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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Note

Here my out. I don't have a solid concept other than Bob finds a sketchbook filled with supersuit concepts so he starts flipping through it and it turns into pictures of the team and then pictures of just him. Anyway reader finds him looking at it and somehow the conversation ends up like "sorry, you're just really pretty in the sunlight. I mean, you're pretty in any light." I just need someone to tell Bob he's pretty 😭

Velour and Velcro

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

Summary: You have a hobby of drawing and designing things in your spare time, one day Bob stumbles across your sketchbook and discovers something surprising.

Warnings: Semi Spoilers for Thunderbolts I guess cause Bob. No crazy warnings apart from that partners, just super fluffy, super sweet stuff happening here, with like a hint of intimacy :)

Author’s Note: Thought I’d make a cute little one-shot for today as I’ve been focusing on a lot of my bigger works and getting those prepared for posting (there’s not a lot of editing to do, just want to go through it with a fine toothed comb.). Hope y’all enjoy this one though!

Word Count: 5,939

The common room of the compound had been a war zone not even less than an hour ago.

The aftermath of game night still lingered in the air like smoke after a fireworks show–explosive, and borderline destructive. A half-empty bowl of popcorn had been flung across the room at some point, scattering kernels into the shag rug. Three pillows had been used as makeshift shields. Walker had accused Yelena of cheating, and Yelena had accused Walker of being a “living embodiment of a root canal.” Ava had sat back and watched the chaos, while Bucky and Alexei had both quietly removed themselves to get their respective alcoholic beverages–Bucky’s was whiskey, Alexei’s was vodka.

Through it all though, you had sat curled into the corner of the oversized grey cloud couch–legs folded up, sketchbook braced against your thighs, pencil and pen moving in quick, distracted arcs while chaos was blooming around you.

Bob had taken refuge in the open kitchen where he would be able to hide slightly from the chaos, and bake without being totally bothered by people.

The cake he made had started as a peace offering and became a full-blown stress bake the moment he heard someone scream “YOU CAN’T STACK DRAW FOURS” with the kind of fury usually reserved for battlefield decisions. The rich scent of chocolate and vanilla had poured into the air, mingling with the salt and butter from the popcorn, and the faint citrus of someone’s spilled soda that still clung to the coffee table.

Now, the kitchen was dark. The last flicker of the oven light had gone out. Most of the team had vanished to their quarters, trailing groggy grumbles and sore losers’ muttering. The common room had finally settled, breathing again after the riot of laughter and arguing had burned itself out.

Only a single lamp remained on beside the couch, casting warm, golden rays over the cushions and the floor beneath. The glow hit the coffee table in soft shapes, glinting off an abandoned spoon and catching in the tiny rainbow oil spill of a spilled cup of tea. Outside the windows, the city buzzed on–he could hear everything even though he was eighty levels up above the streets; car horns honking, people’s laughter, the booming bass coming from clubs.

Bob sat on the edge of the couch, right where you had been earlier.

The cushions were still warm, and your blanket was slipping off onto the floor. And there–tucked beneath one of the throw pillows–was your sketchbook.

He had picked it up with every intention of returning it to your room, but it felt so warm in his hands, and familiar because it was yours–the temptation was great.

You took it everywhere with you–mission briefings, airport lounges, quiet rooftops. He had watched you doodle in the margins of reports, on napkins, sometimes on your own hands when you ran out of space. He’d seen you sketch everything from tactical armor blueprints to a cartoon of Alexei in a tutu–as per his request because he thought you would be able to execute it perfectly…He still has it hanging in his room. Bob admired your creativity, how you were able to conjure anything up onto paper without really thinking about it, and the pride on your face when you made someone laugh with a sketch of them. You took joy in the little things, and Bob loved that about you…It was one of the multitude of things that made him grow so attached to you in such a short period of time as well.

So when he flipped the book open, just to see what tonight had looked like through your eyes…Bob couldn’t help but smile.

The first page hit him like a kaleidoscope–an explosion of rough linework, little notes crammed into the margins, and the chaotic charm that could only belong to you. A suit with heat-reactive armor filled the center, the panels labeled and crosshatched, but the entire thing was surrounded by doodles of stars and question marks. A sticky note had been pressed into the corner with a scrawl that read:

“Would this melt? Ask Ava. Or throw it into a bonfire and find out.”

Tucked under the edge of the next page was a scrap of metallic blue fabric–shiny, a little torn at the edge, maybe scavenged from a prototype–and beside it, you’d written:

“Love this for night missions. Or roller disco.”

He flipped another page.

More sketches. Some wildly technical–complete with annotations, chemical compound breakdowns, tensile strength estimates. Others looked like pure fantasy. There was one labeled “Bucky but make it James Bond” with a tuxedo that clearly had at least three concealed weapons built into it and a bowtie that doubled as a GPS tracker. Right beneath it, you’d scribbled:

“He’s going to hate this. It’s perfect.”

Next to it:

“New project idea: suit that deploys snacks for the hangry people on the team.”

There were fingerprints smudged across some pages. A couple places where tea had clearly splattered–rings of soft brown staining the edges, a few ink trails bleeding where it had touched the lines. Some of the pages had been ripped out and taped back in, corners folded and unfolding like they’d been touched again and again.

It wasn’t just a sketchbook. It was a journal. A blueprint. A scrapbook of your brain.

On one page, tucked into a hand-stitched envelope you’d glued to the inside of the paper, was a tiny Polaroid of Yelena fast asleep during a mission debriefing, mouth slightly open, arms crossed. You’d captioned it:

“Her highness at rest. Do not wake unless you want to be attacked.”

There was another one a few pages later: Alpine in full loaf mode on top of Bucky’s clean laundry pile. Her eyes were mid-blink, deeply unimpressed with the camera. Beneath it:

“Make Bucky a serious portrait of her for his b-day. Buy oil paints and a heavy frame. She deserves it.”

Bob laughed quietly to himself, breath fogging a little against the thick silence of the room. The sketchbook was warm in his lap now, heavy with secrets, and he felt like he’d broken into something sacred–but you’d also left it there, hadn’t you?

Part of him wondered if that was on purpose.

He flipped again. Slower now.

The sketches were less structured as he turned the pages. More personal. Little candid moments rendered in soft lines and shaded pencil.

Ava with her nose buried in a novel, curled under three blankets in the common room.

Walker fast asleep with his mouth open and one sock half-off from Alpine pulling at it, labeled “he snores like a wood chipper.”

Alexei doing squats with a few books balanced on his shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Bucky standing in the hall with a grocery bag slung over his shoulder and a faint smile on his face–captured like you’d seen it only once and hadn’t wanted to forget.

He flipped again.

Still more familiar faces—moments frozen in graphite and ink.

Yelena dancing alone in the kitchen, socked feet sliding on the tile. Ava perched on the compound balcony, wind tangling her hair as she stared out at the horizon. Walker and Alexei arm-wrestling over a stack of pancakes. Even Val, drawn from behind, pacing a briefing room with her phone clutched in one hand like it was a weapon.

Page after page of everyone else. Little snapshots of the people you spent your days with, drawn in affection and detail. Not always flattering, but always seen.

And Bob…

He wasn’t anywhere.

He turned the page again.

There it was–a suit design labeled SENTRY (high altitude / max durability). It was stunning. Sleek. Reinforced in all the right places. Smart. Sharp. Sharp in a way that felt distant from the rest. You’d even drawn it over a silhouette that wasn’t quite him—too tall, too broad, too composed.

Your handwriting was still there though. All the notes, all the care.

“Reduce friction on shoulder seams. They always leave marks.”

“Flexible core armor. He moves quieter than you’d expect.”

“Lining should be soft. He won’t ask, but he hates the scratchy stuff.”

Bob stared at the page, chest tightening.

You paid attention. You always paid attention. But this didn’t feel like the others. It wasn’t him. It was the idea of him. What he wore. What he could withstand. What the Sentry needed to be.

The ache bloomed slowly in his chest, quiet and a little hollow.

Because maybe you didn’t draw him the way you drew them. Maybe to you, he was mostly suit specs and duty. Not laughter. Not stillness. Not warmth. Maybe you only looked at him in relation to what he could do–not who he was when he wasn’t glowing.

He turned the page anyway. Resigned.

And something fell.

A loose sheet slipped from the binding–like it had been tucked there with a kind of reluctant care. Not meant to be lost. But maybe not meant to be found so easily either.

Bob caught it midair.

And his breath left him.

It was him.

Drawn entirely in pencil, soft and textured. He was sitting on the common room windowsill in profile, knees pulled up, chin resting on his arm. The city behind him glowed like a galaxy, but the light you’d shaded most carefully wasn’t the skyline. It was the way it spilled across his shoulder and cheek.

