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husbandjoel · 4 days ago

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we can’t be friends | bob reynolds pt. 2

read pt. 1 here!

summary: bob and you now navigate the implications of your curse by the TVA

pairing: bob reynolds x variant fem!reader

word count: 4.6k

content: angst and yearning on both ends, they’re in LOVE! fluff and honestly just self indulgence at this point. it’s christmas but reader doesn’t celebrate it, reader also has to wear a dress, swearing, more heavy use of dialogue, reader is v emotional and still an avid tea drinker. touch starved babes, eventual kissing but not how you would expect. tva inaccuracies again.

a/n: mwah ty for the love on part one! not proofread hehe. also i confess to not seeing s2 of loki so i’m none the wiser to anything past the first season

taglist: @amandarobertsboyce @micro-kat @kurogxrix @gavin-isstupid - tysm for reading 🫶

You woke up with a splitting headache.

Days had bled into weeks since the exposé on your deep dark secret, that you were not an Earth-616 Variant. Your existence did not belong amongst the chaos of this New York in all it’s anarchic glory. It was the perfect sweet spot, tucked deep into the belly of the TVA library, you had spent countless hours — no, minutes? — peeling pages upon pages out of manilla coloured folders, to find a Timeline which you could simply dissolve into the background of.

Earth-616. Plenty of things wrong with it. A handful of things right with it. Including the sole reason you had been arrested, fought off pruning, escaped and arrested thrice more. Robert Reynolds. A little wounded, an exponential amount of skeletons in his closet and you adored every corner of it.

It took a lot of background work, to ensure you had chosen a place that you could escape the prying hands of the TVA and locate Bob.

Your memory so vivid of that time. The paper cuts, calloused fingertips from endless paperwork being handled from the start of the day until the very end, where Mobius M. Mobius had tracked you down within the confides of the TVA and banished you to your room to sleep before the trial.

The sickening drench of the colour orange wherever you looked. Unable to rest, you’d pad around the infinite halls before slipping into the same room you had been thrown into the first incident that you had been arrested. No longer coated in fear, but grieving a loss of the life you knew still existed within the realms of time.

Lights flickered in the darkness, an image pooled upon the screen in front of you: VARIANT Y1097 FILES. An ache in your bones at the title, a sadistic element to your viewing of your own life. You’d press the button with hesitation, eyes wide with wonder over a treasured lifetime.

There he was. Hair a little shorter, but face all the same. Swamped in anxiety and self-deprecation, but his eyes poured with love whenever you watched the scenes between you two unfold. You two led a simple life in that Timeline, nested in New York City, adopted an all white mountainous feline, Sierra and even introduced the likes of therapy to Bob.

If you hadn’t come across the advertisement for Wonder Inc. taped to a lamppost just two blocks down from your apartment, you and Bob would be tethered for that lifetime. Your eyes welled as they always did, to the sight of your greyed hairs, thinner as Bob’s was cut short to maintain thickness on the top. Laughter lines plenty, hands spotted with age; you died first. The end of your tape concluding that you craved the simplicity of life with Bob Reynolds. No matter how you found it.

Your name was called. And for a moment, you felt the panic creep up the back of your neck. Sight blurred from being unfocused, you blinked back into the moment to see the man you had been daydreaming your lost life with.

If you could have, you would’ve smoothed the wrinkle set between his brows with worry.

“I lost you there.” He mumbled.

You always lose me.

You conjured up a smile, “Sorry. What were you saying?” You peered over your shoulder — as you always did — awaiting that familiar orange glow and TVA guards tenfold.

“It’s OK.” Bob started, “I was just mentioning that Yelena returned your files back to Valentina’s office.”

You visibly tensed. Back straightened, throat bobbed from a hard pill to swallow. Valentina Allegra de Fontaine was malice incarnate, she taunted you from the sidelines, her own version of a puppet with strings because one act of defiance, and she would be the one to make the call.

It had been two weeks since Bob had excavated the skeletons of your TVA file, it had led to a sudden bloom of friendship — to that you were thankful for — you routinely walked side by side to the kitchen in the dark mornings of December, shoulders brushed against the fabric of your clothes, subtle stolen glances at side profiles whilst the other was busy in their mind. To say it alarmed the rest of the team was an understatement. They thrived on the jest that Bob repelled you to the complete opposite side of the room, his heavy efforts not going unnoticed.

Now? You were practically joint at the hip.

It was a blessing and a curse. A curse that rained down as Valentina, heels clicking against the refurbished floor, pencil skirt to match the blazer as she sauntered into the kitchen with her sights set on you. Prepared to do anything, you turned your full attention to her pursed purple stained lips, a twitch in her right eye as she began to smirk with intent.

She spoke your name like it was a death sentence, “You didn’t happen to cross paths with a particular file during your admin work, did you?” You had shaken your head with vigour, fingers clenched around your designated tea drinking mug enough that you might’ve crushed it into dust. Valentina tilted her head, palms smoothed over the counter, “I’m missing a file. A very important one. I think we both know what I’m talking about.”

Yes. For two different reasons. One: Bob had stolen it in partial innocence — he sat beside you, sweat on his brow — and two: you wanted that file. The manipulative, devil in nature that brandished a white streak of hair, could publish your documents at any given time. Unleashing a relentless force, a sequence violation, and you would be right back where you started in the shackles of the TVA.

Hands tied, Bob — riddled with guilt — set Yelena the task of returning the file that Alexei had kept to use as a comically large bookmark. With a light snort after Bob questioned her capability of not being caught, Yelena slipped the dog-eared file back with nonchalance to her skill.

You would earn those files back. One day.

“Did I say something wrong?” Bob asked when you didn’t reply to his statement. He thought he had done right by restoring the cracked peace between you and Valentina. Visibly unravelled in nerves, you offered a warm smile and Bob softened.

“No. Thank you, Bob.” You meant it. Although the slight grit of your teeth said otherwise. Quick to change the subject, you added, “I hope you’re not a Kleptomaniac at tonight’s Christmas Gala.”

You, personally, didn’t celebrate Christmas. The Watchtower decked out in tacky decor with vintage LED lights that John Walker had torn from a building near by, just because he liked them. The team weren’t incredibly enthusiastic about the festivities, but, Valentina made it clear it was vital to your image as the New Avengers. Secret Santa gifts were a must!

Bob deflated. Socialising wasn’t his strong suit. A ticking time-bomb, he preferred to reside in the shadows whilst the rest of the team played the socialites role. However, he wasn’t getting out of the Christmas Gala — taken by Walker and Barnes to be fitted for a suit.

Things were different though.

He had you now. Things were different within two weeks, fourteen days, because of you. Suddenly, he felt anchored, validated in that odd feeling that clawed its way out from his stomach whenever he caught glimpses of you avoiding him. There were multiple versions of you, and multiple versions of him that belong together, written in the scripts of your lives. You existed, in your form that had Bob stumbling over his words, palms clammy when he caught the underlying note of your perfume, eyes lingering on you in meetings and, yet, he couldn’t have you.

Bob would tolerate the Gala; because you were there.

The question came as it always did.

“Is there a version of me that, that loves socialising?” Bob cringed at your expression. Rules had been set out. Rule one: Don’t ask about Bob Variants. That was it. But, you found a way to tell him in subtle blinking. One for yes. Two for no.

You blinked twice.

At least you still loved him in every timeline.

“I’ll see you later for the Gala.” You dropped from the barstool, and as you walked out of the kitchen, you called over your shoulder, “Don’t forget your Secret Santa gift!”

The sky grew black and snow began to cascade from the heavens above whilst the aristocrats of New York filtered into the Watchtower for the black tie event. Bob fiddled with the cufflinks of his suit as he waited beside Bucky who had helped him briefly to tie his bow tie. Failure to succeed, Bucky had unclipped his fake one and swapped with Bob to salvage any embarrassment bestowed upon the younger male.

The rest of the team trudged through from their rooms, freshened up to satisfy Valentina’s command. Yelena beelined for Bob, wearing a floral suit with her hair slicked back, a growing smile shown as she approached him.

“Look at you.” She patted his shoulder.

“Oh, thanks, Lena. I—You look cool.” Bob warmed in his face as Yelena posed from his compliment. He went to laugh, the joyful feeling caught in his throat and exchanged for a stammered, teenage whine when you entered the mouth of the foyer to greet guests. “Shit.”

There you were, confidence unshaken as you approached the rest of your team, figure exposed in a dress you hated but wore to keep Valentina’s threats at bay. Two wobbling Christmas trees clipped atop of your head, face beaming at your chosen family.

If you had a visible aura, it would be a glowing gold, Bob thought. Every part of you as beautiful as the next feature he stared at upon your face. His throat bobbed, a gentle elbow to his rib and he caught Yelena staring back at him with a brow quirked; he was quick to collect himself.

Your eyes trailed down Bob’s frame and back up to his face, his ears reddened as you pinned him under your playful gaze. You couldn’t kiss, that you were sure of. But, you’d ruffle his feathers a little for the sake of indulgent flirtations. Fingertips pinched the bow tie askew around his collar, his lung sucked in a breath from your closeness as you straightened it out. The closeness made Bob considerably dizzy. Months of longing to even sit next to you, had now flipped him on his head and shown him what closeness he really craved.

You patted his chest, “Handsome.”

Bob croaked, “Your dress—Good.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head with a nervous laugh, “I meant—”

“—I know. Thank you, Bob.”

“Ugh.” Yelena’s voice cut through the atmosphere, her right cheek filled with a striped Candy Cane, it left her mouth with a pop as she waved at you both, “This is disgusting. Are you guys falling in love?”

“What? No.” Bob was quick to cover tracks.

Then John Walker chimed in, “Oh yeah?” You both stared at him, oblivious to his next sentence, “Then why did I catch you two stumbling out of the Cleaners Cupboard two weeks ago? Huh?”

You looked to the comical Turkey hat on his head, eyes narrowed, “Your hat. Much better than that beret.”

