’t Annie’s fault. Don’t blame her. Blame me.”

Smoke crinkled his nose as his eyes dragged over her body.

“Please…I tempted her–I–I wanted her…”

Smoke narrowed his eyes at her.

“Despite all that shit…I can’t get you out my head.”

Ameila was visibly stunned by his words.

“What is it about you that makes them go crazy?”

Ameila was tight–lipped. She didn’t know how to respond to that. He was visibly agitated and hostile yet inquisitive and enthralled.

Smoke’s chest muscles flexed as he inched closer. Ameila gripped the edge of the table for balance. She mustered all her strength to look him in the eyes.

“What are we gon’ do ‘bout that?”

Smoke reached up and stroked Amelia’s chin with his thumb. A searing look crossed his face and it had Ameila spellbound.

“I…”

Her grip on the edge of the table tightened painfully.

Suddenly, he had her by the chin. Ameila gasped.

“Sluts like you get what they ask for…it’s best you tell me the truth…you want a taste of what Annie getting?”

Ameila’s bottom lip trembled, “Smoke—”

“No, no, no, no. You answer my question.”

“YES.” Ameila replied hastily.

“What make you think you deserve this dick?”

“Because I’m on your mind. Seems like you want it as bad as I do.” Amelia replied sassily.

Smoke wrapped his fist in her hair and pulled. Ameila hissed.

“Bad mouthing me? Watch ya’ mouth…”

“I’m sorry!”

“You ain’t sorry…turn around.”

Ameila faced the opposite way. The sound of his towel hitting the floor caused her to chew on her bottom lip.

“Smoke…”

Ameila quivered. She felt her pussy jumping. Pulsating with need. Smoke sat his dick between her cheeks. Ameila’s jaw dropped.

“Let’s see what we got here…”

Smoke’s fingertips lifted her chemise over her ass. The cool air brushed her pussy from behind, leaving goosebumps in its tracks.

With one powerful hand, Smoke nudged Ameila against the table. Cheek planted firmly, smoke pinned her arms behind her back with one hand securing her wrists.

“You smell like fresh sex.”

Ameila felt his fingers stroke her vulva from behind. She whimpered pathetically. Smoke found her button and rubbed it in a circular motion.

“Feel like it too. My little brother fucked you good I see,” Smoke pushed two fingers deep, “Uhuh…nice and wide.”

He didn’t hesitate finger–fucking her. Ameila felt tears roll over her nose and to the table.

“I’m digging in this pussy with my fingers, slut?”

“Yesssssssss….”

“Had my wife tongue all up in this shit…”

Smoke’s fingers slipped out. Ameila whimpered with need.

“Get up.”

Ameila stood on shaky feet.

She still hasn’t recovered from Stack’s dick putting a hurting on her cooze.

“Turn.”

Ameila faced Smoke. Her eyes fell to his dick.

Fat. Long. Curved to the left.

“Now,” Smoke forced his fingers with her pussy on it into her mouth, “Suck.”

Ameila sucked her mess off. Smoke’s fingers rubbed along her tongue and when they slipped from her mouth, a trail of spit followed. Ameila waited patiently for his next command, keen eyes slick with arousal. Smoke stroked her pouty lips with his thumb, memorizing the shape of them.

“Go take a bath.”

Amelia’s eyes filled with despair.

Smoke walked off, leaving Ameila alone and under his spell.

@eggnox @blackisy2k @thickeeparker @theereinawrites @angelin-dis-guise @thee-germanpeach @harleycativy @alexbabyyyy @readingaddict1290 @thedondada05 @blackamericanprincessy @aristasworld @avoidthings @brownsugarcoffy @ziayamikaelson @kindofaintrovert @raysogroovy @overhere94 @sug3rco0k1es @joysofmyworld @an-ever-evolving-wanderer @starcrossedxwriter @marley1773 @bombshellbre95 @nybearsworld @blossom3010 @kykylovesblog @desthefanfc @jeurden23janise @brincessbarbie @kholdkill @honggihwa @tianna-blanche @wewantsumheaad @goddessofthundathighs @nearsightedbaddie @charmedthoughts @beaboutthataction @mynameisnikkinik @girlsneedlovingfanfics @candelalanegra22 @mrsknowitallll @pinkprincessluminary @rissa21405 @chefjessypooh @sk1121-blog1 @contentfiend @kaystacks17 @bratzlele @massivewolfslimeturtle @kirayuki22 @bxrbie1 @blackerthings @intellectualassholee @angryflowerwitch @baddiegiii @mysteriouslycertaincherrybl-blog @syko-jpg @inkdrippeddreams @rolemodelshit

[munsonsmixtapes]

Underneath the Moonlight

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader

Sex on the beach with Simon

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) nipple play, body insecurity

This is once again in collaboration with @the-witty-pen-name

The sun beats down on the sand as you sit on your towel where you sit next to Simon who’s reading the book you recommended to him. You lay your head on his shoulder and skim the pages as his arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. He turns and presses a kiss to your forehead before turning back to the book.

This vacation for the two of you was long overdue. After weeks of planning, the two of you are finally relaxed. It took some convincing to get Simon to agree to take some time off, but after showing him the numerous new bikinis you’d added to your cart, he was quick to submit the request for the vacation. He surprised you with round trip plane tickets and a room booked at an all inclusive resort as soon as he got it approved.

Simon would have never considered himself a beach person, but he found himself enjoying things he never did before now that he’s found you. He hated time off, leaving him too much time to be left with his racing thoughts. Now, he’s counting down the seconds when he’s away until he can return home to do nothing with you. You ground him in ways you’ll never fully know. The old him would complain about the heat and the sand and the crowds, but with you? None of those things even cross his mind anymore.

“What do you think so far?” You ask, turning your head and studying his face as he reads. He looks so good like this- sun-kissed and worry free, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as his blue eyes scan the words on the pages.

“I like it about the same as when you asked me three pages ago,” he smiles, amused by how giddy you seem to be as he reads. “It’s great- stop spoiling it when I’m getting to a good part.” He chuckles as you scoff, gasping in offense.

“I am not!” You say, crossing your arms across your chest.

“You keep staring at me when something is about to happen,” he points out and you feel your face flush when you realize he’s right.

“Sorry,” you mumble with a shy smile. You lay back down, closing your eyes as you try to tan and a comfortable silence falls between the two of you again.

You don’t want tan lines so you untie the strings of your top, keeping yourself covered as you lay on your back. You smile to yourself, feeling Simon’s eyes on you having pulled his attention away from the book. You feel his hand gently rubbing your back, tracing shapes mindlessly on your soft skin as he returns back to reading.

The sun feels so good on your skin, and you can just feel all the tension in your body practically melt into the sand underneath your towel.

“Si?” You ask, turning your head towards him.

“Hmm?” He replies, pulling his attention from the book in his lap to you. He tucks your hair that’s fallen out of place behind your ear.

“Could you help get my back? I think I need to reapply.”

He drops the book so quickly that it makes you giggle.

“You didn’t save your page,” you point out and he waves it off as he grabs the bottle of sunscreen from your bag.

“I’ll find it,” he muses, too preoccupied with you to care in the least as pours some lotion into his palm. “My girl needs me.”

Simon pulls the sunscreen bottle out of your bag and squirts some into his hand before rubbing it into your back until the white turns clear. He’s always so gentle with it, almost like he’s afraid that he’s going to hurt you.

Once he’s done, he presses a kiss to each shoulder then goes back to his book, so invested in the story that he’s hunched over, his face only inches from the page. This is so unlike anything else he’s read, but he’s really enjoying it.

What he’s not expecting, though, is the smut scene. He’s heard of it but wasn’t expecting to be seeing it in a book you recommended to him. He knows that maybe he shouldn’t be reading this in public, but he doesn’t care. He has to know what happens and he wonders what if it will maybe give him some pointers.