Sunlight. Or something that felt like it.

He stared at it, stunned.

There was no suit. No armor. Just Bob. Just quiet.

He flipped the page.

Another sketch.

Bob on the rooftop, hoodie pulled tight around his shoulders, the wind ruffling his hair. He was mid-laugh. The kind of laugh that closed his eyes, tilted his head back. You’d captured the movement like you hadn’t wanted to forget a single detail. And again–there was light. Sketchy, warm, bleeding across the horizon and catching in his smile.

He flipped again. Faster now.

There he was–dozing on the Quinjet, arms crossed, sun pouring through the window and across the bridge of his nose.

There–leaning against the railing in the compound garden, hair mussed, holding a mug. His silhouette edged in early morning glow.

There–half-turned toward you in the middle of a conversation, eyes soft, lips parted. Lit from the side like you’d drawn him straight from memory. Every version of him surrounded by brightness. Like you couldn’t separate him from light even if you tried.

The ache in his chest cracked open into something else.

Wonder.

Disbelief.

Hope, soft and new.

He turned one last page.

This time, it was just his face. Close-up. No background. No distraction. His eyes were open–looking just slightly off to the side, like he was listening. A small crease between his brows, his lips parted as if he’d just started to speak. The light hit only one side of his face, casting the rest in gentle shadow.

And under it, scrawled in your familiar, almost apologetic handwriting:

“I don’t know why I always draw him in the sun. Maybe because that’s how I see him…My Golden Boy.”

Bob stared at the words; My Golden Boy.

His heart thumped once, hard–then stuttered like it was trying to reset itself, like it completely forgot its job. The breath caught behind his ribs trembled, and slowed when it left him. He wasn’t used to seeing himself like this–not as the Sentry, not even as himself…But as someone you looked at with wonder. With affection…With light.

He pressed his hand gently to the page, fingers trembling slightly as if the graphite might smear. His name wasn’t written anywhere, but it didn’t have to be. It was all him. The way you’d drawn the softness in his expression. The warm shadows. The quiet tension in his brow that only surfaced when he was thinking too hard and trying not to let it show.

He could still feel the echo of your voice in the caption, even though he hadn’t heard it out loud.

Maybe because that’s how I see him…

Bob’s fingertips were still hovering over the page–his page–when he heard the quiet creak of the hallway floorboards.

He sat bolt upright.

And then you appeared in the doorway.

Fresh from the shower.

Your maroon robe clung to your shoulders, cinched loosely at the waist, and the dim light from the lamp pooled over your damp collarbones and down the glisten of your chest like water still hadn’t finished tracing its path across you. The robe stuck slightly to your skin in places, hinting at curves and damp warmth beneath. Your hair was wet, curling and dripping at the ends, your legs bare and gleaming from the knee down. You looked soft. Blurred around the edges from heat and water. And the way your eyes swept the room like you’d just remembered something important made Bob feel like the oxygen had been sucked out of the compound.

“Oh,” You said, eyes landing on him, then on the sketchbook. Your lips curled into a sly, sleepy smile. “Caught you red-handed…”Bob opened his mouth. No sound came out.

You stepped into the light, unbothered, tugging the robe closed just slightly more as you approached.

“Sorry,” You murmured, mock whispering like you were letting him in on a secret, “Forgot I left it out here. I usually hide my embarrassing fanart in my room.”

He blinked, surprised by how casual you sounded. “This isn’t—this isn’t embarrassing.”

“Oh no?” You asked, arching a brow. “Not even the page where I drew a suit that dispenses emergency pizza rolls?” He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes dropping to the sketchbook that was still open in his lap.

“I d-don’t think I made i-it to that page.” He muttered, his voice soft and nervous. He was always nervous around you, and his stutter became worse when you were around him. Bob swallowed hard, fingers still curled protectively around the edges of the sketchbook as you settled onto the couch beside him, tucking your smooth, bare legs up under you with ease. The robe shifted again–just slightly–but it was enough to make the air leave his lungs slowly, like they were also resigning from working. You noticed his sudden stillness and smirked like you knew exactly what you were doing.

”You really didn’t get to the pizza roll suit?” You asked, kissing your teeth, “What a tragedy. It’s probably the most important contribution I’ve made to modern tactical gear.” Bob let out a shaky laugh, feeling it catch in his chest briefly. You smelled like fresh citrus, like someone had cut up lemons and limes and saved the skin and sprinkled sugar on them. You always smelled sweet to him, and now with the close proximity it was apparent that it was definitely a mixture of your natural scent and a lotion of some kind that gave you that essence.

“I-I’d wear the pizza roll suit,” He started, “If i-it meant I got to be in your s-sketchbook more often.” You tilted your head at him, eyes sweeping his face with a smirk that softened the edges of your mouth.

”Bob Reynolds, are you flirting with me?” Bob’s face went pink almost instantly. It wasn’t a quick flush, either–it bloomed slowly, like heat rising from the collar of his shirt to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened, then closed again, like he was cycling through a thousand possible replies and discarding every single one.

“I–uh–n-no–” He stammered, then gave up with a breathy laugh. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook and then quickly away, like it might catch fire if he stared too long. You tilted your head, grinning softly.

“I like it,” You murmured, and your voice was quieter now. Gentler. “You, flustered. It’s…Sweet.”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly, as though he didn’t know what to do with a word like that in your mouth–like it wasn’t meant for someone like him. He glanced down, fumbling for something safe to say, but his gaze caught on the sketch again. The one you knew he’d been looking at.

“That one,” You said, following his eyes. Your voice dipped low. “It’s one of my best.” He looked up at you slowly.

“Why do y-you call me that?” He asked, almost a whisper. His hand brushed lightly over the corner of the page. “‘G-Golden boy.’”

You shifted beside him, your knee brushing his. The robe slipped a little on your shoulder but you didn’t fix it. Instead, you leaned in slightly, voice so soft it nearly caught on the warmth between you.

“Because you look pretty in the sunlight,” You responded, like it was the simplest truth in the world. The words lodged somewhere between his ribs and his throat, reverberating through him like soft thunder. He didn’t know how to hold them. They weren’t something he’d ever been given before–not like this, not in a tone that curled with heat and truth and something dangerously close to want.

You were so close he could feel the steam from your shower radiating off your skin, could see the droplets still clinging to the edge of your collarbone, the damp sheen painting your clavicle in a way that made his mouth dry. And then you tilted your head, eyes catching the lamp’s glow like they were catching him, and with a sultry little smile.

“For the record though…You look pretty in any lighting. But the sunlight just does something to you…” It was spoken like sin and silk. Like worship. Bob looked at you like you’d peeled the sky back and let the sun touch just him.

Your words lingered in the air like smoke after something mass–You look pretty in any lighting…But the sunlight just does something to you–and he was burning from the inside out. Blushing so deep it felt inhuman, like even his bones had turned a soft shade of pink. The warmth of your voice, the way you leaned in just enough to let the intimacy rest on the space between you—it was unraveling him. Gently. Completely.

His throat bobbed. His breath shook. And then, barely above a whisper, he answered:

“I think…I only look l-like because of the way you see me…”

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t practiced. It fell out of him soft and raw, stripped of armor, the kind of honesty that only exists between two people sitting too close in a quiet room.

And you smiled.

Not the teasing kind, not the cocky kind–but a slow, molten thing that curled at the edges of your mouth like you were letting him see something private. Something treasured.

”Do you want a live demo?” She asked, glancing at the sketchbook, before returning your gaze to his. Bob’s breath caught in his throat, and his eyebrows raised slightly, confusion and panic blooming all at once in his eyes like twin stars flaring to life.

“I–uh, I–I don’t–I mean, y-you don’t have to–”The words stumbled out, all jagged and half-formed, tumbling over one another in a panic that came from hope. From longing. From the quiet, desperate part of him that had spent so many nights dreaming of being this close to you and never once dared imagine it could feel like this.

You smiled again–soft and amused, but there was nothing mocking in it. If anything, there was kindness there. Heat. Want.

“Relax, golden boy,” You murmured, rising from the couch with an easy grace that made his stomach twist. You crossed to the low coffee table, brushing past the old Uno cards and empty mugs and remnants of popcorn carnage, and picked up your favorite pen from the chaos. As you turned back toward him, the lamp caught the curve of your throat, the warmth on your cheeks, and the dampness that lined your collarbone–and Bob swore he’d never seen anything more radiant in his life.

“It’s not a big deal,” You said gently, as though you weren’t walking him toward the edge of a moment that would burn into the rest of his existence. And then–slowly, deliberately–you crossed the room to him again.

Your hand found his chest.

Not forceful. Not hesitant. Just sure. Steady.

