#and sometimes they have a point and you have to check yourself

[scarletmika]

My Person : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary: Neither you nor Bob ever dared to fully cross the line of friendship or more, walking it like a tightrope instead. All it takes is one undercover mission for that tightrope to snap.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, SMUT (unprotected p in v, dirty talk, praise, might be a slight hint of a breeding kink in there, slight bit of superpower usage), porn with a LOT of plot, fluff, friends to lovers, lots of pining, sort of a fake marriage trope, one bed trope, language, some mental health talk, female reader, alcohol consumption, some Agents of SHIELD spoilers actually, Thunderbolts spoilers obviously

Word Count: 16,400 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: special thanks to @briseisgone for checking my French in this!!!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

"W-Wait...you want to send Bob and me on an undercover mission?"

Valentina let out an aggravated sigh, the same one she typically gave her rag-tag team of new Avengers. She stood at the head of the conference room table, perfectly manicured hand, as always, tapping incessantly on the glass tabletop. The look in her eyes displayed boredom, maybe even a hint of exasperation, as she looked directly at you.

“God–am I speaking Russian? Have I been spending too much time around the mall Santa over here?” her hand gestured out in the direction of Alexei. When no one spoke up, she continued. “Yes, Viper, I’m sending you and the man-child on this mission.”

“An undercover mission, that’s the part you’re glossing over that I-I really don’t think you should be,” you tried to reason with the woman, but she simply held her hand in the air to stop you.

“It’s the fastest mission of your life, Viper, it’s a single day: get in, get the information, get out. And if I remember correctly–well if Mel read the paperwork correctly–it was you that signed off on Robert’s combat forms and said he was fieldwork and combat ready,”

Well, she wasn’t wrong. That was your signature on those papers, signing off to approve Bob Reynolds for actual combat with the team on missions. You had been the one to hand-train him yourself for months on end, three hours a day in the training center, helping him to understand that his powers were a part of him and that he didn’t need to play the part of “The Sentry” to use them.

Hand-to-hand combat and the power of a thousand exploding suns were vastly different from undercover field work, though.

“Valentina, you’re missing the part where you’re sending them on an undercover mission,” Yelena chimed in, leaning her elbows forward on the table next to you as she voiced your own concerns out loud. “He’s combat cleared, we’ve taken him on small missions here and there-”

“He was very helpful with the gang problem last month!” Alexei cut in with a boisterous laugh. “They were such funny little men, looked like they were fake Russians. He made quick work of them, even if he apologized when he sent that one flying across the room-”

“The point is, undercover work is different,” it was Bucky who cut in this time, sitting directly across from you and Yelena, looking around at the group before his gaze cut back to Valentina. “Undercover work takes a certain level of care. It’s a lot of quick thinking in fast-paced environments, and it requires the ability to remain calm and adapt to anything that could happen. I just…I don’t think Bob is cut out for that kind of work yet.”

You hated agreeing with your team, but they were right. Bob brought a value to this team that sometimes couldn’t be accurately quantified, and you didn’t like talking down on him in any sort of way. He was valuable, he was helpful…he was your best friend, but he just wasn’t cut out for undercover work, at least not right now.

Valentina took one look around the room, scoffing with a mutter of “unbelievable” under her breath. With a snap of her fingers, Mel was by her side in a second to pass her a manila folder, shooting the rest of you an apologetic look as she stepped away. Valentina flicked the folder open, gaze rising to settle on you.

“Oh, look what we have here: SHIELD Special Agent 19, codename Viper,” the deep sigh you let out was inevitable as Valentina paced the front of the conference room, reading straight from your file. “A liaison for the original Avengers, looks like you did some work with Yelena’s sister. Let’s see, notable missions–ah! Project TAHITI, Project Deathlok, a mission to Puerto Rico that ended in the deaths of three HYDRA leaders. Need I list off more?”

You mumbled something under your breath about how much you loved this “walk down memory lane” that drew a short chuckle out of Yelena, before Valentina continued to read through the file.

“Over 37 different undercover missions spanning the likes of Berlin, São Paulo, Mumbai, and even Osaka: all successful, by the way. There’s even a review section about your superb skills with an FN SCAR-H, MGC M-16, and your favorite, the Nemesis Arms Vanquish. Oh, and your lethal little twin daggers, all coupled with this glowing review about how you were one of the best agents to ever step foot in SHIELD,” Valentina flipped the manila folder closed, tossing it onto the table with pursed lips. “Let’s not forget that all of that? Yeah, it’s all personally signed off by Nick Fury.”

“I love reading time with Valentina, it’s so fun,” Walker huffed out a bitter laugh, leaning back in his chair with arms folded behind his head. “Can you read my file next? I’m dying to relive my short few weeks as Captain America.”

As much as Walker could be a dick at times, his humor in moments like these was much appreciated. Except to Valentina, who only shot him another glare.

“My word is final. I have one of SHIELD’s best special agents on my team, and I’m using her. And yeah, you’re taking Robert with you,” with a snap of her fingers once more, Mel passed her another manila folder that was slid in your direction. You had barely stopped it under your hand before Val had slid the large pair of expensive sunglasses on top of her head over her face, shooting a fake grin around the room. “Now, I have a meeting with the Senator, followed by a stint on a beach in Fiji. I trust you all can handle this: try not to call!”

The sound of her heels clicking against the linoleum floor echoed through the room, before the large conference door swung shut with a heavy click.

Silence hung in the air between the team for a moment before all hell broke loose.

“He’s just not cut out for a mission like this. I’m sorry, I have to say it,”

“Bobby apologized to that gang member last month when he threw him across a room. We want to send this guy undercover?”

“Ah, but he is The Sentry! He is most equipped to protect our stabby-stabby friend, Miss Viper,”

With another sigh, you flipped the manila folder in front of you over. With a quick skim down the page, you got the gist of the mission: HYDRA, possibly regrowing, attempting to get their hands on Adamantium.

Just the word HYDRA had a pang of hurt hitting you straight in the chest. Great. Just great.

“We can argue as much as we want, but we aren’t the ones assigned to a mission with him,” your ears perked up at Yelena’s voice, turning your head to look at her. She was already looking toward you. “Do you think he can handle this?”

“Personally? I’m terrified that undercover work is going to be a lot on him. He’s gotten more comfortable with letting his Sentry powers show at times and with hand-to-hand, but undercover is different,” you explained, treading carefully around what you said. “It’s taken months for him to feel comfortable on his medication, especially after Dr. Kim changed his dosage at least four times. Undercover work…it’s intense, I don’t want him to get overwhelmed.”

Ava leaned forward on the table, drawing your attention to her.

“Viper, while it’s a valid concern…Valentina hasn’t left us with much of a choice,”

You sighed, flipping the manila folder closed once again.

“No. No, she didn’t,”

You didn’t speak another word, and the team took it as the official end of the meeting. All but Yelena, who stayed behind even as the conference room doors shut again. She sat quietly for a moment before speaking.

“So…you’re totally not nervous about being alone with Bob, right?”

“Why would I be?” you questioned, and Yelena just looked at you expectantly. “Oh god–Lena, don’t start this again–”

“The heart eyes you two give each other make me sick,” she faked throwing up, laughing as she dodged the kick you sent toward her chair while shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the heat crawling into your skin. “Always looking at one another, he’s always stumbling over his words–more than usual–around you, always being so touchy touchy together, and so on and so forth with the cuteness overload day in and day out.”

She took the manila folder from your hands, skimming over the mission details as you scoffed in her direction.

“So we spend a lot of time together, so we can be a little touchy, what’s wrong with that? Friends are like that all the time!”

“Um, except Bob is notoriously not touchy with anyone, given the whole interconnected shame room incident,” Yelena simply stared at you, blinking multiple times in succession. You stared back, before she simply threw the manila folder down with a sigh. “Fine, fine, don’t listen to me and solve the glaringly obvious romantic–and slightly sexual–tension, wallow in it for all I care. I wish you luck in Paris, of all places, ignoring that.”

The mission weighed heavily on your mind later that night. Yelena’s thoughts lingered, too, in the back of your head.

The tower’s kitchen was quiet, except for the playlist currently playing out of your phone’s speaker from where it sat plugged in on the counter. The sun had already set, and the team was all off on their own set schedules. 

Walker was finally making a supervised visit with his estranged wife and child, like you’d been hounding him to do for months. Ava had said something about catching a movie at the theater down the road, while Alexei had roped Yelena into ‘father-daughter bonding’ at a Broadway show (you were sure they’d be home soon and Alexei would somehow get them kicked out). Bucky had simply retired to his room, leaving you to your own thoughts in the kitchen.

Two pots were boiling on the stove. You had just added the spaghetti sauce into one and half of the box of noodles into another, humming under your breath as some song that Tony used to play around this very tower played off your phone.

“S-Smells good,”

You jumped slightly, heart rate spiking, before you turned. The sight of Bob leaning against the kitchen doorway, clad in a white t-shirt and one of his many pairs of grey sweatpants, had your guard back down in a second. With a quick stir of the noodles, you pointed the now-soaked utensil in Bob’s direction with a grin.

“Haven’t you been warned not to sneak up on dangerous agents anymore? After the last time Yelena almost stabbed you?”

The blush coating his cheeks at the simple mention of the incident had you laughing, nodding your head toward him to beckon him over. He crossed the room without hesitation, feet shuffling across the cold floor until he was leaning on the counter next to the stove.

“Well…you’re different. I-I hope you wouldn’t try to stab me,”

“On purpose? No. Scare me like that again? Maybe,” you added the rest of the box of noodles to the boiling water without having to ask, not missing the tiny quirk of his lips as you did.

Without having to ask, he took another large spoon from the utensil holder, lazily stirring around the sauce in the pot next to him. You shot him a grateful smile, keeping your eyes on the noodles in your own pot.

“Homemade garlic bread?” Bob questioned, gesturing down to the lit oven below you both. You could see his smile stretch just the tiniest bit wider. “You know I-I love your homemade garlic bread.”

“I know, that’s why I made it,” you teased him, bumping your hip lightly against his own as he let out a short laugh. “I figured you would come crawling out of your room eventually and get hungry tonight.”

The kitchen went quiet for another moment. Bob backed out of the way, letting you open the oven to a rush of warm air and check on the bread.

He took your spoon from you without having to be asked, stirring the noodles and the sauce as you crossed the kitchen to the fridge. With a wine glass and a normal tall glass placed before you, you poured him a cup of water before pouring yourself a generous amount of sangria from your favorite bottle in the fridge–it still had a sticky note on the side to tell Ava to keep her hands off of it.

“I had a dream last night. B-But…I think it was more like a memory,”

Bob’s sudden comment had you pausing, placing the wine bottle back down on the counter carefully, and turning. His back was to you, still focused on the stovetop, but even you could see the tension suddenly riddled throughout his body, in the subtle flex of his arms.

“What was it?”

“New York, the…the incident,” he struggled to explain that day, but you knew what he was talking about. “D-Do you remember what you said to me that day? When you…pulled me out of there?”

Of course you did. You remembered the shame room incident like it was yesterday. Reliving the day you thought you lost your mentor, the crumbling of SHIELD, the comforting hand of your mentor on your shoulder when you learned the man you thought you loved and trusted had really been-

You remembered Bob. Jumping into those shame rooms to find him, to break through every wall until you found Yelena, and until you both found Bob. Wrapping him in your arms after fighting tooth and nail across the room until you got to him, holding him as he cried.

I’ve got you. I’m not leaving, not now, not ever. You don’t have to carry it alone; I’ll carry it with you.

With both glasses in hand, you placed them on the island counter. You placed two plates beside them before you rejoined Bob’s side. He handed you back your own utensil without a word, and you took it, fingers just barely brushing his. You could see those little bumps rise on his skin where you touched him, and it brought a soft smile to your face.

“That I wasn’t leaving, that I’d carry your burdens with you,” you spared him a glance from the corner of your eyes, and he was already looking at you. “It was a memory, Bob. That’s what I told you, and I meant it.”

God, when you said you would carry his burdens with him, did you mean it. Every therapy session Valentina had ordered for him, you were at his side–at his request, of course. He refused to sit through the first few without you, and after that, he was just too used to you being around for them.

Those therapy sessions turned into late-night conversations on the couch when his insomnia took over. Walks around Central Park in the middle of the day. Visits to his favorite local bookstore to find something new to read. 

It was hard not to become someone’s person when you spent every moment with them.

“Okay, good. Would be kind of awkward if it was just a dream,” you sputtered out a short laugh, leaning into his side with another small nudge to his hip. “You know, t-the same goes for you, right? That I’m here, that uh…that I have your back. Especially if we’re, you know, on missions or something…”

In the middle of stirring your pot, you hung your head with an audible sigh.

“Let me guess, Yelena told you about the mission we’re assigned?” he gave you a small nod. “I promise I was going to tell you, probably after dinner, after I had time to fully think about the logistics of it all.”

Bob took the pot off the stove as you switched it off, swinging it over to the sink and helping you empty the contents into the strainer, the excess water rushing off down the drain.

“She wanted to warn me, given that it’s undercover and all,” Bob explained, putting the empty pot back on one of the burners that was cooled off as you shook the rest of the water from the strainer. “I just…I want you to know that I-I can do this. That I won’t let you down o-or make it worse.”

Bob’s negative self-talk always caught your attention. Even when it wasn’t as glaringly obvious, when it was just hidden in his little comments, you always picked up on it. He seemed to know you did, already looking at you when you turned to give him a knowing look.

“Bob-”

“Yeah, I know, ‘replacing my negative thoughts with positive thoughts will lead to positive results’ or whatever it is Dr. Kim keeps telling me,” Bob tore the spoon stirring the sauce out of the pot and waved it around, flinging little bits of sauce everywhere. You couldn’t help your laughter as some of it splattered across his face, but he paid no attention to it. “I-I know undercover work is different from the little work that I-I have done, but I can do it, especially if it’s with you. I know I can.”

There was a beat of silence before you reached forward, fingers just barely grazing along his skin to wipe the little bit of spaghetti sauce from his cheeks. It was noticeable, the little way that Bob leaned into your touch, the only touch on the team that he actively allowed and didn’t shy away from all the time.

One strand of that dark brown hair fell in front of his eyes as he leaned into you, and you didn’t hesitate to swipe it back. Those striking blue eyes never looked away from you, and you found yourself lost in those ocean-like eyes and the softness they held. They were beautiful…Bob was beautiful, inside and out, and you had always known it. That flutter of your heart and that warm feeling that pooled in your stomach all but screamed it at you.

“I just worry that it could overwhelm you, bring up negative memories, that’s all. But I trust you. So, if you say you can do it, then I believe you. As long as you promise me that you’ll tell me the second something doesn’t feel right, if you feel overwhelmed.”

Bob’s smile quirked just slightly into that slightly smug little smirk you’d seen just a few times before, mainly when he managed to make a dig at Walker that always set the super soldier off. He held his hand up, pinky outstretched, and you laughed wholeheartedly before wrapping your own around his.

“I promise I’ll tell you,”

“Good. Do we need a secret code word if it comes up?” you teased.

“I mean…’cucumber’ works for many moments,”

You both laughed, pinkies still intertwined.

“Cucumber it is,”

❤︎

“The mission basics are simple: it’s been confirmed that remnants of HYDRA are still scattered across the globe, and they’re trying to regroup and gain momentum again. Somewhere in that rebuild, they’re trying to get their hands on Adamantium, that metal harvested from that Celestial body in the ocean. Intel suggests their plan is to get it from a French arms dealer by the name of Damien Jacquemin. His company runs out of the United States; it’s based somewhere in Texas, but he conducts his personal business as far from his company as he can. Not a guy we want to tussle with, Stark knew him well back in his heyday of weapons manufacturing,”

Valentina’s team had recreated the old SHIELD and Avengers quinjets fairly accurately, with their own additions. The cockpit was separated from the rest of the jet to offer more privacy, a more spacious backend area than what you were used to in the past. A large conference table sat in the middle of the room, big enough to seat your team of seven around. Bob was sitting at that conference table now, flicking through the holopad you’d set in front of him, while you paced the open space behind him as you spoke.

“He’s hosting a one-day conference of sorts in Paris, but it’s a ruse to distract him from meeting with his potential HYDRA clients. This conference will consist of high-profile arms dealers and investors from around the globe,” you leaned down over Bob’s shoulder, flicking the holopad to the next screen. “He’s rented out this entire little hotel for the conference. It’s a boutique hotel, only 25 rooms, so the guest list is small and the conference room is small, meaning this is going to be an intimate event. It’s at least got nice views of the Eiffel Tower, so at least we have a view.”

“Okay…” Bob breathed out the word, sitting up straighter in his chair as he turned around to face you. You couldn’t help but smile at those eyes that were as wide as a deer’s in headlights, his hand tugging at the collar of the white button-down he was donning, tucked into his black pants. “S-So what are we doing?”

“We are guests of the conference, much like all the others in attendance. This conference is only a day long, so we have a short timeframe to work with to get this information,” you crossed the room over to the expensive designer purse waiting for you, digging out the fake passport and license for each of you, and passing Bob’s over to him. “These are our identities. If you can’t remember, just let me do most of the talking. Our job is to avoid as much direct contact with Mr. Jacquemin as we can, as he is the most likely to sniff us out as undercover. We are to determine which guests are the HYDRA agents in disguise, and be close enough to determine if a sale of Adamantium is happening and where it will happen, so we can alert our team. All while…not getting caught, of course.”

Bob examined the passport and license in his hand, and you could see the tiny shake in them. It brought a frown to your face as he turned it to you, smiling just a bit.

“M-My name is Mr. Aidan Gray?” you laughed lightly, seeing Bob look between you and that terrible photo of him with his hair slicked back for the fake ID.

“For this weekend? Yes,” you flashed him your own ID and license, before stalking back over to your purse to put them away where they’d stay safe. “You’re the extremely wealthy son of a former American arms dealer, Russell Gray, who did work with Stark Industries back in the day. Now, you own Gray Enterprises. I’m your loving and adoring wife, Mrs. Eloise Gray.”

“W-Wait, we’re…we’re married for this?”

You paused, cheeks heating up as you remembered that little, yet big, detail of the mission. Turning on your heel, Bob was now standing from his seat, eyes blown wide again and cheeks flushed the deepest shade of red you had ever seen on him.

“W-Well, statistically, these missions go smoother when marriage is used as a cover,” you stumbled a bit, trying to find the right words to explain a decision of the mission that had been entirely your call. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with this-”

“No! No y-you didn’t,”

Something hung in the quiet space between you both just then, something you had been avoiding for months. You avoided it in every therapy session when Bob took your hand in his, in every late-night talk on the common room couch while rain pattered against the tower windows until you fell asleep with your head on his shoulder, and in every look and gentle touch you exchanged.

The brush of hands, Bob’s hand always brushing against your lower back when he moved past you, the times when he’d wake up after you in the morning and wrap himself around you from behind in the kitchen in greeting, never fully understanding his actions so early in the morning with sleep still in his eyes. All moments that fluttered your heart in ways you tried to ignore.

“We just have to play it up at the conference, is all,” you reassured him, hands gliding down the sides of your dress as if brushing off non-existent dust. 

Bob’s eyes were still blown wide, but he couldn’t help but let laughter flow from him, still slightly breathy. You quirked your head, smiling nonetheless at his actions, shoving that stupid heat pooling within you away.

“I-It’s just funny…Walker always jokes that we act like a married couple. Now he’s, like, k-kind of right,”

Okay, maybe Yelena had a point. There was a glaringly obvious rope of romantic tension that was hanging between you and Bob. It was a feeling you were aware of, that you tried to ignore for many reasons, but in moments like this it was more prevalent and obvious than usual.

That softness in his eyes, reserved just for you. It conveyed trust, complete and total trust, something Bob didn’t feel with many people. You were one of the lucky ones, if not the only lucky one.

The red light by the door to the cockpit blinked twice, illuminating the room: the signal that you would be landing. A secure location just outside of Paris, where an arranged car would pick you both up and transport you to your hotel.

“Well, you know how Walker can be. Always joking,” you did your best to laugh, even if it was slightly strained. An awkward smile crossed his lips before you walked past him, giving him a quick pat on the arm. “Get ready, we’re landing in a moment.”

The landing went off without a hitch, the sleek, black car awaiting you with Valentina’s personnel picking you up without an incident.

The drive into Paris city limits took an hour, a quiet hour. There was some channel playing through the car, a revolving slate of French songs. But neither you nor Bob spoke.

You watched him instead, as the sun set throughout the drive and the city lights lit up. The way the yellow of the lights reflected through the car windows, painting Bob in their soft light. The way the yellow reflected off the blue of his eyes, reminding you of the gold that shimmered through them when the Sentry serum took hold. 

That tiny smile on his face, those wide eyes as he took in every street, every building, every group of people lining the street. It took a lot to stop the flutter of your heart at the sight.

“Bienvenue à Paris, Monsieur et Madame Gray! Nous attendions votre arrivée, veuillez me suivre,” the young man waiting in the lobby of your hotel greeted you enthusiastically, accent heavy, the second you and Bob stepped through the doors. Bob’s hand was wrapped in yours, and the second you were greeted in a language he couldn’t understand with fake names, you felt his grip tighten. You gave him what you hoped was a comforting squeeze back, giving the greeter a kind smile as you fell into step beside him, your bags taken by the bellhop at Bob’s other side. “Souhaitez-vous être accompagné jusqu'à votre chambre?”

“Non, mais merci de votre offre,” you responded in kind, the language rolling off your tongue with a practiced ease. You could see Bob’s head shoot up to look at you from the corner of your eye as you waved the greeter’s offer to escort you both to your room off. “Mon mari et moi avons eu un long vol, nous voulons juste nous reposer.”

“Bonne nuit, Madame,”

The keycard to your room was passed to you with another kind smile from the man. Bob stepped into the elevator first, pulling you along with him, before the bellhop placed your bags in the room with you and pressed the fifth floor button for you both. He bid you both another goodnight before the doors shut, leaving the two of you alone once more.

“Y-You speak French?”

There was a smirk on your face as you glanced at Bob, who looked astonished and impressed by what he had just seen.

“And Spanish, they were both taught to us during my SHIELD special training,”

“I liked the way you spoke it,” Bob’s voice dropped just slightly lower, slightly softer. “It…it was pretty.”

Heat was crawling through your skin as you slipped your hand from his, wiping it along your dress with a nervous laugh.

“W-Well, like they say…it is the language of love, and whatnot. Elegant and…all that,”

Silence fell between you both again as the elevator doors swung open on your floor. The room, 512, was just barely down the hallway, opening with a single flick of the keycard. Bob went to take a step forward, but you placed a hand on his chest, pulling him back and stepping into the room first, pulling the concealed gun from your thigh holster with a practiced ease as you did.

“First step of undercover, Bob: always assume you’re one step behind so that you never walk in blind,”

The hotel room was small: a tiny door that led to the bathroom to the right of the main door, a king-sized bed spread out along the entire wall with just enough space for the dresser, and floor-to-ceiling windows that opened up onto the skinny balcony.

A quick sweep of the room and the typical spots confirmed that it wasn’t bugged and that no one besides housekeeping had stepped foot in there within the last few hours, so you gave Bob a nod to enter the room as you slotted your gun back into its holster.

“N-Never been in a hotel this nice,” Bob muttered as he entered the room, looking around the room with a look in his eyes that you could only compare to childlike glee. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, letting out a sigh as he fell back against the quilt and practically sank into it. “Or a city so pretty.”

You smiled to yourself, moving to lock the door to the room. Reaching into your purse, you slid a small, circular device onto the door, one that would alert you if there was any unauthorized breach of the door. You reentered the main room, placing a similar device beside the window to the balcony, this one scrambling outside interference with the room so that anything said within your four walls would stay private information.

“You went to Malaysia, I’ve been there. It’s a beautiful country,”

“I went there to score drugs, I-I wasn’t staying in five-star hotels like this one,”

Bob sat up on the bed as he spoke, looking over to you. You leaned against the wall by the window, arms folded over your chest as you watched him, laughing lightly at his comment.

“Alright, you got me there, Reynolds. Fair point,”

Silence hung for a second before Bob finally looked around the room, glancing down to the bed under his fingertips before looking up at you with wide eyes once again.

“Um…t-there’s only one bed?”

“Oh…”

Yeah, oh. That thought hadn’t exactly crossed your mind when Valentina’s team sent you the booking for the room, or when you did the initial sweep of the room moments ago.

Okay, this wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of pillows, and you could easily make up a place to sleep on the floor. This also wasn’t your first rodeo with an undercover mission; you had done plenty in the past and made do with a lot less to work with. Sleeping in a bathtub wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing in the world, depending on the size of it-

“We could…we could share?”

That comment snapped you out of your thoughts. Bob looked at your sheepishly, his hands wringing together in a way you’d come to know well, but there was a spark of something in his eyes. Something that looked a lot like hope.

Your teeth gnawed at your bottom lip, the thought flickering through your head, before you gave him a hesitant nod.

“As long as you’re okay with it,”

“W-We fall asleep sitting on the couch together all the time. This is the same thing, just…horizontal,”

Bob may have hated his social awkwardness, but you were thankful for it. Especially in moments like this, where it broke tension so effortlessly. A laugh sputtered from your lips as you quickly covered it with your hand, and a tiny grin stretched across Bob’s face at the sound.

“Well, how can I argue with logic like that? Let me just…get changed,”

You spent too long in the bathroom, and you knew it. You had changed ten minutes ago into your sleep shorts and oversized t-shirt that you had stolen from Bucky weeks ago after he’d stained one of yours during a Walker and Ava-initiated food battle in the middle of dinner over a pointless argument.

The ten minutes since changing had been spent staring into the mirror in the pristine bathroom, trying to ground yourself.

Bob was right, you had essentially slept with each other multiple times before. This time, though, was different. Yeah, as Bob so expertly put it, you were horizontal this time, but you were in a bed and alone in Paris, not on a couch in the middle of the tower common room where any of your early riser teammates could walk in unannounced. It was such a mundane thing, sleeping next to someone, when you thought about it, but a much more intimate thing for Bob to feel comfortable enough to let you do with him.

He trusted you, completely. You tried to remind yourself of that when your mind drifted to how much or how little clothing he possibly wore to bed, or the fact that his body naturally functioned like a furnace because of the serum running through his veins. Or the impure fantasies that flicked through your head late at night when you were alone in your room in the tower, imagining how his lean and taut muscles and soft skin would feel under the touch of your wandering hand.

Bob was already tucked into one side of the bed by the time you finally entered the room. Just the bedside lamp remained on, bathing the room in a tiny bit of a yellow glow. You didn’t look at him directly as you shut the curtains to the balcony, but you could see the hint of bare skin peaking just above the covers from where he lay.

Without a word, you crawled in beside him, tucking yourself in with your head resting on the soft pillow on your side. You turned on your side, gaze trailing over the side of his face and his jawline, before Bob turned to face you too.

Nothing was said for a moment. You could faintly smell that body soap that Bob used, that hint of rosemary and sage invading your senses. His feet were moving back and forth under the covers, as if fidgeting when his hands couldn’t, and his body heat was prevalent in the sheets and in the air between you.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbled out, glancing down just barely at his own torso as you tried to keep your eyes trained on his face. “I run hot–you know that–and if I uh, if I wear shirts to bed I usually sweat r-right through them.”

“It’s okay,” was all you could manage to reply.

“I’ve never done this before,” Bob spoke again, vulnerability laced in his tone. “Never…slept in a bed with someone.”

You shifted, pulling your pillow down further as you tucked your hands under it.

“Never? Not even with a girlfriend?”

“Well, there was a girl…once,” Bob seemed to hesitate for a moment, but you didn’t push him. He’d come close to telling this story once before, about this girl, in therapy, but always stopped himself short. “I-I was younger, it was sometime after I dropped out of high school. Things were good, but she…she didn’t realize I was an addict. Once she knew, that was it. S-So, no, no bed sharing for me.”

“Well, I’m glad the first time you’re sharing a bed with someone, it’s with your wife,” the comment lightened the mood almost immediately, a genuine laugh tumbling from Bob’s lips. Your own pulled into a smile at the sight, seeing the tension that had been strewn throughout his features at the memory of this girl dissipating almost immediately. “It’s been a while since I’ve shared a bed with anyone, too. A long time.”

“How long?”

“Years. Way before Thanos, that’s for sure,” you chuckled to yourself. Bob watched you intently, hanging on your every word. “He was a SHIELD agent, too, a few years older than me. We were here in Paris…haven’t been back here since.”

You knew the melancholy was clear in your tone, memories flickering back to you in pieces. Bob shifted just slightly on the bed, his body moving just slightly closer to yours.

“What, uh, what happened to him?”

“He turned out to be HYDRA. My mentor killed him, so don’t worry, he’s a distant memory now. Became a full-time liaison for the Avengers after that all went down,”

“W-Well…it all worked out, didn’t it?” there was a hint of a sheepish smile on Bob’s face. “I…don’t think I would’ve met you if you didn’t work with them.”

Bob Reynolds didn’t make it easy. Whether the comment was meant to be flirty or just sweet in general, it had your stomach twisting in knots and heat flaring in your cheeks.

“Yeah…I guess everything works out for a reason,” you turned away from him then, back to him, as you flicked the bedside lamp out, plunging the room into darkness. “Goodnight, Bob,”

“G-Goodnight,”

The silence in the dark had only lasted for a few minutes. You hadn’t shut your eyes once, simply staring at the curtains covering the window in front of you, listening to the sound of Bob’s breathing fill the room. Any ounce of sleep that your body needed had evaded you suddenly, your body and mind wide awake.

“Can…can I ask you a favor?”