As the sun goes down and the heat dissipates, the two of you stay there as everyone packs up to go home. Pretty soon, you’re the only ones on the beach and Simon is really looking forward to taking advantage of that.

His lips press against your cheek again and again as he pulls you into his lap. You’re both giggling as he lies down on the towel, his hands tangling in your hair as you kiss his lips. It gets progressively more heated, all teeth and tongues as his slides into your mouth.

“I need you,” he says against your lips and when you feel his cock hardening against you. You want to say yes, to give into him when he’s so needy like this, but you can’t. He’s seen you naked more times than either of you can count so you don’t know why you feel so insecure tonight.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you have no idea why the thought of taking off your swimsuit is making you feel sick. Your breathing is getting heavy and you turn away when he reaches up to wipe away the tear that has fallen down your cheek.

You wipe it away with the back of your hand then stand to your feet before packing up your stuff. You feel like such a jerk but you just can’t do this right now. Not here. You're hot and sweaty and the sunscreen is making you feel like you need a shower.

You try to blink your tears away, avoiding his gaze but feel him hovering over you. He has no idea what’s going on and even though he knows you like the back of his hand, he can’t figure this one out. It’s just a giant question mark and it’s driving him crazy.

He’s mad at himself, convinced that he pressured you into something that you weren’t ready for. And now he’s going to spend the rest of the night trying to make it up to you.

“Darling, what’s going on?” He asks, his hand on your shoulder and you shake it off, so overwhelmed, so overstimulated by everything. You just want to go back to the hotel and take a shower and go to sleep.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, moving to pick up your towel but Simon stops you. Your eyes snap up to his and you hate the way he’s looking at you, like you’re this fragile thing that he needs to fix. “I just want to go back to the hotel.”

“Did I do something?” You turn away but still feel his gaze burning into you. Now you feel like a dick. He’s being so sweet and you don’t know why you’re shutting him out. He cares for you, would never hurt you and now you’re hurting him. All because you’re feeling bad about yourself.

That’s why you don’t want to sleep with him right now. You’re not feeling like yourself in your body, like when you look in the mirror, you don’t look the same. You’ve put on weight since you started dating Simon and now it’s starting to show. You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed. Body changes are normal and you know you shouldn’t be so insecure about it, that Simon would worship the fuck out of you, but now you don’t want him to see you. Not when you look like this.

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m just tired, okay?” Simon knows he should let it go but he can’t. He needs to get to the bottom of whatever is going on so he can fix it. He hates that you feel like this. He just wants to see his girl smile again.

“Baby please,” he says, dropping to the sand in front of you. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. Just-please.” He’s begging now, his hands grabbing hold of your waist as he presses his forehead against your stomach. You want to push him away but you feel like you need to let him have this.

He’s so desperate to make things right and you know you need to tell him that he’s not the problem. But you love seeing him like this-on his knees, pleading like he does best.

“Please,” he whispers, pressing kisses to your stomach before looking up at you. “Please let me make you feel good, darling.” You feel like you’re about to drop to your knees, his words making you feel like you could collapse. He always knows exactly what to say to make you dizzy.

Tears well up in your eyes again as you run your hands through his hair. You want to, you want to so badly, but there’s still the roadblock in your way. The insecurity is full force as you think about how disgusted you felt looking in the mirror. That’s the whole reason why you’ve been wearing your cover up all day except for when you were tanning.

“I can’t,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper as you choke back your sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Simon pulls away and looks up at you, his own eyes turning glassy as he sees that you’re crying. He feels his heart break into a million tiny pieces as he stands to his feet, seeing that you’re sobbing now. He says nothing and pulls you into his arms, his hands running up and down your back as a way to comfort you.

“I-I don’t want you to see me. To see my body.”

“What?” Now he’s genuinely confused, having no idea what you could possibly mean by that.

“I’ve put on weight Simon. Why do you think I’ve been wearing big t-shirts?” He thought it was just a style choice, not that you were hiding your body. And now his heart is somehow breaking even more at this revelation.

“So what if you’ve put on weight?” He asks, his hands moving up to cradle your face so you’ll look him in the eyes. “Do you really think I care about that?”

“No, but I do. I look…different.”

“So what? It’s just more to love, right? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I do want you to know that I love you no matter what you look like. You’re it for me, darling. And there will never be anyone else who is perfect enough.”

You’re both crying now, holding onto each other tightly. You grab onto his shirt, pulling him into a kiss and it’s like all of your worries melt away. His hands have a firm hold on your hips and you don’t even care when they slide up your top, resting on your bare skin.

You suddenly need him, desperate to have him take you right here on your towel. You feel like you’re finally ready now that you’ve told him the truth. It didn’t completely fix the problem, but you at least feel comfortable enough to show him your naked body.

You both sink to the towel on your knees and you push him back so he’s lying down before you straddle his waist. You’ve got that look in your eye that tells him that you’re the boss tonight and he’s more than okay with that.

Your shirt comes off and so does his, both of them landing in a pile on top of the towel. You lean forward and grab hold of his hands, leading them to your back. His hands untie your bikini top which falls onto his stomach. Simon picks it up and tosses it into the pile as you lean up, letting him take in your naked torso.

“Darling,” he gasps, his hands moving down your back, fingers giving it a featherlight touch as they dance across it. “You’re beautiful.”

“Really?” You ask. “Do you still want to show me how much?”

“Fuck yes,” he breathes and you lean down, pressing your lips to his again as his hands slide around to your chest, his thumbs massaging your nipples. You moan into his mouth and he’s now hard beyond belief against you. You start to grind against him and it’s turn to moan now, untying both sides of your bottoms and you pull them out from underneath you. You then pull down his swim trunks, still grinding against him as he continues to play with your nipples.

He finishes the job and barely has any time to register what’s happening before you top him. He looks up at you as you guide his hands to your hips, taking in the view of you riding him while the moon is behind you. It’s shining down on you, giving you this beautiful glow and god, he doesn’t think you’ve been more beautiful than you are now.

Your hands reach up and play with your nipples, moaning loudly as you do so. He needs something to remember this moment, watching this beautiful woman bouncing on his cock as she pleasures herself. And she’s all his. What did he do to deserve this?

He reaches for his phone to snap a quick picture and you catch him, moaning even louder as he takes the photo. Yeah, he’s definitely saving this one for when he needs relief when you’re not around to give it to him.

“So fucking hot, darling,” he rasps as his phone is tossed to the side, He grabs hold of your waist again and begins to buck his hips against yours, pumping harder and harder as your bounces get more progressive.

Your hands leave your chest and move to his shoulders, moving even faster. This is the prettiest you’ve felt in so long and now you feel so silly for having denied him for so long. After this, you’re not sure you’re going to be able to leave the hotel room for the rest of the vacation. You can imagine being tangled up in the sheets for hours on end, only taking breaks for meals. And you know that Simon would be more than happy to agree to that idea.

“You’re the hot one,” you reply. “Walking around here in those tight shorts. You’ve been driving me crazy all day.”

“I knew you’d like them,” he smirks smugly. “You’re such a little whore, aren’t you?” He asks, picking up the pace to match yours.

“If anyone’s the whore here, it’s you. You’re the one reading smut on the beach.”

“In my defense, I didn’t know it had smut until I was halfway into it. How was I supposed to know that a book with a cartoon cover contained such filth?”

“Did you like it, though?”

“I did,” he replies with a nod. “Gave me some pointers.” With that, he flips you over so you’re on the bottom. He hovers over you, his lips finding yours in a brief kiss before he kisses his way down your torso before pulling your nipple into your mouth. He licks and sucks on it before biting down, making you moan louder than he thinks you ever have before. You clench around him and he pounds into you again over and over until you’re coming, his name falling from your lips in a loud scream.