Walker tightened his lips and Bucky — the voice of reason — stepped in with his hands up to settle the situation growing arms and legs. He had considerably aged in the presence of the Thunderbolts* turned New Avengers; grey hairs sprouted from the roots at his scalp.

Ushered by Bucky to enter the room where the highbrow, intellectual snobs resided in — Walker grabbing you in for a quick headlock — all beady eyes behind false pretences stared at the group with a few members missing, Ava and Alexei already mingling in their own way.

Yelena leant close to your ear, “Ten dollars goes to the first person to have a drink thrown over them.”

“Deal.” You mumbled, all of you dispersing into the crowd — Bob flipping between you and Yelena before subconsciously pulled in your direction.

Exercising your capability to talk the ear off of people, you used this to your advantage. Gesticulate in your manner, you became off-putting to the people you were made to socialise with. Faces screwed, and pearls clutched, most attendees would shuffle along — some skipping you completely — as you began to explain in depth about gruesome subjects that would make their eyes water.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine watched you from afar, not to your knowledge, but she always did.

And she wasn’t impressed.

Once ridding a trio of politicians with some hard hitting trivia, you and Bob had made it to the long table displayed with hearty food for the buffet. You plucked cheese from the charcuterie board and grinned back at Bob who couldn’t bring himself to take food without permission.

His hands wrung, head swivelling to watch others around him. Self-conscious because, really, he didn’t belong mingling like this. He hadn’t said two words in the time you had pushed away five groups of strangers and it made him begrudgingly feel a little silly. But — again — you were you and it was becoming apparent that you balanced Bob Reynolds out. Where he lacked, you made up for.

Maybe there was a Variant of him and you that were the opposites of your personalities.

He would ask another time.

Head turned back to you when you offered a block of cheese in his face, Bob politely declined and you threw it into your mouth, satisfied and unaware of his own self-loathing.

“You look beautiful.” Bob blurted out. His own eyes wide as you stopped your chewing to stare through him and into his soul. He pulled at the collar of his shirt, “That is what I meant to say to you earlier.”

You took a hard swallow to rid your mouth of cheddar, “I think I like when you compliment me.”

Warmth spread across his chest like wildfire. A newfound sense of confidence as a lopsided smile graced his face in your confession. God, he wanted to fucking kiss you.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t believe his boldness.

“Look at this!” Alexei cut through any remainder of a conversation with his imposing voice. His tall stature loomed over you and Bob with a grin as wide to bare his teeth. Brows furrowed, you peered up to see a twig of green and white foliage hung above your heads. He feigned a gasp, “Mistletoe! Now—It’s Christmas rules. You must kiss.”

You dropped your gaze to Bob in a panic. The sudden softness shared between you replaced with perturbation. Hands reached for the branch and Alexei moved it higher above with ease. The sudden race of your heart could’ve been heard at the other end of New York when you felt heads turn to stare in anticipation. It could’ve been the worst outcome that you would be unable to explain to the team after enforcing rejection upon a silly tradition.

Bob felt the anxiety radiate off of you and he felt helpless. Gawping like a fish out of water, Bob couldn’t think of a solution to the problem. Alexei was determined in his bid for humiliation.

“Dad, you’re embarrassing them.” Yelena pointed out in defence from her comfortable position on a chaise lounge. Champagne dangling from her hand.

“Nonsense!” Alexei argued, “Do you fear kissing? Just a little peck.”

You shook your head with vigour, “No. We—I can’t do that, Alexei. Can you please take the Mistletoe away from us?” Alexei frowned, not understanding your point as he hovered it above Bucky Barnes, who was close in proximity to you. Bob’s eyes almost popped out of his skull as you called in frustration, “No, Alexei! Take it away completely!”

Albeit a little befuddled by your sudden outburst, Alexei persisted and held the foliage above you and Bob again. Earning a groan from your throat as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You looked to the glass in your hand, immediate in your action as you poured it down the front of your dress.

“Hey!” Yelena shouted, “That does not count!”

You stared at the reddened stain that seeped into the woven fabric of your dress, tears prickled your waterline as you looked back up at Bob who went to reach out to comfort you. The room felt hot, your clothes tighter than when you had first wiggled into them. Hushed tones of alarm over your actions made your face warm from your neck to the very top of your head.

Throwing Alexei daggers, you turned on your heel, bottom lip wobbled as you shoved past Bucky who tried to halt your advances out of the door.

Bob was hot on your heel, and Bucky managed to grapple his forearm, “What the hell happened?”

“I—I don’t know.” Yeah, he did. “I’m just going to make sure she’s OK.”

Bucky nodded and let Bob go.

Foot wedged between the closing doors of the elevator, you followed the leg up to see Bob prying them open. He huffed as he stumbled in, dusting off fake dirt on his suit jacket to retract any attention away from your silly outburst. You wiped at your tears, chin tucked to your shoulder to try remain hidden in your vulnerability.

It was torturous. Everyday a reminder that flayed at your skin, that you caused the greatest loss of your life. And now? You had to live within the same Watchtower as him, aware that any wrong move would unravel your hard work. Any moment of weakness, and loneliness in the shape of a TVA beige jumpsuit and shock collar would be your punishment.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine would make sure of it.

Bob pressed the button to close the doors, “Cleaners Cupboard?” Where it all began. He peered at you with a sympathetic look, his fingers twitched at his sides to soothe you by his touch.

“Sure.” You smiled meekly.

It took no time to reach the Cleaners Cupboard, Bob held the door open for you and gestured for you to walk in first as if you were entering The Ritz. He followed you in, door clicked shut and he pulled the toggle to illuminate the tiny shack of a room. Your face glowed under the light, tear stricken but a little humorous with the miniature trees that wobbled on your head.

Throwing his shyness overboard, Bob reached for your hand, gentle in his tracing of your wrist before settling his finger between yours.

“‘M sorry.” You mumbled like a scolded child.

It turned out that this Variant of Bob had a strike of confidence in your moment of weakness.

He shook his head, “You don’t have to apologise.” A squeeze to your hand and a drop of his head to meet your eyes, “It hurts you. I know it does.”

You remained silent.

Bob took a step closer — which you had thought would be impossible in such a tiny room.

“I know it hurts you, because, without witnessing what you have witnessed, it somehow hurts me,” He took your hand and placed it on his chest to feel the thrum of his heart, “Right here.”

Fingers flush against his warm chest, you watched your hand for a moment before returning Bob’s eye contact. You were exposed at the core of your emotions, hard exterior cracked as your own demons shone through.

Sobered by his sudden assertiveness, you let your jaw slacken, his judgement clearly clouded by his own harboured feelings. Yet, you found yourself still as Bob brought you to him. Bodies now flush, desperation clung in the air just to be able to touch each other in a tender moment.

“I want to kiss you.” Bob nudged your nose with his, his breath touched your lips as his eyelids grew heavy with the lust for a simple kiss. It was easy to slip into submission, throw caution to the wind and allow yourselves the indulgence of each other.

You leant into his touch, his thumb smoothed against your jawline. A wicked form of torture as the TVA would have you pruned from existence the moment their screens flickered from the kiss. It was the hardest motion you had made — moving away from Bob — your forehead pressed to his shoulder with a groan muffled.

“We can’t.” You pulled back and Bob tracked your face, eyes occasionally dropping to the plump of your lips. You continued, “I can’t go through umpteen loopholes with the TVA again. In fact, I don’t think even Mobius would be able to salvage my reputation.”

“Mobius?” Bob queried and you waved him off. Long story, he guessed.

“If there was a way, Bob, I’d have kissed you the moment I met you. Trust me. My impulsive control is award-winning.” Your shoulders deflated, defeated by your own imprisonment, “If there was a way we could kiss and not have our lips touch, that would be the solution to all of our problems.”

Bob leant back on the heels of his feet, his fingers thread between yours as he mulled over your throw away comment.

If a lightbulb could’ve blinked above his head, it would have.

He straightened his posture with urgency, his hand left yours as he turned on his heel to search through the cluttered shelves. You watched over his shoulder, his frantic rummaging made your expression drop to medium concern. Bob was mumbling to himself before he drew out a long rod of Saran Wrap; gleeful in his findings.

You stood still on the spot as he turned back to you, desperately ripping at the relentlessly fiddly plastic, chucking the roll onto the floor and presenting you with the shortened Saran Wrap as if it were a precious reward.

“Wow. Nice.” You blinked and Bob rolled his eyes playfully.

“Think about it. If—if there was a way that we could kiss where our lips don’t touch.” He pulled at either end of the plastic wrap, “It’s a loophole. I found a loophole for us.” He smiled, suddenly feeling insecure, “That’s if you—if you would like to kiss.”

You shot Bob an incredulous look, “Are you kidding me?”

Oh no. Bob felt his pride falter. He had misread your signals. You snatched the cut Saran Wrap from his grasp, immediate in your action to pull it taught against your lips before yanking Bob in by the neck. He yelped from your sheer force, his hands flying out to the side as you planted a hefty kiss against his lips — a thin loopholed barricade between you — whilst your arms wrapped around his neck to hold him as tight as possible.

Wide-eyed, Bob whimpered out, his brain short-circuiting after computing that you were kissing. You and Bob. As it was written in the stars for every version of you two out in the universe. His stiffened body relaxed, a satisfied, low hum elicited from the back of his throat as he melted into your touch. Your index finger came to twirl the locks of hair at the nape of his neck, goosebumps rose on his arms before he let his hands guide themselves to your waist.

It was everything you had been anticipating. The ache of longing foretold in every arrest, punch to the gut from a TVA guard, and nights spent in a cell awaiting your trial. Headaches from research trying to find Bob Reynolds without his own Variant soulmate, where you could slip into his life without ever pressuring him to fall deeply for you. If adoring Bob from afar was meant for your lifetime within the Sacred Timeline; then you’d spend everyday relishing in his presence.

This, however? Was so much more.