“Always,”

The bed sheets ruffled for a moment as Bob moved himself around.

“When I sleep, I tend to…I-I usually hold something. Like, my pillow. Do you–you can say no–but do you think-”

“Come here,”

You said it without hesitation, before you even fully realized what you agreed to. You didn’t need to think about it, though, because Bob Reynolds could ask you anything, and you weren’t sure you could ever really tell him no.

The sheets shuffled around again, before that warmth radiating from his skin was more prevalent than it was before. Gently, as if you were some wounded little animal he was scared to spook, Bob’s arm slowly slid around your waist from behind. His hand lay against your stomach, splayed out on top of the fabric, before his body molded to the back of yours.

One shaky breath left your lips the second his body was fully molded to the shape of your own. His other arm slid under the pillow beneath your head, and you could feel the heat from it on the other side of the pillowcase. Bob’s fingers twitched back and forth, as if hesitating, his warm breath ghosting over the back of your neck. In this close proximity, the sage scent in his bodywash was stronger, a hint of his minty toothpaste wafting through the air along with it.

Neither of you moved for a moment before you finally sank back into him, letting yourself embrace the feeling of being wrapped in his arms for the first time. Bob let out another shaky breath, his arm tightening around you the second you relaxed, as if realizing that you weren’t going to run away from his touch. Suddenly, tiredness finally found you again, your body being lulled into sleep.

“Goodnight,” he whispered, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Goodnight, Bob,”

As sleep finally overtook you, Yelena’s words floated through your mind once again.

❤︎

The dress Valentina’s team had picked was simple: a deep navy blue satin, floor-length, and column fit to hug you just right but provide enough mobility in case of a fight. The halter neckline tied around the back of your neck, the zipper up the back of the dress stopping right at your lower back, exposing the expanse of your spine in the cool air of the hotel room. A comfortable pair of black heels, ones easy enough to discard if, once again, a fight ensued. A single slit up the side of the dress, stopping right at the middle of your right thigh to barely hide the holster strapped to your upper thigh with your knives.

Simple, elegant, and befitting of a woman supposedly married to a rich and powerful weapons manufacturer.

“H-Here, let me help,”

Not a single muscle in your body moved as Bob stepped into view behind you, fingers taking firm hold of the dress’s zipper to conform it to your body.

Your eyes watched him in the floor-length mirror behind you, dressed up in a way you had never seen him before. His suit was a deep, rich brown color, with a matching jacket and dress pants with just a slightly darker shade of brown shoes on his feet. Bob’s hair was slicked back, held behind his ears with the pomade packed for him. It was strange, seeing him like this, but not unwelcome. It gave you the chance to fully see his face, no longer shrouded by stray strands of hair.

The zipper hooked into place at the top of your dress, Bob’s fingertips just lightly ghosting over your spine as a shiver ran straight through your bones and showed in the bumps along your skin. You turned on your heel, reaching out without a word to adjust the crinkled white button-up beneath his jacket so it lay flat. With the collar in place, you let your hand rest on his chest for just a moment, touch light, as you looked up at him. Bob’s eyes hadn’t left yours, nervousness written clear across his face, before you pulled your hand away to retrieve your clutch across the room.

“Alright, Mr. and Mrs. Gray need to have their stories straight,” you cleared your throat, explaining to him as you dug through your clutch, crossing the room back to his side. “In case we’re questioned on how we met, fell i-in love, that type of thing.”

Bob was silent for a moment as you continued to rummage through your clutch. As the silence stretched, you glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Bob, did you hear me-”

“Maybe…m-maybe we met in a bookstore. I saw you, but y-you were just too pretty to talk to. Then you came up to me, I was reading my favorite book, and you quoted it. And…the rest w-was history,”

Something about those words hit you like a hurricane, and suddenly, you were back in that Vault all those months ago.

“W-What exactly are you doing?”

“Rerouting power away from their security systems so they can’t get the drop on us,” Bob hummed in response to your comment, going quiet, but him being quiet worried you more than him talking. “Just stay behind me when the fight comes, okay? Because we’re going to have to fight our way out of here, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can help, though! At least, I-I want to,” there was enthusiasm in his words for a moment, before that negative self-talk worked itself back in. “The medical trial was supposed to make me better, so I don’t know, I-I feel like I could help.”

The wires were finally rerouted, the little blinking green light indicating power to their security system flashing red. Your dagger was placed back in its loop on your belt, the electrical box slammed shut, before you looked back at Bob with raised eyebrows.

“I thought you didn’t remember much about this trial?”

“I don’t, just that it was for people who wanted to make something of themselves, to be better. To do good,” your gaze dropped to his hands, partially obscured by the long sleeves of his hospital uniform, as his fingers twisted together. “I don’t know, I-I just feel like I did something…bad, if that makes sense?”

“We all have, that’s why we’re in this vault,”

“This feels different,” he gave a short laugh. “I-I’ve always had these episodes since I was a kid. There’s a…there’s a high, then there’s a big low, and then my memory just goes blank. This time, it feels like I-I did something bad. I don’t know, it just feels like every time I try to move forward and do something good, the past comes back to haunt me.”

There was a tug in your chest at the comment, like recognition in your soul for the way he hurt, for the pain he carried.

“And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” you shrugged a little at your own response, a splash of red coating your neck and cheeks. “Sorry, you just reminded me of this quote from a book I love about the past haunting you-”

“The Great Gatsby,” Bob’s smile was just a tad bit brighter now, and it tugged on your heart in a different way. “Y-Yeah, I know it. It’s my favorite book.”

“Mine too,” you offered him softly, with a smile of your own, before the lights flickered for just a moment before popping back on, indicating that Yelena’s plan had failed.

His own fake story for your fake relationship had traces of that first conversation you’d really had with him strewn throughout it. You couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at the thought.

Suddenly, your head was back in bed this morning, just hours before. Wrapped in his arms as if it were the most usual thing in the world, his heat wrapping around you and shielding you from the cold of the room. The way his arms tightened around you the second you tried to leave the bed, his subconscious holding tighter to you even in the quiet of the morning.

The moments you had sat on the balcony, freshly showered in a bathrobe, enjoying a plate of fresh croissants and coffee. One hand flicked through the screen of your holopad, tapped into the security system of the hotel just down the street, monitoring the setup of the conference. But your eyes drifted back to Bob every now and then. The way the quilt rested around his hips, his slightly tanned skin and taut muscles visible in the smattering of sunlight that streamed through the window and painted his body in shades of gold.

“How’d we get engaged?” you found yourself asking after a moment, shaking yourself out of your head. Bob let out a soft laugh, hands wringing together in front of him.

“If I worked up the courage, ever…a picnic, by the beach. M-Maybe the sun setting in the background, little sandwiches, some music. I-I’d…I’d tell you that…you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. Inside and out,”

If he’d meant it, if it had been a real marriage proposal, you would probably have said yes right in that moment without another thought.

Bob watched as you slipped your hand from your clutch, tucking it under your arm, before taking his left hand in yours. Your palm opened, two gold bands glinting in the overhead light.

“Sorry to rain on your engagement parade, but we’re in a time crunch. Looks like we have to skip straight to the ring ceremony,”

His shaky hand lay in yours as you slipped the ring onto his finger, a new kind of tension charging the air between you both. Bob took your hand next, and you could feel your chest tighten and your stomach flip a thousand different ways as his shaky hands slipped your own ring onto your left hand.

It all felt so right, so natural. But there was no time to dwell on it, as the mission was truly about to begin.

The streets of Paris in the late afternoon near your hotel weren’t overcrowded, but still busy. Bob had taken your hand from his arm, wrapping it in his own as he squeezed it firmly, but gently, twice. It was the same squeeze he would always give you in the middle of his therapy sessions when a moment felt like too much.

The rented hotel was just two streets away, and the wall of bodyguards standing outside was a clear sign that you were in the right place. You gave Bob’s hand a light squeeze back, leaning over so that your lips just barely brushed his ear.

“Tonight, you aren’t Bob Reynolds. You’re Aiden Gray, a wealthy CEO, someone people respect. They don’t look down on you, they respect you, because you are powerful and you are important. I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave your side. You can do this, I believe in you,”

Bob didn’t get to respond before you were standing before the front door of the hotel. The looming presence of the bodyguards waited until you pulled out the ornately decorated slip of paper from your clutch, flashing them your invitation with Damien Jacquemin’s personal signature. They looked at one another, nodded, and parted to let you and Bob enter.

The hotel’s ground floor was spacious, yet still small. Shades of blue, beige, and deeper browns coated the room from head to toe, matching perfectly with the deep brown wooden floors and the beige columns around the room. The ornate lights hanging from the ceiling glowed in a warm white, bathing the room in soft light. There were maybe fifty guests littering the room, leaning against walls or cocktail tables, or even sitting in plush chairs and couches, already locked into conversations.

“That man over there is Herman Schultz, a known associate of Adrian Toomes that got released from custody during the blip,” you whispered into Bob’s ear once more, gesturing with a single flick of your finger toward a tall man across the room, laughing with a group of women. You tugged him slightly, pointing in another direction at a table where a group sat. “Over there? That’s the head of Cybertek Corporation, they’re speaking with a distant cousin of Aldrich Killian, trying to restart his defunct company, A.I.M.”

“S-So a lot of really important and powerful people,” Bob mumbled back. You squeezed his hand once, bringing his nervous gaze to you, and shot him a teasing smile.

“Darling, you have the power of a thousand exploding suns. You could take them all out with a single look,”

Whether it was the pet name or the compliment, something about what you had said made Bob almost preen under your words. He straightened just slightly, shoulders squared back, an air with a hint of confidence filling the space around him.

“Where’s the host for the evening?”

Damien Jacquemin wasn’t hard to spot. He had a way of commanding a room with charm and poise, leaving no one any wiser to the fact that he was three steps away from stabbing you in the back to get what he wanted at all times. He towered above most people in the room, even Bob, his salt-and-pepper hair sticking out like a marker for him. He laughed at something the young men around him said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as a flash of the Rolex on his wrist glinted in the light.

“He’ll be giving a speech soon, followed by some other key presenters he has lined up. Keep your eyes peeled for our potential targets,” you muttered just low enough for Bob to hear, hand still grasping his as you found your way to a table seated on the edge of the room as Mr. Jacquemin moved toward the makeshift stage and podium, giving you both a vantage point of the entire room. “They’ll stick out: clothing not up to par with the rest of the crowd, shifty body language, maybe even an identifying mark.”

The clink of a glass across the room had those in attendance seating themselves, attention brought to the charming French man standing behind the podium, a wide smile shining over his guests, who clapped for him. Bob clapped along while you took the chance to survey the room as Mr. Jacquemin began his speech to welcome everyone into the conference.

As the speech droned on, as other speakers stood to address the crowd, your eyes continued to scan the room. If your HYDRA agents were hiding in here, they were blending in well among the sea of expensive suits, high-end perfume, and designer dresses.

The seat across the table from you and Bob was pulled out suddenly, a younger man in what you recognized as a Dior suit taking his place across from you both. He didn’t turn to listen to the speeches, though; his gaze stayed locked on you–hungry, like a predator watching his prey. You squirmed slightly in your seat as the man’s tongue dipped out to run over his bottom lip-

A warm hand placed itself on your bare thigh, uncovered by the high slit running up your dress. A shot of heat bloomed under the already warm touch, while a contrasting shiver shot straight down your spine. Your gaze flickered to Bob, heat pooling within your abdomen at the look stretched across his face.

Gone was that softness he always wore, or that slight blush that always sat in the apples of his cheek. His gaze had hardened, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched as he fixed his sights on the man across the table. It was enough to force the man to look away, but Bob’s hand didn’t leave your leg. His fingers drifted further in, digging into the flesh of your inner thigh as he practically pulled you flush to his side. Still, then, his hand never left, his thumb drawing circles into your skin as heat bloomed under every inch of his touch, stroking the fire that was now blazing in your abdomen.

“Table by the front door. Two guys, they look off,”

His voice had dropped slightly. It was more gruff, akin to the way it sounded when he groaned and dragged himself from the hotel room bed early in the morning hours ago. Still Bob, still the man you adored, but with an edge to it–harder, almost protective. As if you were something that belonged to him, something for his eyes only, and the man sitting across from you had set him off. It had you swallowing the lump you hadn’t realized had even formed and following his directions to the table near the door, suddenly remembering the mission you were currently here to complete.

Bob was right. Young men, maybe their late twenties, seated at a table closest to the front door where bodyguards still stood on guard. They wore suits, but even from here you could see the wrinkles in the fabric, the knock-off watch on the wrist of one of them. One’s eyes shifted around the room every few seconds, never staying in one place too long. The other watched the podium, eyes shifting down to the table every other moment, his body shifting in his seat to readjust as if he couldn’t get quite comfortable.

“Good eye, think those are our guys,” you tucked your chin onto Bob’s shoulder with a grin on your lips, making it seem to the room as if you were simply speaking in hushed tones with your husband, while you whispered the praise back to him. The corners of his lips quirked at your praise, his hand giving your thigh yet another squeeze, before he settled back to ‘listen’ to the speeches at the podium. You tried to get a peek at his eyes, but he’d turned his head from you.

Those speeches droned on for two hours. A collection of talks on the importance of ever-evolving weapons in the current state of the world, fear-mongering over politics to push the need for enchanted weaponry, and more bullshit that had you wondering in your seat how Tony Stark used to attend conferences such as this.

Those speeches were hard to focus on when your mind was zeroed in on Bob Reynolds' hand that wouldn’t leave your thigh. The feelings that you had buried deep beneath your platonic feelings for your best friend had existed for a long time, but you never pushed them. Bob never seemed to be someone who would push boundaries such as this, too afraid to cross any lines with you. But this mission, this room full of important people, seemed to go straight to his head and fill him with a confidence that you had never truly seen him wear before, at least not to the extent that he’d willingly leave his hand splayed across your bare thigh for two hours drawing circles into your skin.

Part of you didn’t want him to let go, the other part of you was begging him to move his hand. The middle of a mission was the worst time for a coil of heat that you weren’t able to satisfy to be building in your core. Even when your meals were served, speeches continuing on at the podium, Bob hadn’t removed his hand once.

“I must say, I was not aware of Gray Enterprises. It seems you hold a good portion of the weapons market across the United States now. Tell me, did Stark Industries ending their weapons division help boost your market value?”

Champagne glasses had been thrust into your hands, though Bob had kindly refused his. A German arms dealer and his wife, Kaleb Hettinger and Rosalina Hettinger, had quickly crossed the room and pulled you both into a discussion the second that the speeches had wrapped up, dying to learn more about two of the few Americans littering the room.

“Well, my husband’s late father, I’m sure, was excited when the late Mr. Stark shut down his weapons division,” you gave a simple laugh, resting a hand on Bob’s chest. You could feel his own nervous laughter run through him, one of his hands curling around your waist to rest on your hip hesitantly, a stark contrast to how easily that same hand had gripped your thigh minutes ago. “Given the events of the last few years, including during the blip, we’ve found it most profitable to focus on enhanced weaponry.”

“Lord knows we need it,” Rosaline laughed, German accent thick, shaking her head at a thought of her own. “We all know those…New Avengers, I think they’re calling them, won’t be of much help. But besides that, I love seeing a powerful couple in our world! Tell me, how did you two meet?”

You went to speak, but Bob beat you to it, squeezing your hip just slightly.

“W-We were teenagers. I saw her in a bookstore, but…she was too pretty to talk to. She came up t-to me, quoted my favorite book…” Bob’s gaze turned to you, and you glanced up at him. “I-It was love at first sight.”

Something about those words twisted around your heart: the sincerity of it. The soft look in his eyes, the tiny smile coupled with that hint of truth in your first meeting…it felt real. His words felt real, like it was Bob saying it to you, not Aiden Gray saying it to his adoring wife.

“Oh, mein Schatz! Look at them! That’s true love if I’ve ever seen it,”

Rosaline’s voice cut through the air again. Heat bloomed across Bob’s face, and you felt it on your own, gazes averting from one another almost immediately. Kaleb let out a hearty laugh, giving his wife a kiss on the cheek.

“Truly, it is wonderful to see a man love his wife like I love my own. I have a lot of respect for a man like you, Mr. Gray, who continues to shower the woman he loves in affection,”

There it was again, that straightening of Bob’s posture, the tightening of his hand at the comment, as if the words had gone straight to his head again.

“She deserves nothing but the best, and only I’m capable of offering it to her,” that usual stutter in his words was gone, replaced by an air of confidence as he turned his head, his lips ghosting over your temple in a gentle yet firm kiss. You tried not to falter under the notion, giving the pair in front of you the strongest smile you could, even as your stomach flipped upside down. 

Your potential HYDRA agents caught your eye once more, moving across the expanse of the room just behind the Germans standing in front of you.

“Oh, Mr. Gray, I think you would be very interested in this new design my company has been working on. It’s an addition that can be added onto solar panels–well, it makes more sense if I show you. I brought the blueprints, they’re just over here at our table if you would like to see?”

Bob’s head turned to look at you, catching sight of your gaze following those two men across the room. You turned back to him, giving him a short nod. He hesitated for a moment before nodding back to you, letting his arm slip from your hips as he followed the Hettingers back to their table just a few feet away.

It was like being able to breathe again, the second Bob was gone, even if you missed the feel of his arm sitting around your waist as if it had been molded to sit there. This wasn’t the time for hidden feelings; you were in the middle of a mission.

You moved across the room elegantly, casually leaning yourself against one of the beige columns on the edge of the room, passing smiles to those who passed by you. The suspected agents stood just on the other side of the column you were leaning against, speaking in hushed whispers. With a sip of your champagne, you strained to overhear their conversation.

“He won’t sell it to us here,”

“It makes sense, too many people. He give you anything else?”

“One of his assistants will send me the location soon. He didn’t want to risk sending it himself in the middle of the conference,”

A smirk spread across your lips as you took another sip of your champagne, a single word running through your mind: gotcha. Sometimes, they made it all too easy, especially HYDRA agents. So lazy.

“Regardez ce que nous avons ici. A beautiful woman, all alone,”

A chill ran through your blood at that French accent, your head whipping around. Damien Jacquemin stood at your side in all his glory, perfectly pressed and tailored suit. He stood way too close, the hint of alcohol wafting off his breath and invading your senses.

“Mr. Jacquemin, a pleasure to finally meet you,” you put on the lightest, airiest, most polite tone that you could while trying not to grit your teeth. This was the exact man you didn’t want to be alone with. In the interest of maintaining your cover, you held your hand out in his direction to clink your glass to his. 

Damien didn’t waste a second, whisking your champagne glass from your hand and setting both of your glasses on the tray of a server walking past. His hand enveloped yours: skin cool, nothing like the warmth of Bob’s. His lips pressed to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours: his gaze didn’t hold the warmth that Bob’s did when he looked at you, his lips didn’t leave a trail of tingling through your skin like Bob’s did.

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Gray. S'il vous plaît, come and spare me a single dance,”

There wasn’t any place to argue with the man as he whisked you off into the middle of the hotel lobby without another word. Soft music played from the live string quartet the French arms dealer had hired for the evening, and couples here and there had cleared the middle of the lobby to fashion a makeshift dance floor.

Mr. Jacquemin pulled you in, a huff leaving your lips as your front was pressed to his. One of his hands splayed across your lower back, pressing you closer, while the other held your left hand up beside you both dancing you softly around the floor in circles.

The hand didn’t feel like Bob’s; it didn’t engulf your hand like his did, his thumb didn’t draw little circles into your skin. The hand on your lower back was firm, almost controlling; it wasn’t comforting like Bob’s touch. Even pressed to his chest, you couldn’t feel the inhuman warmth that Bob radiated, and it left you feeling cold without it.

You never knew just how much you craved that closeness with Bob, how much you craved his touch, until you’d felt it in the way you had only ever dreamed of feeling it. You had masked these feelings for months in the guise of platonicness, when in reality, you were as much his person as he was yours.

You didn’t want to be in this dance if it wasn’t with Bob.

“A beautiful ring you have, ma chérie,” his gaze was settled on the simple gold band on your ring finger, poking and prodigy at it with his own index finger as you both spun. “Very…simple, though, isn’t it? I expect more from a man such as Mr. Gray, though maybe his personality and taste matches the rest of him…painfully drab.”

The comment made you bristle in his hold. It didn’t feel like a jab at the fictitious character of Mr. Aiden Gray, it felt like a jab at Bob Your grip on the man’s forearm tightened, nails digging into the fabric.

“Well, I didn’t choose my husband based on the gifts he gives me,” you grit your teeth, forcing a smile as you shot the comment at him. “He may not buy me the flashiest of jewelry, but he’s worth more than anyone in this room in heart alone.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray, I’m sure he is. It’s hard to quantify you and your husband’s net worth, and the worth of your company, when there’s simply…not much to search about you online…”

In all your years of undercover missions, you’d never failed on. Your alibis, your identities for the missions, had always been airtight and remained intact. But Damien Jacquemin had found a crack somewhere; he’d found a missing piece in the concoction of Gray Enterprises, and he knew who you were. Your cover was blown. It felt as if your heart was going to stop: if your cover was blown, then so was Bob’s. Bob, who you had allowed to leave your side, who you couldn’t find from where you stood on the makeshift dancefloor-

“...I’m not surprised I didn’t find much, though. Your father-in-law seemed to do a good job of moving his dealings under the table and to the black market in the years following the collapse of Stark Industries' weapons sector. I’m, frankly, quite impressed by how you and your husband have managed to operate so under the radar. I’m quite interested in the idea of a partnership.”

It took every ounce of strength you had not to let out a relieved breath: he didn’t know. Your cover wasn’t blown. You were safe, Bob was safe, and that was all that mattered. You let out a slight laugh, brushing a strand of air behind your ear before resting your hand on the Frenchman’s shoulder again. He was none the wiser to the minuscule, circular device that you slipped under the collar of his suit jacket in the moment.

“Partnerships can be discussed, but with my husband, of course,” you managed to speak. “As long as your company isn’t engaging in any… under-the-table deals with unfavorable organizations, I’m sure a partnership can be on the table.”

He laughed, accent thick, as his breath brushed your ear and he whispered.

“Where is the fun in that, darling?”

Someone cleared their voice from directly behind you, a hand catching the forearm of Damien Jacquemin where you had been holding it before. That familiar bodywash scent invaded your senses in an instant: rosemary and sage.

“I believe it’s my turn to dance with my wife,”

Bob’s voice almost growled on the final word: wife. It had that cord of heat coiling up even further in your stomach. You could visibly see the wince in Mr. Jacquemin’s face as Bob’s hand on his forearm squeezed tighter and tighter every second, no doubt leaving indents in his skin as the veins running down the back of Bob’s hand almost throbbed.

The Frechman’s hands were off you within a moment, a tight-lipped smile sent your way, before he whisked himself back off through the room. It was like the little moment on the dance floor had never happened, a smile lighting up his face as he was whisked off into another conversation with investors.

Bob’s hand suddenly had a tight hold of your hip, spinning you around until your chests were pressed together, your body molded into his. You relaxed into that familiar grip, into the warmth it provided, your head placing itself on his chest. Bob took up the same position Damien had held moments before, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting your left arm into the air, dancing softly back and forth with you. His grip tightened over so slightly, the firm grip around your waist hugging you to him in a way that was just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

“I’m okay, Bob, you don’t have to hold me so tight-”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you,”

His words were so final, so precise. His tone was laced with a hint of anger, that same gruffness from earlier present again. It had you furrowing your eyebrows, glancing around the room as his grip tightened ever so slightly again.

“He didn’t hurt me, I promise, I’m okay-”

“He shouldn’t have been touching you because you’re my wife,” he snapped back. “He thinks he’s above me? You’re my wife, he should respect me.”

Respect. That word shot up a wave of red flags in your head, as well as the flicker of the overhead lights of the room that sent a murmur through the conference crowd.

You racked your brain for memories of every therapy session of Bob’s you’d been with him on, trying to find that missing puzzle piece. His depression, his anxiety…his delusions of grandeur. Suddenly, it made sense when you’d heard him talk like this before, where you’d heard this overconfident tone before: just once, in The Watchtower months ago.

You can call me The Sentry.

You pulled your head from his chest, craning your neck back to look at him. Bob’s eyes were already looking down at you, as if waiting for you to look at him, and that’s when you saw it: that sparkle of gold in the blue of his eyes.

His eyes didn’t leave you as you hand left his, curling around the back of his neck as you moved back and forth across the makeshift dance floor, holding his gaze.

“You should be respected…but because you’re Bob,” you kept your voice soft, just loud enough for him to hear among the murmurings and music in the room. “Bob Reynolds deserved to be respected.”

“I’m not-”

“You are. You’re my Bob,” the smile you gave him was as soft and full of affection as it could be. “My Bob, who always asks me to read his favorite book because he says he likes hearing the sound of my voice. My Bob, who likes it when the rain hits the windows of the tower late at night. My Bob, who doesn’t even realize the way he hugs me so early in the morning when he’s fresh out of bed. My Bob? I respect him. My person…my favorite person.”

It wasn’t instantaneous; it took a few moments of simply holding him, but that gold slowly faded from Bob’s eyes. His features softened, his lips pulled into a slight frown, and then those blue eyes were frantically glancing around the room. You watched as the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbed, before his eyes found yours again: frantic, nervous.

“...cucumber?”

You let out a short laugh, and nodded, taking his hands in your own and leading him through the crowds as quickly as you could. There was an unguarded door behind the concierge desk leading into a backroom, L-shaped hallway for employees. You quickly shut the door behind both of you.

Bob leaned against the wall, running his hands through his hair so many times that the gel no longer held it down, letting those soft brown strands fall in front of his face again. He tugged incessantly at the collar of his button-down, his frantic gaze catching yours.

“I-I can’t believe I just did…any of that. God–I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t ruin the mission, did I?”

You let out a soft chuckle, taking another step toward him to stand directly in front of him.

“I overheard our guys; they made a deal with Jacquemin for the sale and are waiting on details. Also, planted a tracker in his suit while he was dancing with me, so we’ve got just about everything we need to nail them. So, no, you didn’t ruin the mission,”

“O-Okay, good, good,” his Adam’s apple bobbed again, his breath coming out in short pants. “Is it really hot in here for you? I-I feel like I can’t breathe, like my chest is going to explode, a-and like everything just…hurts.”

“Bob, honey, I think you’re having a panic attack,”

“How do I stop having a-a panic attack?”

A single thought flickered through your head for a moment as you watched him, watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he almost clawed at his throat in a desperate plea for air. And before you could stop yourself, to think about your thought, you stepped forward.

Your hands cradled his cheeks, and you kissed him.

Bob’s lips almost trembled beneath yours with the first press, his entire body freezing up under that simple movement. Then, after just a moment of holding yourself in place, they moved. Slow, hesitant, but they moved.

You could taste the small remnants of the punch Bob had opted to drink in place of champagne on his lips. His lips parted just barely, letting your head tilt slightly to the side to let your mouth move firmly against him, pouring every ounce of feeling into the kiss that you could manage. You’d dreamt of this moment in secret for so long, and now that it was here, that coil of heat within you was seconds from bursting, and your own chest was the one tightening.

Bob’s hands found your hips, settling there–hesitant but firm, holding you close. His lips pushed back against yours finally, the pieces of hair broken free of the gel brushing against the skin of your cheek. The need for air rushed into your lungs as you reluctantly pulled away with a soft smack of your lips, leaving one another, almost breathless pants filling the air.

Bob Reynolds looked wrecked, more out of breath than he had been before. Those eyes you loved so dearly were blown wide, the blue almost sparkingly in the light. His lips were still parted, but slightly upturned on the side in what you could only assume was wonder.

“I-”

“You were having a panic attack,” you spoke quickly, voice like a whisper. “I saw it in a tv show once, that holding your breath stops a panic attack. And that…kissing can make you hold your breath.”

“...uh huh,”

“Did it work?”

“Um…not sure. I-I might be about to have a panic attack over something else,”

Laughter bubbled out of your lips at that, Bob’s smile growing, before you were frozen in place. Voices, down the hall and around the L bend of the hallway, getting closer. Bob went to speak again before you placed a finger to his lips, focusing to try and hear down the echoey hallway.

“Coordinates, time, and place. Should make this an easy sale,”

“Yeah, as long as we don’t forget the money,”

Back straightening out, remembering you were on a mission, you reached into the front pocket of Bob’s pants and tugged your clutch from it. Digging through, you pulled out a rectangular device that looked like a normal cellphone, tucking your clutch under your arm and taking Bob’s hand in your own.

You pulled the two of you to a stop right at the corner of the bed, waiting a moment, before swinging you both around. The pair of you crashed directly into your targets, cell phones and items in your hands crashing to the floor.

“Hey-!”

“Oh god, I’m so sorry, gentlemen!” you put on an overly fake voice, crouching down to the ground before either of them could. You grabbed your device, moving it discreetly over the top of both of the men’s cellphones, before gathering everything and rising back to your feet. The men basically snatched their phones back from your arms as you let out an overexaggerated giggle. “My husband and I weren’t watching where we were going! We were looking for the elevators, hoping to head upstairs and find a…private room.”

Both of the men muttered something in disgust, shoving past you and Bob without another word. You turned, watching them leave through the door you and Bob had come through with a triumphant grin, while Bob just watched you in confusion.

“Old Stark tech,” you flashed him the device in your hand. “I just swiped all the data off their phones without them even knowing it. Now, we know everything about this Adamantium sale.”

It was Bob’s turn to laugh, cocking his head at you with a grin.

“Have I mentioned that y-you’re kind of amazing?”

You grinned, and you pulled him back into another kiss without a word.