Your palm rested right over his heart–where it was pounding, thunderous under his ribs like it wanted to climb out just to get to you–and then you pushed. Softly. Gradually. Until Bob let himself be moved, shoulders sinking back into the plush cushions, legs parting slightly for balance, arms trembling where they rested at his sides.

You bit your lip–just a little–concentrating, maybe. Or maybe just savoring the moment, the way he looked with his head tilted up–admiring you. Awestruck. Unmoored.

Then you reached for the sketchbook still balanced on his lap, sliding it away gently, like it was no longer needed–because what you were about to draw wasn’t on paper.

Bob didn’t have time to ask what came next.

You climbed onto him.

One knee, then the other. Thighs bracketing his hips. Bare skin to soft cotton. You moved like water–like gravity had chosen you as its favorite–and then you settled, slow and devastating, into his lap.

Bob’s breath left him in a rush.

A whimper, almost. A sound he hadn’t meant to make.

His hands gripped the edge of the couch like they might keep him from floating away. Every part of you pressed against him now–your thighs warm and damp from your shower, the robe parting just enough to reveal the bare skin of your chest, your breath brushing his cheeks. The heat of you–your weight, your scent, your nearness–it made everything else disappear.

Time bent.

You were straddling him like you were meant to live there. Like he was built for this exact moment. And you were close. So close. He could see the tiny beads of water still clinging to the fine hairs at your temples. The curve of your bottom lip. The way your eyes searched his face with an intensity that made him feel naked–not in body, but in soul.

You rested the sketchbook on his stomach, the spine nestled against the slow rise and fall of his breath.

Then you leaned in.

“Don’t move,” You whispered, the pen now poised in your hand. “I want to remember this expression. The one where you look like you don’t know if you’re dreaming.”

Bob swallowed. Hard.

His voice, when it came, cracked like light through stained glass.

“I-I don’t think I am. But if I am, please…Don’t let me wake up yet.” His breath stuttered in his chest, shallow and tremoring, and his hands clenched tighter around the edge of the couch–white-knuckled, desperate. Like if he let go, he might reach for you. Might pull you closer. Might ruin this moment with the sheer want bleeding out of him.

Because he was trying not to think about your legs, draped warm over his thighs.

Not to think about the dip of your robe, the way it shifted every time you breathed.

Not to think about your scent curling around him like a memory he hadn’t earned.

And especially not to think about the way you looked at him–as if he was art already. As if he was worthy of being captured.

But God, he could feel everything.

The press of you against him. The delicate weight of the sketchbook rising and falling on his stomach like it had synced with his breath. And your hand–your hand was moving, slow and fluid, sketching something onto the page with such focus that it made him ache.

You were so close he could see the way your lashes kissed your cheeks when you looked down. The way your mouth curved softly in concentration. And still, his gaze drifted–devotional and restless. First to the hollow of your throat. Then to the curve of your knee. Then back to your mouth like it was something sanctified. Forbidden.

You glanced up and caught his eyes, smiling.

“You’re fidgeting,” You murmured, the pad of your thumb smudging a line across the paper. “What are you thinking about?” Bob could feel his throat tighten a bit, as he coughed a bit. His fingers spasming against the couch cushion.

”I-I’m not,” He whispered, too fast to sound convincing. Your brow arched, slowly.

”No? That blush says otherwise.” He could feel his cheeks grow hotter beneath your stare as he looked down at your hands, “Whatever is on your mind…Better tell me now…Or else I’ll have to draw you with steam coming out of your ears. Might ruin the composition.” You added, sweeping long graceful lines across the page. Bob’s throat worked around a sound that didn’t quite make it out. He shifted beneath you, breath fluttering through parted lips, and sighed.

“I-I…Y-You’re just…” He trailed off, blinked hard, and took a deep breath before continuing, “Y-you’re r-really close…”

Your pen paused mid-stroke. That tiny smile flickered again across your lips–mischievous, but not unkind.

“So that’s what your fidgeting is about, hm?” You asked, cocking your head just slightly as if inspecting him from a new angle. “All this tension just because I’m close?” You dragged the tip of the pen lightly across the paper again–nothing dramatic, just a line to keep your hand busy while you watched him melt.

Bob opened his mouth–probably to deny it–but all he managed was a shaky breath and another glance down. His fists had tightened on the cushion again, knuckles white, like the couch was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. You followed his gaze and saw the way his fingers were digging into the fabric.

You didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, soft and playful:

“You know…” Your voice dropped to a purr as your eyes flicked back to his, “You could put them on my hips. I promise it’d be better than the poor old cushion.”

Bob inhaled sharply–like the suggestion itself was enough to knock the wind out of him. His eyes met yours again, wide and caught between wonder and panic.

“I–I d-don’t wanna mess this up,” He admitted in a hush, the words barely held together by breath. “I-I don’t wanna touch you wrong. Or–or make you uncomfortable. I j-just–”

You leaned in a fraction closer, your breath brushing the corner of his mouth.

“You won’t,” You whispered. “I promise.”

Then, slower, softer, like an invitation dressed as a tease:

“I want you to. That’s kind of the reason why I climbed on top of you in the first place…” Your hands stayed steady on the sketchbook, but your thighs squeezed gently around him in reassurance. His hands twitched against the cushion again. He looked like a man at the edge of a precipice–equal parts terrified and desperate to fall.

You sighed softly–barely a sound–and lowered your pen to rest atop the sketchbook that still remained on his stomach. Your gaze flicked back down to his hands, which were back to being clenched into the cushion, as if it was going to save him from coming undone.

”Alright…I guess I’ll fix it myself.” You murmured, voice like velvet against his ears. Bob’s eyes darted up to yours, startled–uncertain–but he didn’t move, he just froze in his spot.

You reached for him slowly, deliberately, your fingertips brushing the air before touching down gently on the inside of each of his wrists. And the moment you made contact, something happened. His breath stuttered. His jaw tightened. He froze–not from fear, but from the overwhelming awareness of your skin on his. You were the first person to touch his hands in what felt like forever.

You curled your fingers around his wrists–carefully, tenderly–and lifted them. They didn’t fight you. If anything, they followed the motion like they were tethered to you by something deeper than bone. He watched, helpless and wide-eyed, as you guided his trembling hands up to your waist. The fabric of your robe was still damp, soft against his skin, and your body underneath was warm and alive and impossibly close.

And then–you placed his hands on you.

Right on the curve of your hips.

You didn’t let go right away. You kept your hands atop his, cradling them. Holding them in place like you were making sure they knew they belonged there. Like you were grounding him with something far more intimate than words.

Bob exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers twitching instinctively. His thumbs flexed but didn’t dare move–not yet.

Your thumbs brushed over the backs of his hands in slow, gentle strokes. Tracing the veins. The bones. The skin that trembled under your touch. You could feel how warm his hands were. How careful. How desperately he was holding himself back.

Then you leaned forward, just a breath. Just enough.

And Bob tensed.

You saw it in the sharp tick of his jaw, the way the muscles there fluttered under his skin like wings struggling not to fly. His breath caught–again–and his eyes, wide and dark and searching, darted to yours.

Still, you didn’t speak.

You let the silence cradle you both, let the hush between your bodies fill with everything unsaid. The air was thick with heat, your knees snug around his hips, your chest nearly brushing his.

”Kiss me Bob…” The words were soft—barely above a whisper—but they hit him like a solar flare. No fanfare. No hesitation. Just truth. Raw and crystalline and glowing at the edges.

Bob’s breath stilled in his chest. His hands, still resting on your hips beneath your own, trembled like a leaf caught between seasons. His pulse roared in his ears. His jaw clenched tighter, the muscle jumping as he stared at you with wide, reverent eyes—like he wasn’t sure if you were real, or if his dreaming had finally bled into the waking world.

You could feel it—the way his fingers curled just slightly against you. The way his breath shuddered as it passed your cheek. His lips were parted, damp and trembling. And when your nose brushed his—when the air between you seemed to collapse under the weight of wanting—his eyes fluttered closed for a second like the moment alone might undo him.

He was so warm beneath your touch.

So human.

And so afraid to move.

Your hands slid from atop his fingertips gliding up his wrists, along the crook of his elbows, to the dip in his shoulders—slow and patient, grounding him inch by inch. He followed your motion like a tethered thing, like a current pulled toward a shore he didn’t dare believe in. You cupped his face gently–just the edges of his jaw, your thumbs brushing along the sharp lines softened by awe–and tilted his gaze back to yours.

“Only if you want to of course…” You whispered, breath ghosting across his lips like the first touch of dawn.

Bob didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. He was still unraveling–thread by golden thread–under the weight of the moment. The way you were looking at him was unbearable in its tenderness. Like he was beautiful. Like you were waiting for him. Like he was safe here, in your hands.