He keeps going, seeing how many times he can get you there, but he’s orgasming before that, neither of you caring that he’s unloading inside you before he collapses on top of you. Once you both come down, Simon gathers your clothes, wrapping yourselves up in your towels before heading to the shower where you clean up. He then loans you his shirt to cover up while he puts his trunks back on before leading you back to your room where you go for round two.

[botanicalsword]

How Venus reacts ➸ when they realize they’ve won someone's heart

It is showing the other side of Venus when they try to avoid committing to love that they may be unsure about

Love can be tricky - when someone feels truly loved, each Venus may react in different ways. Some may push their partner away, others may lose interest, and some may make things more complicated.

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂

Venus in Aries ♈ : I wanted you until you wanted me back

the thrill was in the pursuit, then they started eyeing the next challenge

Venus in Taurus ♉ : great, now I can relax

they stop putting in effort, assuming you’ll always be there, but sure you can fulfill their deep need for emotional and material security

Venus in Gemini ♊ : Interesting…

their attention drifts, they start craving novelty, even if it’s just a flirty conversation

Venus in Cancer ♋ : do you really love me?

they become moody and insecure, reading into every little thing - the whole thing turns into emotional withdrawal or passive-aggressive behaviour

Venus in Leo ♌ : I don't mind you worship me more now

they expect grand gestures, constant admiration, and absolute loyalty, anything less feels like an insult - they demand to be treated like royalty

Venus in Virgo ♍ : you adore me ? let me find all the reasons why you shouldn’t

Overthinking, they have that checklist of your imperfections

Venus in Libra ♎ : hmm what if someone better comes along

they will second-guess, compare, and flirt, they’re terrified of choosing wrong

Venus in Scorpio ♏ : I feel like I care less now

intensity fades. the chase is over. they might test you, pull away, or even flirt with others - but just to see if you’ll fight for them

Venus in Sagittarius ♐ : thought we're having fun

they panic at commitment. suddenly, they becomes too busy, making excuses, because freedom matters more than feelings

Venus in Capricorn ♑ : you like me? let’s see if you’re worth keeping they start evaluating, your loyalty, your ambition, your long-term potential. it isn’t just emotion - it’s an investment

Venus in Aquarius ♒ : cool. now give me space.

say no to clinginess - the more you show devotion, the more they detach, treating love it like an hobby rather than a priority

Venus in Pisces ♓ : aww thats sweet, but I can’t promise anything

avoid defining the relationship, keeping things dreamy but unclear - they might even unconsciously invite some drama to avoid real commitment

>> Collection | Astrological indicators >> Relationship ♤ Sexual Energy Breakdown >> Career ✧  Successful year? ✧ Solar Return & Midheaven (MC)

✧ >> Back to Masterlist ✧ Explicit Content

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/ instagram : @le.sinex / @botanicalsword

[mashtatosworld]

heiress of my heart

summary: G-Dad and Diva have a shopping addiction...

The day usually starts with the little diva waking up the whole house.

Not crying - no, she was far too dramatic and refined for that. Instead, she simply calls out for her Appa, repeatedly, until he has no choice but to wake up and get her from the crib.

"Appa." A pause. "Appa." Another pause. "APPA."

Jiyong groans beside you, his face buried in the pillow. Zoa sat loafed on his back. "Five more minutes," he mumbles.

"APPA."

You sigh, sitting up in bed and carefully plucking the grey cat off his back, pulling her into your arms. She settled immediately, always ready for a cuddle. "She’s not stopping until you go get her."

“I hurt, jagi," Jiyong peeks at you through messy hair, pouting. "Why aren't you hungover?"

You had shared a bottle of wine last night after putting Diva to bed.

"Because I'm not an old man," you smirk teasingly.

Defeated, he rolls out of bed, shuffling down the hall in his plush Chanel robe and slippers - because even half-asleep, Kwon Jiyong is still Jiyong. The father of your diva.

He returns moments later with said baby in his arms, her small hands clinging onto his pyjama shirt as she rests her cheek against his shoulder.

"She said she only wants Eomma now," he complains, dropping onto the bed with his mini-me. "I was just the transport."

Diva crawls towards you and snuggles into your side, gently petting the sleeping cat with one finger, just like you'd taught her. You smile at her lovingly.

Jiyong sighs dramatically. “I give this child everything...”

But he doesn’t mean it - because ten minutes later, after some morning milk and cartoons, your diva is climbing all over him, stealing his hat, and demanding attention.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong insists on dressing Diva every morning.

"She has to be cool, jagi. She’s my daughter.”

Today, he’s in front of her wardrobe, holding up two outfits.

"This one?" He shows her a tiny blue Burberry sweater and cargo pants.

"Or this one?" A Chanel dress with tiny matching shoes.

Diva stares at him blankly. Then she points at her pajamas.

“No.” Jiyong is scandalised. “We don’t wear pyjamas all day in this house.”

You sip your coffee, sitting beside Diva on the floor, thoroughly amused. “You do."

“I'm an old man, remember?” he defends, using your own words against you, before turning back to your daughter.

Diva yawns and crawls into your lap. She’s over it.

Jiyong sighs, heading back into her wardrobe for more inspiration.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong doesn’t go anywhere without Diva by his side. Whether it’s a quick errand, a café trip, or a studio visit - she’s his little shadow.

Today, he takes her out shopping since you wanted to work on writing some new songs and it was nearly impossible with the pair of them around.

If Diva wasn't clinging to your legs, it was Jiyong.

But only an hour after they left, you receive a Facetime call on your phone. It’s Jiyong and Diva, inside a store. He’s pointing his camera at a Chanel bag on display.

"Should we get this for Eomma?"

Diva stands beside it, holding a smaller, identical one, nodding her head.

Jiyong flips the camera to his face, and chuckles. "She has Eomma’s taste."

You roll your eyes, "Ji, I don't need another one."

"Yah, yah bad connection in here- gotta go, we love you!"

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Hours later, they stop for snacks at a quiet café.

Diva sips from a Chanel-branded baby cup. Yet another purchase he'd have to disguise from you. But to Jiyong, it was an investment. Your next babies would get to use it too.

Jiyong, feeling sentimental, strokes her tiny hand.

“You know, Princess, someday, you might have a little brother or sister.”

Diva freezes.

She slowly lowers her cup.

Jiyong waits.

She stares at him for a long moment.

Then -

She throws her cup onto the floor.

Jiyong jumps. “What - ”

Diva glares. “No.”

He blinks. “No?”

She crosses her arms. “No.”

“Baby, you’d be the best big sister!”

Diva shakes her head violently.

Jiyong looks around, panicked. “Okay, okay, let’s not - ”

But Diva is already kicking her legs, huffing, and looking seconds away from a meltdown.

Jiyong FaceTimes you immediately.

As soon as you pick up, you hear Diva wailing in the background.

Jiyong looks stressed. “Jagi, we have a crisis.”

You blink, putting your pen down with a sigh. “What did you do?”

“I said she might get a sibling, and now she’s - ” he turns the camera.

Diva is full-on sulking, arms folded, cheeks puffed, absolute betrayal on her face.

You laugh. “She’s one and a half. She’ll change her mind.”

Jiyong looks horrified. “But what if she doesn’t?”

“She will.”

He turns back to Diva. “Baby, don’t you want someone to play with?”

Diva pouts.

"Princess?"

She turns her head away dramatically.

Jiyong deflates. “She’s ignoring me.”

You laugh harder. “You’re scared of her.”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are.”

He never tells her off. In all fairness, he never really had to. They were two peas in a pod.

Jiyong sighs. “I might be.”

And then - he hangs up.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Jiyong carries Diva inside, arms full of shopping bags.

You stare. “Jiyong - ”

He cuts you off. “Before you say anything, we've had a stressful day.”

You fold your arms. His idea of retail therapy was excessive.

He sets Diva down, and she immediately runs off calling for the cats, her tiny shoes tapping against the floor. He shifts under your scrutiny, finally admitting, "I had to buy my way back into her heart, okay?"