Sweeter, but still tender, laced with every bit of adoration and affection you held for him in your soul, that made the moment all the more intimate. Bob only hesitated for half a second this time before he pressed back into you with just as much force, his fingertips barely gracing the edges of your arms. You pulled back almost immediately, then, your brain finally caught up with your actions.

Well, you didn’t have any excuse for kissing him that time.

“Um…” you licked your lips, heat rising in your cheeks. “We…we should head back. Let the team know we got everything-”

“Right! Yeah, yeah, r-right, we should…do that. Finish the mission, and all that…”

The walk back under the cover of night was quiet. Those same soft yellow lights cast that same glow you’d seen before over Bob’s face, and your heart tugged in your chest at the sight.

But neither of you spoke. Not on the walk down the quiet streets. Not in the elevator. Not even when you entered the room together.

You could feel his eyes, watching you, burning a hole into your back as you secured the room. The silent alarm on the door, the device on the wall by the closed balcony window. They watched you still as you uploaded all of your information into the holopad, settled on top of your suitcase, transferring your information directly back to New York, knowing Yelena would likely receive the information in moments and alert Valentina of your successful mission.

Not a word was exchanged as you entered the bathroom like you had the night before, changing into a similar pair of sleep shorts. Discarded on the bathroom floor, though, was one of Bob’s white t-shirts, one he had slipped into early on that morning. You slipped it on without a second thought, wrapping yourself in the scent of that bodywash, before slipping back into the room.

Bob had already turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You slipped into your side of the bed without a word, your backs facing one another as you lay there under the covers in the dark, the only sound being the ticking of the analog clock on the wall across from the bed.

“When you kissed me,” Bob finally spoke, voice just loud enough to be heard in the quiet of the room. “It…it was to stop the panic attack, right?”

You paused for a moment, then spoke, “Yes,”

The sheets shuffled, and you could feel the shift as his body turned, facing your back now.

“W-What…what about the second kiss?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before you turned, too. You faced him now, mere inches away, looking into those blue eyes you adored.

“That one…was because I wanted to,”

Bob didn’t waste a second before leaning in, like your words had reassured him that he didn’t have to hesitate. Your lips welcomed the press of his, your body inviting the feel of his hand gripping at your waist–nothing hard, nothing too firm, but just present, grounding. His lips were as warm as the rest of his body, and they trembled just slightly as they moved just barely against your own, as if still unsure how to do this. So, you did it for him, hand wrapping around his neck and into his hair to thread through the strands, molding your body to his as you kissed him with every inch of passion you had been holding back for months.

Even as your mouths moved together, there was still a softness in their movements, no matter the growing passion. Even when they moved faster, when a broken moan slipped out of Bob’s mouth and a whine left your own when his hand tugged your hip even closer, it was still soft. Passionate but adoring, pouring every ounce of care into each movement as if to remind the other that this wasn’t just a moment of fun, this was the culmination of months of secret wanting, months of pining and hidden feelings buried underneath platonic words and affirmations.

You shifted just slightly, and a hint of confidence flowed through Bob. He used that moment to move, pressing your back flush against the bed as he hovered above you, his lips never breaking from yours for a second. Your legs fell open for him, inviting him into your space, and he took it without question.

As if it pained him, he tore his lips from yours, trailing them down your jaw and to your neck as he buried himself into the space. His kisses there were gentle, loving, but still burning with heat and passion. He kissed right above your pulse point, able to feel the fervent beat of your heart, and he groaned again into your skin.

“I-I think about you, like this, a lot,” he whispered into your skin. Bob’s arms were braced on either side of you, while one of yours placed itself on his bare chest, drawing shapes into the heated and flushed skin. “I’ve always thought of you like this. The prettiest girl, m-my best friend…my person. The one person who makes that darkness a little lighter. God, I…I love you.”

There it was. Those four little words that tore your heart open, that cracked open the cage that held every hidden desire of your heart locked up for months.

You pulled his face from your shoulder, fingers gently swiping at the silent tears that swept down his cheeks. You pulled him in this time, angling your lips against him, sighing into his mouth as you pushed every ounce of love in your body into him. He sighed back, practically putty in your hands, the weight of his body falling against you.

“I love you too,” you whispered against his lips like a promise. “I’ve always loved you. My best friend…my person.”

He didn’t get to speak before you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling every inch of his body against yours. A broken moan was choked out of his throat, breath ghosting your lips as his kiss swallowed the moan that left your own throat. Pressed against you now, you could feel it: thick, bigger than anything you’d ever had, and throbbing with heat and need.

With your words, with a confirmation of your love, Bob’s kiss grew more confident. Drowning you in every ounce of love, his hands roamed over every inch of you that they possibly could. Your neck, exploring the bare skin of your abdomen and leaving a trail of heat in every stroke of his fingers. You tugged the shirt over your head without another thought, leaving you bare to the world as you fell back against the pillows once more. You tried to tug Bob back to your lips, but he paused, eyes transfixed on your body, roaming every inch of it.

“Beautiful…” he whispered. His fingers traced lines from your abdomen to your ribs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They traced right around the swell of your breasts, before he leaned in closer. “So beautiful.”

A cry of pure pleasure left your lips the second Bob’s curled around your nipple, teeth just barely grazing and tugging ever so gently. A heavy pant left your lips as your fingers curled into his hair, tugging ever so gently on his slightly dampened hair strands. The heat grew in the room, radiating off his body, and you could see the thin, sheer layer of sweat that coated his skin. His lips moved against your breast, tongue flicking out over the sensitive bud he was wrapped around as your hands tightened just barely in his hair, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Sorry,” he whispered again as his mouth popped off your breast, a thin string of saliva connecting him to the place he’d lavished in love. He placed a gentle kiss on your sternum, hands gliding down your sides. “Got eager. I-It’s been a while since I’ve…done this.”

“In all seriousness? I couldn’t tell,” he laughed, crawling back up your body till his face hovered over yours. Your hand left his hair, trailing down until it cupped his cheek, and he turned to press a kiss to your palm. “We don’t have to do anything-”

“I want to,” he was quick to answer with a shake of his head. “I-I’ve never wanted someone more. You’re all I want. Lying together on the couch, those trips through the city, sleeping next to you…I-I just want you. I just want to feel you. I want to be yours.”

His lips met yours again, the second his last word died on his lips. He peppered kiss after kiss to your lips, never lingering long enough, and you couldn’t help the breathless giggle you let out.

“I want to feel you, too,”

Your confession lingered in the quiet of the room. It was visible, the way Bob’s pupils seemed to dilate at those words alone. With one hand, he unhooked your legs from his waist, sliding back down the bed and taking the quilt along with him, bearing your bare chest to the cold air.

You watched with hooded eyes as his fingers trailed over the edge of your sleep shorts, barely dipping past the waistband. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your right thigh, and then your left, before leaning forward to press one right above the waistband of your shorts. Then, he tugged, just barely. They gave way without a second of hesitation, slipping down over your hips and over your thighs without hesitation. You just barely caught the soft whisper of “fuck” that fell from Bob’s mouth when you laid bare before him, panties forgotten in the haste of dressing for sleep.

Those shorts were discarded somewhere across the room, finding the small heap that your shirt was in, and Bob just observed for a moment. You watched the way his eyes trailed up your legs, to your hips, and back down again. His hands did the same, starting from your knees and splaying out over your hips, before going back down to your thighs. He pushed gently, and you followed, spreading your thighs before him. Your breath caught, choking back a moan as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss directly to your core, before trailing the kisses back up your abdomen.

“I love you,” he whispered with every kiss. “I love you.”

You leaned up, forcing Bob to sit up, before pulling him into another kiss, catching his bottom lip just barely between your teeth.

“I love you, too,” you murmured against his lips, before your hands trailed down his chest to the waistband of his boxers, and his breath hitched.

It was like throwing him into overdrive, reminding him of where he was. Bob tugged those boxers off in a tangle of limbs, stumbling slightly on top of the sheets. You laughed, smile giddy, as you fell back against the pillows, just watching the man before you as he rid himself of his boxers and threw them across the room. Your eyes trailed down, seeing his throbbing length for the first time, and that heat that flushed through your body screamed for his skin to be pressed against yours.

A thick cord of tension hung in the air as Bob kneeled over you, bracing himself around your head. His nose brushed yours, breath fanning over your skin. You didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms back around his waist, tugging him toward you, as the heat of his bare length pressed against the heat of your bare core, a breathless moan falling from each of your lips in unison.

Bob rolled his hips forward just barely, throbbing cock dragging along the length of your core and ghosting over your clit as a shot of pleasure shot through every nerve on your body. Your hands found the back of Bob’s head, tangling in his hair once more and tugging him down into a kiss–messy, hot, and slick with saliva.

His hips rolled again, and you rolled back, his tip catching just barely against your opening before gliding through your lips once more.

“A-Are you sure?” Bob muttered into your lips. You nodded, kissing him once more.

“So sure,” you muttered back, hand tugging in his hair as your other trailed down his shoulder, his back, over his hips, before finally holding his heated and flushed length in your own hand. “Please, Bob–I need you–please.”

He nodded, catching your lips in another kiss, as you guided his cock down, catching the head against your opening.

You held it there, before Bob pushed ever so slightly.

Moans in unison fell from both of your lips once again as every inch of his heated, flushed, throbbing cock made its way into your walls, stretching you apart in a mix of part pain and pleasure. Your breath caught in your throat at every inch that pushed into your body, your name falling from Bob’s lips with every drag of your heated walls against him. Your teeth caught his bottom lip again the moment that his hips stuttered, pressing firmly against your hips, as every inch of him sat inside of you, buried within you to the hilt.

The lights of the entire room flickered on for a moment, glowing bright, before turning off once again. Your gaze trailed over them, as did Bob's, before you locked eyes once again.

“W-Well…” he choked out, a tiny laugh bubbling over. “That’s new.”

You laughed with him, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him down to you in yet another kiss, before you ground your hips up into his. A broken moan fell past his lips before he moved.

He set the pace, slow and sensual at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before pushing himself the entire way back in. Each time he settled deep within you, filling you out in every manner of the word, a choked moan spilled from your lips as you dragged them against his time and time again, nails scraping against his scalp.

Bob’s eyes met yours, dazed and glassy, filled with passion and every ounce of love he felt for you. Love, a look you’d seen in his eyes so many times when you looked at him, a look you’d ignored for so long. But there was no time to focus on it, not with every snap of his hips against yours, not with the feeling within your gut of fullness, and not with every ripple of pleasure that coursed through you with the feel of his heated skin molded to yours.

“You feel so good–oh god–so good,” he choked out against your lips. Your hands left his hair, trailing down his arms, but he took advantage of that. His hands caught yours, tugging your hands up above your head and holding them there, gripping you just tightly enough that you could feel the superhuman strength within him holding you down. “So, so, so good–Jesus–so perfect. So beautiful–my girl. Tell me, tell me that–my girl–tell me you’re my girl.”

“Y-Yours,” you stuttered out over every snap of his hips against yours, every slight scrape of his pubic hair against the sensitive bud of your core.

That simple word spurred him: yours. All his, always his. His hips snapped faster, harder, his lips trailing off of yours as he buried his face into your neck, teeth scraping just slightly over your skin as another moan broke through.

Desperation filled every snap of his hips against yours, your name falling from his lips like it was the only word he knew, like it was the only word he wanted to know. His ragged breathing, ghosting over your skin in hot waves. Your skin felt like it was on fire, burning beneath his touch, heat and want and need coiling with every throbbing drag of him against your walls–squelching and wet.

“I can’t-” Bob barely managed to cry against your skin, hips somehow driving into you faster than they had before, the pace in which his hips met yours and the superhuman force sure to bruise your skin, to leave you aching in the best way. “I can’t–please–I can’t hold it. You’re too good, you feel too good.”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, one of his hands leaving yours to grip onto the wooden headboard behind you. “It’s okay–God, you feel so good–it’s okay, Bob, let go-”

CRACK. SNAP.

You could hear it, loud and clear: the splintering of the wooden headboard. It took every ounce of your strength, rolling your head back to fully see the damage behind you. Bob’s hand was white knuckling the splinted wood, having dragged down through half the headboard, leaving splintered wooden pieces decorating the pillows above your head as his hips pistoned into you at a superhuman pace, one you were barely sure you could handle.

God, you didn’t think there was anything Bob could do to make him hotter in your eyes. Apparently, splintering an entire headboard out of sheer passion and need was something that could.

“I can’t–oh God–I can’t-”

One. Two. Three. His hips drove into you just three more times before that sat flush against your hips, pressing himself as deeply into you as humanly possible before he let go. A rush of warmth filled you, every drop of him filling you, gushing warmth through you, and your own floodgates flew open.

Your hands were freed from his hold, wrists sore from where he dug into them, wrapping around his neck, curling into his hair, and cradling him to you as you trembled and gushed in his hold. Your walls fluttered around him with every wave of pleasure, with every twitch of his cock still sitting within your walls, and his shaky breath ghosted over your skin.

The comedown was quiet, your shaky breaths the only sound filling the air. Bob collapsed on you fully, his heated and sweat-covered skin lying on top of yours. You welcomed the feeling, fingers carding through the sweat dripping strands of his hair, taking in the scent of the air: sex, mainly, with hints of your perfume and that damn bodywash of his laced in between.

Bob raised his head finally, a blissful smile on his lips as he looked down at you. He tried to move his hips back, to pull away, but your legs locked around him with a whine, holding him in place against you.

“Not yet,” you managed to breathe out, shaking your head with a giddy little smile of your own. “Too sensitive, and…I just want to feel you.”

“Okay,” Bob didn’t put up a single fight, his hand coming up to push the strands of hair that stuck to your face away. His eyes trailed, finally, to the destruction behind you, and they shot wide. “Oh–Jesus Christ, d-did I do that?”

“You did, but don’t worry, it was hot,” you both laughed at your comment, noses brushing in the quiet, intimate moment. “Don’t worry, Valentina bought the room. It’s her problem.”

“True…hey, d-do you think cucumber could be used as a safe word too?”

Laughter sputtered out of your mouth, lips brushing his, and Bob laughed with you. All you could do was look at him, heart bursting open with a love that you had kept quiet for so long, and pull him into another soft kiss.

37 successful undercover missions became 38 that night, but this one had been your biggest success. It gave you Bob, in ways you had only ever dreamed of having him…it gave you your person.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Summary: Love was never easy then came Bob. You never believed in "right person, right time" or soulmates but maybe that's what this is what's going on.

No major warnings, very soft, meet cute, stranger to lovers, mention of self-doubt

This came to me completely randomly I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlists

♡♡♡♡♡♡

Growing up, you were always told love wasn't something easy. You had to work for love. Love was a difficult and scary thing to find--but if you found the right person, it was worth the fight.

You never found the right person.

Every guy made you nervous--not in a sweet, butterflies-in-your-stomach nervous. More like Shit, don't say the wrong thing. Don’t make a fool of yourself or you’re going to embarrass you forever and he’ll be disgusted, kind of nervous. After a while you just started to believe no guy would actually want to fight to be in a relationship with you.

You never found the right guy.

Not until Bob.

You met Bob by accident. A complete freak accident--the two of you grabbing the same cup of coffee at the exact same time.

“Oh shit, sorry!” you both blurted over each other, hands still touching.

“I-um-you had a caramel latte too?” the stranger asked. You nodded, too scared of hearing your voice stutter in response. He gave a soft, boyish smile and chuckled. “That’s my favorite… Did--I mean was there any difference in your order?” He started inspecting the checkboxes on the cup, hoping for some guidance, since the employees were clearly slammed that morning.

It took you a minute to realize he’d asked you a question — you were too caught in the daze his blue eyes put you in.

“Oh! I, um… I asked for extra caramel,” you said, shrugging slightly. “Sometimes they do it, sometimes they don’t.”

Before he could respond, another caramel latte was placed on the counter. You both glanced around — no one else was waiting. You picked it up and handed it to him. “I think this one’s yours. It isn’t marked with any special add-ons.”

He smiled and swapped drinks with you, then frowned, “Wait… does your drink have the extra caramel you asked for? I didn't see anything marked on that cup” he nodded towards the cup in your hand.

When you checked it you just sighed and shook your head with a small shrug, his frown deepened.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you explained, you were already halfway through brushing it off again when he paused.

You watched as his eyes lit up like some thought just hit him.

“Actually…” he glanced toward the counter, then back to you, hesitant but suddenly determined, “do you want me to ask them to remake it?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The drink. With the extra caramel.” He pointed at your cup, then toward the chaotic barista station. “It’s not what you ordered. I can ask.”

You almost laughed — not at him, but at the sheer earnestness of it.

“No, really. It’s fine. I’m used to them getting it wrong.”

“Still,” he said, standing a little straighter, “you should get what you ask for.”

His brows furrowed like the thought genuinely bothered him. You watched as his hands flexed like he was getting ready to go to war over the state of your coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said, softening.

He shrugged, still watching you. “Oh I would never do it for myself. I’d just… take the wrong one and drink it.”

You tilted your head. “But for me…?”

He smiled, a little sheepish now and shrugged. “You just, I don't know you looked disappointed.”

You blinked again, caught off guard by how easily he’d noticed.

Most people didn’t. Most people didn’t care to.

You looked down at your cup. Then up at him.

“It’s okay,” you said. “This is enough.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. But next time? We’re going to make sure your coffee is right.”

You startled at the phrase — next time — but he said it like it was natural, not a reach, not presumptuous.

And somehow, you found yourself hoping for it too.

He seemed surprised by what he actually said, he cleared his throat before looking around trying to calm his racing heart. “It's um-like slammed…I don't know if you were going to drink here but we–we could share that table…if you want? Only if you're comfortable with it obviously! I mean you don't even know me, like we're total strangers I-shit I'm rambling aren't I?” He sighs, blushing bright red before he looks back over to you and sees you smiling softly at him. “I don't mind sharing a table, better than sitting in the heat.”

His shoulders relax and smiles back at you, “Lead the way.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡

The table was tucked into the far corner of the café, pressed up against a window that fogged slightly from the contrast of cool air conditioning inside and the heavy humidity just beyond the glass. It wasn’t much–wobbly and barely big enough for the two of you–but it felt oddly… intimate.

You sat first, cradling your cup in your hands, pretending not to notice how Bob hesitated before pulling out the chair across from you, like he was double-checking you hadn’t changed your mind. “This okay?” he asked again, quieter this time.

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s perfect.” He let out a small breath of relief and sat down, setting his drink on the table carefully like it might shatter if he wasn’t gentle. For a moment, the silence was comfortable. The sounds of the café filled the gaps: espresso machines hissing, mugs clinking, laughter from a group near the door. You watched as Bob adjusted the sleeve on his cup, fingers long and a little fidgety.

“I’m Bob, by the way,” he offered, finally looking back up at you. “Just realized I never introduced myself.”

You smiled, giving your name in return, and he repeated it softly like he was testing the feel of it on his tongue. You liked how it sounded when he said it. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t shrink it down like most people did.

“So…” he started, thumb brushing the edge of his cup, “was this part of your morning routine too? Or are you more of a… ‘I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get caffeine immediately’ kind of person?”

You laughed, shoulders relaxing further. “Definitely the second one today. The heat already tried to kill me on the way here.”

“I get that,” he grinned. “My shirt stuck to my back before I even left my building. Pretty sure that’s illegal.”

You giggled, sipping your not-quite-right coffee despite everything. “Honestly? That’s probably the most relatable thing I’ve heard all week.”

The conversation slipped into something easy after that–back and forth volleys of sarcasm and small confessions. He told you about how he’d gotten yelled at by a pigeon once for dropping a bagel near the subway entrance. You admitted you once accidentally held a stranger’s hand in a crowd for a good twenty seconds before realizing it wasn’t your friend.

Bob had this way of laughing that made your stomach flutter–not loud or boisterous, but quiet and genuine. Like it was a privilege to witness. Like the sound was just for you. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed until the baristas started calling out the lunch orders and the café grew louder again.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and winced. “I… should probably head out.”

You nodded, trying to keep the disappointment off your face. He stood, then paused. His fingers tapped against the back of his chair like he was debating something.

“I, uh… would you want to do this again?” he asked, voice softer now, eyes hopeful. “Not like anything weird ‘meet me at 8 a.m. sharp’ type thing or anything–just… sometime? Coffee. Or lunch. Or anything really.”

You smiled before you could even think about it. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

His smile bloomed–big, warm, and boyish–and you realized how rare it felt to see someone light up at the idea of seeing you again. He scratched the back of his neck. “Okay. Great. Um… I’ll give you my number?”

You traded phones, thumbs brushing briefly as he handed his over. A small jolt ran through you at the contact. You typed it in carefully, double-checking everything like it was something sacred. When you handed it back, he looked at your screen for a second, then up at you. “I’ll text you later?”

You nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

And you meant it.

As he turned to go, he paused and glanced back at you one last time, flashing a shy grin. “Next time, we will get that extra caramel. I promise.”

You watched him walk away, heart thudding a little faster than it should’ve. For the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel scary.

It just felt… right. Like maybe, finally, love didn’t have to be something you survived. Maybe it could be something that found you. By complete accident.

At a café.

With the wrong drink… but the right guy.

♡♡♡♡♡♡

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[ellclarkey]

Jealousy Looks Good On You.

(Requested)

George Clarke SMUT

warnings: Edging, Dom!George, Jealousy sex, Oral receiving, Unprotected Sex.

an: This actually took ages and is insanely long. 😭

George had always told you he doesn’t get jealous.

You’d always check in before going out without him not because he was possessive, but just to keep the trust strong and the bond solid.

He’d always smile and say, “Of course, lovely. I don’t care, I know you’re mine, and I Don’t get jealous.”So you’d go out have fun and of course he didn’t get jealous.

Or even at the club when some guy talked a little too close or looked a little too long George would always pretend he didn’t care. But sometimes, just sometimes, you could see it in the way his jaw tensed or how his arm would slip a little tighter around your waist.

So tonight, you were going to test that. Psush him to the edge.

You were both getting ready to head out to the pub.

You slipped into a tight black dress that clung to every curve and left little to the imagination. It was short dangerously short. The kind of short where one wrong move, one bend forward, and your underwear would be on show. But you didn’t care. In fact, that was the whole point. The dress needed to be that short.

George wandered into the bathroom, his belt hanging loose at his waist, hair still tousled from the shower, shirt unbuttoned and clinging slightly to his damp skin. “Hey, lovely. Almost ready?” he asked, still not looking up as he fixed his collar.

“Mhm, just about,” you replied lightly, dabbing a bit of gloss on your lips. “I need to fix my hair and touch up my makeup, yeah?” You paused, pretending to admire yourself in the mirror before adding, casually, “Oh, and how’s the dress, baby?”

He finally glanced up and stopped.

His eyes flicked down, then back up again, lingering a second too long on your thighs. There was a beat of silence before he gave a half stunned little smirk. “Uh… yeah. You look stunning. Bit short, innit?”

You turned in the mirror, smoothing the fabric over your hips like you were just making sure it sat right, even though you’d already checked yourself from every angle twice.

“Short?” you repeated , blinking innocently. “You think?”

George’s eyes were fixed on you now. His shirt still hung open, but he’d completely forgotten about getting dressed. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I mean, you look…” He dragged a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, you look incredible. Just uh yeah. Short.”

You smiled like you didn’t catch the hesitation in his voice. “Well, it’s too late to change now.”

Then you turned back to your mascara like it was nothing, like you weren’t completely aware of his eyes tracking every move. The silence stretched for a beat before he stepped back out into the hallway, muttering something about his stupid belt , but not before you caught the way his gaze dipped again lower this time, jaw tight.

You bit back a grin.

Exactly what you wanted.

You walked slowly, deliberately, swaying your hips just a bit more than usual with every step. The heels clicked against the floor, catching his attention before you even spoke.

“Ready, Georgie?” you asked sweetly, pausing in the doorway with a hand on your hip.

George turned to look at you, and it was like you’d knocked the air right out of him. He stood there for a second, belt now buckled, shirt halfway buttoned, just staring.

His eyes dragged down your body, slow and heavy, before flicking back up to your face.

“Fuckin hell,” he muttered under his breath, then cleared his throat. “Yeah. Yeah, ready.”

You smirked softly and turned, giving him a perfect view of that dress from behind as you made your way to the door.

You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

ou could feel it.

You arrive at the club, music already pulsing through the walls, lights flickering low and warm. George’s hand finds yours almost instantly as you step inside a little tighter than usual, a little more grounding.

You weave through the crowd, finally finding a seat tucked near the edge of the room, half-lit and just private enough. You lean in, your voice light over the music. “Gonna grab a drink, yeah?”

George just nods, eyes scanning the room for a moment before landing back on you. His grip loosens, but his eyes linger.

You flash him a soft smile and turn, making your way to the bar.

You can feel it again the hem of your dress riding up slightly as you walk, the shimmer of glances sliding over your skin.

And you don’t pull it down.

At the bar, you lean in to order, and just as you do, a guy slides in beside you. Tall, maybe a little older, the kind of confidence that assumes he’s welcome.

“Hope you’re not waiting too long,” he says, flashing a smile. “They’re slow tonight.”

You glance at him, lips curled into a polite smile. “Not too bad.”

He leans closer, like he’s trying to talk over the music but it’s more than that. You feel his eyes flick down, lingering.

You wonder how long it’ll take George to notice.

And more importantly, what he’ll do when he does.

You sit back in the booth beside George, pretending not to notice how tense his body’s become. He hasn’t said anything else, but you can feel it his knee bouncing slightly, his hand clenching and unclenching around his drink. Watching. Thinking.

That’s when it happens.

A shadow looms at the edge of your booth. You glance up, and there’s a guy tall, built, confident smiling like he’s got every right to interrupt.

“Hey,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “Sorry, don’t mean to bother, but I just had to say you look unreal tonight.”

George doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But you feel his entire body go still beside you.

You offer the guy a polite smile. “Oh. uh thanks ” you say not wanting to take it too far.

“You here with anyone?” the guy asks, completely ignoring the six foot, death glare wearing man sitting inches away from you.

Before you can even answer, George sets his drink down. Hard. The clack of glass on the table is sharp and final.

“She’s with me,” he says.

His voice isn’t raised but it’s low, firm, and lethal.

The guy finally looks at George, sizing him up, clearly realizing he’s misread the situation. “Right. Yeah. My bad.”

He backs off quickly, disappearing into the crowd.

You bite your lip, turning to George slowly. “Everything alright, Georgie?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes still locked on where the guy walked off. “Why’d you let him talk to you like that?”

You shrug innocently. “Did I let him?”

He turns to you fully now, his body angled toward yours, eyes dark and unreadable under the low lights. His voice is low, edged with something dangerous.

“What’re you trying to do, love?”

You blink up at him, all mock innocent. “Nothing?”

Then you lean in a little closer, your thigh brushing his. Your voice drops to a teasing whisper, just for him.

“Is someone jealous?” you ask sweetly, head tilting. “Hm? Someone can’t handle other men looking at me?”

George lets out a quiet, humorless laugh but there’s nothing light about the way he looks at you.

His hand moves suddenly, possessively, landing on your thigh under the table. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You think this is funny?” he mutters, leaning in now, his nose brushing your cheek, his lips ghosting over your jaw.

“You want attention, yeah? Want to see what happens when I do get jealous?”

You don’t answer just hold his gaze, lips parted, breathing shallow.

He smirks darkly, like he already knows.

“Finish your drink,” he says, voice low and firm, his grip still on your thigh. “We’re leaving. You want to act like a brat, then you’ll get treated like one.”

Your stomach flips.

He leans back, cold now, collected but only just. “I’ll go wait for the Uber.”

And with that, he stands and walks out, jaw set, shoulders stiff, not even looking back.

You watch him go, heart pounding, your legs crossing under the table to ease the ache beginning to stir.

You take your time with the last few sips of your drink, letting the ice melt slowly against your lips, that smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.

Exactly what you wanted.

When you finally step outside, the cool air kisses your skin. He’s there lleaning against the wall near the curb, phone in hand, jaw tight, his eyes flicking to you the second you step into view.

You walk toward him slowly, still swaying a little in that short dress, still giving him a show because you know he’s watching every step.

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you, his gaze dragging from your legs back up to your face like he’s trying to calm something inside himself.

When you’re close enough, he leans in slightly not grabbing, not pulling kust close enough that his voice rumbles softly near your ear.

“Didn’t like seeing other guys all over you like that.”

It’s not angry. It’s not sharp. It’s low. Honest. Controlled, but barely.

His eyes flick to yours, jaw clenched just enough to show you he’s feeling every second of this.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he adds, softer now. “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

You don’t say anything in fact you don’t know what to say but luckily the Uber pulls up behind you, headlights washing you both in heavr light.

He opens the door, looking at you with a mix of heat and restraint, voice dipping again. “Come on, love. Let’s go home.”

The car door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you inside a pocket of quiet. The hum of the engine kicks in, and the driver offers a polite nod, tapping the address into his gps without a word.

You settle into your seat, dress riding just a little higher with the way you cross your legs. Out of the corner of your eye, you see George glance down, then quickly look out the window, like he’s trying to give you space but his jaw is tight, his hands still, resting on his thighs.

The air between you feels heavy, charged. You don’t speak. You don’t have to.

Your knee brushes his. He doesn’t move away.

Minutes pass like that quiet, loaded.

You look over at him, just watching. His profile lit faintly by the passing streetlights, expression calm but eyes too sharp for that to be the truth.

You lean in slightly, your voice low.

“You alright?”

He doesn’t answer at first, then finally shifts to face you just a little.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just thinking.”

You give him a soft smile, reaching over to fix the collar of his shirt like it’s no big deal. Your fingers graze his skin. His jaw tightens again.