“I do,” He breathed, and it was hoarse with want. “I–I’ve w-wanted to for…for so long, I–”

You silenced him with nothing but the brush of your forehead against his. Close. Closer. Until the world fell away and there was only breath. Skin. Heat. Until the tip of your nose nudged his again, teasing him, beckoning him to come closer.

He leaned in like a man surrendering–like he was handing himself over with shaking hands and an open heart.

And when Bob kissed you, it wasn’t practiced or perfect. It wasn’t confident or slick. It was slow. Soft. Starved. Like his lips had never truly known what they were for until they found yours.

The kiss started as a brush–barely there. Like the whisper of silk against skin. His breath trembled as it left him, catching on yours, and then he kissed you again. Firmer. Deeper. Still slow, still trembling, but real. Like he meant it. Like he needed it.

His lips were warm and unsure, moving with reverent caution, and you could feel it–the aching restraint thrumming through every fiber of his body. He wasn’t holding you like he wanted to devour you–he was holding you like he was afraid you might disappear.

You responded with a steadiness he couldn’t manage, your mouth tilting gently into his, coaxing him closer. You kissed him like you knew he could take more, like you knew he wanted to be undone if you did it slowly enough.

Your hands slid up into his hair, threading through the soft, messy strands at the back of his head. He gasped into your mouth at the feeling—barely a sound, more like a breath catching on something too big to hold. And then you did it again–fingernails grazing his scalp, thumbs sweeping across the hinges of his jaw–and his whole body gave the faintest shudder beneath you.

He whimpered–soft and broken and so full of want it made heat bloom low in your stomach.

You opened your mouth against his just slightly, inviting him in–and Bob kissed you harder. Still careful, but with a new desperation under the surface. Like something in him had finally snapped loose. His hands, once trembling against your hips, flexed and pulled you in tighter. Not greedy–yearning. Anchoring. Like if he pressed you close enough, he could finally quiet whatever storm had lived inside his chest since the day he met you.

When your tongue touched his–soft, tentative–he gasped like he wasn’t prepared for the heat of it. His whole body stiffened beneath you, then melted so quickly you almost collapsed into him. The kiss deepened by inches, by instinct, until it was slow-burning and sultry, hot and aching and so much.

Your lips parted only slightly, breath mingling with his, and you murmured something soft against his mouth–something he couldn’t even register, because the sound of you speaking into his kiss lit a fuse inside him he didn’t know he carried.

He kissed you again, and again. And again.

Each one a little longer. A little slower. A little more desperate.

Your robe shifted with every move–slipping just a touch more from your shoulder, brushing across the backs of his hands, baring more skin to his touch. His thumbs skated over your waist now, unthinking, and slow. As if he was mapping you. Memorizing you.

You broke the kiss with a whisper-soft sigh, eyes half-lidded, your lips still brushing his.

“Still feel like you don’t know what you’re doing?” You asked, breathless and smug and sweet.

Bob didn’t answer right away. His mouth chased yours again, stealing another kiss that was softer than the last. Sweeter. Like a thank you.

“I feel like I c-could kiss you forever,” He said, and his voice cracked beautifully on the last word.

You smiled at him. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t want you to stop.”

1K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 2 months ago

Text

f1 grid | i'm so hungry i could eat a...

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by 🫐) : the tik-tok, "i'm so hungry i could eat a..." trend

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 1011

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so hilarious to write but i had to like deep dive for some of the drivers to make it ... interesting smirk 😼

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

you bite into your sandwich, chew for a second, then sigh. “i’m so hungry i could eat daniil kvyat.”

max freezes mid-sip. his eyes slowly lift to meet yours with the full force of “what the actual fuck.”

he doesn’t say anything. just shifts slightly, pulling his plate closer like you might lunge across the table. two hours later he casually asks if you’ve been watching cannibal documentaries again.

yuki tsunoda

you flop onto the couch, stomach growling, and groan, “ugh, i’m starving. i could eat kazuto kotaka.”

yuki chokes on the chip he was halfway through. “what?!? you can’t just say that about my friends!”

he looks both offended and mildly scared, texting kazuto immediately: “don’t come over. she’s feral.”

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

you yawn dramatically while stabbing your salad, then say, “i’m so hungry i could eat alex albon.”

george blinks slowly, like his soul left his body. “i—sorry, what did you just say?”

he stares at you for a solid ten seconds, then opens a notes app and types “watch out for her” with no further context.

kimi antonelli

you toss a fork into the sink and mutter under your breath, “i’m starving. could eat ollie bearman honestly.”

kimi’s entire head whips around. “i’m—huh???”

his ears go bright red. he starts stammering something about context and friendship and legality. leaves the room muttering, “what the hell is wrong with her,” but returns ten minutes later with snacks “just in case.”

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

you’re scrolling on your phone while eating cereal and casually say, “i could eat leo, he looks so soft.”

charles gasps so dramatically you think he’s joking—he’s not. “mon mon chat?? are you insane?? he is baby!!”

he picks leo up protectively and cradles him like you just declared war.

lewis hamilton

you lounge back on the couch and go, “ugh, i’m so hungry i could eat nicole scherzinger.”

lewis pauses mid-sip and just… raises an eyebrow. “so we’re just gonna say things like that now?”

he takes a beat. “honestly… i don’t blame you.”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

you toss a piece of popcorn in your mouth, sigh dramatically, and say, “i’m so hungry i could eat luisinha.”

lando drops his controller mid-race. “what?” he looks personally attacked. pulls a pillow into his lap like it’s a safety barrier.

“why are you being like this??” he asks, jokingly.

oscar piastri

you’re doing absolutely nothing, just scrolling on your phone when you go, “i'm so hungry i could eat hattie.”

oscar slowly turns toward you. “that’s… my sister.” he doesn't yell. he doesn't flinch. he just stares at you like you told him the sky is green. "surely you mean to say, 'patty' right?"

you laugh, "like a krabby patty? no, i meant hattie,."

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

you sigh dramatically while picking through takeout, then go, “honestly? i’m so hungry i could eat taylor swift.”

fernando doesn’t even look up. “i beg your pardon.”

you blink. “…i'm just hungry...?”

he shrugs. “she’s powerful. that’s a strong protein source.”

lance stroll

you kick your feet up on the ottoman and mutter, “i could eat lawrence, honestly.”

lance turns so slowly it’s creepy. “my dad?” he doesn’t yell, just looks deeply unsettled. “what if he hears you, he might have you eaten?”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

you curl up beside him, all cozy, then whisper, “i’m so hungry i could eat bitbit.”

alex pulls back like you slapped him. “what the actual fuck did you just say??”

he’s already scooping bitbit into his arms. “you need to leave. i’m reporting you.”

carlos sainz

you’re peeling an orange and casually go, “i could eat isa hernáez, tbh.”

carlos chokes hard on his juice. he starts waving his hands like he's trying to reboot his own brain. “no no no. not this. not today.”

he walks out of the room mumbling “dios mío…” and comes back five minutes later with bread and zero explanation.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

you hum while scrolling, then casually go, “i’m so hungry i could eat kimi antonelli.”

ollie blinks. hard. “…like…why him?” immediately becomes suspicious of every time you’ve smiled at kimi.

he spirals for a full hour before asking, “wait… was that like a flirty hungry or a murdery hungry?”

esteban ocon

you stir your tea and murmur, “mmm, max verstappen sounds filling.”

esteban doesn’t look up. doesn’t breathe. doesn’t blink. “of course,” he says dryly, “we’re just devouring championship rivals now.”

your tea mysteriously disappears from the counter.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

you're laid out across the bed like a victorian widow and whisper, “i could eat yuki tsunoda.”

liam doesn’t flinch. he just sighs. “same, honestly.” pauses.

“…wait, what kind of eat are we talking about here?”

isack hadjar

you're giggling to yourself while reheating leftovers and casually say, “i’m so hungry i could eat… ze car.”

isack turns so fast his shoulder cracks. “i hate you so much.”

when you bust out laughing, he goes pale. “i am never going to live that down, am i?”

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

you spin around dramatically in the kitchen and declare, “i could eat simba.”

pierre gasps so loud it echoes. “mon chien???” grabs simba and cradles him like he’s just intercepted an assassination attempt.

refuses to let you hold the dog for the rest of the day.

franco colapinto

you sigh mid-bite of your sandwich and mutter, “i could eat javier milei.”

franco just stares at you. like a mix of concern, existential dread, and the weight of the argentine government crashing down on him. “…why would you say that, what if he's listening?” he whispers.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

you're chewing on a breadstick and shrug, “i could eat kevin magnussen.”

nico doesn’t blink. doesn’t flinch. “get in line.”

he keeps chewing. you’re not sure if he’s serious. you don’t ask.

gabriel bortoleto

you’re giggling to yourself while setting the table, and blurt out, “i could eat isack hadjar.”

gabriel short-circuits. he stares at the salad you made like it might be laced with something. “you worry me.”