You pulled back, the sudden creep of anxiety began to creep its fingers over your shoulder. Bob followed your lips, his eyes closed as he almost cried out to you to never stop kissing him. Perhaps, you began to panic, Bob hadn’t found a miraculous loophole and you waited to hear the all too familiar noise of the TVA storming the Watchtower.

Ear perked as you peeled the wrap from your mouth, Bob plucked it from your fingers and placed it to his mouth, the plastic moulded to his lips as he pressed them against the corners of your mouth. You could’ve been distracted if it weren’t for the burning fear that you had made a grave mistake. Then, as if miracles existed, there was no sudden rush from TVA guards. You remained against Bob, your hearts joint in quickened pace, relief drowned your senses.

Bob had found a loophole.

“You have,” Bob kissed you, “No idea,” Another plastic wrapped kiss, “How badly, I’ve wanted to do this.”

You grinned into his lips, “I think you’re showing me now.”

Bob hummed, one last kiss to savour you in the Cleaners Cupboard before he pulled back and peeled the Saran Wrap off of his lips. Hair slightly wild from your grabs, you both shared a laugh at the absurdity of your situation, your hands smoothing the tufts of hair back into place. It was ridiculously unreasonable, but the pair of you would celebrate your wins.

There was an invisible string attached to the pair of you after all.

Bob scratched at his brow, “I—Uh—Can I give you my Secret Santa present?"

“Bob.” You were monotonous in your tone, “The hint is in the name. Secret. But, OK. You funnily enough, were my Secret Santa, too. I left your present downstairs and I don’t fancy going back in my wine stained dress to fetch it.”

“Later.” Bob waved it off, “Just. . . Wait here. I think you’ll like it.”

You nodded and hastily, Bob pulled the plastic film across his lips to press a chaste one to yours before he exited the Cleaners Cupboard to retrieve your Not-So-Secret Santa gift whilst running on a high from kissing you in the very cupboard he found out that you were essentially soulmates until the end of time.

Arms folded, you leant your head back in disbelief. If it was acceptable, you may have let out a scream of gratification.

Immediately distracted, your eyes dropped to the warm orange glow that slid from the bottom of the door you hid behind. Brows pinched, you smiled in curiosity; awaiting Bob on the other side with his gift in hand.

“Bob?” You called, “What the hell did you get me?”

Bob returned to the Cleaners Cupboard, peering from behind the largest Monstera plant he could find in all of New York City. An ode to a reference that earned him the knowledge of your cold shoulder two weeks prior. He had played over the joke he would tell you when he handed it over, tinsel wrapped around the stem of it.

With minor struggle, Bob twisted the doorknob to the cupboard, “Alright. Here you go—” The emptiness of the room made Bob stop at the threshold. Eyes drifted down, he caught a glimpse of the headband you had worn with the two Christmas trees glued to it.

Bob felt nauseous.

Carelessly, he dropped the Monstera plant, the terracotta pot smashed upon impact. He replaced it in his grasp with the headband you had adorned just a few moments prior. When you two were kissing. Loophole kissing — he was so sure of it. Bob turned to look outward into the hallway and then back into the cupboard where he felt his heart clamp down in an iron vice.

The realisation hit and he called out your name softly.

#🔖 koolie writes #yup i’m sorry #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x fem!reader #bob reynolds x you #thunderbolts fic #bob reynolds #marvel #mcu

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sailorsoons · 9 days ago

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Rain Room (x.mh)

PAIRING: Waterpark Worker!Minghao x Waterpark Worker!Reader

SUMMARY: Working at a waterpark during the summer has its own trials and tribulations, but working with your ex makes it that much harder. When you discover the cool and quiet of the rain exhibit while hiding from your ex, you don’t expect to find additional solace - and something more - in its main occupant.

WC: 9,039

AU: Coworkers to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, Budding Romance

WARNINGS: Reader has an annoying ex boyfriend who won’t stop being overly friendly and The Nice Guy, depictions of an asshole boss, reader has a bit of a bad work day and cries about it at some point, general shitty job life lmfaooo, Minghao is a little possessive in a single scene, recreational drinking at a party, explicit language, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (don’t do this!!!), semi-public sex (in an officed at a party), soft dom Minghao if you squint, oral (f. receiving).

A/N: This is for the amazing Carat Bay Collab hosted by @camandemstudios! Thank you so much for hosting such a fun collab - writing quiet Minghao and silly reader has been so much fun! This is relatively short and sweet for me, but I hope you all love the little rain room and this pair as much as I do!

A/N 2: No beta we die like men

MASTERLIST | ASK | FOR THE CARAT BAY COLLAB

A TANGERINE-COLORED INFLATABLE TUBE HITS YOU DIRECTLY IN THE FACE. You swear, your neck snapping backward as your sunglasses go flying. You hear the telltale splash as they hit the water behind you, barely audible as the little monster of a child goes screaming toward the steps to leave the shallow pool where the waterslide exits.

“Don’t run!” You yell at him as he high-knees it up the steps, hearing but not caring at your orders. His feet hit the pavement and he goes thundering away, probably to harass more workers or better, the creators that spawned him. “Fucker.”

Taking the floating device, you wade over to the conveyor belt and toss it on. The little lifesaver goes cranking up toward the top of the slide to be reused again. Sloshing back to where you were standing, you start looking for your sunglasses in the waist high water.

Just as you spot them, bending at the knees to sink into the lukewarm, chlorine-heavy water, a shout and explosion of tangerine hits the pool's surface, water spraying you in the face and hitting you directly in the eyes.

“Motherfucker!” You curse, blinking the burning chlorine water away as the kid floating by on the tube oooo’s at you for your language. Instead of honoring him with an answer, you grab the bottom of his float and flip it over, depositing him unexpectedly into the water. He comes up, coughing and sputtering. “Have a good day!”

After retrieving your drenched sunglasses and shoving them back on your face to keep some of the sun out of them, you go back to your routine of pulling tubes and putting them on the conveyor belt. It’s not hard work, but it’s not fun. The sun bakes down on top of your head, turning it pan-sear hot, your feet are waterlogged and your fingers are pruned.

You don’t even want to think about how much lotion it’s going to take to bring them back to life, the chlorine turning your skin dry every night after you get out of the shower.

At least you get to take frequent breaks. When your manager tells you it’s time for yours, you don’t stop the visible sigh, sloshing toward the steps leading out of the pool. You pass Vernon on the way, giving him a wet high five as he descends, groaning when he immediately takes spray from a landing tube.

“Good luck, buddy.”

The waterpark is nice. Despite your loathsome work, you can at least admit that. Meteor Falls is a state-of-the-art water theme park, all mystical space and falling stars. You don’t mind it some days, admiring the space-themed slides and attractions, impressed that it somehow manages to be both cheesy and kind of cool.

Other days, it’s your own personal hell filled with screaming children, chlorine blasts to the face, and never-ending run ins with your ex boyfriend.

Jinwoo has a nasty habit of always managing to find you when you’re on break. You can’t prove that it’s on purpose, but every time you sit down in the staff cafeteria, one of your secret hiding places (like the storage room with life jackets or the storage room that smells plasticy with intertubes), he somehow manages to interrupt your peace.

You know you should be thankful that things ended amicably. Except - that’s sort of the problem. You’d ended things because though he’s nice, there’s no spark between the two of you. No passion, no something that makes your heartbeat a little bit faster, that makes your blood turn molten.

He’d let you end things with a nod and a smile. And then got a summer job at the same water park, and felt the need to sit down next to you at lunch and talk your ear off, none the wiser to your growing agitation.

It feels mean, this deep-seeded annoyance that has begun to fester every time you see him. He’s not doing anything wrong, and yet you can’t help but feel like maybe he thinks this - whatever this is - will patch things over. Will remind you that he’s a nice guy, that he’s easy to deal with.

Which means when you see him sitting in your new oasis Vernon had showed you - the pump room - you nearly throw your tupperware at him. Of course he and Chan are sitting in the room, pumps screaming over their conversation as they eat chicken tenders from one of the stands outside. Of course he sees you just as you pivot, raising his hand in a greeting before frowning and dropping it when he notices you’re fleeing.

You spare a single glance over your shoulder and notice he’s getting up - probably to ask why you’re leaving - and you nearly scream in fright, rushing out of the room.

Jinwoo hot on your heels, you break the number one rule at the waterpark - you run.

Bursting through the staff only gate, you nearly knock over a kid holding a very melted, very red popsicle. The child flinches but you’re already moving past him, your shoes squeaking and filled with water as you round the Rocket Launch Splash Pad and toward the Bridge Between Worlds, the rope bridge swinging dangerously as you run over the people floating in the lazy river below.

Jinwoo shouts your name but you pretend not to hear him, slowing your run to a fast walk. Very demure. Very mindful. You take a hard left, nearly taking a palm frond to the face before noticing a tiny dirt path through the trees. You have no idea if it’s there on purpose or if it’s staff-only, but you see no sign so you rush down it, letting fronts and palmettos hit you in the face as the rush of a man-made waterfall fades behind you.

Up ahead, you notice a small round building with a giant disc-shape roof. It takes you a second to realize that it’s supposed to look like the rings of Jupiter, a giant rocket ship stationed to the left of it. You frown, slowing your steps to peer around.

No one else seems to be around. You’ve never seen this building, but the neon green letters built on top of the planetary rings read Jupiter’s Rain Room. From a distance, you hear Jinwoo call your name. It launches you to action and you bolt for the tinted glass doors that lead to the mysterious building.

Air conditioning buffets you the second you step inside. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the low lighting, but once they do, you realize you’re in a sort of theater. Rows of cushioned seats fill the center of the room. The walls are circular, arching up until they form a smooth dome over the room.

A single person twists around in one of the seats, a look of surprise on his face. He’s in an employee hoodie pulled up over his ash blonde hair, and his feet are kicked up on the seat in front of him. He raises his brows, as if to ask what you’re doing here.

“Uhhh.” You lift your hand in a small wave. “Hi?”

“Hi?” He answers, just as unsure.

“Sorry - what is this place?”

“The next show isn’t until three.”

You pause. “I work here?”