“You’re quiet.”

He glances at you, eyes dark but gentle.

“So are you.”

Silence again, but not empty in fact its tension filled.

Then you feel it. His pinky brushing against your knee. Barely touching, but deliberate.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs, voice so low only you can hear. “You looked beautiful. Too beautiful.”

You turn your head, lips parted slightly, breathing shallow.

His hand finds your thigh under the dress. Not high. Not yet. Just enough.

The car turns the last corner. You can see your street ahead through the windshield.

He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When we get inside…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.cHe doesn’t have to.

You nod eager, maybe too eager and he sees it.

The way your breath catches. The way your eyes flick to his mouth and then away again.

Like you’re trying not to beg.

But he hears it anyway.

The Uber rolls to a stop and the second the door opens, George is out, circling to your side with a steady hand on your lower back as he guides you inside. The door clicks shut behind you and it’s like everything you’ve been holding in finally boils over.

You turn to say something maybe tease him, maybe push one last button but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are on your waist, firm but not rough, walking you backward until the backs of your knees hit the couch.

Then he pushes you down not harsh, not careless. Just decisive.

You land with a soft gasp, eyes wide, legs still crossed instinctively. Your dress rides up with the movement, exposing more of your thighs.

George stands over you, breathing a little heavier now, gaze dark and unwavering.

“You’ve been teasing me all night,” he says, voice low, steady, like he’s been holding this in for hours.

You smirk up at him, playing it cool but your body gives you away. The way you shift slightly, thighs pressing together. The way you can’t stop looking at his hands.

“So what?” you breathe.

He kneels in front of you, hands sliding up your legs slow, reverent, dangerous.

“So now I’m gonna show you exactly what that does to me.”

Your legs fall open for him without hesitation, breath hitching as George settles between them. His hands stroke your thighs with maddening slowness, thumbs grazing upward, drawing little circles into your skin like he’s warming you up for something he has no intention of giving yrt.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, voice low, lips just barely brushing the top of your thigh. “And I haven’t even touched you properly.”

You whimper softly, hips shifting, trying to angle yourself closer to his mouth but his grip tightens, holding you still.

“Patience,” he says simply, dragging his mouth along your skin. “You don’t just get what you want, not after the way you acted tonight.”

His fingers ghost over your core, light and cruel. Just enough to feel it, not enough to satisfy.

You buck your hips, chasing the touch, and he pulls away entirely leaning back on his heels, licking his bottom lip, smug as hell.

“Mmm-mm. Not yet.”

Your voice comes out a whisper, thick with need. “George fu-”

“Look at you,” he cuts in softly. “All squirmy and sweet now. Where’d that cocky little act go, hm? You were bold enough to flirt across the bar now you can’t even stay still.”

He leans back in, mouth brushing your inner thigh again so close and his warm breath against you makes your whole body tense.

Then he kisses your thigk. Then your other thigh.Then nothing.

You whine, fingers twisting in the fabric of the couch, frustration spilling from every part of you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He hums low, pleased by the sound. “Yeah? That didn’t take long, already begging.”

One hand slides up, teasing between your legs ome slow stroke with his knuckle, featherlight, up and down, never dipping in.

Your breath catches.

“Want my mouth?” he asks quietly, eyes locked on yours now.

You nod quickly. Too quickly.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “No. Use your words.”

“I want your mouth,” you gasp. “I need it. I need you. Please.”

He hums in approval, finally hooking his fingers into the sides of your underwear, dragging them down painfully slow. He kisses up the inside of your thigh again, tongue flicking against your skin, just enough to make you shiver.

“Could’ve had this earlier,” he says, voice like rough, “if you didn’t show off hmm?.”

And then without warning he gives you what you want. What you need.

His mouth finds you, warm, steady, deliberate. Tongue slow, thorough, like he’s got nowhere else to be but here, unraveling you. Every movement is calculated, patient designed to make you feel exactly how much power he has over your body right now.

Your moans spill out before you can stop them, hips bucking up into his mouth, and his hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you still as he keeps going, deeper, firmer, until your whole body starts to tremble.

He pulls back only when you’re on the edge, breathless and dizzy.

“You’re close already?” he teases, eyes gleaming. “Haven’t even started yet.”

And then he’s back on your mouth relentless, tongue circling, pressure building again, higher, hotter. You fall apart with his name on your lips, your body giving out beneath you.

Then he goes again lapping you up.

when you think he’s finally going to settle in, finally going to give you what you’re begging for, he pulls back again.

You cry out, frustrated and breathless. “George!”

He looks up at you, lips glistening from your soak, eyes half lidded with heat but that same teasing glint still shining beneath.

“Mm,” he hums, thumb sliding lazily up your inner thigh. “You’re so desperate. And I’ve barely touched you.”

Your fingers dig into the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself, but it’s useless every part of you is pulsing, aching, throbbing.

You try to close your legs just to ease the ache but he catches your thighs and pushes them open again, firm, controlled, spreading you wider than before.

“No, no,” he says softly. “You wanted attention. You wanted to be seen. So let me look at what’s mine.”

Your chest heaves. His eyes drop down again, his tongue wetting his lower lip like he’s admiring his own restraint.

Then he leans in and just barely flicks the tip of his tongue over your clit once. A soft, cruel tease that makes you jolt, your hands flying to his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.

But he grips your thighs tighter, pinning you to the couch.

“Still haven’t decided if I want to let you come yet,” he murmurs. “Feels like you don’t really deserve it yet.”

You whimper, shaking your head, breath ragged. “Please. Please, George. I’ll be good.”

He kisses your inner thigh again. “You’ll be perfect,” he says. “But not until I say so.”

Then, finally, he begins to work.

Tongue slow but firm, lapping up every drop of your arousal, sucking softly on your clit until your hips rise off the couch only for him to push them back down with both hands, holding you in place, like he owns every inch of you. And he does.

Your fingers find his hair, tugging hard now, gasping his name over and over. He moans into you, and the vibration makes your whole body jump.

He keeps you on that edge for what feels like forever circling, sucking, treating, returning until you’re shaking, thighs clenching around his head, your voice nearly gone.

“Georgie please I can’t”

He pulls back, just enough to speak against your slick skin, his breath hot.

“Alright baby i’ll let you cum for me.”

Then his mouth is back on you, relentless this time, no teasing. Just rhythm. Heat. Command.

And when you finally break, when your orgasm hits you so hard it punches the air from your lungs, he stays there through every second of it lips locked to you, hands gripping tight, owning every twitch, every cry, every wave.

You collapse back against the couch, chest heaving, hair stuck to your cheeks, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

George lifts his head slowly, licking his lips, eyes drinking you in. He smirks soft, satisfied “There she is.” He leans up, kissing your stomach.

“You gonna behave now?”

You nod, weakly.

And he grins, dark and loving all at once.

“Are you alright,my love?” He asks in an almost nervous tone.

“More than alright.” I say smirking

You shift slightly, trying to steady your breath but then your eyes land on him, and everything in you stirs all over again.

He’s still kneeling there, between your thighs, head bowed slightly like he’s catching his breath too. His hair’s a mess from your fingers, curls wild and damp at the edges. His lips are swollen, a little red, glistening gand his eyes, when he finally lifts them to meet yours, theyre blown wide, dark and intent, like he’s still drowning in you.

He doesn’t speak. Just looks at you.

And in that look, you see everything.

He’s tense, trying to keep it together. His hands flex once on your thighs, like he doesn’t know whether to pull away or keep going. His chest rises hard under his shirt, the buttons half undone from earlier, collar messed up, clinging slightly to his skin where sweat gathers at the hollow of his throat.

He’s trying to hold it in trying to stay calm. Stay in control.

But you see it.

He’s wrecked.

Quietly, utterly undone by you.

And he’s hard so hard you can see the tent in his tight dress pantsz.

You sit up slowly, letting your fingers trail along the top of his chest, feeling the heat of him, the faint tremble in his breath as you touch him. He shudders slightly under your hand, and his jaw clenches like he’s trying not to react.

You tilt your head, lips tugging into a slow smile.

“Look at you tough guy, completely wrecked acting all strong hmm?” Yoy whisper.

He lets out a soft laugh quiet, sharp, breathless.

Then he leans forward, his mouth brushing your neck, voice low, ragged.

“How could I not be? You’re fucking gorgeous.”

He pauses, breathing deep against your skin.

“And i’m not fucking done.” He adds then he moves.

His hands slip beneath your thighs, lifting you with ease, laying you back into the couch cushions. He settles above you, chest pressed to yours, the weight of him grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He kisses you ddeep, slow, not gentle. Like he needs it. Like he’s been waiting all night to finally take.

You moan into his mouth, hips arching up toward his, and he groans, low in his throat as he grinds against you once, his cock hard and heavy against your core through the thin layers between you.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I think I do,” you whisper, tugging at his shirt until he yanks it over his head, tossing it aside.

Your hands trail over his chest, down his stomach, feeling him twitch under your touch.

He grabs your wrist, firm but not rough. “No more teasing.”

Then he stands briefly just long enough to strip, dress pants hitting the floor, boxers following, cock flushed and aching and fucking soaked of pre cum. Your mouth parts at the sight of him, and he catches the look in your eyes with a low, crooked smirk.

“You gonna keep staring,” he says, voice dark, “or are you gonna behave?”

You don’t answer. You just lie back, opening your legs for him again.

That’s all he needs.

He sinks down between your thighs, lining himself up without hesitation. One hand holds your hip, the other gripping the back of the couch beside your head. And when he pushes in slow, steady, thick and stretching you both let out a sound at the same time.

You let out a loud moan and he lets out a broken groan.

“Fuck always so tight,” he breathes, forehead pressing to yours.

He bottoms out with one deep thrust, holding there for a moment, letting you feel all of him, full and heavy inside you.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“George,” you whisper, already lost.

He moves.

Slow at first deep rolls of his hips, dragging against every inch inside you, his cock hitting that spot just right over and over. His mouth stays on your neck, then your collarbone, then your lips again, as if he can’t stand to not be touching you everywhere at once.

And the way he looks at you wrecked, whichmakes your stomach twist with need.

“Wanted to fuck you right there in that booth show everyone who you belong to,” he mutters against your skin. “Dress so short I could’ve just pulled it to the side”

You moan, fingers digging into his back.

“Tell me i’m yours, tell me i’m the only one you fuck.” He growls, picking up the pace, his hips now snapping into you harder. “You’re mine and the only one I fuck. Of course you are George if it’s not you it’s no one.”You say half moaning.

“You wanted me jealous didn’t you? Wanted to see what would happen and now you get it hmm?” He groans eyes half shut

You cant speak and definitely can’t answer just nodding, panting, whimpering against his mouth as he fucks you into the cushions, deeper with every thrust, no space left between you.

Every drag of him inside you is maddening, and you’re already so close again you can feel it creeping up fast your nails digging into his shoulders, your voice catching in your throat.

“Let go,” he says through gritted teeth. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

And you do. Hard.

Your whole body tightens around him, trembling as you cry out, clinging to him, barely holding on as waves crash through you. He groans at the way you clamp down, slowing for a second then losing it completely.

“Fuck—fuck I’m—”

He buries himself as deep as he can go, grinding into you as he spills inside you, voice ragged, hands gripping like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

When it’s over, he slumps over you, chest heaving, arms shaking from the intensity.

But his mouth never leaves yours.

Soft kisses now. Sweet. Slow.

The silence that follows is full of breath and warmth and tangled limbs.

He presses his forehead to yours, still panting.

“Next time,” he whispers, “you wear that dress, I’m not letting you leave the house.”

[ineedtogetintotomspants]

Class Bus Trip (part 2)

Summary: after you helped tom get off on the bus, during a class trip. You somehow meet him again and things don't end up as planned

Warnings: a lot of smut, bit of degrading, tom kinda forces himself on u, a lot of titty sucking :3

Authors note: if u haven't read part one first this won't make a lot of sense! So go read it first

SMUT BELOW!

Georg's attention drifts away from you and Tom as he instinctively checks his phone, hoping for a message from his girlfriend. Tom takes advantage of Georg's distraction to whisper sneakily in your ear. "That was crazy, wasn't it?" A shiver runs down your spine as he gives you that slutty little smirk. "Yeah... But don't tell anyone... Please." You beg, knowing that he'd probably go around bragging about using your ass to get off at the back of the bus. You'd rather die than have the reputation of some kind of slut. 

"Nah, I won't tell anyone. I'm respectful!" Tom assures you, but there's a hint of sarcasm in his tone that makes it hard to fully trust him.

"Tom have you seen my phone charger?" Georg suddenly interrupts, while fidgeting with his phone.

Time Skip: After getting off the bus, the teacher split the class into groups of three or four. You stuck with your girlfriends, and had a pretty fun day with them at the amusement park. All you could do was try everything in your power to distract yourself from what happened with Tom. You avoided him the entire day—and luckily, you never ran into him. You’re not really sure why you didn’t want to see his face. Maybe he made you feel guilty? Or maybe it was the fact that you’ve never had your first time, and sharing such an intimate moment with someone as unserious as Tom made you feel like he took something precious from you. He’s the kind of guy who sleeps around with countless girls, sometimes without even knowing their names, and then walks away like it meant nothing. 

At the end of the day, everyone headed to the hotel. Since the trip lasts four days, the plan for the next few days includes visiting monuments, museums, and historical landmarks with your class and teachers. You're in a single room with your three girlfriends, chatting and getting ready for bed and they're still clueless about what happened between you and Tom. You're definitely not planning on telling anyone.

It's 2am, everyone's asleep, except you, still tossing and turning in bed, can't get that fuckass dreadlocks boy out of your little head.

"Fuck, why do i have to get attached to people so fast? I'm so stupid. I'm making such a big deal out of what happened on the bus, when Tom probably already forgot about it.." 

Slowly, without making too much noise, you get out of bed to go to the bathroom. There's a women's communal bathroom located right at the end of the long hallway, the male one right next to it. You sleepily waddle yourself inside and close the door, briefly checking yourself out in the mirror, looking a little tired, residue of smudged mascara under your eyes, messy unbrushed hair. "Ugh, whatever."

Once you've finished using the toilet, you turn to wash your hands at the sink, but all of the sudden you find yourself face to face with Tom.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" you flinch in disbelief.

Tom chuckles and raises his hands in mock surrender, clearly showing he means no harm. He turns on the sink and starts washing his hands, completely unbothered.

"What the fuck are you doing in the women's bathroom, you weirdo?"

His gaze locks with yours, his brown eyes scanning your face as if you're the dumbest person alive. "You're in the men's bathroom."

"Don't fuck with me!"

"Hehe... Don't you see the urinals?" He points at them with his hand. You didn't even notice them when you first came in.

"Fuck. I'm so stupid." You sigh in disbelief.

He playfully raises his eyebrows at you, kinda in a flirty way. He's such a manwhore, you fucking hate him.

"Is this a coincidence or did you purposely try to find me to continue what we started on the bus?"

Your eyes widen at his boldness, but at the same time, you feel a slight tingle down there.

"Honestly, that was the hottest thing I've ever experienced in my life." You admit, without any filters.

"Ja?" He smirks proudly, although his confidence can't seem to mask the sudden nervousness creeping up on him.

"Yeah." You nod.

"You will let me continue what we started. Won't you, baby?"

He looks at you shyly from the corner of his eye, gauging your reaction. His heart races as he waits to see if he's overstepped or if this attempt might actually work. You swallow hard and clear your throat, trying to come up with an answer, but you feel conflicted. The sight of him leaning against the wall, impatient, in his baggy sweatpants and hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to reveal his veiny, crossed forearms, and his dreads tied up, is incredibly tempting. Tom abruptly snaps, his patience completely worn out as he grabs you by the waist and spins you around, his hands on the edge of the sink, trapping you against the sink, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip bones. "Fuck" he breathes out roughly, one hand sliding up to grip your waist while the other moves to support himself against the sink.

"I was actually jerking off... thinking about you... Then i came here to wash my hands... Couldn't fall asleep..." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah... Really. Just let me fuck you already." He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers softly. His hand continues its trail, slowly moving upward until it reaches right beneath your breast. He grips your hip with his other hand more firmly, pressing harder against you. "Are you still gonna play innocent or..." He moves his hand higher, deliberately brushing against the side of your breast. "Let me..." Without even asking for permission, he grabs your tits, squeezing them gently through the thin fabric of your shirt. 

"These are so perfect. Not even wearing a bra hmm?"

"No, I don't wear a bra when I go to bed." 

He lifts the hem of your shirt all the way up to just below your neck, exposing your bare tits, and you gasp as you catch a brief glimpse of the slutty reflection in the mirror, he peaks right at you from behind. 

"Look at yourself, whore."

Without hesitation, he begins to fondle both of your breasts, kneading the soft flesh like dough, he buries his face between the curves of your neck, inhaling deeply, placing wet, open-mouthed kisses.

"Mmmh Tom..." you mumble his name desperately 

"Yes, baby?"

"Tom..." You whisper his name once again, unsure of what to say. You want to tell him a lot of things and ask him to do all kinds of filthy things to you, but you're so overwhelmed that you're unable to form a proper sentence.

"You want Tom to suck on these perfect tits?" With both hands, he squeezes your tits together, while looking in the mirror, licking his lips hungrily. "They're so big."

He spins you around again, he quickly lowers himself to be at eye level with your chest. He parts his lips, sucking one of your hard nipples into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing out, making wet, pornographic sounds, suckling like he's starved, looking up at you with desperate puppy eyes. You can't help but squeeze your thighs together and moan from the heavenly sensation. 

"Your mouth feels so good. So good." 

He can feel you trembling above him, your moans encouraging him to suck harder. 

His reddish lips wrap around your nipple, his metal piercing scraping gently against your sensitive skin each time he sucks. He leans back and purposely spits directly onto the same spot he was sucking, admiring how his saliva slides down. It's so lewd, makes him harder than a rock.

"That's so hot..."

[n1k0laa5]

Hiii

I'm so sorry if this question may seem repetitive or annoying, but like this is truly bothering me like idk even. So, I thought my manifestations kinda "failed" because I wasn't truly assuming, but more like hoping. Yk: if this will work then I know the Law works or smth. I changed..I was like: no this law works either way so I know this will work. And honestly I truly assumed I had it. Like let's talk grades: I truly assumed I passed, I was like: Yow I just know I passed, there is no other possibility. I visualised and reminded myself that what I am seeing is the truth. But well the opposite appeared. Gosh sometimes I don't know how to word stuff, because in the back of my mind I'm like: Am I just limiting myself? But there are no limits and I'm doing everything right so huh?

Yeah well

Thx in advance for if you answer

Ps: lovelovelove your bloggggg!! Keep it up hon.

Absolutely no apologies needed, angel.

This is not annoying or repetitive, it’s one of the most common and real things we all face on the manifestation journey, especially when it feels like you genuinely did everything right and the 3D still spat in your face. So let’s talk about it clearly.

What Revision Really Is (and Why It’s Not Too Late)

Revision is not about going back in time. It’s about changing your dominant assumption about an event and that assumption ripples into your 3D.

Neville Goddard didn’t say revise to pretend or cope. He said revise because consciousness is the only reality, and consciousness doesn’t care what “happened.” It only reflects what you persist in. When you revise, you’re telling your subconscious,

“This is the only version of that event I accept.”

You don’t revise because something went wrong. You revise because you are God, and God gets to choose what reality is stamped into existence.

So if your grades came back and you were like, “Wait, what the hell? That’s not what I assumed,” the work now is not to spiral. The work now is to revise the event as if the assumption was always true.

How to Revise (Specifically, Clearly, Powerfully)

You don’t need a ritual. You need a new assumption—and to mentally dwell in that state consistently.

Here’s how:

1. Decide: What actually happened?

• No, not what the 3D says. What you say.

• “I passed with flying colors.”

• “I got the exact grade I expected.”

• “That moment they told me my grade was such a high point—I felt proud, calm, validated.”

2. Replay the moment as you wanted it to be.

• Literally imagine getting the results and see what you wanted to see.

• Feel the relief. Hear someone say “congrats.”

• Anchor yourself in the new version of that scene. Make it your truth.

3. Dwell in that version from now on.

• Don’t explain or argue with the “real” one. Don’t justify it.

• If someone asks about it, in your mind: “Nope. I passed. Period.”

• The 3D doesn’t have the final word. Your assumption does.

Reminder: The 3D is old. It’s memory foam, not live broadcast.

What you saw was a reflection of past consciousness, not proof of what’s real now. So don’t dwell in the 3D. Don’t replay the disappointment. Dwell in the revised version, over and over, until that becomes your new default.

You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to decide. And if the mind brings up doubts, remind yourself:

“I’m not ignoring reality. I’m choosing one.”

“This is what happened — because I said so.”

“I revise not to fix it. I revise because this is what’s true now.”

That’s all. I do recommend checking out more on revision if you can, it seems like a good option for you.

No limits. No waiting. Just you, choosing again.

You got this, and you did pass. Persist in that.

I love you, and I’m proud of you.

[thelilylav]

Y'know what? Fuck it (gives u guys a list of poc artists to listen to cause the white ppl on the music side of tumblr have been embarassing me)

List is under the cut, and warning bc I made it very long

Rock:

Los Abuelos De La Nada

Gesu No Kiwami Otobe

Chuck Berry

Ben E. King

Los Prisoneros

Ahmed Fakroun (ok this one's french art rock but in my book it still counts)

Burnout Syndromes (been fucking w them since I got into Haikyuu lmao)

Infinity Song (their hater song genuinely gets me every time LMAO)

People in the Box

N.E.R.D (my god if u don't know them.. idk dude my brother has been obsessed w them for forever so i just was not getting away regardless lol)

Punk/Punk Rock (& other punk subgenres):

Nova Twins (u must listen to them it's just the way it's gotta be guys)

Rina Sawayama (her hatred of Matty Healy is so attractive. i cannot believe i found her two years ago cause i still remember i would not shut up when i first heard her music it was so good)

BABYMETAL (the way their band name just straight up screams at people gets me every time lmaooo)

Indie:

The Younger Lovers

Mashrou Leila

Stella Jang

Shak SYrn (Jenni is on repeat in my room at any given moment)

Steve Lacy (if u listen to more than just Bad Habit u will find an actuall amazing discography)

Jenny Nuo (i have been OBSESSED w her music since like 2021 ish and it is a crime she hasn't blown up more imo)

Nujabes

Hemlocke Springs (oooo i hate that she does not get more love!!! synth pop and alt indie is such a fun niche like!!!)

Lyn Lapid (in my head she's huge but i have recently learned that artists i think r super popular may be unknown to an entire genre of ppl soo)

Megagonefree (found them on ig and omg!! PLS go check them out genuinely)

boa (i am once again shaming u if u don't know them)

Wallice

JAZZ (in all caps bc I fucking LOVE jazz no it's not dead go listen to jazz rn motherfuckers):

Idris Muhammad

Esperanza Spalding

Joanna Wang (ok she does pop and folk music too but idk she felt most appropriate here)

SAMARA JOY (put. some. respect. on. her. name. i would actually go to war for her i am not kidding. also this is in all caps bc MY MOM GOT TO SEE HER LIVE??? AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO SHE WAS PLS I WAS SO MAD OMGGG but i've been promised tickets next time so we're good)

Sade (my og one and only)

Funk:

Fadoul

George Clinton (i mean he's just a classic yknow)

Parliament (Give Up the Funk can make me dance like no other i swear)

Stevie Wonder (i mean.. like if we're on the topic of classics anyway then...)

Michael Jackson/The Jackson 5 (moreso his earlier stuff if my memory isn't lying to me.. look it's been a second since i listened to mj IM SORRY i am a busy person ok TT)

R&B:

Valerie June

Maxine Nightingale (if u don't listen to her... how do u have fun? actual question i put her on every time i need to feel happy atp)

Boney. M (technically they're reggae but they also count as R&B so idk.. i'm just putting them here if anyone wants me to move them later i will)

Amahla (Ca Suffit was so good and got me to check out the rest of her music, YOU SHOULD TOO!!)

Mary J Blige (not to judge but like... if u don't know THE queen then idk how to help you tbh)

SZA (wouldn't be a list without her in it tbh. i'm in love w her not even joking abt that)

Kali Uchis (to this day i cannot believe i saw her live i'm truly never getting a better moment than that omggg i have such a big crush on her anyway)

Aupinard (if ever u need to just vibe, this is the man u go to.)

Wejdene (TU PARLES AVEC UNE ANISSA MA MOI J'APPELLE WEJDENE- she's been my day 1 since i was like thirteen i can't even lie)

Annisse (just found out she only has like ~500 listeners on spotify??? apparently i'm one of them tho lmao so yeah go get that number up guys i love her too much for this disrespect)

Sister Sledge

Cheryl Lynn

Reggae:

Daddy Yankee (he's an honourable mention cause i couldn't not lmao)

Skindred (they're a reggae/metal fusion band and i will shut up abt them when i'm dead bc Nobody rewired my brain chemistry!!)

Manu Chao

Toquinho (i was so convinced this man was bossa nova but apparently he is reggae and i need to do some music theory review)

Folk:

Sushi Soucy (oh the things I Deserve to Bleed had me going thru in 2020/2021)

Miriam Makeba (Pata Pata should be enough to get anyone listening to her, just saying)

Lead Belly (do urself a favour and do some research on this man, i'm not kidding even if u don't like folk music u should know abt him- ESPECIALLY if u like Nirvana that'll make sense later trust)

Pop:

Corinne Bailey Rae (she has so much good music that gets ignored bc of Put Your Records On so.. yeah go listen to Black Rainbows she's only gotten better as time goes on lol)

Dru (he is for any person who likes ke$ha. i'm so serious he is early 2000s in a bottle and i love his music ur rlly missing out if u ignore him)

Monique Hasbun (found her recently! she's a Palestinian, Mexican and Salvadorian artist who plays around with Latin pop and does a lot of fusion music. she's dope go listen to her fr)

Mohammad Assaf (he made the Palestine song that's been going around ig a lot, but his other stuff is great as well. he's another Palestinian artist, so once again, go check him out!!)

Pinkpanthress (i LOVE her she's so much fun to just vibe to and idk how anyone couldn't have heard of her atp but then again this is the sight that didn't know who drake was so... sigh. go listen to her if u don't already!!)

Aliyah's Interlude (BROOO if u haven't heard of her actually go listen rn i'm so serious she is so good i can'ttttt ok bye)

Veondre (had a collab w Aliyah on It Girl and is gonna be releasing her own music very soon! she's trans too so go give her some love)

Shalco (wasn't sure whether to put him here or in hip hop, but his stuff is very very good either way)

Ado (she's j-pop but it's a form of pop so into the pop category she goes)

Moon (she's got two songs out rn, Moonlight and Seoul City Drift, and both r going on loop in my head at all times)

Jay Chou (call me a basic bitch idc he's good ok)

Atarashii Gakko! (i wouldn't say they're j-pop, but google did, so i'm just going w it lol)

flowerovlove (just trust me on this one)

El Tio Gamboin (Los Gatitos is such a cute song)

Grace Chang (see note for Jay Chou)

King Gnu (for all my j-pop lovers... come get ur man)

Salsa:

Lalo Rodriguez (included this genre specifically so i could mention him)

Adalberto Santiago

Roberto Roena (he's a classic i can't lie)

Hector Lavoe (i think he might be the most popular one in this genre lol)

City Pop (this is its own genre bc i literally did a presentation in high school abt it and i'll be damned if i don't flex my knowledge now):

Mariya Takeuchi

Miki Matsubara (my QUEEN my everything my-)

Anri

Taeko Onuki (one of my most listened to artists last yr for a Reason)

Kaoru Akimoto

Kingo Hamada

Jun Togawa

Bossa Nova:

Joao Gilberto (ooo he gets me every time i fucking love this man)

Elizeth Cardoso

Johnny Alf (forgot this man the first time around my bad BUT he's called the father of bossa nova for a reason so)

Hip Hop:

Flyana Boss (they're sooooo good i actually can't gush enough i have never felt so girlypop listening to music before go listen to them!! found the duo through ig so yeah if u want go follow them on there too to show support)

Lil Uzi Vert (for any emo lovers, go check out his song Werewolf with Bring Me the Horizon it is SO GOOD)

Samyra (she's slowly curing my body dysmorphia lol)

Yame (there's an accent on the e but idk how to do that on tumblr. anyway my ass loves french rap and before him i was stuck with klub des loosers so he saved my faith in the genre i can't even lie)

Lay Bankz (u cannot be chronically online and not have heard Ick yet, but i'm repping her regardless bc SHE'S SO GOOD)

A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie (HEAR ME OUT-)

Kaliii (Area Codes was one of my most listened to songs last year... as it should be tbh)

Miguel (he does R&B too i just first listened to him bc of his collab w J.Cole sooo)

Tyler the Creator (putting him on here just to brag abt getting to see him in concert lmao)

XXXTentacion (he has been mourned and talked abt an insane amount, but he deserves it i'm not even gonna joke on this one. his artistry is insane and he deserves some love if u haven't listened to him yet)

Kendrick Lamar (i mean i've been reblogging stuff abt him enough. Mr. Morale was actually the album that made me start Listening listening to him and i'm honestly glad it was bc that album is still my favourite to this day if i'm being totally honest)

Renaissauce (criminally and i do mean CRIMINALLY underrated)

[parasitoidism]

Ur making me want to get into devilman...the art is so intoxicating to me

it is very good but I feel like I gotta state for the record it’s not something you should read if you want to like. Have fun. It’s just very grim and violent especially toward the end

[berrisexual-witch28]

It's funny how desensitized social media has us. If you have less than like several thousand followers or notes or likes or whatever, you feel like you failed.