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robbysreaders · 2 months ago

Text

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 1.8k notes: I saw this gif of Shawn from Chicago PD i think? and it made me think of Jack giving a lecture and then i kinda spiraled out idk!!!

You slip away mid-shift, all your patients stable, waiting on results or beds upstairs. You catch Dana’s eye as you peel off your gloves.

“Running upstairs for a sec—page me if anything changes.”

Dana arches a brow, glancing at her watch. “How convenient. A certain silver fox is about halfway through his presentation, if my sources are correct.”

You raise a brow. “I’m just going to support my colleagues. Totally normal.”

“Sure,” she says, deadpan. “Totally normal to reapply lip gloss before a lecture.”

You roll your eyes and make your escape.

You duck into the back of the auditorium, quiet as you can, but your entrance still catches Jack’s eye. He doesn’t miss a beat in his sentence, just tips the corner of his mouth up in a smile before continuing. You melt into a seat, pretending not to notice.

Jack and Samira were asked to give a presentation on their banana pants pigtail catheter procedure from the PittFest MCI, after it had been published by The Lancet.

The talk wraps. The crowd filters out. You linger.

Jack steps down from the podium, spotting you. “Didn’t realize they were letting the riff raff in these days.”

You raise a brow. “We’re a teaching hospital, are we not, Dr. Abbot?”

Before he can reply, Samira swoops in and wraps you in a quick hug. “You made it! You’re coming out tonight, right? Jack’ll give you the details.” She says over her shoulder as she follows someone out the door.

Jack watches her go, then looks back at you. “So… are we?”

You blink. “Are we what?”

“Being honored with your presence tonight.”

You turn toward the exit. “I’m considering it.”

“You do realize you’re walking the opposite way from the ED.”

“What, a girl can’t grab a coffee mid-shift?”

He follows you to the cafeteria, orders a black coffee, pays for both without asking.

“You always this generous?” you tease.

“Only with people who show up to my lectures uninvited.”

You shake your head and sip your drink, and he falls into step beside you. “Can I walk you back to the Pit?”

“You say that like it’s a romantic stroll and not a direct line to getting roped into seeing patients on your day off.”

He laughs. “You still didn’t answer me.”

“I’m walking,” you say innocently.

“Not that question.”

“Oh,” you say, glancing over. “Yeah. If the next few hours don’t implode, I’ll come.”

“Careful—don’t jinx it. And first round’s on me.”

You grin. “Shouldn’t we be buying for you, Dr. Published?”

He shrugs. “Not my first publication. Still not sure why everyone’s acting like I cured cancer.”

Robby suddenly appears beside you. “You done monopolizing my best resident, Dr. Abbot?”

You take that as your cue. “Back to it,�� you say quickly, slipping away.

As you walk off, you hear Jack murmur, “Told you we need ten more like her.”

“You don’t need ten,” Robby replies dryly. “One’s already got you tied in knots.”

The bar’s dimly lit, a little too loud, crowded with scrubs and badge lanyards. Samira’s already holding court in a booth, waving wildly when she spots you walking in.

Jack’s at the bar, two beers in hand, scanning the crowd. His shoulders drop when he sees you.

“Told you I’d show,” you say, sliding up beside him.

“You cut it close,” he says, handing you one of the beers. “Was about to assume I got stood up.”

You raise a brow. “That why you were brooding into your IPA like a sad Hemingway character?”

He huffs a laugh. “Only a little.”

You clink glasses. “To your big debut.”

He groans. “It wasn’t a debut. I’ve done talks before.”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping. “But this one had fans in the audience.”

He glances down at his beer, then at you. “Just one.”

You feel that zing of heat at his words and have to look away for a second—too much eye contact and you might combust.

Across the room, Dana’s already watching like she’s got popcorn in hand. Robby leans over and says something to her, and she nods in the most obvious way possible.

Jack notices too. “Are they—?”

“Oh yeah. Full-on surveillance mode. Maybe we should go join the group, get them to stop gossiping behind our backs.”

“Knowing them, they’ll start gossiping to our faces,” he jokes as he follows you to the booth.

Conversation flows from how excited they are with being done with revisions and how they’re being invited to a couple conferences to give the same spiel to the craziness of the emergency department and their personal lives.

At one point, your knee bumps his under the table and he doesn’t move away.

After a beat, he murmurs, “You always this bold off shift?”

You tilt your head. “You always this soft-spoken after a beer?”

He chuckles. “Maybe.”

You smile, leaning in just enough to keep the banter between you and him. “I like it. The mysterious gruff thing works on the floor, but this? This is nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment—eyes soft, mouth curved like he’s fighting the instinct to say something he shouldn't.

Then: “You’re trouble” as his hand moves softly to your knee, hidden from the group by the table.

You grin.

Samira calls your name across the table, beckoning you over to take a photo. You stand reluctantly, then pause and turn back to Jack.

“You coming?”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “I’m good here. I’ll hold your seat.”

You lean in, just close enough to tease, your voice low. “Try not to miss me too much.”

He watches you go, fingers still resting on the spot where her knee had been. He tells himself to get a grip, but his smile betrays him.

As you walk away, you hear Robby slide into the seat next to Jack and say, loud enough for you to catch it: “So… that seems like a new development?”

Jack mutters something you can’t hear—but you see the smile he doesn’t bother to hide.

The group’s thinned out. Laughter’s softened. Samira’s doing tequila shots with two interns and Dana’s deep in animated gossip with Robby at the end of the booth.

You and Jack are side by side, quiet again.

He’s got his hand back around your knee rubbing small thoughtless circles.

Jack nurses what’s probably his third beer, but it hasn’t touched him much. He’s too grounded. Steady.

“You okay?” you ask, voice low.

He glances at you, brow raised. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve just been…” you search for the word, “thoughtful.”

He smiles faintly. “Guess I’m not used to being the center of attention.”

“You handled it fine. Better than fine.”

He looks at you for a long moment.

“This thing with you… it’s not just in my head, is it?”

You blink. Heart stutters. “No,” you say. “It’s not.”

He nods once, like he needed the confirmation, like he’d been carrying that uncertainty all night.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits.

You reach for his hand under the table, wrap your fingers around his. He doesn’t flinch. Just holds on.

“You’re doing okay so far,” you say quietly.

And for a moment, everything else—the noise, the bar, the chaos of the hospital world—fades.

You’re halfway through rounds when you catch sight of him at the nurses’ station—coffee in hand, hair still damp from the shower, reading through a chart.

He looks up. Sees you. Smiles. It’s different than before. Softer. Quieter. Like a secret just the two of you share.

Dana clocks it immediately.

“What the hell happened last night?” she hisses, falling into step beside you as you walk toward the trauma bay.

“Nothing,” you say too fast.

She gives you a look.

“Nothing… overt,” you amend.

Behind you, Jack appears. “Morning,” he says, voice low but warm.

“It’s 3:47 in the afternoon,” you reply, trying very hard to sound normal.

He shrugs “It’s morning for me” while he hands you a cup of coffee and keeps walking. Dana stares after him.

You sip. It’s exactly how you take it.

She turns to you, eyes wide. “Okay, no. That is not normal behavior.”

You hid your smile behind the cup.

The ER is quiet. It's after 3 a.m.—that liminal, weightless hour when the world feels like it belongs only to the people still awake. The lights are dimmed. Somewhere down the hall, a monitor beeps—steady, slow.

You’re at the counter, finishing notes on a patient you’re about to discharge, when Jack walks by, flipping through a chart. His scrubs are rumpled. He stifles a yawn.

“You’re still here?” he asks softly.

You glance up. “Working a double. I’m actually considering switching to nights—covering some shifts for Ellis to see how it feels.” You ramble a little, nerves showing.

He leans against the counter beside you, arms folded, close enough that your elbows nearly touch. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Just the quiet hum of fluorescent lights, the hush of a sleeping hospital.

“Hm. What can I do to help tip the scales?” he says at last. “You’re the best doctor I know. We’d be lucky to have you on nights.” He pauses, then adds with a grin, “Oh, fuck—does Robby know you’re leaving him?”

You chuckle. “Of course. He’s not thrilled, but he wants me to do what’s right for me. The cases are different overnight. I’ve always been a night owl. Still figuring it out.”

“I’m always here if you want a sounding board.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling—then shifting gears. “Have you eaten anything? Dana said she stashed some thank-you cookies earlier.”