“Why do you sound so unsure, then?”

“I didn’t know this building existed.”

“That's because I took down all the directional signage.”

“Oh?”

His mouth twitches, amused. “Do you phrase everything like a question?”

“No.” You think about it. “Actually, maybe sometimes. Look, I’m just trying to find a place to eat my lunch and hide from Jinwoo.”

He spreads his arms out to all of the chairs in the theater. “Be my guest.”

Nodding in thanks, you walk down the steps to the auditorium proper. Up close, you can appreciate how handsome your unnamed coworker is. His feline eyes are intense, tracking you as you walk four rows ahead of him and sit down. He purses his full lips in thought before he settles back into his seat, nearly melting into the cushion as his eyes flick back to his phone.

Meanwhile, you pop the top on your tupperware, the fresh smell of grilled chicken and lemon hitting your nose.

“What’s your name, anyway?” You ask, sticking your plastic fork in your chicken. You give him your name around a mouthful of lunch, followed by, “I’m in recreation. Usually you can find me on intertube duty for the slides.”

“Minghao. Rain room attendant.”

“What exactly is the rain room?”

“It’s a room and it talks about rain.”

You frown, turning around to face him. His eyes flick upward, meeting yours over the top of his phone. When he sees you’re unsatisfied, he rolls his eyes. “It’s the room about how the park does water conservation. No one comes here.”

“Because there’s no signs?”

He nods. “Because there’s no signs.”

“Smart.”

He hums, attention going back to his phone. You turn back around to eat the rest of your lunch in silence, acutely aware of Minghao sitting behind you. Instead of peppering him with all of the questions you keep coming up with, you scroll your phone, monitoring the time until your break is over.

When it is, you stand up, joints popping. You groan and slide out from your row, glancing at him. He looks up, his brows raised in a question. “My lunch is over. Thanks for letting me hide here.”

“Anytime.”

“Have a good day, I guess?”

He smirks. “You’re doing it again.”

You flush. “Sorry.”

“Mhmm. Catch you around.”

The next day, Mingho doesn’t have his hood pulled over his head. You’re surprised at how long his hair is, shaggy and a little bit longer in the back. It suits him, you think, as you pass him by and wave. He seems surprised to see you, but doesn’t object when you sit in the same seat as the day before, popping a chicken tender into your mouth.

Like yesterday, silence permeates the air. It’s cold in the room, making you understand why he’s always in a jacket. You make a mental note to bring one tomorrow - because yes, this is your new lunch spot, so long as Jinwoo doesn’t find you and Minghao doesn’t kick you out.

Curious, you turn a little in your chair. He’s sitting folded into the seat just like the day before, entirely engrossed in whatever is on his phone. This time, you notice that he has a headphone in one of his ears. His ears are also pierced, with elegant hoops catching the light. Those suit him too, though you have a tough time imagining anything not suiting him.

Minghao is the kind of pretty that scrambles your brain. His face is made up of sharp angles and high, defined cheekbones paired with the most straight and refined nose you’ve ever seen. It makes his face look balanced and ethereal, but his plush mouth is where your eyes are drawn, watching his minute expressions while he’s engrossed with whatever is on his phone.

Until he’s not engrossed, and he’s looking directly at you, a single brow arched.

“How long have you worked here?” It’s the first question that comes to mind, albeit not one of the ones you wanted to ask.

“About four months.”

“Oh. I guess I’ve just never seen you around.”

“I avoid most of our coworkers.” He gives you a pointed stare and you shrink a little in your seat. “I know who you are, though. I room with Vernon.”

“Vernon has a roommate?”

Again, not the question you wanted to ask. Minghao answers anyway. “Sure does.”

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“Quiet.”

You hear the warning in Minghao’s tone, so you flash him a smile and turn back around in your seat. Three questions. He allowed you three questions before he got annoyed. Three is a good number.

When you finish your lunch and your time runs out, you get up and give him a soft smile and a wave. He nods in acknowledgement, but that’s all you get from him for the day.

Three questions. You prepare yourself to ask better ones tomorrow.

“How many people a day come to the rain room?”

“Including you?” Minghao doesn’t look up as he asks this. You nod and he hums thoughtfully, fingers tapping on the side of his phone. The motion catches your attention. He has the fingers of an artist, long and elegant with a few silver rings. “Maybe ten.”

“Only ten?” You try not to sound too surprised, too interested.

“Mhmm.”

“Lucky. I probably see hundreds of people a day.”

“That’s why I don’t work in recreation.” His tone is dry, but not unfriendly. You think he might be teasing, but it’s hard to tell. He still hasn't looked at you.

“Want to switch jobs?”

A beat. Then he glances up, meeting your eyes for the first time. It’s brief, but it’s enough to stir something “Nope.”

This time when you wrap up and head out, it’s Minghao who asks a question, eyes flicking to the drink in your hand. It’s the first time he sounds genuinely curious. “What is that?” You hold up the slushie in your hand, shaking it. “Yeah.”

“The Raspberry Rocket Blast. It’s a slushie and it’s so good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s a real name?”

You laugh. “Yeah. And it’s amazing.”

Minghao’s gaze lingers for a second longer than necessary. “Interesting. Have a good day.”

You beam at him, blue teeth and all. “You too!”

Water sluices down your back. You rush underneath the awning of Jupiter’s ring, shaking water off your raincoat like a dog. So long as there’s thunder in the area, you don’t have to work. Most of the staff are lounging in the cafeteria and other break areas, but there’s only a single place you want to be.

To your surprise, there are people in the rain room today. Minghao isn’t sitting slouched in his seat, but rather standing at the back where there is a control table. He notices you come in and holds a finger to his lips, gesturing for you to stand in the back.

Nodding, you follow his orders and pad over to him, pulling a hand out of your raincoat to hold out a styrofoam cup for him. He looks puzzled, hitting a button on the control table that sends the lights dying until you’re in a dark room, barely able to see his outline.

A narrator comes over the speakers, so loud it vibrates the room. You flinch and he adjusts the volume as the display of thousands of stars appear on the domed ceiling. Minghao takes the slushy from you, tilting it toward him to examine it.

“It’s the Raspberry Rocket Blast,” you whisper. “The one I had the other day.”

Minghao takes it skeptically. He looks from the cup to you, back to the cup again, his face downturned like something might jump out and bite him. You nudge the bottom of the cup, urging him to take a sip.

Hesitantly, he does. He brings the red straw up to his lips, taking a gentle pull. When the slushie hits his tongue, you can tell. His face morphs from careful skepticism into surprised delight, smiling around the straw, eyes crinkling at the corners as he takes a few strong sips.

The inside of his lips are blue when he removes the straw, nodding. “It’s good.”

“Told you.” He rolls his eyes, but continues to sip the drink while the presentation plays.

You only half pay attention to it, deciding to sit on the floor with your back against the wall. Minghao glances over his shoulder at you and you point to your lunch. He shrugs and turns forward again, sipping his drink quietly as the ceiling turns to a rainstorm.

It’s peaceful. The threadbare carpet isn’t exactly comfortable and the drywall behind you seems to absorb all of the moisture from the air, but it’s cold and dark. You only vaguely follow the story of the water park’s founding and core pillars. A soundtrack of rain and thunderstorm plays on the projector, lulling you until your head dips a few times as you flirt with sleep.

Exhaustion wins. You doze off, only coming to when the lights come up and you hear shuffling feet and the thwunk of the theater chairs as they slam back to their normal position. You blink groggily, watching the procession of people who head to the door, checking to see how bad the rain is.

Someone announces that it’s finally a light drizzle so they all head out, a mix of kids whining that they want to go down the slides and adults who want to give up and go home. When the last of them is gone, Minghao turns to you, smirking.

“Enjoyed the nap?”

“Very much.”

“Hmm. I’ve got to clean up. People love to leave their shit.”

You grumble and get to your feet. “I’ll help.”

Minghao gives a hum of appreciation but says nothing else. It’s easy and methodical, picking up candy wrappers and empty bottles of soda. By the time you’re done, your phone is buzzing and Vernon is looking for you to switch rotations with him at the Astroslide. You sigh, sliding your phone back in your pocket while you toss the trash into the appropriate bend.

Looking up from where he’s fishing a chicken tender from a chair, Minghao asks, “See you tomorrow?”

“Mhmm.”

“Feel free to bring the…. Blast rocket.”

“Raspberry Rocket Blast.”

“Sure.”

You grin, teasing. “Bye, Minghao.”

Minghao’s lips and teeth are blue. You don’t want to admit it, but it doesn’t look so bad on him. Nothing looks bad on him, though. He’s the kind of pretty that doesn’t belong working in an empty theater room at a waterpark, which has made you wonder on more than one occasion if maybe he’s a figment of your imagination.

(Vernon has assured you that Minghao does, in fact, exist).

Sitting in the back row, you watch as Minghao hops over the seats to walk to the control podium. “Show off,” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. You’re very athletic.”

“Yes, I like keeping in shape. And yoga. And meditation.”

“Of course you do.” Settling further in the seat, you watch him as he flicks off the lights and turns on the presentation. “Why do I have to watch this, again?”

“Because if you’re going to hide in here from your ex boyfriend weekly, you might as well see the presentation so when a guest asks a question, you can answer it.”

“Can’t I tell them I’m in recreation?”

He grins, his teeth Raspberry Rocket Blue. “No.”

You huff, sliding further into the scratchy fabric of the chair as though you can become one with it.

The walls of the room vibrate with how loud the speakers are, prompting Minghao to turn it down. When it’s at the desired volume, he returns to the row of chairs and jumps back over it, sitting down next to you while matching your slouch. He grins again before sipping his slushie.

You think he should smile more often.

Instead of telling him that, you turn back to the screen as an aerial view of the waterpark pains the room in light. Meteor Falls, despite being your personal water-logged hellscape, is quite beautiful at a distance. Full of tropical trees hiding the stone walkways, pops of red and purple and blue waterslides peeking from the greenery. A cerulean ring wraps the waterpark, little tubes dotted along it as park goers float along the lazy river.