When in reality even if you equate the likes or followers, even if you only 12 that is 12 people are eager to hear what you have to say which isn't a bad thing by no means.

[leidensygdom]

Okay, here's my humble yearly Artfight advice, because with every AF, there's always a bit of an ongoing cycle:

While you can't ever guarantee revenges, your chances of getting art back are always higher if you target people with positive ratios. There's a lot of people on site who have +75% attack ratios (meaning they've drawn way more art than they have received). Go target them! They deserve love AND are way more likely to return art!

DO NOT fall for random celeb tiktokker with 50k followers who is, for the seventh year in a row, promising they will be revenging all the art they get all while their ratio sits at a whooping 5%! There's always some people like this and a lot of younger folk fall for it again and again. And then these people don't even bother with commenting on the art they receive

In my experience, it's younger folk or people who are newer to art that will go more apeshit (affectionate) about the art they receive. If you really wanna make someone's entire week, find yourself someone who is new to AF or someone who has just started drawing and give them a lil something, they will adore it!

Artfight can be a great opportunity to make friends. I've met some wonderful people through exchanging art there. Use the search function to find characters tagged as things you have an interest in and go ham. Chances are, you may meet someone with similar interests who may end up becoming a long term friend.

While receiving revenges is great, don't try to guilt trip people for them. Don't go around posting comments on people's profiles like "If I draw for you will you revenge me??" Just draw for the person if you'd like to draw for them, don't do it expecting the whole situation to be a transaction

A lot of people will mention in their profiles whether they are revenging or not. It's a good idea to check that out if you are interested in revenges- But never take these as a 100% guarantee

Comment on art you have received! It doesn't need to be a deep comment. Sometimes gushing over it and dropping 30 emojis and a big thank you gets the point across. It can be rather daunting to not receive any confirmation that the person you drew for even saw the art you made for them.

And honestly, just be honest with yourself and how much art you can make without burning out or hurting yourself. Make your stretches, rest your hand, and try to have fun without sacrificing your health on the way!

[yeyinde]

caging a wolfdog

Simon Riley x Babysitter!Reader

18+ | groping. dubcon. infidelity. blue-collar Simon in a loveless marriage finds another way to entertain himself when his wife is too busy fucking her Pilates instructor to come home. victim blaming. future wife grooming. breeding. implied contraceptive tampering. spitting/spit kink. gross/mean Simon.

It's something to mend the gap between paying for college tuition, and surviving on more than air and the stale crackers they give out at the food bank. A job that takes up less space in your calendar than studying for finals or finishing up last-minute projects due before the end of the term.

And, in all honesty, the kid makes it easy.

Tommy doesn't fuss like most his age. He sits on the couch with his iPad perched on his knees, watching grown men scream in front of a camera for hours. Sometimes he stirs, asks for snacks. Something to drink. But mostly, he just scrolls YouTube Shorts, and puffs out peals of childish laughter at whatever he finds amusing.

It's the easiest job you'd ever had, really. He has no complaints about eating chicken nuggets and Kraft dinner on the nights when you stay later and have to cook something for him. Even when you try to make it healthier by chopping up celery with homemade ranch on the side, it barely makes him whine.

He eats. Scrolls. Pouts about his bath. Negotiates bedtime for ten more minutes with his iPad. And then he's sleeping by ten, hugging the device tight to his chest as a man hollers about Minecraft beneath him.

And that's the extent of it.

An easy job. An easy kid.

The problem, really, is his father.

And more specifically, the way he can't seem to stop touching you.

You're not sure why it happens, just that it does. Becomes some strange staple in this arrangement where you never leave his house without having his hands on you at some point.

But maybe the writing was always on the walls because even as he was showing you Tommy's bedroom, he folds himself over you, spine pressed against his chest, and murmurs in your ear about bedtimes and baths and all the things a babysitter is meant to hear—

But not with the hard, firm outline of their employers cock against their ass.

You should have said something then. Put your foot down. Rained hellfire and retribution over this man and his gross, foul perversions.

Should have done a lot of things, probably. But in the end, the span of his hand over your belly, so wide it threatened to swallow you up, kept you quiet. Docile as he shifted his hips—wife down the hall, flatly informing him she has a class tonight and probably won't be home, so don't bother waiting up, Simon—and rubbed his cock against you, grunting in your ear about how pretty you are. Such a sweet girl, too.

So good for his baby boy.

Keeping quiet seems to spur him on. Spreading the thick, heavy length of his body against your spine isn't enough to quench whatever sticky, awful desire brims in his chest. Insatiable now that he's had a little taste, he gorges himself on what he can get away with.

What you let him get away with.

(if you didn't want this, pretty thing, you'd have said so, wouldn't you? big, strong girl like you. you can 'andle yourself. but you ain't because you want this—)

Broad hands cupping your breasts as he leans over your shoulder and pretends to instruct you on how Tommy likes his lunches. Little more, he rasps, calloused fingers slipping under the band of your bra, and pinching your stiffening peaks between a too-big thumb and forefinger. The rough, dry graze of his scarred skin was some awful amalgamation of stinging, abrasive pain and pleasure. Likes his sandwiches cut up jus' like tha'—

Grabs a handful of your asscheek on the way out the door, pinching the flesh so hard, it aches when you sit down. Rutting into you like a beast when he comes home, and Tommy's already in bed. C'mon, he grunts, hefting you up from the couch. Gotta go an' check on 'im. But it's just an excuse to bend you over banister as you peer into Tommy's room, groaning as he shoves his clothed cock against the cleft of your ass.

Husks in your ear about how good you are for him. He and Tommy both. Such a good girl, ain't you?

It's strange. All of it. And maybe that's why you let it carry on. Continue even though you know he's married, and has a child. And—

He's odd. Intense. Weird.

Looms in the corners of the room sometimes, content to just watch you. Eyes dark, endlessly black. Fixed on every move you make. A wolf wearing a man's skin. A monster in faded blue jeans and black steel-toed boots.

Uncanny.

Scary.

Massive in a way that stole your breath the moment you laid eyes on him. A full body bloom of dread at the scale, the size, of him. Like staring at the face of a mountain, mind reeling over the incomprehensible height of it. Vertiginous. Dizzying.

Thinking about him always makes you feel a little bit sick. Lying on your back and staring up at the sky. Cosmic quasiness. Unease that trickles down from your ancestors and fills your pores with the bitter, acrid tang of fear.

But between the noxious, rolling worry—the unmistakable feeling of a starving man staring at you like you're nothing but a scrap of tender, fresh meat—is a heavy, sick sort of heat congealing in your belly.

It was easier, at first, to lie and say you stayed for the money. Broke college student with a sinkhole of debts already growing on the periphery, biding its time before it sucks you into an unfathomable, inescapable chasm. Bled dry. Used up. It'll crush you.

But this—

Simon works around your schedule. He's gone for most of the day—pulls twelve-hour shifts Monday to Saturday at the oilfield—and is fairly lenient when you have a test, sending Tommy to his uncle's instead. Staying the night is an unorthodox arrangement, you're sure, but it works itself out in the end. Being here to take Tommy to school before heading to your morning classes (the rest all available online), and then free to pick him up after and wait for Simon to come home eases the stress of a long commute to your dorm and then here, to the dorm and then back again. A small respite, sure.

And if he pushed, insistent, that you sleepover, well—

You can hide it behind a wall. Pretend he's just looking out for his son even if you have to lock the door in the spare bedroom at night, and wake up sometime to the sound of the knob rattling.

He lets you use his spare truck whenever you need it. There's always a pot of coffee waiting for you in the morning. He keeps a tidy house and a strict schedule, but money is always in your bank account or tucked into an envelope on the counter a day ahead of when you agreed he'd pay you.

But living on top of each other like this is almost unbearable.

You see more of Simon than you do your own family. Friends. Even his wife. A woman made of contradictions, it seems. Dutiful mother, but only when it matters—parent teacher conferences booked in advance, the darling starlet of his birthday party that passed—and you try to keep out of her way. Shame, maybe.

Do you know what Simon does to me when you're in the next room? Do you know what he says when you're bent into downward dog as your Pilates instructor fucks you on the matt?

Or just the knowledge that both of you, in your own way, are adulterers.

But having something in common with the woman who is more of a guest in her own home, her child's life, than you are is a sickening thought. So you squash it. Ignore it.

All of it—

His hands on you, rough and proprietary. The foul, dirty things he whispers in your ear—Tommy's been askin' for a baby brother, 'bout time we gave 'im one, don't you think? Spread your pretty pussy around my cock and keep ya nice an' plugged until it fuckin' takes—when no one is around. How these incidents keep getting progressively closer to his bedroom door, his marital bed, and one day, you think he might drag you in there and not let you out again until those promises he forced from your lips are fulfilled.

You bite your tongue. Taste blood between your teeth hours after he leaves for work, and curl into the couch as the minutes tick by until Simon's supposed to come home. Trying to distract yourself as much as you can, but there's no escape from it. From the way there was something different about him this morning. Something heady. He didn't touch you, but just quietly observed you with those strange, unfathomable eyes of his. Sinkholes wanting to swallow you down.

Hungry.

And when you asked him if he wanted breakfast, he'd just said, oh, I'll eat, birdie. You can bet on that, and then left out the door without another word.

It takes you until noon to unravel the knots in his expression, and what you find makes your heart jump like a trapped rabbit in a snare.

Possessiveness. Want. Hunger.

But most damning of all—

Anticipation.

In the room over, Tommy giggles, high and shrill, at a video. The noise jars you back into reality. A car drives down the lonely street. The timer on the oven dings. Tommy gurgles again, the sound pasted over a loud, pitchy shout that rankles down your spine. Slowly, achingly, you unfurl your body from the tense crouch you collapsed into, head thick. Underwater. In a fog. Thoughts dripping down the sides of your skull in a slow, syrupy crawl.

Your eyes dart to the clock. Three hours.

oh, I'll eat, birdie.

"Come on, Tommy," you warble out, gingerly moving towards the kitchen. Three hours. There's a buzzing inside your head that grows louder, more restless with every step. "The pizzas done."

On the fridge, a neon pink post-it note mocks you. PILATES TONIGHT AND DRINKS WITH THE GIRLS!!!! DON'T WAIT UP!!

Three hours.

You lick the blood off your teeth.

oh, I'll eat, birdie—

He doesn't bother cleaning up before he goes home.

Caked in grime, sweat, dust from the fields, crudeoil glued under his nails—a walking biohazard of filth, but he lumbers into his truck the moment he's finished, cock already thickening, straining against the harsh fabric of his jeans. Sticky on his thigh where it lays, twitching at the thought of his little birdie sucking his dirty fingers clean.

And you'll do it. He knows you will.

You've been so good for him, haven't you? Sweet little thing.

He scrapes the top of his tongue against his teeth, pulling up the taste of stale, bitter coffee. It's acrid, sour in his mouth. Swallowing around it, he grips the wheel tightly and sifts through the multitude of things he wants to do to you as he navigates the familiar path home. Muscle memory, but there's an emptiness in his belly. An itch under his skin. If fizzles, cracks; want and desire thick in his throat.

He's been thinking about this all day. You—laid out on his bed, fingers gripping the sheets tight as he folds you in half, kneecaps to your ears. Feet kicking out behind the heft of his shoulder. Bearing all his weight down on you. Crushing you.

Pumping you so full of his cock, his cum, that you whine afterwards—too empty, Mr Riley—and he has to stuff you full again just to shut you up.

Whiny little thing, he'll coo, nasty and mean as he fucks you again and again and again—

Another scrape. Tongue against teeth pulling over tastebuds. Sourness in the back of his throat. So bitter, so nauseating, he can't wait to make you swallow it down and beg for more as you try not to dry heave all over his dirty boots and onto the clean floor.

More, please, more even as you gag.

He's too hyperaware for the drive to pass in a blur—it's all startling present, each second ticking down in technicolour—but when he finally slows to crawl in front of his house, he has everything he wants to do to you laid out in a neat, concise list. Left you a defiled mess in his head, leaking cum and begging for more.

Anticipation is a maw in his gut that growls and snaps its jaws, too eager to sink inside the pretty thing that's been playing House in his mind. In his home.

He left it unfed for too long.

And now, it's time to eat.

You're not in the living room when he enters.

It's silent. The idling television paints the room in a pale, neon pink.

The clink of his keys, the thud of his boots, are the only sounds popcorning through the dim, quiet room. He casts his gaze towards the stairs to the left, sees light spilling out from Tommy's room down the hall. The nightlight burning away.

He shifts on the balls of his feet, hums something under his breath. A relic from a bygone era when the man Tommy was named after might have pulled him aside and said man, this isn't you.

Simon keeps his boots on as he trudges through the still, winter night of the house, eyes shifting past each corner, every crevasse. More muscle memory he can't shake. All filed away. Catalogued. Meticulously scoured as he shifts through the hall, pausing only to crack Tommy's door open and steal a glance of his son. Knows he won't be able to sleep without it.

He finds him tucked safe and sound in his bed. iPad on the floor connected to the charger. The screen is frozen with the image of some brightly coloured game that'll hold his interest for another day before it becomes yet another thing Simon packs away. More memories on shelves. Something to feel scraped out, hollowed, when he grows another inch and Simon starts to see more of Tommy in him than he can stomach.

The air stings his nostrils when he breathes in. The burn gives him time to shift around the potent ache of fatherly affection he never thought he'd feel back into the guarded lockbox he keeps it in whenever Tommy isn't in view. With it tucked back in, safe and sound, he lets the thrill of the pursuit fill him again.

Another hum. He peels away from the door.

"Hidin' on me, birdie?"

He knows you're here. Your boots are still drying by the front door. The air still clogged with your scent. He follows it like a bloodhound until he reaches his bedroom door where he finds you on the bed. Waiting. Uncertainty clinging to you like a second skin he can't wait to peel off, run his fingers through the bloody mess until you're raw and aching; shiny new toy stripped bare just for him.

Your mouth pops open. The inside a pretty ring of pink. He thinks about it, about sinking inside that soft little hole, making you gag around the thick of him as he feeds you his cock.

Clean it up f'me, birdie

But it's clear from the way you flit nervously on the comforter that he'll have to work you up to that.

Slow and steady. It's not his usual approach—he's in the habit of taking what he wants. Still. He slows. Glacial. Notches his shoulder against the doorframe, staring. Waiting. Waiting—

And finally:

A shift. You tense. "Mr Riley—"

"Take your clothes off."

Your throat shifts when you swallow. "Mr—"

If you didn't want it, he reasons, you wouldn't be in his bed. Waiting for him.

"Now, birdie."

There's that pause he expects. The hesitation as you stare, searchingly (pleadingly), at him, trying to take a measurement of just how serious he is about this. But he knows he gives nothing away. Just stares with streaks of dirt on his brow, washed down by thick trickles of sweat. Eyes lazy, lidded. Mouth flat. Even.

You demure after a moment. Hands falling shakily to the hem of your sweater, curling beneath the fabric. Gaze downcast, staring wide-eyed at the curve of your jean-clad knees. Bemused, maybe, that it got this far. That you let it get this far.

He doesn't give you time to think about it. Cocks his head to the side, puffs out an impatient breath. "Hurry up. Ain't got much time before my wife comes back."

It's a low blow. He feels it skim his knuckles, a sucker-punch.

You suck in a sharp breath. He wonders if you'll make things difficult now. Fight back. This isn't right. What you're doing to me isn't right. We should stop, Mr Riley—

Instead, you peel the sweater off.

It's artless. Clumsy. Each movement wracked with nerves, uncertainty. There's no coyness to the action. It's not even sexy, or coquettish; nothing about it is done to entice, to seduce. This is an action completed twice a day, every day. Routine. It's mundane, perfunctory.

And yet—

"Fuckin' hell, birdie—"

Something about the latent unwillingness of it all chokes the air from his lungs.

Cock thick in his trousers, throbbing like a wound, he steps into the bedroom, making his way towards you in nothing short of a prowl. It's been building up since you first appeared at his doorstep, eyes wide and bright and scooped Tommy up into your arms until he squealed with laughter.

"I got him," you chirped when he reached out reflexively, dancing artlessly out of the way of his snatching claws. "Don't worry. He's fine with me."

This is your fault, of course. For looking the way that you do. For burrowing under his skin like a parasite. A festering itch. Being close to you always felt like a toothache. Dry socket. Something that made his head split.

"On the bed, birdie," he grunts, hands falling to his belt with a urgency he hasn't felt since he was a clumsy, knobby-kneed teenager. "An' spread your legs f'me."

You give a startled gasp that makes his cock throb, and he groans low in his throat at the waxen look in your eye, the slight quiver to your lip. You look queasy—torn between disgust and fear, eyes slipping to the scarred hands that yank hard on his zipper, cup the bulge that splits through the spread seam, dirty fingers gripping himself tight—and he has to roll his head back to keep from snapping at you to roll over.

A noise does spill out—an impatient rumble gnashing between jagged teeth—when you sit there, bared from the waist up, and watch him with wide eyes. Making no move to show him that pretty pussy he cupped in his palm before. That soft, wet heat in his hand that felt too delicate, too sweet, to be touched with his dirty fingers. Something that rankled down his spine, buzzed in the back of his head when he pulled them free—stained, nails blackened with dirt, crude oil, and glistening in the low light of the kitchen.

He wants it again—on his cock this time. Wants to see that soft pussy get him all wet as he ruins it. As he peels back, sitting on his haunches, and takes in the awful mess he left you in. Poor cunt swollen and abused from from being forced to take the full, fat length of him as he bullies it inside over and over again; puffy lips all sticky with his cum. Sore and stretched and used. Raw after such a vicious pounding—

"Pants off, birdie," he bites out, yanking his jeans down beneath his aching balls. "Ain't gonna like what 'appens next if I 'ave to ask again—"

You give a startled gasp at the rough, callous growl hewing his words, and he wonders if anyone has ever spoken to you like this before. So demanding. With an edge of cruelty slithering out. Demeaning—

No. No one but him, he decides, stroking his cock as he watches you clumsily kick out of your pants, demurring in a faux show of bashfulness as your fingers skim the hem of your panties. The picture of coy shyness as you drop your chin to hide the wobble in your lower lip, the glistening wetness in your eyes as you grapple with indecision. Child's play of modesty.

A farce.

Just the mangled growl of your name is all it takes for those trembling fingers to inch into the hem of your panties, tugging them clumsily down your thighs.

He could come, he thinks, to just that. This. The bloom of fear etching across your brow, panties tangled against the knob of your knees. Unwilling to bend down and push them off the rest of the way. Scared to, maybe.

It buzzes in the back of his head. The idea of paralysing you with nothing more than a sharp bark and crook of his finger; your fear as delectable as that little sliver of skin he can see peaking out at him.

"ain't go' all night," he cuts in with only a quarter of the ice he uses on the field, and feels a deep thrum of satisfaction purr through his chest when you squeak, flinching at his rough, brassy tone.

Your panties fall to the floor in a rumpled pile between your feet, toes curling into the carpet as you try to close your knees as tightly together as you can get them to hide yourself from his heavy-lidded gaze. A last play at modesty. Gaze inward, nervous. A skittish little rabbit with nowhere else to run.

The way you stand before him on shaking knees, trembling like a leaf, makes him want to sink his teeth into you and shake. Little virginal offering to a rapacious god. A feast all for himself. He wants to chew you up. Eat you alive.

But he opts, instead, to bite his tongue until he tastes blood, and bark at you to get on the bed as it oozes between his teeth. Feels something animal split open inside his chest when your eyes widen as he steps into the room, a slow pursuit, a prowl, and has to bite down on the urge to give chase when you flinch, backing away from him quickly. Naked and scared. Running from him with a nervous tremor, but he doesn't miss the way you make, quietly, for his bed.

Eager. Obedient. Fleeing from him like a scared little animal unaware of just how enticing you are.

"Good girl, birdie."

It takes three fingers to open you up, but even that doesn't feel like it's enough.

Not when he knocks your knees apart, wedging his too big, too thick body between them (and then stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt, slick and sticky from his hand; flesh left swollen from the brutal spear of three thick, dirty fingers shoving inside—less of a stretch and more a carve: he carved you open) and spits.

You weren't expecting it. Nothing could have prepared you for the suddenness of this degrading act—the nasty, demeaning way he spits on your pussy, and huffs, amused, when the foamy mess slides down your swollen clit to pool between your folds. His finger chases it, rubbing it into your skin, pushing it into your hole.

Ain't got lube, he says, words bordering on a strange equinox of bluntly nonchalant and utterly caustic. Should be thankful m'doin' this much.

Thankful.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, and you try not look at his cock again when he grips himself tight in his big, dirty hand.

He's too big. Too fat. It makes you a little nauseous to stare at it, him—his cock. Marbled like a bruise. Thicker at the base. Veiny. The head is swollen. The tip is soaked in a thick, paste-like spill of precum, and for a horrible second, you almost thought he would make you lick it off.

(later fills the empty space in your head, and you try to mould yourself around the idea until you can decide whether or not the feeling that blooms in the pit of your belly is really dread.)

His hands were rough. Scarred. Dirty. Caked in oil. Stained. He didn't even bother to clean up before he lumbered onto the sheets behind you, one hand falling to grip his cock through his dusty pants, the other heavy on your neck, pushing you down into the mattress that reeks of fabric softener and stale cigarette smoke. Old sweat.

He doesn't need to tell you that she doesn't sleep in this bed anymore, but the idea of it prickles in the back of your head as he pushes you against the sheets and undoes his jeans with an ease that's more muscle memory than thought. Practiced.

You don't have the right to be jealous, but it hums through you like a sickness when you think of him doing this to her. His wife, you add, just to make it hurt. A knife in your gut that aches when you breathe—

"keep breathin', birdie," he grunts, spreading his fingers wide apart inside of you. "Don't get all tense on me now, or I'll have to start over."

You're not sure what that means, but you think you know better than to test his tenuous patience anymore than you have, and so you still. Go quiet. Breathe as he spears you deep, deeper still, and carves a space for that monstrous looking cock to fit—

where it belongs, he'd said, hunched over you like a nightmare in the daytime. All shadow and sinew. Stitched from broken daydreams of a brassy voice in your ear murmuring soon, birdie as his wife pretended to pack a lunch in the kitchen and he rubbed your nipple through your shirt before he slipped off to work.

But it's over too soon. His dirty, stained fingers slipping free from your aching, sopping cunt, leaving you empty—bereft—for a moment as he shuffles up the bed, splitting your knees wide apart to make room for the asburd width of him to fit.

An impossibility, really, but as Mr Riley—call me Simon—is wont to do, he makes it so. Wedges his wide thighs beneath yours until your hips tilt up in his lap, opening you wide. Obscenely so. And—

A grunt.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

Just looked at the split of your cunt sitting invitingly in his lap, wet and messy from his fingers, the cruel push of his palm against your clit. Swollen. Aching already—

"Want it, huh, birdie?"

The words I'm not so sure anymore hitch in the back of your throat, rearing up as he reaches between your legs to grip himself tight, too tight, until he turns a sickly shade of purple around the head that looks wider than anything you'd ever had inside of you before. But he doesn't give you a second to think before notching himself against you, giving a little push that forces the swollen head to sink inside of you—

Just the tip, really, and it already hurts. Stings like a papercut as he stretches your cunt around him, sharp and sudden.

"Too big—" you whimper, tossing your head to the side, breathing in the tang of fresh linen and musk as he grunts above you, pushing and pushing—

Something has to give.

It doesn't surprise you much when it ends up being you.

"Tha's it, birdie. Open up f'me."

It's not so much an opening as it is a siege. A conquest. And with him perched above you, heaving like bull and bathed in shadows that glue alone the mismatched asymmetry of his face, making him look less like a man and more like a figment, a statue—this Stygian being that swoops down and presses his palm against your throat, the other digging into the pillow beside your head, grunting—you feel ever bit of the battered receptacle he turns you into.

Forcing himself into you with a rough grunt, a brutal shove that—for one dizzying, awful moment—you swear you can feel inside your throat, taste on the back of your tongue. Choking on it. But then he's sinking in. Splitting you apart with brute force and that little bit of slick that you know must be stained pink—

"Good girl," he's grunting again, shoving another inch into a space much too small for him to fit. Savouring it. Relishing in the whimpers, the hiccups punched out of you with every flex of his hips. Eyes rolling a little, just a touch, when you feel something warm tickling your cheek and realise you're crying. Shush, birdie, he says, a quiet coo, but he looked delighted. Don't cry. Not yet—

another flex. two more inches. it feels like being speared open; flayed alive. it hurts. it hurts so much, you can't even begin to think through the pain, but he's huffing. groaning low in his throat as he adds:

"—'cause m'not even halfway in yet, pup."

The admission shocks you so much, you barely notice him spreading his knees beneath yours, squaring his stance, until it's too late.

"Wait—!"

If it weren't for his hand tightening around your throat before he speared the last several inches into you, you're sure the wail you might have let out would have woken Tommy. A good thing, you think, dazed, still soundlessly howling around the burning ache of him using his absurd weight to drive into you (balls deep, birdie, he grunts, and sounds so ridiculously proud, you nearly preen—), making you take every last inch. Selfishly carving more space for himself inside of you. Hollowing you out until his whole cock is drenched in your pink-stained slick—

"Makin' me all pretty, aren't you?" Huh, birdie? Nice and fuckin' pink.

A sob bubbles up beneath his palm, and he coos when he feels it, shushing you with a groan as he keeps an awful rhythm, flexing into you. Grinding deep. Carving and cutting and hollowing you out—

"Tha's it, pup," he grunts, eyes masting in leonine pleasure as he bucks into you without respite, taking his bliss from the burning stretch of your cunt. And stupidly, you think about preening. Smiling wide and big and lying to yourself about how bad you want this, him, even as the tears dribble down your chin.

Siphoned satisfaction, maybe. Or just the press of his fingers against that little thing inside of you that made you turn your cheek to his touches. Letting a married man shove his hands down your pants while you made breakfast for his kid and his wife called out to him from the next room about not waiting up for her too late.

Giving in.

That's what this feels like. A slow corrosion from the moment you knocked on his door and said you were here to help him with Tommy to now, buried under his bulk as he batters into your aching cunt, splitting you apart.

Sweat drips down his nape, pours off his face, and when it hits your skin, it feels like battery acid against your cheeks. But with his hand still lodged around your neck, there isn't much you can do except take it. Like his cock, his spit, his sweat. Let him ply you with all of it, every inch, until your body becomes accustomed to the ache.

"Fuckin' stranglin' me."

His cock hits something inside of you, and it isn't really pleasure that blooms in the pit of your belly, but something like a panacea. A wound that's soothed through touch.

Like a knife that hurts more coming out than it does stuffed inside.

But it' saws and it splits. Tears flesh. Rearranges your insides until you're wrapped tight around him, throbbing like bruise against the thick of his cock. A tight fuckin' fit, he says, and inches his fingers up to grab your cheeks. Squeezing until your mouth pops open, mewling at the deep, aching pain, and then he spits.

You don't need him to tell you what to do this time. You just close your mouth and swallow what he gives you, whimpering around the sudden ruck of his hips, a harsh jerk that slides his cockhead against the seal of your womb, dredging up a wave of pain that's soothed by the kiss of that fattened tip pressing against the sting once more. Soothed by touch. By the flood of endorphins.

Fitting, you suppose, since it feels a little bit like being eaten alive when he fucks you, grunting and snarling like a beast as he pounds into you, half-mad and starved, and you remember reading somewhere that people rarely experience any pain when they're bitten by a shark.

An oddly serene experience, out of body almost, as they're taken apart by razor-sharp teeth.

That's how you feel looking up at him, feeling the drip, drip, drip of his sweat splat on your cheeks. Warm, milky breath ghosting over your forehead. A barely there kiss when he bends down, growling into your hairline that he's gonna fill you up, pup; that Tommy's been begging for a little brother, 'asn't he? and ain't it time we gave 'im one?

You think no and don't. please don't, please, but your hands stayed curled into the duvet instead of reaching up to push him away. Knees dropping further apart as he bends down with a brassy grunt that you feel in your belly, between your hips, like molten lead. A pulsing flutter—sore muscles gripping tighter and tighter as he grunts again, and tells you to keep opening that pretty cunt up for him, birdie. Let him get even deeper.

The collar of his shirt dips low, unveiling a mass of moulted flesh suffused together in a pink ribbon array of crisscrossing scar tissue and burns. It's an odd time to notice that he hasn't bothered to undress, just shoved his jeans down his thighs and pulled his—monstrous, ugly—cock out, and forced it into you. But you do. And you feel it so acutely in your chest that even without his hand on your throat, you doubt you'd have been able to breathe. It just—

It says something, you think. Means something.

And maybe it hits you like a fist, too. A bludgeon to that little thing in the back of your head that keeps reminding you this isn't okay. That you're not supposed to be in this bed, with this man.

Marital vows, it says, all wrapped up in the scent of stale sweat and detergent. A whisper of Candy Kiss peppering the room when you arrive; a sweet sillage that tickles your nose whenever he leans down, cupping your breast in the palm of his hand. The flash of metal sitting snug on his thick ring finger. Cold and dry against your damp skin.

It crumbles under the sway of his big, thick body sawing away between your hips; turns to dust, dissolving into soot as the growls spilling out his chest tremble through your bones. The ring doesn't matter. It never did.

Not when he's decorating the space he hollowed out inside of you with these dizzying daydreams—weaving a damning tapestry with fingers bleeding from cuts made by the knife of his own artifice. Staining it red.

Pretty pink.

And eventually the ring warms between his hand and your heated skin until you can't tell the difference between metal and flesh.