“I’ll never say no to a 3 a.m. dessert. Lead the way.”

You end up side by side on the doctors’ lounge couch, coffee in hand, both of you still bone-tired but not ready to leave. There’s a comfort in the quiet.

After a while, he says, “You should go home.”

You glance at him. “I could say the same to you.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t deflect. Just looks at you.

“Truth is,” he says quietly, “I’ve been finding reasons not to leave.”

You straighten a little, watching him.

“Not the hospital,” he adds. “Just… you. Every time we’re together, I almost go with you. And I keep trying not to. Because we work together. Because you… you get it.”

You don’t breathe for a second.

“Jack…”

He shakes his head, like he’s already regretting saying it—but then: “You make it hard. To keep the distance.”

Your heart kicks. Loud. Certain.

You turn toward him fully. “Then maybe stop trying.”

He doesn’t move—but something shifts in his expression. Softens. Opens.

You lean in.

He exhales. “This isn’t smart.”

“I’m not asking for smart.”

He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

And when his lips finally meet yours, it’s gentle—almost reverent. A sigh of a kiss. Like something long-held and long-denied.

When you part, foreheads pressed together, the silence between you feels full.

There’s nothing to say.

Not yet.

#jack abbot #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #the pitt drabble #the pitt imagine #dr. abbot #dr. abbot x reader #dr. abbott #dr. jack abbot #dr. jack abbott #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #p attempts to start writing

1K notes · View notes

cherrygarcia-07 · 2 months ago

Text

Uniform // Spencer Reid❤️

You buy Spencer a new t-shirt and he is over the moon to be so publicly yours (despite some teasing from his friends).

pairing: spencer x girlfriend! reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.6k

notes: nothing really! cursing once. I really like this one, just a lot of lovey dovey spencer and a lot of derek and penelope being everyones favourite chaotic duo bullying their baby brother 😚

masterlist

——————————————————————————❤️——————————————————————————

“How do you feel about Star Wars tonight?” Spencer asked as he shuffled over to where you were curled up on the couch of your shared apartment, a bowl of popcorn in one hand.

“I hear you.” You began, lifting one side of the blanket up so he could slide in beside you.

“But?” Spencer raised a brow at you, suppressing the ‘I know what’s coming’ smirk pulling at his lips as you rested your weight against him.

“Hear me out.”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice.” He muttered, tossing more popcorn in his mouth.

“Pitch Perfect.” You grinned, giving him your best puppy dog eyes in plea.

Spencer hummed as he nodded as if to say I knew it, tilting his head to look at you while trying his best to hide the adoration all over his face. “Correct me if I’m wrong- and I’m not-“ you rolled your eyes, “but I believe you’ve made me watch Pitch Perfect 6 times over the past 2 months already.”

“Go for lucky 7?” you urged, putting on your best sweet voice as you rested your chin on his shoulder, gazing up at him through batting lashes. “If you don’t say yes then you’re a great big liar.” You grumbled, pointing a finger at the print on his t-shirt.

His brows furrowed in that adorable way you loved as he glanced down at his shirt. He let out an exasperated chuckle as he realised what you were referring to. In large white & red lettering read the words I ❤️ MY GIRLFRIEND , bold and clear across his chest.

You’d gotten it for him on Valentine’s day. You always joked that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and despite him usually being a relatively private person he never shied away from bragging about you any opportunity he got (in fact he invented the opportunity himself more times than not just to give your name an excuse to leave his lips). You figured why not wear his heart on his chest too? He’d blushed when he saw it, a dopey smile on his face as he read it. He’d made you laugh, loud and heartily, with the way he immediately abandoned the shirt he was wearing, fingers fumbling with his buttons as a lovesick haze clouded his brain. Before you could even blink he was donning his new attire, a goofy but proud look in his eyes and your heart soared at the sight.

“I hardly think one’s willingness to watch Pitch Perfect every week is an accurate measurement of one’s love.” He smirked, pulling your legs into his lap, rubbing your calf with a gentleness that contradicted the sarcasm dripping from his words. “Especially if we’re basing it on a t-shirt.”

With a playful huff, you tried to pull your legs back in protest, only to end up tighter in his grasp as he pulled you in closer and you found yourself unable to hold back the giggle bubbling in your throat. His free arm wrapped around you and he laughed back as his hand guided your head to his shoulder with a loving touch.

“I’m kidding. You know we can watch whatever you want to anytime, sweetheart.” He spoke with a softness that would put the clouds to shame. He turned his head slightly to press a light kiss to your forehead before adding, “even if I could recite the script to you in my sleep by now.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you retorted. “You could do that with literally any movie, mr eidetic memory.” Smiling to yourself, you raised a finger to his shirt and lazily traced the red heart on his chest, revelling in the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading through you over your boyfriend’s selfless eagerness to make you happy.

The bickering went on for just a little while longer before you finally began the movie, fitted against one another on the couch like pieces of a puzzle. It was about 45 minutes into the movie and you were both beginning to grow a little drowsy when there was a sudden knock at the door. With a groan, you pulled your head from where it still rested on Spencer’s shoulder and began to rise to your feet.

“No, no, I got it.” Spencer muttered beside you, gently pushing you back to the cushions and quickly tucking you back underneath the blanket before padding towards the door with a yawn. He ran a hand through his hair as he swung the door open, confused to see Derek standing on the other side, a book in one hand and his phone in the other.

“What are you doing here?” Spencer grumbled as he checked the time on his watch.

“It’s nice to see you too.” Derek retorted with a raised brow. “You left this on your desk, genius.” He held out the huge brick of a book he’d been holding, waving it in front of Spencer’s face as he waited for him to take it.

“Oh, thanks.” Spencer took the book, placing it rather haphazardly on the small table by the door. “I didn’t even realise I’d forgotten it.”

“Too eager to get home to your girl, huh?” Derek teased as he glanced across the room at you half asleep on the couch. He moved to focus back on Spencer and his gaze dropped as he took in his slightly crumpled clothes, a smirk pulling at his lips as he read the print on the t shirt. Instantly amused, Derek laughed and rubbed his hands together with a mischievous shine in his eyes. “Now, what the hell are you wearing, loverboy?”

A blush immediately crept up Spencer’s neck and to his cheeks as he remembered what the hell he was wearing, the heat of embarrassment pricking at his skin as he hastily crossed his arms in front of his chest in a too-late attempt to conceal it.

“It-“ A loud exhale left his nostrils as he dragged his hands down his face. “It’s nothing. It’s my pyjamas. Why are you still here?” He cringed at the way his voice rose an octave higher, cracking like a teenage boy’s. His arms hung rigid in the air for a moment, unsure whether to return to his face or his side before resorting to crossing in front of his shirt again.

“Nah, come on- don’t do that. Let me see, pretty boy.” Derek grinned, reaching for Spencer’s wrists before being firmly swatted away. “I heart my girlfriend, huh? Does she have a matching one?”

“Did you come all this way just to bully me in my own apartment?”

“Hey I’m not bullying.” Derek raised his hands, his voice adopted a teasing tone as he continued. “In fact I think it’s adorable. Very cute, Romeo.”

Spencer groaned, hand gripping the door in preparation to shut it in his face.

“Thank you for bringing me my book.” He began, deadpan as he slowly began closing the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

Derek jammed his foot in the door, still beaming like the Cheshire Cat. “You didn’t answer my question, Reid.”

“What question?” He sighed for what felt like the 50th time during this whole conversation as he lightly kicked the shoe out of the door’s way. It was a miracle he even had any breath left in him.

“Does she have a matching one?”

“Yes.” Spencer surrendered, punctuating his sentence with a hard slam of the door, ignoring the laughter echoing down the hallway on the other side.

A few moments later you felt the couch dip next to you, stirring you awake after you had nodded off while Spencer was at the door. Blurry vision barely made out the movie you’d begged for still playing on the TV, though it had long since been forgotten in the hypnotic presence of your boyfriend. Your vision began to clear as you awoke a little more and you turned to see him beside you, watching the way you gazed up at him through heavy eyelids.

“Who was that?” You mumbled as he pulled you back into his lap.

“My test from God.” He replied, caressing your legs over the blanket as if to soothe himself more than you.

“Derek?” You asked and he hummed his response, nodding.

The rest of the night the two of you remained curled up against one another, blanket intertwining you as you both fell in and out of sleep on the couch, staying there long after the movie had ended- neither one of you having the energy to break out of eachother’s grasp. Eventually, under some mostly-asleep zombified state neither of you would recall in the morning, you made your way to your bed and flopped down onto the soft mattress, bodies absentmindedly finding eachother again instantly and you fell asleep for good wrapped up in his arms.