You blink, glancing at the sheer number of bags he’s just abandoned in the entryway. “Ji, I’m sure a juice box would have cut it.”

He drops onto the chair opposite you, rubbing his face. “You weren’t there. She looked at me like I’d betrayed her. My own daughter.”

You laugh. “I did warn you. She needs friends other than us.”

He groans. “Jagi, what are we gonna do?” His voice is almost distant, like he’s lost in some great, existential crisis.

You laugh, closing your notebook. “Not let our lives be ruled by a toddler?”

He gives you a look. “What do you mean?”

Diva’s voice rings from the other room. “Appa, juice!”

Jiyong is already on his feet. “Coming, my Princess!”

You watch him go, shaking your head. A wave of love washed over you so you opened your notebook again, finally feeling the words pour out of you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

i wrote this for another fic i'll be posting soon! featuring the adventures of g-dad, eomma and diva ofc

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts from the film the hobbit : the desolation of smaug . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

this is no chance meeting , is it , [ name ] ?

take back your homeland .

what if i were to help you reclaim it ?

that's not the worst of it .

we have another problem .

what did i tell you ? quiet as a mouse .

will you just listen ? i'm trying to tell you there's something else out there .

the bear is unpredictable , the man can be reasoned with .

come away from there , it's not natural . none of it .

it's obvious , he's under some dark spell .

you'll be safe here tonight ... i hope .

we grow in number , we grow in strength .

death will come to all .

there are others like you ?

you're running out of time .

a darkness lies upon that forest .

i would not venture there except in great need .

go now while you have the light .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

something moves in the shadows unseen , hidden from our sight .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

i would not do this unless i had to .

you've changed , [ name ] .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

we're going around in circles , we are lost .

the sun . we have to find the sun .

we're being watched .

they're growing bolder .

not just a thief , but a liar as well .

i myself suspect a more prosaic motive .

i have seen how you treat your friends .

you turned away from the suffering of my people .

a hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf . i'm patient . i can wait .

did he offer you a deal ?

shh ! there are guards nearby .

you were supposed to be leading us out , not further back in !

are you mad ? they'll find us .

please . please , you must trust me .

this is not a nice place to meet .

why now , [ name ] ? i don't understand .

a human sorcerer could not summon such evil .

in our blindness , the enemy has returned .

the enemy is preparing for war .

i started this . i cannot forsake them , they are in grave danger .

you want me to cast my friends aside ?

i think we've outrun the orcs .

we've no weapons to defend ourselves .

do it again , and you're dead .

what makes you think i would help you ?

no doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed .

oh , come on - enough of the niceties .

i would like to know who you are . and what you're doing in these lands .

we need food , supplies ... weapons . can you help us ?

i'd wager there are ways to enter that town unseen .

for that , you'd need a smuggler .

there was more he could have told us .

i don't care what he calls himself , i don't like him .

we don't have to like him , we just have to pay him .

i've been bled dry by this adventure ! and what have i seen for my investment ?

if you value your freedom , you'll do as i say .

folk in this town are suffering .

you'd do well to remember ; we know where you live .

it's a small town , [ name ] , everyone knows where everyone lives .

who would have the nerve to question my authority ?

you promised us weapons .

death ! that is what you'll bring upon us .

have you forgotten what happened to [ name / location ] ?

let us not be so quick to lay blame .

join us when you're healed .

[ name ] , you belong with the company .

i belong with my brother .

we have no time to wait , we're on our own .

the evil that is hidden here ... i command it reveal itself .

you have keen eyes , [ name ] .

let all those who doubted us rue this day !

i know these walls ... these halls , this stone .

i do not know what you'll find down there .

it never ceases to amaze me . the courage of hobbits .

if there is in fact a live dragon down there , don't waken it .

come , now ... don't be shy . step into the light .

there is something about you , something you carry .

there you are , thief in the shadows .

i did not come to steal from you .

do you think flattery will keep you alive ?

what else do you claim to be ?

truly , you are mistaken .

you have nice manners , for a thief and a liar .

i know the smell and taste of dwarf .

they are drawn to treasure like flies to dead flesh .

did you think i did not know this day would come ?

you should leave us .

and go where ? there is nowhere to go .

the dragon , it's going to kill us .

i kill where i wish , when i wish .

my armor is iron , no blade can pierce me .

i need you to distract the guards .

time to do what , to get killed ?

yes , i'm afraid . i'm afraid for you .

you're not yourself .

the darkness is coming ... it will spread to every corner of the land .

you were only ever a means to an end .

i will not part with a single coin . not one piece of it .

your reputation precedes you .

you have no equal on this earth .

i think our little game ends here .

so tell me , thief ... how do you choose to die ?

we've given him the slip .

there may be a way out .

it's our only chance , we have to try .

i've heard tales of the wonders of elvish medicine .

that was a privilege to witness .

i will not die like this . cowering . gasping for breath .

if this is to end in fire , then we will all burn together .

perhaps it is time i paid them a visit .

this isn't their fault !

you care about them , do you ? good . then you can watch them die .

i am taking back what you stole .

you will take nothing from me .

i laid low your warriors of old . i instilled terror in the hearts of men .

this is not your kingdom . these are dwarf lands .

revenge ? revenge ?! i will show you revenge !

i am fire . i am death .

what have we done ?

[harmonysanreads]

You remember the first time Phainon said your name with a vexing clarity.

Well, ‘announced with all the vigor of a gorilla in its prime’ would be a more accurate description of that moment, not that you can word this out loud in front of ordinary folk — not anymore. What beget that incident and how he came to know of your identity are details even you question currently.

Exhilarating is the simplest (and most positive) word to describe the experience with the Chrysos Heir, being in his presence is no less riveting than witnessing a blood-warming battle straight from Castrum Kremnos. As such, against your judgement and awareness, it seemed that most things became a blur whenever he was nearby.

Not that it stirs an affirmative thrill in your arteries now. It did back then ; when he'd so brazenly dedicated his victory to your name in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of citizens, uncaring of the uncertain state of your acquaintanceship. You recall being more confused than overjoyed at the seemingly once-in-a-lifetime event of a Hero's attention falling upon you. But that, too, was swept by the tide of envious curiosity of the people of Okhema soon.

You don't blame them, you'd question if a nobody became the subject of reverence of a hero so suddenly as well. But that didn't mean you were no less annoyed by it, especially as it seemed that Phainon had no intention of quitting this practice. Every spar, every small victory towards the Flame-Chase and even the most random of achievements — he'd dedicate to you, the declarations becoming bolder each time.

You don't even need to ask what exactly you did to have him so invested, he has scarce control of his mouth when it concerns you. Do you believe the things he says though? That criteria, will not be met regardless of how sincere the Hero appears to be. You're not someone who's had to mingle with people of this volume, the invisible pushes to step into Phainon's world, direct or indirect, do not soothe your nerves in the slightest.

Ballads speak of the distant days when the sun used to kiss the soil of Amphoreus, but you weren't fortunate enough to witness those times. You've been reprimanded in a recent style lately though, your surroundings are quick to point at the dawn-incarnate, dashing specimen of a hero who's illuminated your once dull life and wonder so starry-eyed how grateful you must feel.

You used to roll your eyes at these whispers for a short frame of time. But as whispers ascended to theater and people eagerly awaited to spectate the turns of your ‘love story’, you really started to feel grateful. Not because you were pleased with your situation, but because of the support Phainon had provided throughout. He'd commented lightly once, you aren't built for such a harsh life. You deserve to recline, let others — him do the heavy-lifting and indulge yourself.

You tried your utmost to prove this redundant hypothesis incorrect. But dogs, once sufficiently attached, will always return to the master no matter how far one throws the toy. In moments of vulnerability, if even darkness helps, people will cling to it. And if it is the sun, they'll embrace blindness against the wishes of their conscience.