(but in the smeared residuum of ash and rust, something stirs, asks if you ever really could at all—)

"Gonna make me a dad again, ain't you, pup?" Huh? He growls, rough and mean. Gonna have t'start callin' me daddy soon—

You're not sure when it started building, but the edge is suddenly there. Within reach. And he tells you in rasping groans that he feels it too. Gonna cum, biride, he says, and it sounds like a threat. A warning. It's a razor scraping against your nerves, pooling heat between your hips.

No, you think again, but your hips roll as much as they can with him bearing down above you, cradled between your slick, damp thighs—roughened up, chafed by the repeated scrape of denim. Eager for it. Hungry. Like you're starving.

And what did he say before? Oh, yeah—

Oh, I'll eat, birdie.

You feel that gnawing, gaping emptiness in your belly as he huffs, breath sticky and warm, glueing to your skin as he pants his desire over your flesh, inside your body. Pace stuttering on his next exhale, morphing into a choppy, clumsy grind—just the desperate, furious graze of his cockhead digging into that bruised, tender spot inside of you where pleasure and pain suture themselves together until one is almost indistinguishable from the other. Fear and desire warping around the edges until you're trembling from the urge to flee, but bearing your neck at the vicious spread of teeth gaping open above your caught jugular.

Simon presses his face against the side of yours, smearing sweat and spit over your heated, damp skin from where a cut in his upper lip leaves his teeth in a constant snarl, bared to the world in a vicious, brutal display of aggression, and the nudge of it against the softened, ripe apple of your cheek is what sends you over the edge before you're ready.

It's mean. A nasty, ugly climax that throbs more like a wound than a satisfying end; pulsing and spitting fire as you yowl into the bubble bulging along his ear, clawing at the duvet, and bringing your other hand up to twist into the wet fabric clinging to his broad back. Needing to hold on. To find purchase as he grunts into your skin with each brutal plunge of his hips, and then sinks his teeth into your pulse, drawing blood—

You're still clenching around him, throbbing like an infected wound, when he lifts his pinked up muzzle, bearing his crooked, bloodied teeth, and grunts with his release. Filling you with a burning, stinging heat. Painting the tapestry he hung on chiselled flesh. A home of his own making. The apex of your being is a crevasse for him to sink his desire inside until something grows.

Tommy wants a baby brother, he'd said, and as you knot your hand tighter around his sweaty shirt, you wonder if maybe you should have paid more attention to the pills you shoved into your mouth each morning, making sure they all looked exactly the same—

"Fuck, birdie," he snarls into your neck as he throbs inside of you, cock jerking until it lodges against the battered, bruised seal of your womb—soothing the ache, you think, giving a weak pulse, a little, desperate clench around him—grunting like this is all your fault.

And maybe it is. But he doesn't give you much of a choice when he ruts into you still in rolling, feverish humps that knock your teeth together each time you unhinge your jaw to tell him to stop.

(But you won't, of course—)

His hands are hot against your clammy skin, searing and rough as he pulls you back into his chest with a grunt, mumbling something about a cigarette as you pant into the sweat-slicked nook of his arm, trying to make sense of what happens next.

You should leave. And really—you're a little surprised he hadn't kicked you out already. Shoved you off of him, told you to pack your things. He'll call when he needs you next because with this burning desire of his sated, what else does he need you in bed for?

But he tightens his grip when you try to wiggle away from him with a salt-crusted, sleep-drenched noise of dissent.

He isn't done with you, he mumbles, pawing at the end table for the carton of cigarettes he left there this morning. Blue Zippo still tucked neatly inside.

It's something you'd noticed during the first week when you opened a drawer looking for Tommy's iPad charger and found his hidden stash—along with the rest. Little clues that piled up until the pieces fell, and you realised this was a strange, habitual thing of his where he needs to leave things lying around the house—a carton of cigarettes with a lighter; a duffle bag full of clothes for him and Tommy. Non-perishable food stuffed inside a rucksack. Cash. Knives. All within reach.

Most people live in their homes. Clothes in the drawers. Shoes on a rack or piled by the front food. Food in the cabinets. They carry their smokes with them or keep them in a convenient place for whenever they need them next. But Simon seems keen to uproot himself at a moment's notice. Bags within reach. Necessities all packed by the front door, ready to go. Each room has a satchel hidden somewhere. A carton of smokes. A lighter.

It means something, you're sure. Nestled between the layers of a restless, caged tiger circling its iron-barred domicile for the first chance at escape is a travesty written in spoiled ink. Chiselled into the bars, imprinted there like braille for you to run your fingers over until pockmarks make sense.

Like why Candy Kiss is left on the vanity, sitting atop a drawerful of untouched clothes. The smell of fresh linen. Pilates on a weekly basis. Don't wait up peppering the air; a soft echo cradled in the harsh snap of a door closing. Eyes barely blinking away from the flashing screen.

Or—why your clothes disappear each time you do the laundry. Lace panties and satin bras first—an almost banal perversion that barely made a gurn at. Then tights. Sweaters. Shirts. Jeans. All missing with a nonchalant shrug of a massive shoulder, and a stare that didn't much pin as it skewered. Flayed. A flat, even dunno, birdie. Maybe the ghost knicked it.

Tightly wound artifice you'll never make sense of beyond the bags and the cigarettes. The stares that make the hair on your neck stand on end—

"Fuckin' hell, pup," he grunts suddenly, pinching the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger as the other slides down your curved spine, grabbing a handful of your asscheek in his palm, giving a vicious, painful squeeze. "Can feel your little cunt leakin' all over my leg—"

He slips the filter between his teeth with an appreciative hum when you jerk, a mocking huff spilling out when you try to clamp your legs shut around the thick split of his hip wedged between them. You can feel it, too—the thick, sticky ooze of him leaking out of your sore cunt, smearing pink-tinged cum all over his jeans. He hadn't let you get up after rolling off of you—just barked at you to leave it. Keep it, birdie. Gotta take, don't it?

A barb you hadn't said anything to, opting to ignore that, like everything else he does. Did.

Will do because you can tell, even beneath all those hidden layers, that this isn't a one-time thing. No. This isn't just a man stuck in a bad marriage fucking the nanny because he can. It's deeper. Worse, somehow, than a gross older man with a fetish for younger women he can financially control. Another pervert slaking his lust on whatever artless little thing falls into his web.

No. No—

This is missing clothes stuffed inside bags kept around the house. Pills that leave a strange aftertaste on your tongue of something a shade too sweet—

You think about running. Slipping out of his hands, this bed that reeks of stale sweat and sex, putting on your clothes, and leaving this house. Burying yourself in debt again, schoolwork, and limping (with your tail between your aching thighs) back to your landlord. Never looking twice at an ad for a babysitter in your life.

—and maybe spend your whole life wondering why people mix wolves and dogs to create something that never truly feels at home in the patchwork skin it wears; pieces of ancestors it can't relate to;

But you don't.

(—you never do.)

You lie there and take it. Like the leers he aimed at you when you first showed up on his doorstep, reeking of financial desperation and swallowed down the litany of things he said to you under his breath with a wobbly grin and your eyes fixed on the tile, convincing yourself it would pass. That you were more than just a pretty face he couldn't wait to cover in his cum. A soft ass he wanted to sink his teeth into before getting his cock in there next. Tight little pussy he was so eager to break in. Pantin' like a bitch in heat, ain't you, pup? can hear you gaggin' for it a mile away—

Biting your lip so hard it bled. Blood between your teeth. Your hands curling into the coarse, starchy fabric of his work shirt when he leaned down, permanent snarl on his face from the manmade cleftlip, and reached down to grab a handful of it. Testin' the merchandise, he cooed, low and mean and ugly. Words wrapped up tight in barbed wire. Brassbound. Said nothing as he pinched your nipples through your shirt, or when he shoved his hand beneath the hem and groaned at how soft you were.

Dirty hands leaving stains all over your skin you couldn't see, but felt like a fresh, weeping tattoo. Pulsing with infection.

(Such a needy little thing he trusts with his son while his wife is gettin' railed by 'er Pilates instructor, huh? But that's fine, ain't it? Need another one, anyway. A better influence for Tommy. Someone who'll give him that little brother he's been buggin' for—)

And so, you slacken your jaw when he grunts, barking at you to open up. Say nothing when he drags his hand back up your body to grip your jaw tight in his palm, squeezing your cheeks until they pop open. Let him spit in your mouth, and swallow down the foul, stale tobacco taste of him on your tongue.

Nod, like an obedient little pup, when he says good, ain't it? and let him roll you onto your back again, wrenching your thighs apart so he can see for himself the mess he made. The one you let spill all over his jeans.

Good ones, too, he huffs, eyelids slicing over the jaded edge of obsidian into a derisive pantomime of a contented cat squinting to show affection. Half-mast in pleasure as he says he'll wear them again tomorrow an' let all the boys see what a mess you make of me—

His gaze drills into the wet, slick seam of your puffy, bruised cunt, grip tightening—vicious, possessive—until his blunt nails sink into your skin. Branding. Bruising. His fingers clench down until it almost feels like he'll break through muscle to touch bone, but just when it starts to really hurt, pushing past that strange equinoctial point where pleasure and pain wrap around each other on a razor's edge, he peels back with a grunt. Leans over you to spit in your mouth again, a wet, foamy glob that hits your bottom lip before it oozes into your mouth, tasting of stale smoke and bitter tobacco. A flavour that reeks of permanence, and smells of an incipient wolfpack—all animal musk and wildness brimming up against stale sweat, laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and sex.

Cruel, almost, like the gurns etched into his face by the missing chunk of flesh on his upper lip. Snarled and deadly. Mocking in a certain light. Like a constant sneer. Derisive and dangerous.

But not nearly as terrifying when he lists forward, dropping down to catch your jaw in his hand, the other planting itself in musty pillow beside your head, caging you in, and says:

"—and now you're makin' me a daddy again, birdie."

There's a taste in the back of your throat that's much too sweet for the dirty, oil-stained fingers he slips between your slack lips, scratching over your tongue. It reminds you of a spoonful of sugar. Grape-flavoured medicine poured over the top. And you wonder how quickly the pills you have been taking would dissolve in water when you sprinkled the white granules down the drain.

Something else you won't mention even as this house he burrowed inside changes shape—clothes in drawers, bags in the closet; the lingering scent of Candy Kiss a spoiled, stale sillage hidden under the smell of newborn and warm milk. Crushed animal crackers and Nicorette. The sound of a gaping, newly formed maw yowling for attention clashing sharply against the exaggerated screams of a grown man howling about a video game on Tommy's iPad.

thanks for hiring me and don't worry, Mr Riley, I can manage him morphing into a new sound, a continual echo of welcome home, and she called again asking about custody, daddy.

Something that throbs like a fresh wound before knitting itself together again into a thin, pink line; skin all shiny and new. Pulsing with the echoes of everything you dipped your chin again, mumbling around the malformed words of please, and don't, and now,

don't stop, please don't stop

What else are you supposed to do, really, other than lettingnhim slake the remnants of his lust between your sore, slick-stained thighs until he grunts, coming inside of you again to the damning symphony of a creaking bed, heels against the floorboards, and the sizzle of a cigarette burning away in an ashtray.

"Wait—" swallowed down by a mangled mouth. A hooked, crooked nose slides along your sweaty cheek as he all but purrs in satisfaction.

All his, he says.

And you don't fight it even as the blood pools between your teeth because you knew that from the start.

[luvbabydoll]

john price x housewife!reader — headcanons

john is so obnoxiously proud to have a housewife. he doesn't care if anyone thinks it's outdated — he loves that you're his soft little thing waiting at home for him.

he’ll call you "my missus" or "my girl" when talking about you to the boys, always with this little grin like he knows he’s luckier than anyone else.

every time he comes home from deployment, he just stands in the doorway and watches you doing something domestic — folding towels, making tea, humming to yourself — looking at you like you're a miracle.

"missed this more than you know, love."

he always hangs his hat and coat by the door like he’s really home when he’s with you.

you iron his shirts for him sometimes and it lowkey melts him because it reminds him of his mum growing up.

he lives for the smell of food cooking when he walks through the door. bonus points if you're in the kitchen wearing one of his old t-shirts or an apron.

he HATES the thought of you doing anything dangerous or stressful.

"what d'you mean you fixed the sink yourself? could’ve called someone. hell, i would’ve done it."

if anyone so much as looks at you wrong when you’re out together? that stare comes out. jaw clenched. hand on the small of your back, steering you away.

you think he’s being dramatic. he thinks he’s being merciful.

he brings you gifts from every country he goes to. not touristy stuff — little things he thought you would like.

cashmere scarf from scotland. delicate tea from asia. a necklace he saw in a market that reminded him of you.

always fills your car with gas. checks the oil. fixes the leaky tap before you even ask.

“you take care of me, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”

he loves when you fuss over him. patching up his knuckles. rubbing his back. kissing his scars.

his favorite thing in the world is slow mornings in bed with you — no alarms, no missions, just sunlight and your sleepy voice.

if you fall asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home? he’ll carry you to bed every time without fail.

"softest thing in my life, you are."

when he’s away he calls you every chance he gets — voice all gravelly and soft just for you.

"countin' down the days, darling. can’t wait to get back to my wife."

he loves how sweet and proper you look during the day — because only he gets to see you wrecked in bed later.

big into praise. always telling you how good you are for him, how beautiful you look being his.

lowkey possessive — "you’re mine, yeah? all mine." whispered against your neck when you’re half-asleep.

[quimichi]

↳ ❝ [THINGS THEY SAY DURING 'IT'] ¡! ❞ @ - Part 1.

TW: MDNI - NSFW, sexual themes obviously lol

SUMMARY: Title :)

CHARACTERS: Aether Albedo Al-Haitham Ayato Baizhu Capitano Childe Cyno Dainsleif Diluc Dottore Freminet & Gorou x F!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.044

A/N: idk just a random new idea, watch me get more and more unserious with every character you pass

Aether

❝Agh-...shit...❞ - he holds back his sounds as he moans and curses into his hand

❝ Mh-no, like that, yeah...move like that...good❞ - he bites his lip as his lust drowned eyes stare up at you, holding your thighs tight for stability

❝Slower?...okay❞ - speeds up with a slight laugh, stopping seconds later to slow down again

Albedo

❝This spot? Yeah?...knew it...❞ - it's rare for you to see him smug, but that smirk he will give you when he finds out his guess was right is something else

❝Hold still for me...yes?❞ - he pushes your thighs apart, settling down comfortably between them as he dives in

❝Some interesting sounds you make...❞ - and he will carve them into his mind. When you're away he will remember them, will miss them, miss you and everything about you

Al-Haitham

❝Keep quite...❞ - there's no harshness in his words, just slight desperation as he breaths those words in your ear as he fucks you on the couch in his shared house with Kaveh, while he is asleep in his room

❝Tell me what you want...come on, you can do it. Speak up.❞ - sometimes the way he talks to you is infuriating, like he's talking to a stupid child. It not only embarrasses you when he speaks so teasingly, it makes you angry, frustrated, and maybe a bit turned on

❝If you can't watch your hands i won't watch my teeth.❞ - you tugged on his precious hair, so he can't help but tease you even more as he eats you out

Ayato

❝Mmm...yeah...❞ - he's rather quite, Ayato hums more, right in your ear with such a disgusting smirk because he knows any sound he does will drive you wild

❝Don't overestimate yourself, hm?❞ - he always says the same as you sink down on him. He knows exactly that his tip just puts too much pressure on your cervix. He might tease you, but he doesn't want to hurt you

❝I got you...don't worry, i got you...❞ - while you come down from your high...did he came himself? No, but it's okay. You're his number 1 priority

Baizhu

❝So...warm...❞ - no matter how many times you two have sex, your warmth will always overwhelm him

❝Shh...you don't know who might come in.❞ - he doesn't take many risks but god he can't hold himself back when you help him out in Bubu Pharmacy

❝I'll take care of it...don't worry.❞ - look, he's a doctor, a people pleaser and helper, ofc he only takes care of you and not of himself

Capitano

❝Take it slow, theres no rush.❞ - says the big guy with the prettiest cock and he doesn't even know it

❝Do you need a break? No?...heh...alright then...❞ - proceeds to rearrange your guts

❝What did i tell you?❞ - he means please, tell him please, ask nicely with manners like he taught you

Childe

❝Naww, someones needy huh? It went riiight in, with no problem.❞ - I bet you can practically hear and see the smug look on this abominations face

❝Look baby i don't wanna hurt you, yeah? You need to tell me when i go too hard.❞ - just a little nice check in for him. He wants to make sure you know you are always free to tell him off, he doesn't want to force himself on and in you

❝Good? Hah-ah-...yeah...thought so...❞ - sometimes the smugness will flatter, especially once he's close...you don't know who enjoys it more, him or you

Cyno

❝You hear that?...Thats you...❞ - he pumps his fingers in and out of you, slow and fast, changing pace. But no matter how fast or slow, he absolutely loves when you're as wet as you can get

❝Are you certain that you really want th-! Ouch why'd you slap me-❞ - he always asks the same, over and over again, it's nice that he keeps asking for your consent but at this point it annoys you like...bro you already been between my legs for like 30mins I had enough time thinking about it

❝Where?...ah-quick tell me-❞ - whenever he doesn't wear a condom and realistically...I don't think condoms exist in genshin lol

Dainsleif

❝So desperate...it's almost cute.❞ - he knows it's basically a long distance relationship considering he's almost never there. That's what makes it even "better" for him when you two see each other. He can't help but tease

❝Calm down, we're not in a rush.❞ - basically the first, same vibe, call me lazy lol

❝Still...gh-taking it so well...❞ - uhhh yeah we have a theme here

Diluc

❝You look cold...i could warm you up...❞ - sometimes him being smooth works, sometimes not, and sometimes he just sounds like a cheaper version of himself (Batman)...or sometimes he does what Kaeya says-

❝Where's the 'please'?❞ - he's so well mannered it's scary, so he expects the same for you too. Say please and thank you

❝Maybe if you would've behaved like I told you to, we wouldn't be here right now.❞ - he says it so calm as he fucks you against the cold stone wall behind Angels share in the middle of the night where any drunken idiot could see...or the patrols...that are very much sober (hopefully???)

Dottore

❝Hm? This? Oh, thats just for documentation.❞ - he records your voice...he literally studies your reactions and change in voice.

❝I won't tell you again, hold still.❞ - he isn't scared of tying you up at all so either hold still or be held still

❝...hm...you're too quite...❞ - he literally wants the Tsaritsa to hear like???

Freminet

❝Ngh-h-hey-calm down or else-!❞ - WE LOBE SUB BOYS, I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM, WE LOVE SUB BOYS

❝This is...new...yeah...❞ - he's a explorer but he also wants to be explored sksksksksk

❝So-warm-!❞ - uhm...self explanatory. When he enters you it's warm lol

Gorou

❝Wdym I'm in heat AGAIN?!❞ - he can't help but not be horny like?? Have you seen yourself??

❝Agh-...i tried to br gentle but you just-❞ - no self control, smh

❝Right there? See...told you i won't forget.❞ - he's eating you out, and still remembers your most sensitive spots like it's craved in his mind...because it is

[greengoblinswifey]

Trust— Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

summary— based on season 4 episode 9, slight spoilers. rafe is convinced he can help you relax, take your mind off the drama on the ship and make you trust him.

warnings— manipulation, oral, praise kink, degrading kink, bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

Rafe looked up as you entered the small, cramped bathroom, his blue eyes narrowing before softening a bit as he registered your expression. “Come to check on me again?” he drawled, his voice low and rough after days of confinement. Despite his irritation, there was a hint of something else in his tone, something that felt almost, relieved.

“Yeah,” you replied, sighing as you slid down to sit on the floor next to him, finally giving yourself a break from the chaos upstairs. “I needed to get away from everything. JJ's out of control, everyone’s on edge, and it’s just—it's all a lot.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, shifting a bit to get more comfortable despite his tied-up position. “Sounds like a mess,” he said, a glint in his eyes. “But not surprising. I’d be losing it, too, if I were up there. Though, you don’t seem the type to lose it.”

You exhaled, glancing away. “I don’t know, sometimes I think I'm just about at my limit. It feels like I’m the only one who, I don’t know, tries to keep it all together by being civil.”

Rafe smirked slightly, his gaze unwavering. “You don’t have to, you know. Keep it together all the time,” he murmured, his voice taking on an edge. “Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam.” His voice dropped, a bit huskier. “Maybe even relax a little.” His eyes locked onto yours, and you felt your pulse quicken.

You frowned, glancing at his wrists, still bound. “Rafe…”

“Come on,” he coaxed, his tone almost too smooth. “Untie me. I’m not going to hurt you.” He held your gaze with an intensity that made you falter. “Let me help you relax.”

Hesitating, you chewed on your lip. There was something, different about him right now, and you couldn’t quite pin point it. But, against your better judgment, you reached forward and undid the ropes around his wrists, slowly freeing him.

Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, and he pulled you in close, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was both rough and gentle, catching you completely off-guard. You melted into it, the tension you’d been carrying washing away under his touch. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself leaning in closer, craving the connection.

“You’re so needy,” he murmured against your lips, “So naughty for letting me loose like this.”

Flustered, you pulled back slightly, breathless. “Rafe…”

He only smirked, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “It’s alright,” he whispered, holding your gaze with a soft, challenging glint. “Now that I’m out, maybe I can return the favor and help you feel a little better.”

You slowly nodded. You couldn’t deny the way he was making you feel.

Rafe’s hands moved slowly over your bare stomach, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your skin, sending shivers up your spine. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So responsive,” he murmured, watching your breath hitch as his hands continued their slow exploration.

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze, feeling vulnerable but completely unable to pull away. Rafe’s fingers hooked under the waistband of your skirt, and with a quiet confidence, he slipped it and your thong off, leaving you feeling even more exposed. He let out a quiet chuckle, his hands never leaving your skin.

When he pulled off his own shirt, his eyes never left yours, and then he moved closer, his presence between your legs grounding you in the moment. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low as he leaned in, and before you could fully process the warmth of his breath, he began to press soft, deliberate kisses along your inner thigh, drawing a gasp from you.

“You’re so—” you managed, words slipping away as he looked up at you with that familiar smirk, his gaze unrelenting.

“So what?” he teased, “I haven’t even started.”

Your breath grew shallow, anticipation building as his hands traced along your hips, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

His mouth attached to your clit and it sent a spark through you, his touch patient yet undeniably intent, and you couldn’t help but give in to the sensation, letting yourself relax under his steady hands. His tongue was precise, lapping up every part of your pussy that was soaked with your juices.

“Don’t hold back now,” he murmured. His constant sucking and flicking over your clit made your orgasm wash over you, leaving you completely captivated, and all you could do was let yourself melt into the moment, trusting him entirely.

“I’d say you were my good girl and you are but fuck, you’re such a slut just letting me make you cum like this, I thought you and your friends didn’t trust me?” he chuckled, sitting up til he was beside you. You buried your face into his chest, embarrassed that he was right.

“Oh that’s okay baby, don’t be embarrassed,” he laughed, “you know what would make it all better? Me doing to you what they did to me.”

Your head shot up, confusion etched across your face.

“Not like that baby, you’d be willing wouldn’t you? Would you let me tie you up and use you? Gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked huskily.

Slowly, you nodded. You couldn’t deny his words made you throb. You’d let this man do anything to you. He smirked at your obedience and took up the rope, beginning to tie you in the same position he was before. The rope was tied firmly, but not firm enough to hurt or bruise you.

“Is that okay baby? You like being all tied up for me?”

“Y-yes Rafe,” you muttered, eyes big and full of need.

He slipped down his boxers and your eyes went wider, gasping at the size of him. He was so thick and leaking for you. You needed a taste.

“Open up that whore mouth,” he growled.

Immediately, you did what was told and he shoved his cock straight to the back of your throat making you gag.

“Breathe baby, breathe, I know you can take it, you seem like you’d be such a good cock sucker.”

You wanted to prove him right, you wanted to be exactly what he thought of you. As he slowly thrusted into your mouth, your tongue went to work, swirling over the base and the tip, getting it as sloppy as you could. He moaned deeply above you, as his thrusts grew faster, your lips suctioned around him, making the sweetest little sounds.

You would’ve played with his balls if your hands weren’t tied and so, you leaned your head down, slurping and sucking on his balls as he threw his head back and shivered.

“Fuck, I knew you could do it, I knew you were a little whore, what a fucking mouth.” He slipped back into your mouth, his hands now going to your curls as he held you down on his cock, but before he could shoot his load down your throat, he pulled out.

“I know you’d swallow every last drop of my cum like the whore you are but I’d rather your pussy swallow it,” he chucked.

Heat rose in your cheeks as you thought about him filling you up. You weren’t on any form of birth control and you knew for a fact him or anyone on the ship did not have a condom in their possession. He’d definitely get you pregnant, just like his sister was at the moment. Ironic.

“Now, I have an idea.” You looked up at him curiously then gasped as he lifted your lower body, your hands in a slight awkward position as he held you up to fuck you mid air.

“Think you can take it— oh who am I kidding, you’re going to fucking take it,” he muttered, rubbing the leaking tip of his cock up and down your pussy lips.

“Your pussy is so wet and pretty, so happy you just gave it up to me.” You both moaned in unison as his cock slowly penetrated you. In that moment you partially wished your hands weren’t tied so you could’ve placed it on his abdomen, halting him from any further movements.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began pounding into you, your tits spilling out of the skimpy top you had on. His cock was deep inside you due to the angle, the feeling making your pussy quiver.

“Who’s making you feel this good huh?” he asked, his hands squeezing your hips harshly.

“You are Rafe, you,” you cried out. Your friends had definitely heard your screams.

“Good girl, trust me now?” he chuckled, breathlessly.

“Yes Rafe, I trust you. Faster, please,” you pleaded.

His rough thrusts sped up and the sound of your sloppy pussy and your loud moans filled the bathroom, possibly alerting your friends above.

“I need to feel you cum on my cock baby, you can do it,” he urged.

He went faster and deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you to draw the orgasm out. Before long, you screamed his name, your pussy squirting all over the bathroom walls as he continued fucking you through your high, pulling everything out of you.

“You’re so fucking hot, good girl,” he cooed.

He began chasing his own orgasm, his hand wrapping around your neck and his other skillfully holding under you as his thrusts grew more sloppy.

“Clench around me baby, I’m gonna pump this sweet pussy full of my cum. Gonna get you fucking pregnant, have you carry my babies inside this sexy body.”

You couldn’t protest even if you wanted to and your walls clamped around him, milking him of every ounce of his cum as he slammed into you. His thrusts grew slower and slower and he held you with one hand, the other unbinding your hands and when he did, he held you close to him, his cock still deep inside your pussy.

You both shivered under each other’s touch, panting slowly subsiding.

You shifted off him, the feeling of his big cock slipping out of you making you wince and whimper at the loss and you sat beside him.

“You look so beautiful and relaxed,” he smirked, pushing your curls behind your ear.

“Well you were right, you could help me relax,” you giggled.

“I’m always right. I meant what I said by the way, you’re gonna carry my babies inside that sexy fucking body,” he smirked, rubbing your stomach.

Before you could respond, there was a pounding on the door, it was your best friend.

“Y/N, what’s all that noise? What’s going on in there?” Cleo called out.

[maruflix]

r/AmITheAsshole u/THEsajaboy • 17 hours ago

My manager said I’m “unprofessional” and all I can think about is how I want her all for myself. AITA?

feat. saja boys (jinu-centric)　　⎯⎯　wc. 1.5k

content: female reader, manager!reader, fluff, slight crack, gets kinda dark at the end, possessive jinu, no beta we die like me after finding out that lee byung-hun is the voice of gwi-ma

note. goofy ass...

I (400, M) have a really cute manager and I kinda like her. Sometimes I tease her to get her attention (you know, like all men do) but yesterday, she tells me that I’m unprofessional and I piss her off :(

“Jinu! What did I say about posting Instagram stories without going through me first?!”

Abby is quick to scramble away from the scene of the crime, taking his phone with him. Baby, who’s looking for something to drink, quietly closes the fridge and speed-walks to the living room.

No one wants to be in your line of sight when you’re angry, demon or not.

Meanwhile, the source of all your headache is slumped over the kitchen table lazily, scrolling his phone with one hand. His other hand is deep in a bowl of popcorn as he munches away without a care in the world.

“Jinu!” Slamming your hand on the table, Jinu finally angles his head to look at you.

“Oh, hey, manager.” He smiles dazzlingly. “What did I do now?”

You exhale in frustration, knowing that Jinu loves to press your buttons. “Who’s on your Close Friends list?”

Jinu tilts his head. “There’s only one person. Guess.”

“I’m really not in the mood to play games.”

“Aww, come on~”

Instead of trying to talk with a man with the personality of a seven year old, you opt to do this the easy way: you snatch Jinu’s phone and checks his Instagram settings, sighing in relief when you see only one person in his Close Friends list:

You.

“Very funny. As if you don’t annoy me enough in the real world already, you just had to insert yourself into my online life too.” Grumbling in annoyance, you deleted his dumb story as an extra measure before handing it back to him. “Why would you post a photo of me and caption it with ‘smash’?!”

“Because...” Jinu slings an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him with one swift motion, “I would...?”

That answer must’ve not been good enough because Jinu earns himself a hard smack on the arm.

“You’re the most unprofessional idol I’ve ever had the misfortune of working with! If you piss me off one more time, I swear—!”

She’s indeed very competent at her job and she takes things very seriously. That’s part of why I like her... and also why I like to tease her. I just want her to be able to let loose and take it easy instead of always worrying about numbers and charts and promos. For the record, we actually have a pretty good relationship.

“Damn it!”