“Welcome to Meteor Falls,” the narrator says, voice warm. “We know you’re here to have fun and cool off, but did you know that water is one of our planet’s most precious resources? We here at Meteor Falls, seek to reduce, reuse and recycle our planet’s water.”

You watch as the scene cuts to footage of kids going down slides. You spot Vernon guiding tubes to the conveyor belt and point to him. “Holy shit, does he get royalties?”

“If he does, he spends it on fast food.”

“Every drop here counts,” the narrator continues. “Even the ones from the sky! That’s why we’re doing our part to conserve water by collecting and reusing rainwater!”

“Probably cleaner than the piss-filled water in the lazy river.”

“You’re probably right.”

It’s a good presentation. You pepper the film with your commentary, earning a grin or a sharp huff of air through Minghao’s nose when he laughs. It feels like a win, each time you make him laugh. In the days you’ve been escaping here in the rain room, it’s felt like a personal goal to open him up a bit more.

Minghao is quiet. Observant. You ask him a ton of questions and he asks you none in return, and yet he’s seemed to puzzle things out on his own. It’s different from what you’re used to, most of your friends are loud and outgoing and overwhelming.

Overwhelming like Jinwoo, who you wish would be awful just so you had a reason to cut him off, cut him out, push him away.

At the end of the presentation, Minghao stands and, with a lazy sort of grace, hops over the row of seats instead of walking around like a normal person. He moves like he’s used to being watched, but not in the way that invites it. Just comfortable in his own skin. Then he flips the light switch, flooding the room with brightness.

“What’d you think?”

You wince instantly, throwing up a hand like it’ll shield you from the sun. “I think you just tried to blind me.”

“About the presentation.”

“I think it’s a crock of shit and we still overuse water,” you say without missing a beat.

Minghao snaps his fingers and points at you like he’s awarding a prize. “Good.”

For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. You feel oddly proud, which is stupid, because you’re not here to impress him.

Checking your watch, you heave a sigh. “I have to head back before Vernon freaks out. I was late last time.”

“Tough.” He pushes off the chair, steps a little closer, not close enough to be improper, just close enough that you feel it. “Try not to take any pool noodles to the face.”

“Tubes. They are tubes.”

From behind you, you hear the quiet rustle of his hoodie as he slips his phone out of his pocket. “Sure. Later.”

You glance back just once. Minghao’s got his headphones in, watching you, like he was waiting to see if you’d look. You meet his eyes for a second longer than you mean to. Then you nod, casual, like your pulse isn’t doing weird things.

“Later.”

Pressing the sleeves of your hoodie into your eyes, you dab away any excess tears. The sunburn on your face is just as scalding as the lecture you’d received from your boss, reducing you to giving a tight-throat yes when he’d screamed if you’d understood him, fighting tears all the way down the rope bridge and gravel path to the little hidden oasis you’ve made for yourself.

You don’t really consider yourself a crier. But today had been a bad day, your morning staring with someone running a stop sign and rear-ending you significantly enough to make you two hours late to your shift. Though you’d texted and called several times, your asshole Peaked-In-High School Manager liked to make people feel small.

He’d done a really good job of it today, despite explaining what had happened with your car. With the added, unplanned expense of needing to get it fixed because it had been a hit and run, you couldn’t exactly tell your manager to get his head out of his ass.

So instead, you’d texted Vernon and agreed to take his shift tomorrow if he let you be another thirty minutes late, just enough time to collect yourself. Which is how you find yourself outside of Jupiter’s Rain Room, eyes burning, pride stinging.

Cool air hits you in the face when you enter. Minghao doesn’t even turn around to see who it is. He knows it’s you. He’s sitting in the last row as usual, on his phone, the faintest sound of music drifting from one of his earbuds.

You drop heavily into the seat next to him. That does make him look at you, his eyebrow raised and side eye heavy until his eyes scan your face, the attitude vanishing from his.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” you answer sulkily. “I was crying. There is no active crying right now.”

“I see.” You sniff, staring with unseeing eyes at the rows of seats in front of you. “Want to talk about it?” That makes your stomach dip, but you shake your head. “Hmm. Want to listen to my favorite songs right now?”

You look at him from the corner of your eye. Minghao has never offered something like this. He usually keeps a perfectly manufactured distance, friendly but not friends, polite but not open. When you nod your head, he plucks the other earbud from its case and passes it over to you.

Tentatively, you put it in, heart hammering over something so simple that you chastise yourself, trying to make your breathing even. If Minghao notices, he’s nice enough not to say anything, pulling his phone from his pocket instead to tap on it.

Music fills your ears. The song opens on soft guitar strumming, a soft and subtle melody. You feel your muscles unclench, the berating drifting far away as a soulful voice begins to sing. There’s a quiet intimacy to the song, making you glance at Minghao who watches you with rapt attention.

You give him a small smile, a signal that you like it. He returns your grin, flashing his phone screen toward you so you can see what you’re listening to. River by Leon Bridges. You nod and write it down on your phone before leaning back and listening to it, the rhythm of mixed voice and minimal instruments lulling you into a calm.

All you get is a few more songs. You list each one in your notes app. Minghao is quiet. Patient. A calm sea after a storm, only rippling when you take out to return the earbud, your over-long break over. You know Vernon is probably burnt to a crisp by now and will complain about this for the rest of the week.

“Thanks,” you murmur, standing.

“Mhmm.”

When you leave Jupiter’s Rain Room, you feel so much lighter than when you came. And so what if your heart beats a little bit faster.

Sun beats down on the gravel paths winding through the waterpark. You feel the steam from them, yesterday’s rain burning away in the simmering heat. The smell of chlorine sticks to your skin as you balance the boxes in your arms, careful not to squeeze the styrofoam cup in your hand too hard.

Cool air kisses your skin when you enter the theater. It’s empty, as usual, with Minghao sitting in the back row. He turns when he sees you, a smile alighting on his face. You nearly stumbled, surprised at how genuine the smile has become when he sees you. You ignore the skip in your heart.

Minghao is dressed in his usual polo and loose hoodie. He gets up and reaches for the items in your hand, eager to help you.

“Hey,” he says, holding up a box. “What’s this?”

“I brought you lunch.”

He raises his eyebrows before sliding back into the seat with grace that makes you hyper aware of the way you drop into your own seat, the metal creaking under your sudden weight. You straighten, sticking one of the styrofoam cups in his cup holder.

“Consider it a thank you.”

“For?”

“Not kicking me out when I was being a wimp. And for the really good song recommendations.”

He hums, opening the container to reveal perfectly fried chicken tenders. He picks up a fry, popping it into his mouth to chew experimentally. “Not terrible. And you don’t have to thank me.”

“Anyway,” you continue, eager to talk about anything else. “Leon Bridges is really fucking good. I went through his entire discography.”

Minghao’s face lights up, a small, genuine smile. “Yeah? Glad you liked it. “He’s one of those artists that just holds you, you know? His music is there when you need it.”

“Mhmm.”

“I’ve got more recommendations if you need them. I spend most of the day here curating playlists. It passes the time and I’ve gotten pretty good at it.” His eyes meet yours and this time, they hold, dark and thoughtful. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you like to do to pass time?”

The question catches you off guard. You sink into the seat, thinking. Minghao rarely asks questions about you, content with letting you sit a few rows away while being a cranky cat in the corner.

You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers tap gently on the cardboard container while he waits, a rhythm only he can understand.

“I guess I like reading?” It comes out like a question. “I’m into Sci-Fi movies - I’m sure you’re used to that with Vernon. When I was a kid, I was really into weird animal facts. Like did you know octopuses have three hearts?”

There’s a flicker of amusement in his expression, but it’s not mocking. “I didn’t. What’s another?”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows on his knees. You catch the faint scent of his cologne, something clean and citrusy, not at all like your sterile chlorine.

“Hummingbirds are the only birds that can fly backward.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He tilts his head, lips curving into a half-smile that makes your pulse skip. “You’re full of surprises.”

You take a sip of your slushie, trying to cool the warmth creeping up your neck, but his eyes flick to your lips, just for a second, and your heart stumbles.

Desperate to keep the conversation going, you ask, “What about you? Besides music, what’s your thing? You’re always so quiet and put together.”

“It’s easy to seem together in the natural chaos of this place.”

You snort. “Okay, fair.”

“I don’t know, I like meditating. Working out. Reading. I’m pretty simple, but I like it. I don’t always have it all together, but I’ve gotten pretty good at appearing that way.”

You nod, drawn to this glimpse of him, the crack in his polished exterior. “I admire that.”

He looks at you, really looks, and the weight of his gaze steals your breath. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment hands heavy with something unspoken. You’re so acutely aware of him, the way your knee brushes against his in the seat next to him, the way his fingers twitch. Your heart’s pounding now and you realize with a pang that these snatches with Minghao are the best part of your day.

Minghao is the best part of your day, the quiet he brings, the steady presence. Here, there’s no orange tubes hitting you in the face, no Vernon bitching and moaning that his skin is dry. There’s no sun to burn the top of your head and scalp.

Just Minghao and his calm countenance.

Silence falls between you, backtracked by the hum of the air conditioning. Your break is almost over, but neither of your movies. He takes a bite of a chicken tender while you nibble at your friends. You steal glances, the silence warm and electric.

When you finally stand, brushing crumbs from your lap, he stands too. He’s close, the tangerine scent of him exhilarating. His hand brushes yours when he takes your container from your hands, assuring you he can toss it out.

“See you later?” He asks, voice soft, eyes lingering.

“Yeah,” you agree, a little breathless.

Outside, the sun is beaming, but its warmth is nothing compared to the burning Minghao’s touch leaves on your hand.

Voices blend together as you enter the stuffy conference room. The air is thick with the smell of old coffee and dry-erase markers, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Rows of mismatched chairs fill the small meeting room. It’s ass o'clock early in the morning, but the resort's monthly meeting demands everyone to be present.