In Amphoreus, there goes the tale of the valiant hero and the beloved he's claimed as his life. Only in moments of clarity do you recall, it is nothing but the recounting of your immurement.

[honey-pages]

Study Date - Viktor x Reader

Description -

Viktor waits for you in the library for an unexpected study date.

1.9k Words.

Part 2

F/M. 18+. Smut. Semi-Public Sex. Fingering. Dirty Talk.

Your project was due soon - next Wednesday, and with all the work that went into the subject you were working on, you desperately needed some focused library time. Maybe borrowing some books, writing down your initial thoughts, and annotating your materials would clear your brain. You were assigned an important research topic not long ago, by your supervisor and it was imperative that it was done quickly and accurately. The library was not far from your room and warm at this time of night. They liked to give out blankets on loan at the door, it wasn’t unusual for researchers to work overnight or with the aid of supplements to allow them to focus for longer periods of time, usually spanning until morning.

As you approach the main entrance, you pick up a blue blanket and scan your identification card. The staff at the desk smile at you as you walk through, you are familiar with them, and they are accustomed to your presence there. You climb the first set of stairs, undecided on where to go. The library seemed empty tonight. You climb another set of stairs. At the top was a sharp corner leading to your favourite seating area. In an alcove surrounded by bookshelves is a small desk with four chairs, and seated there, almost like he was waiting for your appearance, was Viktor.

You were not surprised to find him here; he was a busy man. You were however a little confused as to why he wasn’t in his lab and was instead in your favourite study spot. The library was a silence only zone on the floor you had reached and as you looked over at Viktor, he raised his gaze and held eye contact with you, a smile slowly seeping across his face. He pats the chair directly next to him, summoning you forward.

You had always felt a certain appreciation for him. The way he worked, his personality, his cause. You cared deeply for him, not only as a friendship, but intimately. You hadn’t figured he was interested in that kind of relationship. He was always so invested in his work; it didn’t appear he had much time for more. But sometimes at night, your mind wandered, and you pondered a reality in which he did. What would he do? Who was he interested in? You had hoped, in that reality, that it would be you - but you could never be sure. Quick glances were untrustworthy, and kind words can always be misinterpreted, though sometimes you were sure you noticed something in your interactions that was different: intimate.

You watched him closely as you approached the seat, admiring him. You perhaps hadn’t realised the extent of thoughts you had about him. You felt fluttery and a little weak but that was nothing more than you felt towards him on the regular. Settling down into the seat, you slung your bag against the leg of the table and pulled out your books, setting the blanket down over your lap.

In a hushed whisper from your left came, “Hello (Y/N), it’s nice to see you here, I was wondering when you would show.”

He faced the paper he was working on. On the table splayed out were multiple thick tomes and sheets of paper littered with equations and lines of handwritten notes.

“I should say the same”, you replied, flattered that he had been waiting for you, “it’s so rare to see you out of the lab. What are you working on?”

He swipes his hand, referencing the mass of papers in front of him, “oh nothing. A mechanised power fist for a robot that needs some tinkering with.”

He looks up at you with the last of these words, smiling at your interest in his work, even if he does downplay its importance. In his time away from his main work, he is focusing on improving and fixing his personal projects. You had heard whispers previously about a robot he had been working on. It was not common knowledge around those who studied in your department. You returned the smile.

There was an alert over the announcement system, “Please be aware that this floor is a dedicated silent area. Thanks for your cooperation”

Viktor made a mock grimace before shrugging and smirking, “I feel someone would like us to be quieter.”

You smirk back at him, settling back to face forwards in your chair. You hadn’t realised that your body had turned to face him, hips angling at his knees. Your body language was betraying your attraction. In some ways, in acknowledgement to his intelligence, you figured he must know. He is simply too smart to not realise that you felt the way you did.

You tried to immerse yourself in your work, however his presence did become somewhat of a distraction. Just his proximity to you made you feel seen and watched. You spent what felt like an hour within your own thoughts, sometimes drifting in between fantasies about him, and unfocused thoughts of your deadline.

Viktor placed his hand on your thigh.

A burning surge ran through your body to your stomach, your leg felt hot where his hand lay. You were in disbelief, as though all the ambiguous questions you had were instantaneously answered and you were given an impossible positive answer. You felt your internal organs drop and raise, replaced with butterflies. There was silence. You stole a glance to your left, to his face. He was completely stone faced and confident in his focus on his work. Is this why he saved you a seat?

You shifted slightly, Viktor flinched his hand away, startled. “Oh sorry, have I misread, do you not- “

Without thinking you reach and grab Viktor’s hand and replace it where it had just been. A silent gesture of reassurance that he is exactly where you want him to be. He smirks once again, removing his hand once more. He reaches down for the corner of your blanket, pulling it over the laps of you both, before slipping his hand underneath, allowing it to rest where it just was but now out of sight. The library was not even half full, and no one was looking at you both closely, but the secrecy of his touch and its closeness to your inner thigh made you feel fuzzy.

If previously you couldn’t focus, you had no hope now. He holds your attention firmly, all you can think of is him, his hand, his fingers, his-

His hand slides further to your inner thigh. You freeze. You steal another glance at his face but this time he catches you; your eyes meet.

“Viktor, I- “you manage to murmur.

“Miss (Y/N), this is a quiet space, please, focus.”

As he holds your gaze, the corners of his mouth raised, he slides his hand further forward, holding it firmly at the seat of your trousers, pressing and nudging at the sensitivity there. Your mouth drops open slightly and he notices, chuckling lightly and turning back to his work. He props his head up on his other hand, rubbing his chin in faux concentration. He shuffles closer to you, changing his angle as he rubs and grinds his fingers into you.

You watch others pass by the entrance of the alcove, some smiling in recognition at you, some your friends from previous research projects. Thankfully no one stops to talk. Maybe it is Viktor’s presence that makes you unapproachable, he could be quite intimidating. You shuddered at the thought of how you looked together, sharing a blanket with his arm dangerously close to you, it appeared innocent but was so indecent.

Viktor's hand moved from you and snaked up your hip to push its way down into your trousers. He flattens and slides under the hem of your underwear, lying flat against the front of you. You try to remain calm and hide your squirming, but inevitably, your hips begin to grind on their own. They slowly lower, pushing up against the middles of his fingers, before raising up, pushing your clit desperately against the tips. This repeats for a few long slow grinds, however on the last, as your hips raise, his fingertips flick forward against you, making you jolt in your chair and elicit a sharp though quiet moan.

“Careful now, you don’t want people to see what I’m doing to you, do you?” He purred.

He moves his other hand from his chin to the desk, laying it flat before lifting it again to raise a paper closer to his face, reading intently. His middle finger slides between your folds, dipping itself into the wetness. You stifle yourself. He pushes his middle finger inside gently, making you take the full length of it slowly.

You stammer, “Viktor- “.

At the sound of his name, he inserts another finger.

“Viktor!”

You both look up. Jayce stands by the entrance of the library floor holding up a folder.  Viktor's fingers do not cease, slipping in and out of you deliberately. Jayce quickly approaches your table, throwing down his things on the table in front of you.

“I finally found the blueprints you were looking for this morning, I thought I’d bring them by you.”

Jayce smiles at you warmly, you are both acquainted after being on a work trip together, he quickly makes small talk and relates that it is nice to see you and Viktor together.

“I thought I would have to introduce you to each other, you seem so well suited!” Jayce beams.

Viktor slides in a third finger, looking toward Jayce to give thanks for the folder.

“Ah! Very helpful, thank you. Miss (Y/N) here is helping me look through the documents. It’s somewhat of a study date.” Viktor chimes.

Your core is as tightened as you can make it, focusing completely on not showing anything more than the light blush which is already painting your cheeks. You knew Viktor was collected but how is he so calm right now? Jayce makes a further comment about the two of you together before turning and exiting by the stairs. The speed increases, Viktor’s fingers getting messier and sliding more easily between the folds, holding you open and hungry. He slides his fingers up to your clit, circling and flicking at the heat there.