The Saja Boys didn’t even look up from their telenovela, already used to your outbursts by now.

“What now?” Jinu deadpans, “Did they cancel the feature?”

“No, worse.” You sigh, “Golden is so damn catchy.”

The boys’ head slowly turns to your direction.

“You saved it on your Spotify playlist, didn’t you?!” Jinu points, gasping in horror.

“I-” Hiding your phone behind your back, you stand up under the critical eyes of the Saja Boys, “What I do in my free time is none of your concern!”

“Have you saved Soda Pop on your playlist, have you or have you not?” Jinu narrows his eyes, crawling from the sofa to the chair where you’re sitting.

You quickly turn your attention back to your phone and clicked the plus button.

“There! I have! Of course I have!”

“Traitor!”

“It’s not what it looks like!”

.

.

.

But it is, because the next time Jinu discovers your traitorous ways is when he catches you humming a ‘We're goin' up, up, up..’ in the living room sofa as you scroll that week’s stats.

“Traitor, stop humming that song now!”

Jinu’s tickling your sides mercilessly, making you scream.

“I can’t believe we have a traitor amongst our midst!” Your laughter is infectious because he’s also smiling now. However, what you did still annoyed him and so he will punish you for that.

You try to roll away and shove him but he quickly moves on top of you, holding you in a vice-like grip as he continues his assault on your sides. You and your little arms are no match for him.

“Jinu! Ahahaha! Sto-hahaha! Ji-ahahaha!”

Upon seeing tears running down your cheeks, Jinu finally decides to take pity on you and stop his tickling. The two of you are huffing now, trying to catch your breath. None of you are moving from your position.

“Asshole,” you huff, but your eyes are smiling. “You’re so annoying.”

Jinu leans down, “But you like me annoying.” he grins, savoring the way your cheeks glow scarlet and your eyebrows furrow at your inability to make a comeback.

When you’re no longer able to fight, you choose flight.

You break away from Jinu’s grasp to stand up but your leg gets tangled with his. “Crap!”

Jinu pulls you before your back hits the edge of the table and you crash, instead, on his sturdy chest. When you look up, Jinu is smirking down at you. He doesn’t say anything, yet he doesn’t let you go. It’s like there’s a magnetic pull between the two of you. The way Jinu looks at you intently has your breath hitching.

‘Is he going to..’

You know this is not right, but you can’t move when his grip on your body keeps tightening. You can practically smell his cologne now, his eyes never leaving you even when he angles his head and your lips part—

Abby and Baby burst through the door with pizza boxes and a big bag of energy drinks, unaware of what just went down in the living room sofa.

“What are you two doing?” Abby questions, eyeing the two of you in suspicion.

“It’s not what it looks like!”

Jinu narrows his eyes when you scramble away from his lap. Damn it. And he was so close.

Lately I feel like I get jealous a lot. I even scare myself during those moments because I get so inexplicably angry when I see her with other men. I feel like I want to monopolize her.

“Abby, the shirt stays on!”

Jinu sighs quietly when the music comes to a screeching stop. Next to him, Mystery slumps to the ground. He doesn’t blame him; they’ve been trying to shoot a ‘dance practice’ video for over an hour now.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s a passive skill.” Abby grins sheepishly, walking over to you, who’s sitting crosslegged on the floor. “Are you sure, though? Surely the fans appreciate some.. service.” Abby squats down to your height and flexes proudly, the layer of sweat on his muscles glistening.

You look away, suddenly feeling flustered. “I swear..”

Jinu raises an eyebrow at this.

“Ha! I knew our manager also appreciates some of... this!”

His flexing only causes you to blush even more. Sure, you’ve also managed other boy groups before, but all of them are the cute, respectful type who calls you ‘noona’ and looks up to you with puppy-dog eyes.

The Saja Boys, though? They’re in a league of their own.

The ice cold water bottle to your burning cheek is a lifesaver. You turn to see Romance, looking at you unblinkingly.

His goofy face makes you laugh. “Thanks. Sure is hot in here.”

Before you can finish drinking, Jinu is already by your side, seizing your arm and dragging you with him.

“Whoa- wait!”

When the two of you is outside, Jinu stops. Truth be told, he also doesn’t know why he reacted like that.

“Jinu? What’s gotten into you?”

What has gotten into him, indeed? All he knows is when you look at someone else, his heart churns. When you get flustered and it’s not because of him, something dark writhes inside him.

The Saja Boys are his comrades, but if they get in his way, he’ll—

“Jinu! It hurts!”

Your yelp breaks his train of thoughts. He quickly lets go of your arm. “S-sorry.”

“What’s wrong? You’re scaring me!”

Jinu just stares at you, his jealousy growing even deeper when he remembers you smiling and laughing with the other members.

Someday, when you see his true colors, are you going to leave him?

“Jinu!”

Your grip on his shoulders is secure, anchoring him back down to reality. Jinu looks at you and smile. “I guess I feel left out when I see you getting along with everybody..”

“What? Jinu...”

“I know I’m a handful. You probably hate working with me, and—”

You pull him into a hug. Although you scold him a lot, you don’t want him to misunderstand your feelings: he’s a great guy and you like him. Sure, you think he’s an all-around cocky guy and that ego of his can be knocked down a notch, but... to think that someone like Jinu can also feel self-conscious...

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jinu. I can never hate you.”

Jinu smiles, slipping his arms around your waist to hug you back. Has he been approaching this with the wrong tactic? The gears in his brain are turning, thinking of ways to bind you to him.

All the while, his demon mark gleams silently.

I think she likes me but she wants to take things slow because she’s still unsure of her feelings. The problem is, I’m not a patient man and I want to have her all to myself ASAP. I can’t risk her having second thoughts. What can I say? I love her so much, so it should be normal, right? So what do you think?

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (1) | Only Human

In a world filled with humans and hybrids attempting to find balance with one another, you are but a simple human trying to integrate into the town on the property your late grandparent bequeathed to you. The town just so happens to have a small population of farming hybrids, with hardly any other humans around. 

“So you’re the inheritor…(Y/n)? (L/n)?”

“Yes, I have my I.D. if you want to check.”

“..Right….but the owner of the original property was a hybrid…you are not.”

“Not that it matters. But my grandfather’s partner was a Wolf hybrid…They both agreed to give it to me when they both passed.”

“I..see.”

It might be right to call it racism or maybe more accurately it’s specism and the townsfolk aren’t all that keen on hiding it. They openly sneer at you when you do come to town, whispering loudly about what they’ve heard, and rolling their eyes if you have the gall to ask them a question. 

“Can I get these bags of mulch in bulk?”

“...so what are ya talkin’ to me for? Just grab ‘em.”

“Your sign says to ‘ask for more at the front desk.’”

“...Fine dirt monkey. How much?”

It doesn’t bother you…sometimes. You mostly spend your days on your property, having picnics in the open fields you now own. Spending time renovating your cottage with all the custom plumbing and electricity you learn to install yourself. Wouldn’t want some unfriendly technician in town doing it instead. Anyways you get into the routine of sustaining yourself in your lonesome working from home and relying on your savings to help you enjoy your new life. That doesn’t stop until the one fateful day…you’re lounging on your deck when you hear something faint. It sounds like crying. 

“Waaaaa!”

It sounds like a child…which isn’t unfamiliar, after all your neighbors do seem to be a little family. Of course, they don’t want to talk to you but that’s fine.

“Waaaa!”

It sounds pretty intense but you’re sure it’ll stop soon. 

“Waaaaa! Somebody help, please!”

Now it feels wrong to ignore it any longer. You quickly fix yourself to head over, driving the tractor that you ride across your property to the fence that represents the beginning of your neighbor’s property. It was short work to hop over the fence and hear the crying persisting. Running to the back porch of the house, you see a little dog boy crying his heart out. 

“I heard you crying what’s wrong?”

The kid starts blubbering wiping at tears and snot on his face. After some calming pats between the ears and some promises to help you can get a clear picture.

“Mama fell ‘ver and she won’t wake up!”

You run inside to find exactly that. A dog woman face down on the floor while the soup on the stove boils out and whatever’s in the oven beginning to smoke. Stopping the appliances you flip over the woman in search of a heartbeat and breathing. Thankfully you find it and ask the little boy where you can lay her down. He points you to the bedroom down the hall passing by another bedroom and a bathroom. 

Once you’ve laid her down, check her temperature, and decide in your not-so-expert opinion that she’s suffering from a fever. Assuring the little dog boy you have him help you carry some cold water and a rag to place on her head. While making sure she drinks some water, you finally get to talking to the little dog boy who’s started to calm down now.

“That was real brave of you, good job for asking for help.”

“Big brother always said I gotta since I’m too tiny to do much myself.”

“Well, I thought you were very helpful and you don’t seem that tiny to me.”

“Thanks!” 

“No problem! My name’s (Y/n).”

“And my name’s Titan! By the way (Y/n) I’m real hungry!”

That’s how you ended up cleaning the dishes, Titan’s mother started and using what you could to make something new. You stuck with one of your old family recipes, relying on your memory the best you could to avoid another charred disaster. Eventually, you finish up able to set a plate in front of Titan who is more than happy to dig in. 

“More! More!”

“Okay Titan just a little bit more but you can’t eat it all we’ve got to save some.”

“Whyyyy!?”

“Because your mom hasn’t eaten yet and I’m sure your brother will want some when he gets home–”

“But he’s never aroun’ we’ll be waiting forever for him to come!”

Creak.

“Titan who is this?”

The new voice comes from a much larger dog man with a sturdy build, sun-kissed skin, and overalls barely hanging off his shoulders. His ears are narrowed back and his shoulders are hunched as he easily towers over you. With Titan’s help, you explain how you came to help and that his mother had fainted, likely from the fever she had. When you show him to her, his bared teeth and impending growl quiet down. Fussing over her as he checks for any sign that you might be lying. Finding that you’re not, he skeptically accepts the meal you made as you alternate watching over her and entertaining Titan–who’s far too chipper for a pup ready for bed. 

“Hey uh, wanted to apolog’ze for earlier”

“For what?!”

“Fer how I acted when you’re just helpin’ out.”

“Oh, it’s okay! I’m just happy no one’s hurt.”

“I’m also sorry for misjudging you. I think I had the wrong impression bout ya.”

As you continue to chat with the young dog man–Tank you both work together to finish up whatever chores his mom would usually do. Between you both Titan is convinced to finally get some sleep if it’s in your lap close to his mom. Tank suggests you stay over bashfully offering his bed if you need it. You decline, encouraging him to get some much-needed rest considering he was working on the farm tomorrow. 

“A-a-are you sure you don’t want to stay in a bed? I feel like it’s the least we could do.”

“No worries Tank, I’m going to watch over your mom until this fever breaks. Besides I don’t have the heart to move Titan now.”

“Fair I guess. Hopefully, I’ll see ya tomorrow?”

“Yeah if I’m not still here in the morning you can come to my place anytime.”

His fluffy tail wags a lot harder than he likes at that.

“R-really?”

“Yeah, anytime!”

With another ‘thank you’ he’s off to bed. It isn’t until sunrise that the fever breaks and the dog-hybrid mother is coming to. Assuring her that her boys and the food she left in the oven are not burning the house she calms down to thank you.

“Oh thank you thank you I don’t know what I would have done without you!”

Where you’ll have to fight her off from her barrage of kisses, hugs, and propositions to stay long enough for her to cook something for you to take home, as much as you wanted to stay and indulge in her acts of thanks, you missed your bed and it was plenty exhausting now that you were being spoken to positively. Convincing her that you were such a short drive away that she didn’t need to keep you too much longer and after promising that she and her boys were welcome anytime you could finally go home. 

“You promise?”

“Yes, Miss Tiffany I promise, anytime you’d like.”

“Just not now?”

“Yes, not now so please get some rest!”

Back in the comfort of your home, everything is more or less the same except for the recently obsessed friendly neighbors who make all the quiet time you used to have nonexistent. 

“Wake Up! Wake Up! Let’s play!”

“Egh Titan how did you get in here?”

“Through your doggy door!”

“But I don’t have one!”

“Now you do!”

Thus begins the first few to fall for the lone human in this hybrid town. Hardly shy about their newly discovered attraction as they fill their dull hours up with time next to you. Lucky them as your neighbors they’re the only ones privy to your addictive affection and comforting scent. 

“Oh! I was about to drive over to drop off Titan!”

“What a coincidence! We were just coming over to have dinner at yours!”

“Huh?”

“Well, you did say we can come and thank you anytime!”

“So we figured why not now!”

“In fact, maybe every week we come over to yours and you come over to ours!”

“I mean I guess-?”

“Wonderful Titan, Tank clear the kitchen I’m going to make this dinner the best yet!”

“Yes’m!” “Yes’m

The Dog hybrid family next door is all too eager to take up all of your time. Since the moment you moved in they’ve been eager to truly get to know you, woefully settling with the distant wafts of your scent during a favorable breeze. Unlike others in the town their curiosity for the human was a positive one blaming it on their all too friendly instincts they couldn’t deny the urge they got to close to the distance between you two. But alas everyone in the town was so averse to the idea they were pushed off the desire for far too long but after your sweet words and intentions, they’d be foolish not to return the affection. 

“(Y/n) if you’d like me to cut the grass, I don’t mind.”

“That’s really sweet, Tank but I told myself I wouldn’t allow myself to sit back and let others do all the work.”

His tail droops at that. “Ah I see.”

“But you won’t tell me to go away will you (Y/n)? After I made that doggy door and everything.”

“You just chewed a hole in my door and I’m not saying you can’t stop by Tank I just don’t want it to be because you’re doing more work.”

His tail is wagging a mile a minute again. “I don’t mind if it’s for you!”

With your canine hybrid neighbors so close it’s hard to forget you were ever left alone. Now quiet and sometimes confrontational trips are filled with at least one member of the family accompanying you. Willing to bargain at stores for you or impressively growl when the cashier’s being a tad too snippy. It does make you nervous when the tiny Titan politely asks the nosy bird-woman who had the nerve to whisper about you to a ‘nice chat’ in the alley between the store. Returning with tufts of feathers and blood in his baby teeth. Or how Mama Tiff will oh so politely mention her bloodhound heritage at the fox bullies that hang around your car. Or when Tank all too eagerly pulls you into his side when he finds you cornered by the snake librarian.

“Back off my human!”

After any confrontation, you’ll ask your questions. Head on or round about they’ll all only smile at you, tail wagging wildly behind them. As if they’re proud of the slight fear in your eyes when you ask what that was about.

“We just want to protect you! You are only human after all!”

Part 2: It's Here!

[i2sunric]

𝐄𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 (l.hs)

p.s. ─────── ୨ৎ ────── i already did

PAIRING: boss!heeseung x employee!reader (f)

SUMMARY: who knew an email sent in a moment of range could spark a burning desire between you and your boss?

WARNINGS: 95% smut 5% plot. fingering, dirty talk, reader is burnout, semi public sex, oral (m receiving), blowjob, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), sex while on the phone, pool sex (not really narrated), missionary, riding, creampie, office sex; fluff, established relationship, reader wears a tiny bikini, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 28th April 2025

WC: 9.4k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @jakeflvrz @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove @17ericas @riribelle @cloud-lyy @enhamonsterghoul @star-hoon @princesstiti14

a/n: i’m so fucking sleepy i just wan to go to bed but hey! i’ve been dead on this app for sometime so lemme drop this. hope y’all like it and please LIKE & REBLOG to share + lmk your thoughts 🩷🩷 (enjoy my calligraphy in the picture).

It was one of those days.

The kind where your inbox filled up faster than you could breathe, the phones wouldn’t stop ringing, and the breakroom coffee had been left to die a slow, cold death in the pot since 8 a.m.

You hadn’t even had a chance to take more than two sips of yours— barely enough to take the edge off the brutal headache crawling behind your eyes.

Noon had come and gone, and your lunch sat forgotten in your drawer, untouched and already lukewarm.

You rubbed at your temples as you stared at the latest email that had just come in from her again— your personal tormentor for the past three weeks.

Mrs. Kim.

There she was, requesting the same impossible order you had already refused.

Not once. Not twice. Eight goddamn times.

You counted them.

You explained patiently and then less patiently that the items she wanted were discontinued, had been discontinued for two fiscal years now, and were no longer in the company’s catalogue.

You linked her to alternatives. You CC’d the product manager. You called her, even, and yet here she was again—

"Dear,

Following up again. I don't understand why this is taking so long. I’m requesting the original order from 2021. Can you process this today?"

That was it. The last thread of your patience snapped.

Your fingers flew across the keyboard, possessed, every keystroke a satisfying clack of indignation.

You didn’t care.

You were soaked in stress and caffeine and the fading hope of ever having a quiet afternoon.s

"Mrs. Kim,

For the last time: we do not carry that product anymore. I have told you this eight times. Eight. I don’t know if you’re ignoring me on purpose or just incapable of reading full sentences, but either way, I’m not wasting any more time repeating myself. Maybe go get yourself checked.

You are welcome to refer to the updated catalogue I sent you four emails ago. If that’s too difficult, I’d be more than happy to point you to someone who does have time to coddle unreasonable requests.

Kindly, please, stop emailing me about this.

— Y/N"

You clicked "Send" with a sense of righteous satisfaction.

A victorious breath left your lungs as you leaned back in your chair, folding your arms.

It wasn’t until ten minutes later that you saw the reply ping.

And then you saw who it was from.

Lee Heeseung

— Re: Mrs. Kim order.

Your blood turned to ice.

You forgot.

You completely forgot about the BCC—the default blind courtesy copy to your boss, a setting meant for transparency, accountability, and gentle professional oversight.

You’d set it up months ago during performance review season and then never gave it a second thought.

You clicked on the thread like you were opening your own coffin lid.

"Hi Y/N

Well… that was certainly a passionate response.

I think she noted on the product being discontinued.

Let’s circle back to this client later. maybe I can take over if needed.

For now, step away from your inbox and grab a coffee. Deep breaths. :)

— Heeseung"

Your stomach dropped so fast it might as well have hit the basement.

He didn’t even sound mad. That was the worst part. There wasn’t a single reprimand, not even a passive-aggressive comment.

He was giving you a chance to fix it yourself.

You stared at the screen for another full minute, then slowly stood, your legs weak as you grabbed your employee badge and took the elevator upstairs.

The executive floor was always eerily quiet compared to the chaos below.

Carpeted hallways absorbed all sound, and the scent of fresh espresso floated from the machine that Heeseung insisted on using himself every morning— never the breakroom sludge.

You walked past the glass meeting rooms, the sleek decor, until you reached the wide double doors that marked his corner office.

You paused. Knocked.

"Come in," came the voice. low, smooth, always relaxed in a way that somehow made it more intimidating.

You pushed the door open and stepped in, trying to keep your posture from crumpling into guilt.

Heeseung sat behind his desk, blazer off, sleeves rolled, laptop open. His eyes flicked up to you.

"Hey," he said, not unkindly. "Surprised you didn’t run straight to the fire escape."

You swallowed. “I… I’m so sorry, sir.”

His brow arched slightly, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his hands on the edge of the desk.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just waited, giving you enough silence to make your own words echo back at you.

“I didn’t mean for it to go out like that,” you rushed, nervous now, your throat tight. “I was just so— so overwhelmed, and she’s been driving me insane for weeks, and I know that’s no excuse, I just… I completely forgot the BCC was still on. I wasn’t trying to be unprofessional… well, okay, I was, a little, but I didn’t mean for you to see it, and that’s not better, I know, but—”

"Take a breath," he interrupted gently.

You did.

Inhale. Exhale.

He tilted his head, looking at you with a calm you were desperately trying to borrow.

"You clearly didn’t mean for me to see it," he said with a hint of dry humor. "That was obvious by the way you said, ‘incapable of reading full sentences.’"

You winced. “I know. I know, I’m so sorry, that was… I was just frustrated.”

"Yeah, I got that part loud and clear." He smiled faintly. "You know, if you’d added one more insult, I think the server might’ve flagged your email as harassment."

You dropped your face into your hands. “Oh my god.”

He laughed quietly.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was soft. Understanding.

Which only made the heat crawl up your neck worse.

"I’m not mad," he said, and you looked up, cautiously.

He stood, walking slowly around the desk to lean against the edge.

His arms folded casually across his chest as he looked at you.

"I’ve seen worse. Much worse. Hell, I’ve sent worse. You’re not the first employee to lose it on a client who doesn’t listen, and I doubt you’ll be the last."

"That doesn’t make it okay," you murmured.

"No, it doesn’t. But it makes it human. And it tells me you care enough to be pissed.”

That surprised you. You blinked up at hiem.

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don’t need perfection. I need people whoho get frustrated when things go wrong. But I also need people who can recognize when they’ve gone too far and come up to say what you just did."

You looked at the floor. “Still… I should’ve handled it better. She might report me.”

"She might," he agreed, not sugarcoating it. "But I’ll handle it if she does. I’ve got your back."

You swallowed hard. His voice was calm, but firm. Final. He meant it.

"Thank you," you said quietly. "Really."

"You’re welcome. And hey…" He pushed off the desk, walking toward the espresso machine behind him. "You didn’t have lunch yet, did you?"

Your stomach growled traitorously. He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

"Didn’t think so. I’m ordering in. You’re having a rough day, so I’ll let you pick the place."

You blinked at him. “Are you… rewarding me for that email?”

He smirked. "No. I’m rewarding you for surviving the week without quitting or combusting, consider it a boss’s mercy."

You laughed, finally, the tension bleeding from your shoulders.

He handed you his phone with the food apps already open, the glow of the screen warm against your palm.

And as you scrolled through the options, still feeling the flush of embarrassment under your skin, you thought— maybe it wasn’t the worst day after all.

☆.

Today was the worst day.

It had already gone to hell by the time it hit 6:45 p.m.

You were the last person left on your floor. again.

The office was a graveyard of abandoned coffee cups and empty swivel chairs, the windows dim with evening light as the sun dragged itself under the horizon.

Everyone else had mysteriously developed urgent appointments or nonexistent deadlines that somehow meant they couldn’t stay late to help with the mountain of archival reports dumped unceremoniously onto your desk.

You were hungry.

Tired.

Your back ached from leaning over outdated filing codes, and your fingers were permanently smudged with printer toner and dust.

Your last message in the team group chat asking “anyone still around to help scan the last batch?” had been left on read.

Of course it had.

You swore under your breath, stuffing another stack into the ancient office printer that had already groaned at you three times.

The stupid thing was older than your internship

. It made this grinding, death-rattle sound every time you asked it to scan anything double-sided. You were halfway through cursing at it when the overhead lights flickered once.

Twice.

And then the power cut out completely.

A sharp click of darkness. Then silence.

You stood frozen in place, fingers still on the edge of a document feeder. A beat passed. Then another.

You stared into the void, blinking, the only sound the faint tik-tik-tik of the unplugged printer slowly powering down like it was dying dramatically in your arms.

You sighed. “You have got to be kidding me.”

You waited. Surely the backup would kick in.

It didn’t.

The battery emergency lights flicked on around the hallway, casting everything in a soft red glow like the inside of a submarine.

Your entire floor looked apocalyptic.

It would’ve been funny if you weren’t thirty pages away from finishing and aching to get home.

"This is so stupid," you muttered to yourself. You paced around your desk, cracked your knuckles, and then, because the universe clearly had it out for you, tripped slightly on a cable.

You whirled around, eyes narrowing at the printer like it had personally insulted your intelligence.

You weren’t usually violent, but something about the whole day had ignited a very specific brand of frustration in your chest— the kind that made you want to break things. Or cry. Or both.

So when the lights buzzed for a brief second and the printer beeped at you with a snide error code for the fifth time in a row, you snapped.

“Alright, you boxy little demon,” you hissed. “Let’s dance.”

You kicked it.

You meant it to be symbolic. A warning. An expression of just how done you were.

Unfortunately, your foot caught the corner of the machine.

And because karma is very real and very punctual, your boot slid awkwardly through the paper tray, lodging itself inside the machine with a humiliating clunk.

“Shit,” you whispered, staggering forward and grabbing the desk for balance. “No, no— come on.”

You tugged. Nothing.

You yanked harder..

“Are you kidding me?” you groaned, now bent awkwardly sideways over the printer, one foot completely jammed in the lower tray, arms flailing for something to grab.

The evil machine wobbled, and you grabbed it to keep from tipping it over, your hair falling into your face as you tried to wiggle your leg free.

The overhead lights snapped back on all at once.

Power returned with an electric hum.

Machines came alive. Computers rebooted.

The lights flickered to life overhead like judgmental gods bearing witness.

And at that exact moment, you heard a door open down the hall.

You froze.

Slow footsteps. Leather shoes on carpet.

You knew that walk. You’d memorized it over the last few months without meaning to— those long, easy strides. That quiet confidence.

Lee Heeseung.

Of course he was still here. Of course he chose now to emerge from his corner office.

You tried to untangle yourself, but the paper tray refused to budge, your boot stuck in such a cursed angle you briefly considered removing your entire leg.

Heeseung’s voice was much too close when he finally spoke.

“…Am I interrupting something?”

You froze, eyes wide.

You didn’t even need to look at him to hear the amusement dripping off every syllable.

“I—” You cleared your throat. “No. I mean, yes. I mean— I’m fine.”

you finally risked a glance up… and there he was, standing a few feet away in his usual dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled halfway to his elbows, tie loose, a sleek laptop tucked under one arm.

His dark hair fell across his forehead in a way that was just unfair. And he was smiling. Very clearly trying not to laugh, but smiling.

“Should I even ask how this happened?” he said, gesturing vaguely at the situation.

You, half-folded over a printer like a modern art sculpture. One foot swallowed alive by outdated office equipment.

You groaned and dropped your head against the top of the machine. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He chuckled under his breath, moving forward. “Alright.”

Your head snapped up. “Really? You’re not gonna ask why I did this?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It’s clear you have some anger management issues.”

You blinked at him. Well, he ain’t wrong.

He crouched down beside the printer, setting his laptop carefully on the floor. “Let me take a look, don’t move.”

“Oh yeah,” you deadpanned. “I’ve got so many options.”

He shot you a grin. “Careful. Keep being cute and I might leave you here.”

You flushed, instantly. “Sorry, Sir.”

“What?” he said, clearly enjoying this too much. “I’m just saying, I’ve never had an employee try to merge with office machinery before. It’s a new milestone.”

You buried your face in your hands as he gently maneuvered the paper tray open from the opposite side, humming softly to himself.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “I see the problem.”

“Is it me?”

“Mostly.” He grinned, grabbing onto the corner of the tray and wiggling it slightly. “But also, this machine is trash. You were absolutely justified in assaulting it.”

You bit back a laugh. “Don’t tell HR.”

“HR’s gone home. And besides, I’m the one you report to.”

You paused. “So you’re saying I could commit minor office crimes and get away with it?”

He glanced up at you from under his lashes, dark eyes amused. “I’m saying if anyone’s going to report you, it won’t be me.”

The tray finally released with a snap, and your boot came free all at once, nearly sending you toppling backward. Heeseung caught your arm before you could fall, his grip warm and steady.

“There we go,” he said, helping you balance. “Foot intact?”

“Barely,” you mumbled, brushing your hair out of your face. You looked down at your scuffed boot, then back up at him. “I think we might need a new printer.”

He smirked. “I think you need a break.”

You hesitated. The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Because he was right.

You’d been drowning lately, taking on every overflow task, every weekend shift, picking up the slack whenever someone else dropped the ball.

You hadn’t complained. Not out loud.

But your body was exhausted, your head full of static, and your foot was living proof that you were about five seconds from completely losing your mind.

Heeseung must’ve seen it in your face, because his expression softened.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You don’t have to keep doing everything on your own.”

You looked away. “It’s fine. Everyone’s busy. I can handle it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

There was a silence. A long one. He stepped a little closer.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said softly. “Not in a creepy way— just… I see how hard you work. How you take on more than you’re asked to, how you stay late every night, even when it’s not your responsibility. You think that goes unnoticed?”

You swallowed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he said. “You don’t have to burn yourself out to prove you belong here.”

The words hung between you, heavy and warm and real.

You finally looked up at him and found him already watching you, his gaze steady, thoughtful.

You felt something in your chest shift. Something small, quiet, and undeniable.

Heeseung smiled gently. “Come on, I’ll buy you dinner, you’ve earned it.”

You blinked. “You’re bribing me with food.”

“I’m rescuing you from this cursed printer,” he corrected. “It’s part of the job description.”

You laughed, a real one this time, and let him lead you away from the graveyard of scanned archives and haunted machinery.

His hand brushed yours as you walked side by side out of the office, and neither of you moved away.

☆.

You hadn’t expected anything beyond some greasy takeout and maybe a few jokes to soften the edge of your embarrassment.

But somewhere between the second round of dumplings and Heeseung trying to guess what playlist you put on when you're really mad, something shifted.

You found yourself laughing more easily than you had in weeks.

He was funny in a sly, dry sort of way— casual but sharp, with this low warmth in his voice that made everything he said sound like it had a double meaning.

Not that he was flirting.

Not exactly.

But there was something in the way his eyes lingered on yours a second too long after every shared joke, something in the way his thumb brushed too casually along the rim of his cup when you took a sip of yours and left a glossed fingerprint behind

And you weren’t exactly not leaning in when he talked.

When you came back to the building, it was after an hour, There was a kind of stillness that made your footsteps echo across the marble floors and made the flicker of vending machine lights look cinematic.

He’d offered, half-jokingly, to let you finish up your work in his office, because his A/C actually functioned, and his desk chair didn’t creak like it was on the verge of collapse.

You said yes. Obviously.

Heeseung unlocked his door and held it open for you.