You wonder why they don’t use the Rain Room for their meetings and then think better of it. The last thing you want is for the company to find the single space in the entire park that you like to hide in, that is now special to you.

Coworkers fill the room. You pick a random seat in the middle of a row, dropping down as the low chatter fills the space around you. You’re so caught up in scrolling on your phone that you don’t notice Jinwood at first, gliding toward you. You realize he’s going to the seat next to you at the last second, panic taking over as he moves toward you, smile friendly, steps confident.

Before he can reach you, Minghao jumps over the back of the chair like he always does, dropping into it with an easy grace. He grins at you, lips curving into a private smile that makes your heart skip. He pulls one of his earbuds out and offers it to you, brows raised.

Heat simmers beneath the surface of your skin. You accept it, feeling flushed and breathy as you pop it in. He’s got Khruangbin playing, a gentle buffer between the noise of the room and everything else.

Jinwoo falters, his jaw tightening for a second as he diverts, taking a seat in the row in front of you but a few off. His irritation radiates, surprising you. Instead of paying him any mind, your focus is on the song in your ear and Minghao’s fingers drumming on the arms of his chair.

“Ready for the torture?” He asks, leaning back. His shoulder brushes against yours but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away.

“Not at all.”

“Same.”

Quiet swoops through the room as the executives barge into the room, asking everyone to settle in. You peel the headphone out of your ear, passing it back to Minghao. He takes it, popping both of them in their holder and snapping the lid shut. He leans toward you to shove them in his pocket, filling your nose with tangerine.

When he leans back, you notice Jinwoo staring. His eyes linger for a second before he turns toward the front as someone begins a monotone spiel about budgets and schedules. At multiple points you see the tilt of Jinwoo’s head, the way he cuts a glance toward you. It makes your anxiety climb, palms sweaty. You wipe them against your pants, squirming.

Halfway through the meeting, Minghao leans over and whispers, “What’s with the dude staring at you?”

“Ex-boyfriend. Still friendly, but uh… I don’t know.”

Minghao’s face stays neutral, but there’s a flicker in his eyes. “He’s making you uncomfortable.”

“A little. I think he’s hoping because we remained friends that we’ll figure it out.”

“You won’t.” It’s not a question. Minghao leans back, draping an arm along the back of the row of seats. Not around you, but along your back. Not claiming, not possessive, but something.

The meeting drones on, but Minghao keeps you anchored. Jinwoo’s glances taper off, but the tension is obvious in his jaw. When the meeting is finally over and you’re standing, Minghao’s hand brushes against your wrist, catching your attention.

“See you later?”

“Mhmm.”

Minghao’s smile is brief before he hopes over the chair, blending in with the other employees all bustling out, eager to get away from cranky executives and uncomfortable chairs.

Sun scorches the top of your head, heat bouncing off the chlorinated water at the base of the water slide. Kids shriek as they hurtle down the side, their tubes hitting the water with a spray. You and Vernon take turns grabbing tubes and adding them to the humming conveyor belt.

It’s one of the busiest days of the year, which means two people on duty. You and Vernon work in tandem, never stopping, the heat making you tired and prickly. For once, you’re thankful that the shallow pool you’re in is freezing cold.

Vernon is humming as he tosses a tube toward you with a lazy flick. You recognize the song as something Minghao recommended, a smile tilting your lips. Your stomach flips at the thought of Minghao, sad that you won’t see him today. It’s his off day, one of the few times his schedule doesn’t align with yours.

You crab a tube from a splashing kid, tossing it onto the conveyor. You notice Vernon watching you, his expression curious but cautious. You slosh back over, giving him a once over.

“What?” You ask between lulls of kids coming down the slide.

“So,” he says casually. “You and Minghao are friends?”

Your heart lurches. You’re saved from answering right away as a kid crashes into the pool, screaming. Vernon rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab the tangerine ring before chucking it at the conveyor. He almost misses. It gives you time to think, resting your hands on top of the cold surface to ground you.

“Friends?” You ask as Vernon returns. “I guess? I like to hide out in the Rain Room.”

“Hmm. He mentioned you at home the other night. Which is weird, being that he never mentions anyone.”

You blink, heart pounding. “Huh. What’d he say?”

Vernon shrugs, his smile a little too amused for your liking. “Who's to say?”

“Vernon.”

“Relax. Just that you’re cool. He was smiling when he said it, which is so unlike Hao that I thought I was hallucinating.”

Your chest warms, picturing Minghao on their couch, earbuds in, smiling about you. It’s thrilling, but terrifying. You tread carefully, unsure how much to reveal to Vernon, afraid to show that perhaps maybe you have a bit of a crush on his roommate.

“We get along. He’s nice.”

Vernon hums. “He’s picky about who he vibes with. You must have made an impression.” He tilts his sunglasses down, looking at you. “Did you tell him about the octopus hearts?”

You groan and he laughs, slapping the surface of the water. It splashes you and you smack it back at him, volunteering to get the next tube if only to get away from him a little.

He’s grinning when you come back. “He’s cool. You’re cool.”

“Cool,” you shoot back with venom.

Two tubes come down at the same time and you both shoot for them.

“You going to Mingyu’s party this weekend?”

You’d forgotten all about the party. Now that Vernon says it, you wonder if Minghao is going. You assume not, assume he’ll keep to himself. Plus, you’ve never seen him at parties in the past. But you imagine if he did go, what he would be like outside of work, leaning against a wall, watching you with that steady gaze.

“Probably?” You finally answer. “He’ll be annoyed if I don’t.”

“Good.” Vernon pauses before casually adding, “Hao is going. He’s been in a good mood and he figured why not. So. Just wanted to mention in case, you know. You needed to know.”

“Vernon.”

He lifts his hands, a white flag. “Just saying, that’s all.”

You both go quiet, only the ambiance of the water and shout of voices from down the slide to accompany you. Vernon’s words stick with you though and you fight a smile, trying not to let hope bloom in your chest knowing Minghao mentioned you at home. That he never mentions anyone.

The sun dips behind the trees and you feel lighter, looking forward to the weekend and your well-earned off day.

Mingyu and Wonwoo’s loft pulses with life, a sprawling expanse of lived-in comfort. Exposed brick walls rise to high ceilings, soft lights casting a warm glow over the crowd of your coworkers gathered all over. The living area is anchored by a massive sectional couch, its cushions littered with spilled chips and empty cups.

The kitchen island is cluttered in the heart of the chaos, filled with bottles of tequila and vodka, mixers spilled over the surface. Mingyu is in the kitchen pouring shots into someone’s mouth while Wonwoo hovers nearby, watching with mild alarm.

Floor to ceiling windows frame the city skyline, which twinkles like stars outside. Music rattles your ribcage, high energy as people dance in the living room.

You have no idea how either of them can afford this luxury, but you don’t ask. Instead, you slip into the kitchen, looking for a drink to help ease your nerves. You’re dressed in a denim skirt paired with a cropped denim top, the barest hint of skin visible between the two pieces.

Your shoes squeak on the hardwood floor as you navigate the crowd. The room is packed with park staff, Vernon in the corner of the kitchen cackling at something Seungkwan is saying, your manager lurking in the corner nursing a beer, other coworkers in a loose circle near the speakers.

You scan for Minghao, heart quickening. Your thoughts stutter when you see Jinwoo instead, leaning against the brick wall near the dance floor, is black button-down rolled at the sleeves. He notices you and your stomach twists as you dart away, heart pounding as you weave through the crowd, dodging coworkers as you aim for the balcony.

The glass door slides open and the night air hits you, cool and cleansing. The city’s hum is a soft backdrop, its sounds drifting up from below. Minghao startles you, turning to look at you from where he leans against the railing, a cup in his hand. He’s in a loose, black sweater and jeans, hair mused by the wind. He looks good, your breath catching when he grins.

“Hey,” he greets, surprised. “Escaping already?”

“Looks like you beat me to it.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit loud in there.”

“I know, I’m surprised you’re here, honestly.”

He lifts a single shoulder, a shy shrug. “I like to keep people on their toes.” His gaze dips down to drink in your outfit and you feel hot all over, withering under his gaze. “You look nice.”

“Oh. You too.”

He chuckles, warm and low as you join him at the railing. He offers you his cup. “Sangria? Swear that's all it is, I just realized how creepy that was, sorry.”

“Not at all, thank you for clarifying though.” You take the cup from him and take a sip. It’s strong, not as sweet as you like it, but flavorful. “Not terrible.”

The balcony is a quiet haven, like the Rain Room. The night air feels good against your flushed skin, fairy lights casting a soft glow over the potted plants. Minghao chats casually, asking what kind of Sci-Fi movies you’re into. He lets you yap, mostly doing his part listening and adding commentary where necessary.

You like that about him, how he’s a quiet counterbalance to your talkative nature. It’s comfortable. Even. you could spend all night standing and chatting with him, living for the familiar way he leans in close when he laughs, arm brushing yours. He doesn’t pull away, touch not lingering but still there.

The balcony door slides open just as you both get to the bottom of the sangria in the cup, Seungkwan sticking his head out. “Yo! Come inside, we need people to dance.”

Seungkwan vanishes back into the apartment and Minghao looks at you, brows raised. You shrug your shoulders and he grins, gesturing for you to head in. He follows, close on your heels. It’s crowded at the threshold of the door and he steps in beside you, a hand brushing low on your back. It’s soft, but it feels deliberate as he guides you after Seungkwan.

Inside, the loft pulses with music, bass heavy. Seungkwan is near the speakers, grabbing a coworker and backing it up on her. You laugh when you see them all, Vernon wincing and watching Seungkwan with pure horror as Mingyu crashes onto the scene, fist pumping.

Someone bumps Minghao, his chest pressing to your back, and he freezes, hands hovering. Your heart races. You glance back, meeting his dark, hesitant eyes.

“Do you dance?” You ask, teasing over the music.

“Sometimes.”

You raise a brow, challenging, and he nods, hands finding your hips, guiding you to the beat. You sway, melding to him, hesitant then bold, hips rolling, denim brushing his jeans. You spin, surprising him, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair. His smirk is molten, tugging you flush against him. His hand slides up, cupping your neck, thumb on your jaw, tilting your face.