Spencer walked into the bullpen, sipping the sugary coffee you’d made him before he left from the thermal mug in his hand and nodding his good mornings to the team. He plopped himself down in his chair, stretching for a second before unpacking his bag onto his desk. He didn’t get far into his work before his bubble of peace was abruptly burst, a familiarly grating voice materialising behind him.

“Hey, lover.” Drawled Derek’s voice. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut like an automatic response, a dramatic sigh leaving him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed internally.

“Are we really still doing this?” He tried to keep his voice low and even as if he didn’t care but the slight squeak in his words betrayed him.

“Depends.” Derek leaned over his desk, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Do you still heart your girlfriend?”

Spencer stayed silent. Both in protest to his friend’s teasing and in silent agreement that despite his reluctance to the conversation, he very much does still heart his girlfriend.

“How come you’re not in uniform today?” Derek continued, gesturing to his usual cardigan and subtly patterned button up combo.

Sipping his coffee in a feigned display of nonchalance, he responded “that would hardly be professional workplace attire.”

“Maybe we should get you a mug. Can’t let anyone walk around here not knowing how much you love your girl, huh?”

Spencer rolled his eyes at the way Derek shook his shoulder as he laughed, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t genuinely considering it. He was somebody who lived to share his knowledge, always jumping at the chance to ramble about whatever topic presented itself, barely stopping to breathe as his words spilled into one another as his mind moved faster than his mouth could keep up. He could lecture about anything between the vastness of space and the tiny specks of dirt in the ground, an endless supply of topics floating around in that library of a brain but his favourite one to talk about was undoubtedly and unabashedly you. Something that lived on his desk as a constant invitation to talk about you? Well quite frankly, that seemed like a dream.

“Oh, leave him alone.” A new bubbly voice accompanied by the clacking of heels broke him out of his thoughts and he turned his head to see Penelope strut into the room. “It’s not embarrassing to be in love.”

“How do you-“ Spencer began, eyes darting between the two of them with an accusatory look. “You told Garcia?”

“You’re the profiler, honey.” Penelope chirped, tapping him on the nose with the fuzzy topper of her neon pink pen. “Should’ve seen that coming.”

He leaned back in his chair, utterly defeated as he let the teasing continue. He felt like a ping pong ball being batted between the two of them as they carried on for what felt like hours, only stopping when Hotch left his office to remind them that they do in fact have jobs to be getting to, although even he had the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he dispersed them.

Spencer breathed a sigh of relief, pulling his chair closer into his desk to get started as the sound of Penelope’s heels faded further away behind him- until they suddenly stopped.

“Oh- and hey, Reid!” She called. He turned to face her, brows furrowing as he watched her raise her phone in the air. “Thanks for the new lockscreen!”

Spencer’s eyes widened in what felt like slow motion as he realised what he was looking at. A slightly blurry, slightly off centre photo of him half awake in his doorway sleepily modelling the t-shirt. At a speed that risked whiplash, he spun to face Derek who was already brandishing the biggest shit-eating grin Spencer had ever seen on him- which was saying a lot. He’d been so focused on getting back to you he hadn’t even registered the phone in his friend’s hand when he answered the door.

“I’m sorry man. I’m sorry.” Derek raised his hands in surrender, though it didn’t take a profiler to see he was in fact quite proud of his work.

Spencer groaned and dragged his hands down his face again. It was going to be a long day.

Coming home felt like stepping through the door into dreamland, the harsh floor of the hallway outside melting into soft cotton beneath Spencer’s feet as he walked into your shared space. The weight of the day crumbled instantly as he heard your voice ring through the apartment. You were singing to yourself from the bedroom, the sound like a rope that lassoed him and pulled him to you without a second thought. He pushed open the door, body slumping in relaxation as you turned to face him with a smile.

“Spence!” You sang, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him fall into you as he buried his face in your neck. “How was work?”

“Long.” His voice was muffled against your skin. “Missed you.”

You ran your fingers through the curls at the back of his head as you chuckled at his broken sentences. For a genius who seemingly had an inability to stop talking, he sure had a limited vocabulary when it came to your affection. Even the lightest touch from you was enough to render him speechless, IQ slashed catastrophically as his brain melted from the heat of your fingertips against his scalp.

“I missed you too.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head and you could’ve sworn you heard him purr.

He pulled away slightly, aching to see your face and if his brain was faltering before it had stopped working all together now. He froze as he glanced down at your clothes, gentle hands finding their way to your waist. A black t-shirt with the words I ❤️ MY BOYFRIEND across your chest.

“I, um. I like your shirt.” He stammered eventually, voice thick with affection.

“Spence, you’ve seen it a thousand times.” You giggled, dropping your hands to rest on his shoulders. “You gave it to me, actually.”

It only seemed right, he’d thought, that you have a matching set.

“Have you been wearing that all day?” He asked, and his heart fluttered when you nodded. Spencer laughed lovingly as he pictured you walking around the grocery store, or the post office, or wherever you had been today with those words openly declared to the world. Suddenly, the whole day of teasing was forgotten, discarded like it never happened and he found himself itching to get changed.

You frowned slightly as he pulled away from you, though it was quickly replaced by an equally confused and thoroughly entertained smile as you watched him scramble to pull off his cardigan, fingers struggling with the buttons of his shirt in his excitement.

“What the hell are you doing?” You laughed, watching him grab his matching shirt from the closet.

“Well, as Morgan pointed out.” Spencer began, pulling it over his head and smoothing out the print so there was no doubt about what it said. “I wasn’t in my uniform.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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teamred · 11 months ago

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any other way

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x reader | fluff | 1.8k

SUMMARY | in which your good friend, wade, ditches your planned movie night, but his roommate offers to watch one with you instead. however, logan ends up falling asleep on your shoulder.

WARNINGS | drinking, kissing, swearing, gets a little steamy/handsy

RATING | teen+

NOTES | it's funny... i've been a big x-men fan for a while, but i never really fell for logan until d&w. if this pops off, maybe i'll write more for him!!!

///

“Wade, hurry up and let me in! A girl can only hold freshly popped popcorn for so—oh.”

Instead of your dear, annoying friend, it’s his gorgeous, rugged roommate who answers the apartment door instead. Your eyes sweep over him, taking a liking to how his brown plaid button-up drapes over his white tank top. His clothing choices compliment his sturdy frame and strong pecs. His facial hair is perfectly groomed and—

And it doesn’t help that you have just the teeniest, tiniest crush on him.

“Logan, hey!” you exclaim, a little too enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were going to be here for movie night too.”

“Wade’s not here, bub,” Logan says, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a sympathetic half-smile.

“What?! That little shit said he’d be free tonight…” You sigh, shaking your head. “Well, it’s all good. I’ll just—”

“Did you want to watch a movie with me instead?” Logan offers. You think you hear a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Since you came out all this way?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you’re—”

“Darlin’,” he interrupts with a soft chuckle. Your heart stumbles at the sound. “I have never been more free on a Saturday night. You’re welcome to join me, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Now your heart is melting over his kindness. You smile warmly. “I always feel comfortable around you, Logan.”

He returns the smile and gestures for you to come in, offering to take the popcorn and if you want anything as you remove your shoes.

“I got it, but thank you. A beer would be good,” you reply, settling in on one end of the couch in the living room. You glance around curiously. “Is Blind Al not home either?”

“Yeah,” Logan calls from the nearby kitchen, bending towards the open fridge to grab the drinks. “She’s getting, in her own words, ‘turned up’ at the casino tonight.”

You snicker as you browse through streaming services to pick a movie for tonight. Logan returns with a beer in each hand and you’re surprised when he takes the middle seat next to you. You catch a whiff of his scent and it is intoxicating–a blend of woody notes, perhaps leather and pine.

“So what’s the movie for tonight?” Logan asks, taking a sip from his bottle.

“Well, be honest with me here: Wade promised that we could watch this new movie that just released a few days ago, but it’s a romantic movie, so—”

“Of course,” he cuts in with a roll of his eyes, tossing a kernel into his mouth. “That’s his favourite genre.”

You deflate a little. “Okay, with that tone, I’m assuming I will have to change the movie choice.”

“No! Don’t change it because of me,” Logan quickly interjects. “We can watch whatever you want. I’m genuinely content to just sit here and do something other than watching reruns I’ve seen a million times before.”

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he reassures you, nodding and flashing another smile. You will yourself to calm your racing heart and focus on finding the movie. Once you select it, you press play and relax into the couch cushions.

Out of nowhere, Logan places his arm around you, his hand slightly hovering above your shoulders. You stiffen at the unexpected move, unsure why he’s doing it. But then he quickly pulls back, shuffling a bit away from you.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “It’s out of habit when I watch stuff.”