His office smelled faintly like citrus, due to the candle lit in the corner, and something a little woodsy, probably the cologne that clung to his shirtsleeves.

The overhead lights were dimmed low, and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk stretched out into the city, glittering in the dark.

You stepped in and paused, suddenly aware that you were somewhere very personal. It was tidy, precise.

You turned to thank him, but he was already watching you from the doorway, his hands in his pockets.

“Take the desk,” he said, smiling softly. “I won’t even be mad if you kick it.”

You smirked and dropped your bag onto the guest chair. “Don’t tempt me.”

He moved past you, loosening his tie the rest of the way and tossing it onto the coat rack.

The click of his laptop followed, and then music— something R&B and low enough that it almost felt like background noise to the silence around you.

You settled behind his desk, relishing the cool burst of air from the functioning A/C vent. The chair was absurdly comfortable.

You kicked off your boots and leaned back with a soft sigh of relief.

“Better?” he asked from his corner.

You nodded. “Miles better. I might not leave.”

He raised a brow. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

There it was again— that something.

just enough weight behind the words to make you pause. His voice had dropped half a note lower.

You reached for the folder you’d been working on earlier that you brought there, suddenly conscious of the faint buzz under your skin.

You tried to focus on your work, but your mind kept slipping.

The room was warm now, and so was the space between you, too heavy with something unsaid. Every glance he gave you seemed a little longer, like he was debating something in real time.

You looked up from the folder and found him leaning against the edge of the window, arms folded, watching you.

“You’re different when you’re not in the middle of a crisis,” he said.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re quieter, but in a good way. Like you finally have room to breathe.”

Your heart gave a small, unwanted flutter. “Is that your way of saying I’m usually too stressed out to function?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “It’s my way of saying I like seeing you like this.”

The space between you collapsed by inches.

He was standing just on the other side of the desk now, one hand resting lightly on the polished wood, eyes locked on yours.

The city lights outside were a soft blur behind him. Your breath caught, stuck in your chest.

“Heeseung…” you started, uncertain. Because somewhere between fries and dumplings, he gave uou the green light to call him by his first name.

“I’m not trying to mess with you,” he said softly, cutting you off without force. “But I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about this… about you.”

You swallowed. The tension had shifted into something tangible now.

It pooled in your belly, a tightness threaded with heat. You felt it in the curl of your toes against the carpet, in the quick, darting beat of your pulse.

“I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it,” you murmured.

“You weren’t.”

You stood slowly, the chair gliding back with a soft scrape.

He didn’t touch you yet.

“I meant what I said,” he said, voice low and even. “I’ve seen how much you carry. You work so damn hard, and no one ever makes space for you to just be. I want to do that, even if it’s just for tonight.”

There was something deeply sincere in his voice. Like this wasn’t just wanted. It was something more careful. Something he’d been holding back.

You stepped into his space, breathing shallow, and said, “Then show me.”

The moment he touched you, it was with a reverence that made your knees weak.

His fingers grazed your jaw, tilting your face up.

He paused, just long enough to make sure— long enough to let you lean in first. And when you did, he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting.

His mouth was warm and slow against yours, lips parting gently, breath mingling. His hands found your waist, grounding and sure, pulling you closer.

You curled your fingers into the collar of his shirt, the soft cotton warm from his skin. He deepened the kiss gradually, coaxing you into it, tasting the hesitation out of your mouth until you melted into him.

When you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

He leaned his forehead against yours. “Still okay?”

You nodded. “More than okay.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not done.”

He walked you backward toward the desk, hands steady on your waist, until you were pressed against the wood.

He kissed your neck softly, then more deliberately, leaving a slow trail to your collarbone as his hands skimmed under the hem of your blouse.

You gasped when his fingers touched your skin, warm and unhurried, exploring every inch like he wanted to memorize it.

You reached for his belt, nerves trembling with anticipation.

He caught your wrist gently “Let me take care of you,” he said, voice like velvet.

You nodded.

He moved with purpose now, pulling your blouse off with a soft sound of approval, eyes dark as they raked over you.

He leaned you back over his desk, fingers gliding down your hips, lifting you slightly onto the surface. The wood was cool under your thighs, the air sharp against your skin.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

His mouth returned to yours with renewed urgency, hands trailing over every curve, every line, until you were sighing against him, your fingers tangled in his hair.

When he finally undressed you fully, it wasn’t rushed.

It was deliberate. Worshipful.

He pressed kisses to the inside of your thighs, your hips, your ribs, like he was chasing every sigh that left your mouth.

And when his hands finally slipped lower, when his fingers teased and stroked and coaxed you into a slow, building pleasure, you arched under him, gasping his name.

“Heeseung— oh—”

He smirked, slipping a finger inside you, and then a second one.

You were so worked up already, your thighs trembling around his waist as he pressed kisses on your neck.

“Fuck,” you sighed, “Faster.”

“Milady.” he complied, hurrying his fingers, curling them right where you needed them.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “Let me hear you, let go.”

And you did.

You came undone with your back arched off his desk and his name on your lips.

Later, as he tucked you into his chair with your shirt back on and a glass of water in your hand, he knelt beside you, brushing your hair gently from your face.

“Still okay?” he asked again, voice soft.

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“I meant it, you know,” he murmured. “Whatever happens after this— I want to be the one who makes space for you.”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I think you already are.”

☆.

It had started with an email. And it continued with an email now too.

You were half-conscious, running on your second cup of coffee and buried in quarterly reports, when your inbox pinged with that familiar chime.

Most emails in your morning queue were mind-numbing— reminders from admin, updates on broken copy machines, requests to “circle back” on things that no one ever wanted to circle forward in the first place.

But this one was from Heeseung.

The subject line read:

urgent file request – please review ASAP

Your stomach twisted the way it always did now when his name popped up on your screen. A quiet, breathless little flip.

You clicked it open, expecting a report or some scanned doc he wanted reviewed.

Instead, you found:

From: Lee Heeseung

To: You

Subject: urgent file request – please review ASAP

Can you come to my office and check if the file I’m thinking about is tucked between your thighs?

Might need to examine it closely.

Very closely.

– H.

You nearly choked on your coffee.

Heat rushed to your cheeks and your neck as you jerked your head up— he was in his office, of course.

Glass walls, the blinds open. He was pretending to be on a call, holding the phone to his ear, nodding, totally composed.

But when your eyes met his, he winked.

The phone probably wasn’t even on.

You sunk a little lower in your chair, your thighs tightening automatically.

That look he gave you set off a ripple down your spine.

It had been three weeks since the first time he pulled you across that desk and showed you just how good things could feel.

Since then, everything between you had changed.

You still worked. Still got things done.

but now, when he passed by your desk, he let his fingers brush your shoulder a little too casually. When he asked you to stay late for “filing,” the door always locked behind you. And now, apparently, he was taking it to email.

You typed back before you could second-guess it:

From: You

To: Lee Heeseung

Subject: RE: urgent file request – please review ASAP

Sorry, that file is confidential. You’ll have to check with your hands. or tongue.

I’m available in five.

— Y/N

You slipped into his office with a folder in your hands purely for cover.

He was seated behind his desk, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The city glared behind him in the afternoon light, and his laptop was open— but he barely glanced at it when you stepped inside.

He leaned back, dark eyes dragging over you from head to toe.

“Lock the door,” he said quietly.

You did. And closed the curtains for privacy.

When you turned back around, he was already on his feet. He crossed the room in a few slow steps, standing in front of you, taking the folder out of your hands and setting it blindly on the shelf.

He cupped your face, tilting it up, and kissed you without hesitation.

It was slow at first, teasing— his lips soft, mouth coaxing yours open as if he had all the time in the world.

You sighed into it, your hands going instinctively to his waist, curling into the soft cotton of his shirt.

The kiss deepened, his tongue stroking over yours, and you whimpered softly when he slid a hand down your back and pressed you against the door.

“Lord,” he murmured, mouth brushing against yours, “you taste like cinnamon today.”

You swallowed hard. “Too much coffee.”

“Perfect amount,” he whispered, and kissed you again.

He backed you toward his desk, trailing kisses from your mouth to your jaw, down the line of your neck.

Your hands fumbled with his buttons, needing him closer, needing something to fill the ache that had been growing ever since that first email.

When he sat down in his desk chair, he pulled you into his lap without asking.

You straddled him, your skirt already hiked up. His hands settled on your thighs, slow and warm, thumbs stroking upward.

“You always get so worked up when I tease you,” he murmured against your ear. “You like getting those emails?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “You’re going to get me fired.”

He laughed softly, low in his throat. “No one’s firing you. Not when you do such a good job to me.”

You kissed him again and rocked forward just enough to hear the sharp inhale he tried to swallow down.

His grip on your hips tightened. You could feel him through his slacks, warm and firm beneath you, and the pressure of your body against his made your skin feel hot all over.

He tried to pull your blouse open, but you caught his wrist.

“Let me,” you said, voice just above a whisper.

His breath stilled.

You slipped off his lap, slowly, sinking down between his legs.

His brows lifted, mouth parted, but he didn’t say a word.

Just leaned back in the chair, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.

You reached for his belt with shaking hands, fingers slow and deliberate.

The clink of metal filled the quiet room, followed by the soft drag of his zipper. Heeseung exhaled hard when you brushed him through his boxers, already hot, already thick.

“You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?” you said, looking up at him as you lowered his waistband.

He let out a breathy laugh, voice tight. “Are you really going to make me beg?”

You smiled.

“No.”

And then you took him in your mouth.

He groaned instantly, his hips twitching up, one hand flying to your hair but stopping short of gripping it.

Always waiting for you to take the lead. Always making sure.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, tongue gliding along the underside, savoring the weight and heat of him. He cursed, low and raw, his other hand tightening around the edge of the chair.

“Fuck—” he breathed. “You’re too good at this.”

You hummed around him in response, and he shuddered.

The thrill of having him like this, head tipped back, jaw clenched, breath uneven, sent sparks through your veins.

His thighs flexed under your palms, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were half-lidded and glazed, locked on you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Baby, wait—” he said suddenly, voice cracking. “You keep going like that, an I’m not gonna last.”

You pulled back slowly, your mouth wet, lips swollen. “Isn’t that the point?”

He blinked hard, laughing breathlessly, and pulled you to your feet.

“I’m going to owe you for that,” he said, voice rough, still out of breath.

You climbed back onto his lap, letting him tug you close. His hands found your hips again, holding you there like he never wanted to let go.

“You already do,” you whispered against his mouth.

And when he kissed you this time, it was slower. Deeper.

Less urgent, more full. Like he wasn’t just thanking you with his mouth, but promising something.

His fingers slipped beneath your skirt again, and this time you didn’t stop him.

He pulled your panties to the side and you sank down on him with a sigh.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, already thrusting up into you “You feel like heaven, baby,”

You hummed, already squeezing around him “You’re so big.” you murmured, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

You felt him twitch inside you “You can’t say things like that.”

Heeseung glanced at the clock on the wall. “We have three more minutes before someone gets suspicious.”

“Then you better hurry.” as those words left your lips, Heeseung thrusted up fast and hard, chasing both of your highs.

He planted a hand on your mouth and held your waist with the other, so tight a bruise would probably form the following day.

You squeezed your eyes shut as white washed over you, a particular deep thrust getting you over the edge, tightening to the point of pain around him.

“Fuck.” he groaned and pulled out to jerk off, but you quickly slapped his hand away and put him back inside you.

The mere action caused his hot release to spill, coating your walls.

“You didn’t have to do that.” he said, breathless as you got up on wobbly legs and put your panties into place.

“Oh please.” You fixed your hair “You’d rather me havig to explain why there’s a white stain on my skirt?”

He smirked, tucking himself back in his trousers, “Touché, baby.”

☆.

California sunlight spilled golden through the glass balcony doors, bathing the entire suite in that soft, lazy kind of warmth that made your skin glow even when you weren’t trying.

You were floating in the center of the hotel room’s private pool, limbs stretched out on the flamingo inflatable mattress, sunglasses slipping slightly down the bridge of your nose.

Your legs dangled in the cool water, barely kicking, your only real effort being adjusting your position every few minutes to stay in the shade of the swaying palm tree outside.

It had taken you exactly one hour on the first morning of the trip to finish the task Heeseung had “urgently” brought you to California for: color-coding and organizing his meeting schedule and dinners with clients.

One hour.

Sixty minutes of tapping at your laptop while sipping overpriced coffee from the mini bar and watching your boyfriend move shirtless around the suite while on a call.

Then, nothing.

The rest of the two-week “business trip” had been one long, uninterrupted vacation— for you, at least.

You weren’t entirely sure if Heeseung had ever actually needed your help or if he just wanted an excuse to bring you along without raising eyebrows at the office.

Either way, you weren’t complaining.

He was in the bedroom now, getting ready for another meeting with suppliers, while you basked in complete, indulgent peace, a mango drink resting on a floatie beside you.

The silence was broken only by the soft splash of water and the hum of light music playing from the speakers in the corner of the suite.

“Baby,” Heeseung called from inside the room, his voice slightly muffled.

You lifted your sunglasses with one hand, squinting toward the balcony door. “Hm?”

“Where’s my tie? The navy one.”

“You mean my navy one,” you corrected, smirking. “The one you let me use for my aesthetic outfit.”

He emerged into view then— black slacks hugging his legs, crisp white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and his hair still wet from the shower.

He looked at you, at the pool, the view, the drink, and let out a breath that sounded halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

“You’re telling me you brought it just to never actually use it; since you’ve been floating for a week.”

“No,” you replied, raising your drink. “I brought it for aesthetic purposes. I was actually planning on using it today.”

He shook his head with a grin, disappearing for a couple of minutes before reappearing with the tie in hands.”

“You’re the most spoiled assistant I’ve ever hired.”

“I’m not technically your assistant,” you pointed out.

“You were for an hour.”

“And I was excellent.”

He crouched down beside the pool, tying the silk around his neck with practiced fingers.

The way he stood in the sun, looking so put-together and elegant while you floated in a barely-there swimsuit, made the corners of your mouth twitch up in appreciation.

He caught the way you were looking at him and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

You tilted your head, letting your fingers drag through the water. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Just remembering how I was supposed to be working on this trip.”

Heeseung stepped closer, knelt down again so your faces were almost level. The sun lit up his eyes, made the edges of his smirk gleam.

“You did,” he said. “You organized my entire schedule in an hour and got me a better restaurant reservation than the company’s PR manager could. You're essential.”

You scoffed. “Please, you just wanted an excuse to have me in a bikini while you take calls.”

He smiled wider, unapologetic. “Guilty.”

You watched him adjust his tie, watched how he paused to smooth his shirt over his stomach before finally stepping back with a low whistle.

“How do I look?” he asked.

You pulled off your sunglasses, dragging your eyes from head to toe and back again.

“Like you’re about to cheat on your fiancée with your poolside mistress.”

Heeseung let out a bark of laughter. “Good thing my girlfriend is also my poolside mistress.”

He walked over to your float and, with no warning, shoved it gently with his foot.

You yelped as the mattress tipped slightly, water splashing over your legs.

“Rude!”

“You started it,” he said, lips twitching with amusement.

You kicked water at him in retaliation. He dodged it, barely, and pointed at you like he was scolding a child. “Do not make me cancel this meeting.”

“I dare you.”

He gave you one last look, long and deliberate, like he wanted to say something but was holding back, then sighed and backed away.

“I’ll be back in two hours,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Three tops.”

“Don’t hurry on my account.”

“You saying you won’t miss me?”

“I’m saying you should make it up to me for dragging me across the country and making me do sixty minutes of labor.”

He chuckled again, stepping into his loafers by the door. “Oh, baby, I plan on making it up to you every night.”

You raised your glass. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Then the door closed, and he was gone.

You sighed deeply, happily, as you turned your face toward the sun and whispered, “Best fake job ever.

☆.

The sun had shifted from blazing overhead to a slow, golden creep across the hotel balcony, casting palm leaf shadows over your stretched-out body on the poolside chaise.

The water made soft sloshing noises nearby, and the air carried the sweet, heady scent of chlorine and sun-warmed skin.

Your cocktail glass sat empty on the tile. Your fingers had gone limp around your sunglasses, which had slid just enough to let one eye peek through.

But you didn’t move. You were somewhere between sleep and heat-drunk bliss, limbs too heavy to care.

The faintest breeze kissed your thighs, cooling the warm sheen of sun on your bare legs.

The strap of your bikini had shifted slightly. Your breasts curved gently out of their fabric prison, unnoticed by you in your half-dozing state.

The suite’s private pool was wrapped by stone walls and the tallest hedges you’d ever seen. The kind of privacy only the wealthiest or most mischievous sought after. No one could see in. And you didn’t expect anyone to be watching.

But someone was.

You stirred when you heard the creak of the glass door sliding open behind you.

Then footsteps.

Then a pause.

“Jesus Christ,” came a voice “This is what I come home to?”

You cracked one eye open, squinting up into the dusky light.

Heeseung stood by the edge of the pool, jacket off, tie loosened, top two buttons undone, a grocery bag of overpriced room snacks in one hand.

His eyes were dark. Hungry. Like he hadn’t had a sip of water all day and you were the first drop.

You blinked at him sleepily. “Hi.”

He dropped the bag. “Hi? That’s all you’ve got?”

“I was sleeping.”

“You were melting.” He moved closer. “You were— fuck, your tits are just out.”

You lifted your head, lazily looked down, and shrugged. “It’s your fault for buying me a swimsuit two sizes too small.”

“And I’d do it again,” he muttered, already crouching down in front of you.

You giggled, eyes fluttering closed again. “Good meeting?”

“Don’t care,” he said, brushing a hand up your thigh. “Missed you.”

You felt his fingers, warm and familiar, sliding over your skin.

You sighed. “I got tan.”

“You got delicious.”

You opened your eyes just as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a slow, sun-warmed kiss.

His lips tasted faintly of mint and something sweet, and when he groaned softly against you, you felt it everywhere. You kissed him back lazily, smiling into it, dragging your fingers through his damp hair.

And then, because you couldn’t resist—

You shoved him.

Hard.

He didn’t have time to react. A yelp of pure, startled betrayal escaped his lips as he tipped backward, arms flailing, hitting the water with a spectacular splash.

You burst into laughter, doubling over on the chair, clutching your stomach as the water rocked with the force of his fall.

His head popped up seconds later, soaked and blinking, his once-perfect shirt plastered to his chest.

“You—” he sputtered, coughing once, glaring at you with water dripping from his lashes. “You menace.”

“I warned you not to flirt near the pool!” you said between gasps, wiping your eyes.

He grabbed the edge of the pool, hair slicked back, mouth twitching in a way that should’ve warned you.

“You’re so dead,” he promised. “I’m gonna end you.”

You squealed and tried to scramble off the chair, but it was too late. his hands gripped your ankles and yanked.

You hit the water with a splash and a shriek, the cold shocking your overheated skin instantly.

You surfaced, breathless and gasping, blinking salt out of your eyes.

“You asshole!”

“You started it!” Heeseung was laughing, fully soaked now, his shirt and pants clinging to his body like a second skin.

He was unfairly hot, even wet. Especially wet.

You swam toward him with furious strokes, water flying around you both, and he caught you around the waist as soon as you got close enough.

“Say sorry,” he said, lips grazing your ear.

“Never.”

His mouth met yours before you could say more, hard and deep

He wrapped his arms around you beneath the water, pulling your body against his like he couldn’t bear the idea of even an inch of space.

The way his hands moved over your skin, palming your ass, your thighs, sliding beneath the useless scraps of your swimsuit, made your breath catch in your throat.

“You feel like summer,” he murmured against your neck. “Warm and soft and fucking perfect.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair and tilted your head back, your breath hitching when his lips traveled lower, kissing a slow trail down your jaw, then your collarbone. The water lapped gently around you, your bodies floating in the privacy of the pool, lost in each other.

When he pulled the top of your swimsuit aside, exposing the bare curve of your breast, you didn’t stop him.

And when he kissed over your nipple, dragging his tongue slowly around it before sucking it into his mouth with a quiet, greedy sound, you moaned, arching into him.

You pressed your mouth against his temple, whispering, “You’re still in your clothes.”

He lifted his head, breathing heavily, his eyes dark.

“You planning to take ‘em off me?”

You bit his earlobe. “Maybe.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, sliding his hand between your thighs underwater. “You’re already so wet.”

“It’s a pool, genius.”

“You know what I mean.”

And you did.

You kissed him again, slow and wet and needy, wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you up, the water making everything feel weightless.

His hand found that perfect spot between your thighs and pressed, rubbing slow, delicious circles that made you tremble in his arms.

The sky overhead darkened into soft pinks and golds, casting both your bodies in sunset glow. The water shimmered. The world blurred.

But all you could feel was him.

All you could taste was his breath in your mouth, his fingers pushing you closer and closer to the edge, and the low, ragged way he whispered your name against your shoulder when you gasped, legs tightening, your body pulsing around his hand.

And then, grinning against your lips, he asked, “Still think I wore this shirt just for business?”

You laughed into his mouth, breathless and drunk on him.

“No,” you whispered. “You wore it so I’d rip it off later.”

He smirked. “Then don’t keep me waiting.”

☆.

And you didn’t.

After his act of pleasure in the pool, Heeseung brought you inside, not caring about you both being damp, and laid you down on the suite bed.

You undressed each other with the kind of fire that ignited sparks between your burning forms.

And then he was inside you.

The city lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, casting sharp golds and deep blues against the curves of his body, his bare chest above you, sheen of sweat at his throat, fingers pressing hard into your thighs as he moved inside you like he owned you.

Like he wanted to prove something.

The only thing you could still feel was how he looked between your legs, the way his voice rasped when he told you, “You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve had every part of you.”

You were already wrecked, your body limp from the last orgasm he’d dragged out of you.

You weren’t even sure if this was the second or third round now. His thrusts had gone deeper, slower, more deliberate. He wasn’t rushing. He was savoring you.

And then his phone rang.

You both froze for half a second. The sound cut through the room, vibrating against the nightstand.

Heeseung groaned into your neck. “Ignore it.”

But then he glanced at the screen. His jaw tensed.

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s Mr. Dufour, from Paris investors. I have to—” He was still inside you. Still rock hard. “Just… don’t move.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and flushed. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” he said through clenched teeth, swiping to answer with one hand. His other never left your waist. “He’ll lose his shit if I don’t pick up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but then—

“Bonjour,” Heeseung said smoothly, voice dropping into french, polite and practiced as he settled more firmly between your legs. His hips shifted.

You gasped.

He was still moving.

Not hard, not fast— but deep. Lazy, unhurried strokes, his eyes locked on yours while he spoke like everything was normal.

“Oui, Mr Dufour. Vous allez bien?” (yes, mr. dufour. are you doing well?)

You bit your lip, hard, trying not to moan.

The sheer insanity of it, his voice so calm, words sliding like honey in another language while he kept fucking you, slow and deliberate, hips rolling with obscene precisione

“J'ai envoyé le rapport sur le plan d'investissement hier.” (i sent the report on the investment plan yesterday.)

You dug your nails into his shoulders. He didn’t flinch.

His free hand slid between your bodies, brushing your clit with teasing strokes.

You whined, quietly and desperately but he only smiled.

Not sweetly. No, this was the smile of a man who knew he was driving you insane.

“Oui, je vous serais reconnaissant de me faire part de vos commentaires une fois que vous l'aurez examiné.” (yes, i would be glad if you could give me a feedbacks when you review it.)

You clenched around him, and for a split second, his voice hitched, only slightly, but he recovered fast.

You wanted to scream. Instead, your breath came out in little gasps, your back arching under him, heat rising through you in thick, dizzy waves.

“Heeseung,” you whispered, pleading.

He didn’t break eye contact. Just leaned closer, breath brushing your lips, and whispered back, “Be quiet.”

He was still speaking French into the phone. Still sounding professional. Still thrusting into you like he had all the time in the world.

You were unraveling beneath him.

His fingers found your clit again. Pressed lightly. Rubbed in slow, careful circles.

uour lips parted, and he kissed you hard, swallowing your cries as your climax built dangerously close again.

“Non, il n'y a pas de problème. Je vous contacterai bientôt.” (no, no problem. i’ll call you back soon.)

He ended the call.

There was a beat of silence. You could barely breathe.

Then his voice dropped to a low growl. “You didn’t listen.”

“I—” You were panting now. “I tried.”

He slid out of you slowly, only to slam back in with no warning.

You cried out, loud this time, legs tightening around him instinctively.

“I told you to be quiet,” he said again, but he was grinning now, breathless and wild and just as undone as you.

“You were, fucking speaking another language, what did you expect? That was hot as fuck.”

He grabbed your jaw and kissed you like he’d been starving for you all over again.

“Next time,” he said against your mouth, “I’ll put you on speaker. See how well you stay quiet then.”

You moaned into the kiss. “You’re insane.”

“And you fucking love it.”

And you did. Every slow, punishing thrust he gave you after that call, until you came again, clutching him so tightly he groaned your name like a prayer and finally followed you into oblivion.

Heeseung collapsed over you, breath hot against your shoulder, both of you sticky with sweat and utterly destroyed.

You lay there for a long time, your hand tangled in his damp hair.

“Just so we’re clear,” you murmured eventually, still breathless. “If you ever do that again, I’m going to break your phone.”

He laughed into your neck.

“I’d like to see you try.”

☆.

California wasnt so quiet at night, it still held its chaotic and festive atmosphere; but it was less noisy than day.

Heeseung stood barefoot in the kitchen, phone pressed between his shoulder and cheek, one hand cupped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other resting loosely on the marble counter.

The clock read 3:12 AM, but the supplier he was talking to was halfway across the world in Malaysia, bright-eyed and loud over the line.

“Yes, I got the spec sheets. I’ll forward the revised invoice before tomorrow,” he murmured, trying not to sound like he was barely two hours out of bed, or that he was still aching in every limb from the way you’d pulled him into you earlier that night.

His other hand scrubbed at his face, jaw rough with sleep-stubble.

He wore nothing but a loose pair of gray sweats, the waistband low on his hips, his skin still warm from your touch.

Every time he blinked, he could still see you— flushed, breathless, tangled in his sheets like sin wrapped in silk.

He should’ve stayed in bed. Lord, he wanted to.

But the time zones wouldn’t bend for him.

“Right, just make sure the quantities are adjusted. I don’t want to see another backorder excuse in the next—”

He didn’t hear the sound of you approaching. You always moved soft like that— barefoot, sleepy, half-dreaming when you woke.

It wasn’t until you slipped your arms around his bare torso that he felt you.

You hugged him from behind, face nuzzling into his back, your body covered only by the warm duvet you’d stolen from the bed.

Your skin was flushed with residual heat, cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.

He paused mid-sentence.

Your voice came out soft, “Come back to bed.”

He swallowed, throat tightening around the words he’d meant to say.

“Just a second,” he murmured into the phone, gently pulling it away from his ear. “Hold on.”

You didn’t let go.

In fact, your arms curled tighter around his waist, and he could feel the slow drag of your bare chest pressed to his back, the way you breathed in the scent of his skin like you needed it to fall asleep again.

“You’re cold,” he murmured, not even turning around yet, his hand covering yours where it rested low on his stomach. “You should’ve stayed under the covers.”

You mumbled something unintelligible and a little whiny against his skin, still half-asleep.

“I got lonely,” you finally whispered. “Bed’s too big without you.”

That nearly broke him.

He glanced at the phone still clutched in his hand, hearing the faint crackle of the supplier’s voice on the other end.

He could’ve finished the call. Should’ve.

But your breath was slow and warm against his back, and your fingers were tracing lazy little circles against his abdomen like you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

Heeseung tilted his head toward the phone and spoke quickly. “Sorry, I’ll get back to you in an hour. Something urgent came up.”

The line clicked off. He didn’t care if the supplier was annoyed.

You didn’t say anything at first, not even as he set the phone down on the counter and turned slowly in your arms.

You looked up at him through heavy eyes,, hair a tousled halo around your face, skin lit by the faint blue haze of early morning.

The duvet stayed wrapped around you, but he could see the line of your shoulder, the slope of your collarbone, the flush in your cheeks.

You looked like something out of a dream.

His voice came out rougher than he meant. “You’re dangerous.”

You tilted your head up at him, blinking innocently. “Me?”

“You.”

He ran his fingers through your hair, thumb brushing your cheek. “You do things to me I can’t explain.”

You leaned into his chest again and murmured, “Then stop trying to explain and just come back to bed.”

He chuckled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Pushy.”

You tugged him gently by the waistband of his sweats. “You like me pushy.”

He did.

Buthe liked you like this, too— soft and quiet, in the middle of the night when the world was paused just long enough to let him hold you without pretending.

So he kissed your forehead and reached down, scooping you up in one smooth motion.

You squealed, the duvet slipping a little, exposing your legs as you curled instinctively into him. “Heeseung!”

“You woke up,” he said as he carried you down the hall, voice mock-serious. “Then interrupted my call. Now you’re going to make up for it.”

“I missed you,” you said, chin tucked against his shoulder, “You’re the one who left me naked and cold in your enormous bed.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t steal all the covers and kicked my back”

He nudged the bedroom door open with his foot and carried you back to bed.

The mattress were still warm where you’d been. He laid you down gently and crawled in beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“You’re such a clingy sleeper,” you mumbled.

“I like sleeping with you,” he said, pulling the duvet higher around you both. “Shut up and let me enjoy it.”

You smiled sleepily, eyes already drifting shut again, your body melting into his.

And there, under the weight of blankets, limbs tangled together, his breath evening out beside yours, you both slipped back into the kind of sleep that only came after passion, laughter, and the slow certainty that neither of you wanted to be anywhere else.

It started with an email, and it ended with love.