“Remember how I said I’m not always composed?” he murmurs, rough, thumb tracing your lip. “You’re making it very hard right now.”

“So don’t be,” you grin, batting your lashes, bold, breathless.

Minghao’s eyes darken and he pulls you tighter, the music slowing, sensual. You dance longer, bodies locked, hips grinding. His breath hitches, lips grazing your ear, grip tightening as you arch into him. Your eyes drift away for a second, a tingling sensation needling at you.

Jinwoo is staring, sour as he watches you.

Minghao notices your shift, loosening his grip to follow your line sight. “You okay?” He asks, hand on your back, protective.

“He’s just annoying.”

“Come on,” he says, firm.

Minghao steps away from you but grabs your hand, tugging. He weaves you through the crowd, past Mingyu pouring more shots, past Vernon slumped on the couch. You pass into a study that you immediately can tell is Wonwoo’s, with a desk and vinyl shelves.

He shuts the door, muffling the party, and it’s just you, the faint bass rattling through you, and Minghao, eyes burning.

Ye backs you against the door, hands caging you in. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since you started spending time in my Rain Room, you’ve upset the order of my life. I never come to these things, but honestly? The thought you might be here is what made me come.”

Your heart hammers at his candor, at the way his breath ghosts against your lips. “You are entirely distracting,” he mutters. “And I’m so unused to distractions.”

“What about now?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I distracting you now?”

“There is nothing else I would rather focus on right this second.”

Minghao’s eyes flicker, hesitant, like he’s waiting for your signal. You nod, breath lodged in your throat. Then he kisses you, slow and deep, lips commanding. He tastes like sangria and want, lips softer than you could have ever imagined.

His hands grip your hips, spinning you to press your front to the door, his chest warm against your back. He palms your ass, pausing to look at you. You nod, wanting - needing him to keep doing. He lifts your skirt a little, fingers exploring the round shape of your ass.

Minghao mouths at your neck and you go pliant under his touch, eyes closing as you gasp against the door. His tongue laves up and down your neck, eager to taste you as his hands continue to explore before he finally - finally - traces his finger along the line of your underwear.

“Minghao,” you breath, shuddering.

“Yeah?” He asks. “This what you want?”

You nod vigorously against the door. “You’ll tell me to stop? Tell me when you’re uncomfortable?”

“Yes.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Good.”

Minghao hooks a finger in your underwear, pulling them to the side. Cool air hits your heated pussy and you whine. He shushes you, his fingers teasing your folds, spreading your wetness. You gasp, hips bucking back into his hand while you see stars.

His fingers circle your clit, slow, deliberate, drawing a whimper. He catches your mouth as you crane back, kissing you deeply, lips tender but firm, swallowing your sounds. Trapped between the door and his chest, his fingers are sinful, sinking one deep inside, then another, curling against that spot that blurs your vision. The wet squelch is loud, intimate, and he hisses, breath hot.

“Fuck, you’re so greedy for me,” he says, voice rough.

You tremble as he slides in another, curling them, pumping slow and deep. Each stroke is precise, making you pant and go weak at the knees. He sucks at your neck gently, teeth scraping, tongue sweeping. You turn to liquid in his hand, the wet squelch filling the room as he finger fucks you properly, mouth pressed to your temple.

“Come on,” he murmurs, mouth buzzing against your skin. “You got it.”

Your orgasm crashes into you, walls clenching. You cry out, shaking as he works you through it, not stopping until you’re panting and boneless against him.

Minghao removes his hand and turns you toward him, kissing you and pressing the back of your head against the door. The kiss is hungry but controlled. He breaks away, eyes burning as he lifts his hand to lick his finger clean. He hums and it makes you shiver.

“Need a taste.”

You flush. He guides to the desk, swapping aside all of Wonwoo’s things before he helps you jump onto the edge. The wood is cool against your thighs. He drops down to his knees, hands kneading your thighs, squeezing as they tremble.

“You’re so good for me,” He murmurs. “Can you keep being good for me?”

Your head is dizzy with this new dynamic. Somehow, this makes sense. He’s still calm and collected, but you can see the chaos on the edge of him, the way he takes control of the situation - of you.

When you nod, he hums, pleased, and kisses your knee gently.

You lean back, skirt bunched, underwear still pulled to the side. He places wet kisses on your inner thighs, his breath warm and making you squirm. His hands hold you still, firm but gentle as his lips trail higher, each kiss a spark until he looks up at you, eyes fathomless as his tongue dips tentatively against your folds.

A gasp breaks from your lips. He grins, his tongue brushing long, languid licks up your cunt that make your hips twitch. He dives in, lapping, focused and hungry as his tongue circles your clit with slow, wet strokes.

Minghao is relentless, alternating between broad licks and precise flicks. He sucks your aching clit into his mouth, pulling softly with his lips, then harder, until you’re trembling, thighs closing in on either side of his head.

When he pulls back, his lips are wet with your arousal. “Fuck.”

He dives back in, keeping you spread as his tongue dips into your hole playfully, thrusting. His nose brushes against your clit, making you clutch the edges of the desk, sliding down the wall as you fight to stay upright. You reach a hand down, threading your fingers in his hair. He groans, doubling down, the wet sounds of his smacking lips filling the room.

The desk creaks as you shift again, losing control of your ability to remain upright. His tongue flicks faster and you start to peak, healing right for your orgasm. He senses it, increases the way he sucks at you, tongue hungry, perfect.

You shatter.

He drinks you in gently, tongue turning soft and lazy as he licks you through it. You turn oversensitive, pushing at him with a weak moan.

Minghao stands and leans over you, grabbing your chin to plant a wet, messy kiss on your lips. You lick into him, tasting yourself, eager to have his mouth on yours again.

His hands fumble against his jeans, fingers working the button until he’s finally free of them enough to shove them down. Your mouth waters at the sight of his heavy cock bobbing, hard and leaking from just pleasing you, from getting you off twice.

With a few pumps, he’s brushing the tip of his cock through your folds, collecting the wetness there. You moan in tandem, both of you transfixed with the way his shaft slides against you. He lifts your thighs, hooking his forearms behind your knees as he presses the head of his cock into your throbbing entrance.

“Shit,” you gasp as he breaches you, sinking in.

He groans too, easing in, slow and deep until he’s seated, hips pressed flush against yours. He slowly starts to fuck you steadily, each thrust perfect and sending your eyes rolling backward in your head. The desk creaks beneath you, wet sounds filling the room.

“You drive me crazy,” he admits, kissing your neck, teeth crazy. “Glad you disrupted my quiet days, though.”

That makes you whine. You kiss him, messy, nails digging into the side of his neck. He groans and speeds up, dropping a hand to slide between your legs and circle your slippery clit. That makes you moan his name, hips bucking as he sets a faster pace.

“Come for me,” he urges, grinning.

You do, clenching, his name on your lips. His thrusts turn messy until he grits his teeth and follows suit, spilling inside you. He rests his forehead on your neck, panting. Your fingers run through his hair, soothing, grounding for both of you.

“I,” he pants, voice raspy. “Have never fucked someone in a random room like that in my life.”

“Wanted me that bad?”

“You have no idea.” He lifts his head, looking up at you with dark eyes. “I thought you were going to be a nuisance. And then you kept showing up, kept being chipper. Sweet, even. You brought me slushies and asked about my music. You grew on me in a way I didn’t expect.”

“It sounds like you like me.”

He groans as you laugh, teasing him. “I guess, yeah.”

“Well, I for one, am glad I stumbled on that Rain Room.” He hums in agreement, tired. “Now how about you pull up my skirt and take me home to fuck me properly, Minghao. And maybe get a slushie on the way.”

He huffs, shivering. “I’ve got you.”

TAG LIST:

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#caratbaycollab #minghao x reader #minghao smut #xu minghao smut #minghao fic #minghao x you #xu minghao fic #svt smut #svt fic #svt x you #svt x reader

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h109zone · 7 days ago

Text

"too much! too much!"—nsfw

synopsis. a series of ways the li’s would enjoy overstimulation with you.

pairing. multi (separate) x reader

words. 2.3k

warning. nsfw, overstimulation duh, established relationship, porn with no plot, restraints, references of squirting, jealous!xavier, fingering, cunnilingus, some bs fact i made up about Lemuria, chastity/orgasm denial, masturbation, piv, mentions of public space, angry sex, lingerie, sensual love making, fucking through the mirror, mentions of insecurities (nonspecific), slight choking.

requested by. anon

a/n. xav's was based on the new event 😝 love me a man who can tie knots with ease (might make a seperate fic for him hehe), also this is lowkey a mess, i sincerely apologize, its four am rn. its not as poetic and plot-heavy as "mess with my woman, mess with me," but nevertheless, hope it's readable and enjoyable :).

minors do not interact. re-read the warnings before reading, as after clicking “keep reading”, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

Xavier

The ropes were tightening with each passing moment, and Xavier never got close to it since he had bound you with them. You discovered his talent for tying knots by accident while participating in an event. After he decided to demonstrate how to tie knots on his wrist using the yarn in your possession, he ended up restraining himself on purpose. Your eyes widened, unsure if this was purposeful, as your brain instantly headed in a different direction.

“You know how to tie a knot?” you asked him inquisitively, as your eyes switched from his face down to the wrist-bound hand.

His doe-eyes feigned innocence contradicted his smirk that could mean anything, but you could see right through him.

“Maybe,” he responded, a mirthful tease was laced in his simple answer, leaving you clenching your fist as the words caused another knot in your stomach.

Fast forward, and a shirtless Xavier was using his talents on you; your wrists and along with your spread legs were bound onto the corner ends of your bed with intricate knots to make your escape difficult, not tight enough to cut circulation, yet not loose enough to free your hands. His nimble hands were not only talented in tying knots but also at pushing further onto the edge, as this is his third round with you where he has made you come nonstop without using his cock on you.