“The way you are handling this is incredible (Y/N). So composed, so beautiful when I’m inside of you.”

Your grinding is less controlled now and Viktor’s hand is fully wet, your underwear clinging damply to the back of his hand.

“Do you think that if I did this? - “Viktor adds pressure to your clit, you feel the rising feeling of your orgasm building. “-again and again, I could ruin you in the library?”

His growled words were sending you over the edge.

“Viktor, I’m going to- “. Your hips were rapidly meeting his hands. Viktor increases his rhythm on the downward motion, he begins to curl his fingers up, sliding against the hot tight core inside you. As he repeatedly met it with his fingers, you felt your wetness drip and pool in the base of his palm.

“You sound so sweet like this, coming over my fingers in the library where anyone could see. I had no idea you were so dirty Miss (Y/N)’”

His fingers are hitting all the right places, and the building pressure is rising to a blinding white light. Your hips seem to freeze in motion, and he takes full advantage, pushing and grinding you over the edge. Your hands grip around his forearm and he revels in your stifled moans as you come over his fingers. He lightly chuckles, burying his face into your neck to whisper in your ear.

“I have work to attend to in the lab if you could be of assistance?”

[rmadridcore]

Love in Slow Motion

Pairing: Jude Bellingham x Reader

Summary: Nine times Jude felt a strange warmth whenever he was around you, and one time he finally realized what it was.

Word Count: 1.8K

Author’s note: took a break from writing, but i’m back with a little fluffy Jude fic 🤍 i’ll start getting through my requests as well 🫂

The type of relationship you and Jude had was very special to him. It hasn’t been too long since you two became a couple and he wasn’t the type to get too serious, too fast. He preferred keeping things casual — no heavy responsibilities, no complicated emotions, just light and easy. But that all shifted when you walked into his life. It was like a switch flipped, and suddenly, what used to feel complicated or burdensome didn’t seem that way anymore. He found out how peaceful it could be to have the right person by your side. With you, everything felt good, natural. He was attracted to you, sure, but it went far beyond that. There was this deep respect, an admiration that ran much deeper than anything he had ever experienced before. And he was glad to have you in his life.

But then there was that other feeling. It was subtle at first, a strange, confusing fuzz in the pit of his stomach. A warmth that spread through his chest and left him feeling... overwhelmed, in the best possible way.

The feeling would hit him at the most random times, uninvited but never unwelcome. He couldn’t quite put a name to it at first, but it was undeniable — it was strong, intense, and utterly inescapable when he was around you. And it took him a while, 10 moments to be exact, before he finally realized what that feeling really was.

The first time it hit him was during an ordinary Tuesday at his place. You two had just come back from the gym, snacks in hand — a little indulgence after an intense workout. You sat cross-legged on the floor near the coffee table, meticulously sorting through your favorite candy, arranging them by color like it was some life or death mission. Jude couldn’t help but watch, utterly mesmerized. The way your brows furrowed in concentration, the seriousness in your expression over something so trivial. It was adorable. He didn’t even realize he was smiling, his heart swelling with that familiar warmth. He’d barely noticed it then, but that was the first time the feeling crept in.

The second time was less subtle. You two were lounging in bed, tangled up in each other’s arms as the worst crime series he’d ever seen played on TV. You loved it, adored it, despite how horrendously predictable and dull it was. If it were up to him, that show would never grace his screen, not in a million years. But when you asked him to watch it with you, he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to. Even though he didn’t care for the show, he found himself invested — not in the plot, but in the way your face lit up during the ridiculous twists, how you laughed at the over the top dialogue. It hit him then, that same feeling, stronger this time. He didn’t care about the show. He cared about you, about how happy you were. And somehow, that made it all worth it.

The third time it hit him was at dawn. Thirst had woken him up in the middle of the night, and after a quick drink of water, he climbed back into bed. But sleep didn’t return as easily. Instead, he found himself gazing at you — your sleeping figure, so peaceful, so serene. You looked perfect, nestled into the fluffy pillow with the blanket pulled up to your chin. His heart swelled as he watched you, that same unamenable feeling washing over him again. There was something mesmerizing about how relaxed and beautiful you looked, your soft features illuminated by the faint light creeping through the curtains. You were flawless to him, like a dream come to life. And as he lied there, wide awake, he realized how happy it made him to be the one who got to fall asleep and wake up next to you. He was happy, so happy, and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

The fourth time came just before he had to leave for training. He was sitting at the kitchen table, lazily texting his brother, when you came over and placed a cup of coffee in front of him. You gave him a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom, leaving him to take his first sip. As the warm liquid touched his lips, it hit him — you hadn’t asked him how he liked his coffee in months. Only once, when you first started seeing each other. Since then, you had memorized his exact preferences, down to the smallest detail, making it for him just the way he liked without ever needing a reminder. That tiny, thoughtful gesture struck him harder than anything else could have. You knew him so well, and you cared enough to remember the little things. It was a simple moment, but it made him feel that same warmth, that same fuzzy feeling in his chest, stronger than ever.

The fifth time was during a dinner at your friend’s house. The evening had been fun, filled with laughter and conversations, but it was after dinner when that familiar feeling surged through him again. The guests had spread around the house, sipping on drinks and chatting in small groups. He had just come back from the balcony, where he had been talking with a few friends, when he spotted you across the room. You were sitting on a couch with your girlfriends, your head thrown back in laughter, the sound echoing through the room. God, you were beautiful. The way you laughed, so carefree, so full of joy, it made his breath hitch. Your eyes crinkled at the corners, your cheeks flushed from whatever joke had you in stitches, and he felt like time stopped for a moment. In that instant, all he wanted was to hold onto that image of you, happy and glowing. He wanted to freeze time, to keep you laughing forever. It was in moments like that when he felt it the most, this overwhelming, undeniable feeling.

The sixth time hit him when he was getting ready for an award show. You had been by his side all evening, calming his nerves, reassuring him with your words, building him up when he felt uncertain. He loved how involved you were in his career, how you were genuinely his number one fan. As you stood there fixing his collar, making sure he looked perfect before he walked out the door, that feeling rushed over him again. There was something so tender about the way you took care of him, focused on every little detail, and it hit him just how lucky he was to have someone who cared this much.

The seventh time happened on a simple stroll through the city. You loved being outdoors when the weather was nice, and Jude loved tagging along, happy to do anything that brought a smile to your face. As you two walked hand-in-hand along the sidewalk, an adorable white puppy caught your attention. Without a second thought, you dropped Jude’s hand and rushed over to pet the dog, kneeling down and squealing at how cute it was. Watching you gush over the puppy, completely losing yourself in the moment, made that warm, fuzzy feeling flood his chest again. He stood there, grinning, watching as you melted into a bundle of squeaks and giggles, and all he could think was how much he loved seeing you happy.

The eighth time came after one of the hardest days he’d had in a while. Exhausted and stressed, he came home expecting to collapse, but instead, he was greeted by the heavenly smell of his favorite meal cooking. You had surprised him, knowing full well that he’d be grumpy and starving after the long day. The house smelled like comfort, and you acted like it was no big deal, just something you casually did to make his day a little better. But to him, it meant everything. He kissed you as a way of saying thank you, feeling so grateful for how effortlessly you made his life better. You always knew exactly how to make him feel like the luckiest man in the world.

The ninth time was pure simplicity. He had just gotten out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist, another one in hand as he dried his hair. He walked into the living room and saw you lounging on the couch, reading a book and wearing his T-shirt. Something about you in his clothes, looking so relaxed and at home in his space, hit him hard. It was such a small thing, but it sent that familiar warmth surging through him, stronger than ever. The sight of you so comfortable in his world, in his shirt, made him realize — he could get used to this. In fact, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

And the tenth time was the epiphany. You two were out grocery shopping, preparing for a dinner party you were hosting for your friends over the weekend. As you wandered through the aisles, picking and choosing what you needed for the meal, Jude followed behind you, pushing the cart loaded with products. He watched you with soft admiration as you weighed your options, debating what dessert to serve. It struck him how perfectly domestic everything felt; how easy, how natural, and how real it was.