He thinks you deserves this after you’ve been having unwanted attention from your neighbor; unworthy of his length, but instead the tortures of his fingers onto your weeping pussy that called out his name and his name only. And he never stopped his motion; he kept going and going, even to the point of tears, and this time is no less.

Xavier’s rapid speed was petrifyingly arousing, his middle and ring finger thrusting and out of you, making you scream at the overstimulation.

“X-xavi, please!” you could only manage spill out of your fucked out space, as you felt yourself getting close to your peak. He can only fasten his pace as a response while kissing your temples as you writhe underneath him.

“Mhm, yeah, go on now, my pretty girl… say my name while you come,” He spoke in his naturally soft voice, but it was bordering on arousal, contradicting the dark and soft like the devil once was. Your eyes rolled back as you shook while squealing, feeling like a waterfall had flown down underneath you, causing a mess in the sheets and a groan from Xavier escaping his lips.

For the first time, Xavier has pulled away, his two fingers pruned from the wetness oozing out of you, taking a good look at the scenery in front of him. You were catching your breath, hair sticking onto your skin from the sweat, unaware of your surroundings, in contrast to Xavier, smirking and gloating at the mess you’d made. You looked so hot, and Xavier thinks it’s time.

While still in an overstimulated state, Xavier stripped off his pants and boxers before placing himself between your legs. You whimpered as you felt his head rub against your dripping hole, making him hush at you.

“You know, I’m not done… Lemme have what he can’t have.”

Rafayel

Maybe telling Rafayel you never had a genuine orgasm was both a good and a bad idea.

It all started from a simple painting session with him; he wanted to draw you, and you served as his model naturally. Thankfully, Rafayel was talented enough to memorize shadows and lights that were hitting your supple skin, your scars, and other imperfections, so that he could chat with you just fine. You were discussing past lovers and you mentioned that your ex’s has failed to give you an orgasm, and there was his paintbrush dropping on the floor, splatting the marble material with red paint.

You gave him a concerned face as you went up to him, fearing that he would get dizzy. “Are you okay?”

Rafayel was not okay, and he needed to do something—especially when you indirectly challenged him as you’ve stated that “no one could ever make you come..

One moment you were tending an astonished Rafayel, and now you were shuddering in immense pleasure as he placed his head in between your legs, to prove you wrong.

The sounds of Rafayel’s art studio were once filled with classical music and scratches of pencil hitting the paper, but now turned into an audio coming straight from an adult film. Your legs were spread apart as you gripped his purple strands while he went to town, his tongue leaving trails of love and lust onto your parts, sending you to a frenzy.

“Rafy~” You moaned out as you threw your head and tugging onto his hair while his tongue starts playing around your clit, leaving shapes that drives you insane.

In Lemuria, it is important to make your lover have a mark so they can remember their lover; for Rafayel, it was spelling his name onto your clit, his tongue drew along the nub far much intricate than of his paintings.

You felt yourself getting closer to the edge as your legs started shaking before you felt yourself riding onto his face to ride out your pleasure. However, Rafayel never pulled away, not even to breathe.

You started to sob as you felt overwhelmed, yet Rafayel was still not stopping. Thinking he was still too in his world while having your honey, you tried pushing his head, but to no avail, he pushed his hand away as he dug his face deeper.

“Rafayel… please! It’s too m-much!”

Rafayel finally pulled away after your weak protest, looking at you with heavy lust in his eyes.

“No, cutie, I need to show you what your idiotic exes couldn’t do, and make you feel so good,” he gruffed before he went down to finish his meal as the overstimulation was pleasantly kicking in.

You were glad that you had confessed to him.

Zayne

This denial you were having was torturous.

He tested you and he loved it, he knew you were needy for him, as he was for you. But his chastity test that he gave you was doing more good than it was for you. Zayne would purposely busy himself to not to satisfy your sexual needs. Whenever you’re in his office at the hospital in need of him, he wouldn’t spare a glance at you, only for you to do what he orders: strip yourself and start touching yourself.

You’d think you’d have what you wanted, only for you to get interrupted immediately by him as you were ready to orgasm. He would utter a firm stop, making you halt your motion and look up at him confused, before he got up, still not looking at you.

“I have a patient coming in in a few minutes, so better dress up before they come in.”

Bastard.

And he never stops doing that for the next few weeks. You were convinced that you were going to lose it with his denial and teasing, him not giving you a single glance, a single form of satisfaction; you were praying for those torturous days to end, and thankfully, your prayers had been answered much sooner than expected.

A little mishap that occurred at the hospital has caused your typically calm-and-collected doctor boyfriend to lose his cool, however, he couldn’t take it out on his co-workers or his patients.

Oh, no, no… that’s where you come along.

It went from you consoling your boyfriend as soon as you noticed his huff while powerwalking up to you, to the fervently angry make-out session, to now pounding onto your poor pussy with no mercy.

You have skipped foreplay—uncommon for the two of you—but as someone has even been denied to come even once by your ruthless-in-the-sheets boyfriend, you couldn’t care less, as he had made you come more than he had switched positions.

You didn’t know how long your session had been going, but the deprivation of climaxing to overstimulation has overwhelmed you. Zayne’s fingernails sure marked your skin with waxing and waning moon shapes, while his hips were moving in an unforgiving pace and intensity, pent-up anger setting the motions.

“Oh, my fucking, god, Zayne! I-Its too much—” Your mumbling words were cut off by more erotic sounds as Zayne still pushed himself inside of you. His cock was shaped perfectly inside of you, that even with the intense feeling of climaxing prematuring was wall worth it.

“Shh, you don’t get to decide when to stop—fuck~” His voice cracked at the end as he lets a moan escape his lips, feeling himself getting closer once again.

All this chastity and pent-up that you and he were having respectively served you good, as you could see.

Sylus

Sylus was a tasteful man, and you loved indulging in that.

You lit up candles in your shared bedroom while wearing a red set that Sylus bought for you the other day, setting the mood for tonight. What’s the occasion? Just mere appreciation for him. He was the perfect boyfriend; doting, loving, caring, providing, just everything a perfect man would have, and that doesn’t even cut a quarter of what Sylus is to you.

You lay on your side by your king-sized bed as you waited for him, and as if on cue, he walked into the room, and he already sensed the titillating energy the room was having. His red eyes stare at your figure as your alluring lingerie matches well with his eye color. Your eyes were filled with a mix of adoration and concupiscence, as they hypnotized him in closer.

Time passed, and your lingerie that was once hugging your body was now ripped into shreds, while Sylus places you onto his lap as he thrusts up to you, leaving you in a whimpering mess.

You initially rode him with your lips were magnetized by his naturally curved lips, hips gyrating in a pace that caused both of you immense pleasure as Sylus’s deep voice erupted into a growl. Your thighs gave out as you reached your climax, yet Sylus didn’t want you to stop your motions. While catching your breath, he misled you into giving you a breather, ready to push yourself off of him, only until he grips your hips as he starts thrusting upwards, making you yelp out a whimper.

“Sylus! Sylus! Please! It’s! Too! Much!” Your moaning words went in sync with Sylus’s thrusts, his cock leaving you no mercy as it hits continuously up to your sweet spot. Sylus could only groan while he bit your earlobe at the way you clenched around due to the overstimulation.

“Stay with me, kitten, I—fuck—won’t stop anytime soon,” he breathily said while he pulls your face up to him, forcing eye contact, “I need you to be with me, okay?”

You can only nod before he crashes his lips onto yours before pushing you down to the mattress, still pushing his cock inside of you.

You surprised him, and now he gets to enjoy his gift.

Caleb

Your reflection has painted a portrait for you: makeup ruined, hair disheveled, bruises all over your upper body, your thighs were glistening from the mix of your essence and cum and your boyfriend behind you, smirking as he teasingly massages your asscheek that he had just spanked.

Your hands were gripping the mirror as commanded by your colonel boyfriend, standing behind you in the nude, as he proceeded to slap your cheeks, making you grimace in pain and pleasure.

Caleb forces your head up by placing a hand on your neck while he snakes his other arm around your waist, “Keep your eyes up on yourself, pipsqueak.” He gruffed, holding your jaw by the slope of his thumb and pointer finger, lips started to attack the sides of your face while his other hand traveled south as he started to play with your abused nub.

All you did was express your insecurities, talk about your dissatisfaction with your appearance, your style, your intellect, your whole general existence, all a vent to your trusted boyfriend. However, with each criticism you gave to yourself, a part of Caleb shatters along with it. Does he not love you enough? Has he not reassured you enough? That’s no good at all, things must change.

And there you are now, after rounds and rounds of Caleb fucking you to oblivion until you recognize your beauty, he still felt like you weren’t buying it, hence the two of you standing in front of the full-body mirror that located in the corner of the room. Caleb’s veiny hand that was inserted itself once again inside of you caused you to twist your leg shut, but he used the hand that was on your neck to stabilize you by holding your waist, forcing you to stand up straight.

“Oh, no, no, you can’t do that,” he whispers as he kisses your shoulder while looking at you through the reflection, “c’mon, pips, tell me how gorgeous you are…”

His command, along with the overwhelmingly painful pleasure you were receiving, sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t babble out his name, which caused him to pull out and slap your pussy, making you wail in pain and pleasure vefore he inserts it again.

“I won’t repeat myself… say you’re gorgeous!” His voice was harsh while his eyes resembled those of a predator. You could only sob and hiccup before letting out a weak yet audible, “I’m gorgeous.”

“Say it louder,”

“I am gorgeous!” You whimpered loudly as his fingers began rubbing your sensitive nub at a dangerous pace.

“That’s my good girl~” He mutters before leaning in for a cheek kiss.

The kiss was sweet and sensual, contrasting with the violent and fervid fingers that Caleb places on your lower half. His cock was sprung up high once again as it hits your outer lips, ready to insert itself once again, making your fucked out state an even more brain melting experience.

You won’t be leaving the room without saying “I’m gorgeous”… unless you speak of your insecurities once again.

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