Everything he once feared, commitment, responsibilities, routine, was now something he craved with you. He loved the simplicity of it all, the way you moved through life together with such ease. This wasn’t just about being comfortable; it was about feeling truly at home with you. And then, it hit him. That feeling he had been experiencing all along, that warmth in his chest — it was love.

It was love that made him stare at you sorting candy like it was the most captivating thing in the world. Love that had him watching that awful crime show with you, just to hold you close. Love that kept him glued to your sleeping face at dawn. Love that made your laugh the best sound he had ever heard, and the way you made his coffee exactly how he liked it felt so special. Love that made him emotional when you adjusted his collar, and why watching you squeal over a random dog on the street made his heart melt. It was love that made your cooking the best thing he could ever come home to, and why seeing you in his clothes felt so right.

He loved you — deeply, more than he ever thought possible. And as he looked at you then, standing in the grocery aisle, he was sure of one thing: when you looked back at him, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that you loved him just as much.

[bitchimasnakeagain-sss]

☆ best friends share!

— a bllk fanfic // where your pro-player boyfriend and his best friend are upto no good.

synopsis: you wanted to test reo's patience but ended up getting tested instead. also, nagi helps with some much-need gaming tips! wc: 2.2k cw: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. nsfw includes: switch!reo. switch!reader. somewhat-dom!nagi?? bimbofication. blowjob. penetration. doin' it raw. creampie. HIGHKEYY exhibition. lowkey dub-con threesome? futher alluding to an ACTUAL threesome. they're all nasty, idk. m.list

"reooo." you whined from your position at the bed. you turned around, laying on your stomach and resting your face in your palms instead. you pouted, staring at your boyfriend's back in the gaming chair. on the screen, some game played on and on and on as reo mikage pressed the keys on her computer with precise click-clacks.

"yeah, babe?" he hummed absentmindedly, still busy with his game.

"how much longer?"

"hm?" he paused, far too invested in the game to answer right away. once his answer had loaded, he lazily replied, "like, half an hour."

"you've been saying that for the past two hours!" and truly, you weren't the one to nag him while he played but you were growing restless. you had switched positions on the bed, made yourself a quick snack, scrolled enough tiktoks and even taken a mini nap — and still through it all, he was playing!

"i know, baby." he cooed, "but i promise. just one more game."

"but—!" you had barely started when the man husked out a warning, "angel, my mic's on, yeah?"

it was a silent plea, or a command — depending on his mood, really. his friend was on the other end and you were sure reo didn't want his best friend to eavesdrop on your personal matters. reo tried one last time, still more preoccupied with his little game than the conversation with you, "just one more game, okay?"

"right." you muttered to yourself as you plopped your face down against the sprightly mattress. your bed bounced ever-so-slightly under your bodyweight.

you had nothing to do at all! you were growing bored. so, so bored. you couldn't even talk for fucks' sake since his mic was on! wait... since his mic was on.

a cashmere smile made to your lips as you lifted your body off of the bed. tip-toeing over to his gaming desk, you noticed reo cock his face towards you slightly as you pulled at his gaming chair and positioned it slightly backwards.

"shh!" you placed your index against your plump lips, urging the man to not make any noise as you slipped in the gap between his legs and the underside of his gaming chair.

"wh-?!" his eyes widened as he realized your intentions quickly. he mouthed, trying not to actually sound out the syllables lest nagi seishiro hear them. "no. wait. i can't turn off the mic. he'd hear."

"even better!" all you could do was grin in return, even more enchanted by the spot reo mikage had found himself in. you moved your hand slowly up his thighs, pressing against the clothed muscles while your eyes were trained on his pretty face.

his features were bunched — his eyebrows drawn together and his lips pressed together at your sensual touch. his fingers twitched against the keyboard, his head felt lighter as the blood rushed to his erection, and he was sure that there was no moment in which he loved you or hated you more than this one.

he hissed as you gently pawed at his erection, pressing down the bulge with your soft palm. you could make out the shape easily under the material of his sweatpants. directing your fingers, you gently pressed against the tip and reo felt his lips part as a trembling sigh tumbled out.

"so sensitive already?" you mumbled, uncaring whether his friend on the other end could hear it. reo should've heard you when you gave him the last warning. if anything, he had written his own demise!

your fingers made their way to his waistband, pulling at the material just to let it snap against his skin. when he shot you a look, you gave him an innocent smile, "sorry, my hand slipped."

then, you were back at it. your finger stretched the material again, this time with the intentions of pulling it down. despite saying no again and again, the man raised his hips off of the chair to help you. pulling down the fabric, you found his length spring up and hit his clothed abdomen slightly.

"i-" he spoke into the mic, caught a bit off-guard, "shut up, nagi. i know how to fucking play. it's just—" he swallowed, "my hand's cramping up. don't laugh, you bastard—!"

uncaring of the conversation going on above you — you brought up spit in your mouth, coating your soft palm with a generous load before grasping his achy cock. fisting his erection, you began a slow, steady stroke on up and down on his member. you felt reo's thighs tense under you, his adam's apple bobbing up and down pathetically as you increased the tempo.

your thumb teased his slit, using his own pre to smear against the red, bulbous tip. you repeated the action in between a few stroke and reo's body shuddered underneath.

"yeah, yeah. i see him." reo grit his teeth, trying to keep up the idle chit-chat and you saw this as the golden opportunity to finally take his tip in your warm, inviting mouth. you lips covered it whole, the pink muscle licking up the pre as the man shuddered. his words grew heavy, "hah— i miss-ed. nagi, cover me."

you bobbed your head up and down, taking half of his length in your inviting mouth while the other half was stroked by your hands. you held base of his cock tightly, making his head spin between the way you were sucking his soul out of his dick and then constricting his erection right after.

he panted, "fuck, i mi-missed another." his fingers grew unsteady against the keyboard as his back arched off of the gaming chair. his entire body was thrown up in chaos — his mind was unruly, his cock was leaking out pre in droplets within your greedy mouth and his thighs were shaking. reo mikage was falling apart at your mercy.

he voice shook as he barely managed out, "hold on— i-uh, i think i heard my girlfriend call f'me. cover me, yeah?"

you were too focused on sucking him off, using the correct pressure at the correct points to undo it to even notice his arms coming to yours. he grabbed you by the arm, pulling you up and practically ripping you off of his sensitive cock. his headset was still on but he was no longer playing, instead finally focusing on you.

"what's with you." he muttered, his face was reddened as his sweat beaded at his temple, "since you wanna do this so bad, lemme sh-show you how."

"what?!" you yelped as ripped your panties off, swiping a quick finger against your sopping cunt to collect the honeydew on his thumb. forcing you onto his lap, he manhandled his cock to line with your entrance, "just follow my lead, baby."

"no, no. nagi will hear—!" you whispered, squirming against him. this wasn't part of the plan! but reo mikage was a tit-for-tat kinda man. if you thought you had one over him, you were so clearly wrong. he whispered back, echoing the words you had said not too long back, "even better if he hears."

his length seeped inside you — one generous inch at a time and you gasped at the sudden fullness. adjusting you in his lap, the man quickly took off his headset and placed it on you.

"reo—" you had barely started when reo husked near your ear, right where the mic to the headset was. "hey nagi, say hello to my girl. she wants to play."

a masculine, familiar sound greeted your ears as nagi replied, "hey."

"h-hey?" you replied back, your voice short as reo used his rough palms to hoist your body up and down on his cock. "hey, n-nagi."

"d'you even know how to play?" the man on the other end husked lazily and you gulped, "n-no?" a sharp jolt into your snug cunt had you yelp out another answer, "i-i mean... i wanna uh, learn."

"do you?" nagi quipped, and it was disorienting — hearing your boyfriend's best friend's voice in your ears while your boyfriend spearheaded his tip into your cervix over 'n over again.

"sure..." you bit down your lip to contain in your moans as reo grew more risky, using two of his fingers to messily spread your folds and press against your sweet, sticky clit. you whimpered, "reo— i can't."

but the man behind you simply cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your neck, "yeah, you can it's pretty easy, babe."

nagi gave his two cents from the other end, although his words sounded unusually smug, "yeah, you can do it. go on."

"h-huh?" your eyes widened, scared at the implications of the words at the mercy of the other man. "thanks, nagi...?"

"if you want, i can help." nagi hummed and you gulped, trying to soothe your parched throat in between all the talking and fucking, "i'd- um... 'preciate that."

"what's he saying, angel?" reo husked behind you, his hot breath tingling against your neck, his fingers still rubbing against your nub and his dick massaging your clammy, sensitive walls. you voiced out feebly, "he wants to help me..."

you nodded, and your boyfriend smirked from behind you, "oh really? ask him for some tips, why don't you then?"

"okay...?" you held back a moan, throwing your head back as your boyfriend rammed his tip right into the bullseye. reo kissed your jaw, "ask him, go on."

"h-hey nagi, d'you have any- any tips?" you barely pushed the words out of your mouth, too blindsided by the feeling of your cunt being toyed with. the snow-haired man on the other end hummed, "first, relax."

how did relaxing help with the game?

you nodded nonetheless, letting your body go slack at his command, "okay...?"

"don't be so tense, or it'll be harder to finish..." he paused, lazily finishing the rest of his sentence, "the game, i mean."

you breathed out, feeling reo's slow strokes into your velvety pussy, "yeah."

"make sure it feels good." he commanded next, "if it doesn't, let reo know."

"wh-what do you mean?" you felt your eyes widen and the man defended his wordings, "i mean, if you're uncomfortable playing this game, he shouldn't force you."

"oh..." your words trailed off as the man behind you wrapped a hand around your waist to hold you even tighter against his hot body. nagi's words echoed in your ear, "so, does it feel good?"

"yeah." you admitted absentmindedly, "s'good."

"good. the next things can take care of themselves, just let me and reo take command, yeah?" he hummed, "we'd take care of you."

reo rammed his erection into you again and you felt your lower belly tighten — an abyss formed right above your cunt, pulling at everything inside your body and running through your veins like molten lava. you gasped, "reo—"

"what's he saying?"

"he- said you and him would... take hah- care of me."

reo smiled against your feverish skin, still fucking into your pretty pussy without abandoning his rhythm. "course we will, baby. you don't have to worry."

"reo—" your hands fisted and unfisted against the arms of the chair as you moaned out, "i'm gonna—?" you didn't finish your sentence, scared nagi would hear it on the other end.

"it's okay." reo cooed and you felt nagi's voice kiss your ears next, "you can finish now. i mean, turn off the game if you want." blood roared in your ears, almost masking nagi's next words, "finishing's gonna be pretty easy with me and reo, i promise."

you were in no comprehensive state to understand his words — your eyes were clenched shut, lips parted to let soft noises out and your walls clamped down on reo's length — milking him till he was emptying out his white load inside you with a soft grunt.

once done, your body slumped against reo's and twitched. your cunt kept spasming against his half-hard length and you gasped out, feeling his seed pool 'round the edges of his thick cock and slide down to your thighs, "reo... 'm tired."

"yeah, angel? it's okay." he gently peeled the headset off of you and put it on himself. "you heard that, nagi? she said she's tired. give her the rest of the tips some other day."

"yeah, heard it." reo could practically make out the smirk in nagi's words. the snow-haired man wondered out loud, "think i can come over and help her learn this game at your place sometime? the tip's gonna be better in real life."

"hm? sounds good."

you looked back at reo, confused since you could only hear his part of his conversation. you whispered, tired, "what's he saying?"

"nothing, baby." reo pressed a soft kiss to your temple, "now let me play another game. you stay just like this, okay?"

and what could you even say? you were too tired to take yourself off of his lap, so, you just snuggled into his chest, his half-hardened length still plugged inside your filled pussy. you felt your eyes fall shut as your boyfriend went back to playing his little game.

a/n: NOT PROOFREAD. chat, i fear i cooked with this one. enjoy the filth mwuah mwuah. likes, reblogs and comments are greatttly appreciated. m.list

[nonexistentirl]

The crown hosts a ball. Of course all noble households in the Roan kingdom are present. Same goes for the Duke's House of Henituse as well.

Cale, who had separated himself from the rest of his family members to go to a corner and enjoy the desserts with the invisible Raon and had kept his Dominating Aura activated to keep the annoyances away, is approached by his youngest sibling.

Lily, being the brave knight she is, asks her eldest brother for a dance. Cale, who already feels guilty for being as absent from her life as he is and not being a proper older brother for her, accepts it for her sake. He needs to do at least this much for her as an older brother.

There is, however, one tiny problem.

Cale, no, Kim Roksoo doesn't know how to dance. The original Cale Henituse was so invested in his act of being a trash that he never bothered to learn it, so currently Cale had no muscle memory to rely on either.

Lily, who kind of predicted this when she approached him, ends up leading the dance. It's truly an unexpected sight to see Cale Henituse dancing a waltz in the middle of the ballroom. The Commander, who was often seen bleeding out on the battlefield as he fought in the forefront, elegantly moving his body to the flow of the music was truly captivating.

Basen Henituse has never been so jealous of his little sister seven years his junior. Neither has he ever felt so remorseful of being born a man. He wishes he could share a waltz with his elder brother too.

Cale, the magnanimous brother as he is, readily agrees to dance with him. When they're off the floor, Basen makes a victory fist as soon as nobody is watching.

Duchess Violan hesitates at first. But then she decides she should join in on the fun too. Thus, for the first time ever, she shares a waltz with her step son. Something she only used to do with her husband and son, Basen, in the past. She never expected there would come a day when it would be possible for her to dance with Cale. However, as it seemed, today was the day.

Deruth is much too overwhelmed at being reminded of Jour to ask Cale for a dance. He's just happy watching the others enjoy themselves.

The thing that Lily started, what was continued by Basen and Violan, naturally everyone wanted to be a part of it. Not everyone was lucky enough though. Cale accepted their requests for a dance because they were his family. As for the rest of the people present in this ballroom? He could care less.

He does end up sharing a dance with Amiru Ubarr and Rosalyn though, people who were good at leading the dance for the inexperienced him.

Once he returns from the ball, the children demand he dance with them. Raon, who watched his dance at the ball, tries to imitate his partners leading Cale through the dance. On and Hong are quick to learn as they watch before each following suit one after another.

It was the night the Black Castle shone the brightest and illuminated the Forest of Darkness to the point the name had never felt less fitting as it did that day.

Bonus:

Taking a leaf out of Basen's book, Alberu asks his precious dongsaeng for a dance. Cale is disgusted and flabbergasted but also plays along.

"dongsaeng, are you purposefully trying to step on my feet?"

"hyung-nim must know I never learned to dance, so it's expected."

"you didn't step on anyone else's feet though?"

"maybe they were just better at leading the dance than you are."

Alberu, baffled, "cheeky brat."

"the brat is older than yourself, hyung-nim."

"ha!" Alberu is in disbelief. "Well, i guess I should assign a dance instructor to my beloved dongsaeng then."

The dance ends and Cale whispers to him before walking away "sure. Send him to the Black Castle." Knowing it's near impossible for anyone to withstand the presence of the individuals residing there.

The next day, Tasha is at the Black Castle.

"My nephew asked me to teach the young master how to waltz. I was the one to teach that boy, so you can rest assured!"

Cale feels like he lost for the first time in a while.