“You can leave your arm there,” you blurt out. You don’t even register the words coming out of your mouth. Where was this boldness coming from?

He quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm,” you nod fervently, rushing to grab your beer to steady your nerves. Taking a long sip, you try to force your body to relax again.

The first few minutes of the movie starts quite slow, but your eyes are glued to the screen to ensure you don’t miss the exposition. Just as you reach for the popcorn, so does Logan, and the back of your hands brush against each other.

“Sorry,” you both mumble, glancing at each other in awkwardness and something hanging in the air. He juts his chin out with a subtle smirk, gesturing you to go first. You grab a handful, and as he follows suit, his fingers graze against yours, causing you to shiver.

The air in the room is electric, and you wonder if the tension is just in your head or if Logan feels it too. The movie continues, but your thoughts are consumed by the warmth of his body so close to yours and the possibility of what might happen next.

Later into the movie, you freeze as you feel Logan leaning in closer. You turn your head, ready for what might happen–

But then, he goes completely lax, slouching into your shoulder and resting his head in a comfortable position.

“I should’ve chosen a different movie…” you think, shaking your head.

It’s hard to focus on the movie with this gorgeous being asleep on your shoulder (and the movie doesn’t seem to be that great anyway). Towards the end of the movie, your attention drifts completely and you indulge in how Logan sleeps. His soft snoring. The gentle squeezes he gives your shoulder as he dreams. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out.

Suddenly, Logan stirs and lifts his head, almost snorting up air cutely. He blinks groggily. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, gorgeous. Did I sleep through the movie?”

You hesitate, hung up on the fact that he called you gorgeous. Your cheeks prickle as you search for the right words to say.

“Yeah, you did,” you whisper with a small smile. “But it’s fine. It wasn’t that great anyway.”

“Mm, figures,” he mumbles. “Did you wanna watch another movie or—”

As he straightens up, you instinctively lean towards him, closing the gap between you two. Your noses practically touch.

“Or did you wanna do…” Logan’s voice is low and gravelly. You hold your breath and hold his gaze. “...something else?”

You barely nod, and he drags you into a searing kiss. His hands cup your cheek and neck with urgency. Soon enough, his tongue dips into your mouth, sending a jolt to your core.

Logan cradles your body and carefully positions you lower onto the couch. The weight of his body pressed up against you sends you into overdrive. His hands dive underneath your shirt, exploring your soft skin. The pressure of his body against yours leaves you breathless. Not only the pressure of his body, but also his—

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!”

Wade’s booming voice cuts through the front door like a tornado, forcing both of you to scramble away faster than opposing magnets. However, it’s too late; Wade has witnessed everything.

“Oh, my God, Blind Al, my plan worked! It fucking worked!” Wade squeals, jumping up and down.

“Oh, no. Are they butt-ass naked on the couch? Times like these, I’m grateful to be blind.”

“No, they’re thankfully fully clothed. But they were just dry humping the shit out of each other though.”

“You ditched movie night on purpose, you asshole!” you screech.

“Hey, you should be thanking me,” Wade retorts with a wink. “You and Wolvie always have had palpable sexual tension every time you were in a room together. Hell, even Laura agreed it’d be a good idea to set you two up.”

Logan and you exchange a sheepish smile, acknowledging the truth in Wade's words.

“Blind Al and I will just be basking in our casino winnings with a few drinks and then we’ll be out of your hair in a few. And then you two can carry on and fuck each other freely on the couch.”

“But keep it down, please,” Blind Al adds with a hint of desperation.

“I probably should get going now,” you chime in, eager to avoid the awkwardness. Logan quickly follows behind, walking you to the front door.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he says in sincerity.

You wave him off. “You never have to apologize for them. They’re like family; I’m used to them.”

“I didn’t know where the night was heading, but—” He turns around to check over his shoulder, lowering his voice and leaning in slightly. “—I’m glad Wade set us up.”

“Heard that!” Wade calls out from inside the apartment.

“Damn it,” Logan mutters, making you giggle. “Anyways, would you let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow night?”

You beam as you reply, “I’d love that.”

“Great, I’ll call you later.”

Logan steps outside of the apartment and closes the door behind him, pulling you in by your waist for another kiss. Innocent at first, but then he presses you up against the wall and his hands grips at your waist, extracting a few moans from you.

“Either get back inside or just go home with her rather than wall-fucking her outside of the apartment!” Wade’s muffled voice echoes through the thin walls.

Logan retreats slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. He keeps his voice low. “And not trying to put pressure on our date tomorrow, but if—”

“If things get heated, let’s go back to my place,” you finish his thought with a soft promise.

His eyes light up with a relieved smile. “You read my mind. Thank you.”

You smile into one last kiss, the world fading away as you savor the sensation of Logan’s mouth on yours.

Until Wade pops his head out through the door like a whack-a-mole you’re dying to hit. “Okay, seriously. I will offer you my bedroom, if you’re really that horny, you guys.” He calls out your name. “Also, did you know he can smell how horny you are?”

“I—what?” you stammer, blinking in confusion.

“Wade, shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps with gritted teeth. He faces you again with a gentle smile. “Have a good night, gorgeous. I’ll call you as soon as you get back home.”

Logan’s a man of his word, almost calling immediately as you stepped foot in your apartment (with Wade providing unnecessary commentary in the background, as always).

Later, as you get ready for bed, you can’t help but admit how grateful you were for Wade’s set-up. If it wasn’t for him, neither of you would’ve made a move; it would’ve progressed at a glacial pace.

Lying in bed and looking up at your bedroom ceiling, you think to yourself how tonight truly was perfect, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Smiling, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of what tomorrow’s date might bring.

ENDING NOTES | thank you so much for reading and giving some love! part two can be read here!

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fluff #logan howlett fluff

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sweetblossomsss · 1 month ago

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IN THE NIGHT || J. YH (1/3)

Synopsis: You were just trying to survive. Dance, collect money, pay off your debt. Repeat. What you were not trying to do is to fall in love with someone you can’t have—not when you are owned by someone dangerous.

THEME: mafia!Yunho x Stripper!Reader

Warnings: Alright here we go. ANGSTY (MY FAV), SMUT, eating out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of back and forth/push and pull (you have been warned), mention of guns, someone gets shot, Yunho and Y/N are idiots in love, cursing, drinking, drunkenness, Y/N is in denial most of the time, we have Jae (IFYKYK), at his point he’s going to be my paid actor in my stories (Jae isn’t based on anyone), fluff, adorable happy ending, a drunk guy who tries to get at Y/N, have to break this up into 3 parts because tumblr hates me, I know I’m missing just lmk. PART 2, PART 3

Word count: 46K

Date started: EST 2024 Date Finished: June 4, 2025

Blossom’s Note: My petals, thank you for being patient. I haven’t forgotten about you. Life has just been hitting really hard. I’m doing my best to keep writing so bear with me. Now that we have that out the way, Yunho in this story had be kicking my feet at times. Let’s give an around of applause for Jae making a comeback in a different story lmao. Story was inspired by Obsessive by Lumi, Obsession by Mellina, and In the Night by The Weeknd. You know what to do, grab that popcorn and drinks and let’s get into it.

—

You sat in front of the vanity, brushing powder on your face to ease the shine on your face with practiced, steady hands. The low thumping of the bass from the club pulsed through the room.

You applied the final touches—coating the lashes some more with mascara, one more swipe of lip gloss, brushing through your hair with your finger, fluffing it out.

Lastly, you spritzed perfume along your neck and collarbone, scrunching your face up at the intensity of the smell as you waved the air off with your hand.

Placing the perfume down, you let out a sigh. Your eyes flickered to the mirror in front of you, roaming at your reflection. You felt the nerves kicking in, slowly.

Tonight was important. There was no room for mistakes—no room for excuses.

Jae’s orders.

And speaking of the devil—

A knock from the door echoed in the room. You stiffened slightly, trying to keep your composure but now having the nerves coursing through your veins at full speed. There was no need to turn around to know who it was.

Your eyes flickered through the mirror and stared at him. “There she is,” Jae murmured with a smirk as he stood leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are roaming with hunger—dripping with satisfaction at the sight of you. “My star.”

Your back straightens—gut twisting as he steps into the room all slow and deliberate. When he reaches behind you, his hand slides over your chest, all possessive like.

“You look so beautiful.” His palm flattened against your skin before reaching up to your throat, “All mine.”

You remained stiffened under his touch, jaw clenching. You watched him lean in causing you to exhale through your nose in disgust—fright. His lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Tonight we’ve got a very special guest.” His voice is low, almost playful. “Do not disappoint me.”

Your eyes flicked to the mirror.

Blank.

Still.

“Do I ever?” You asked him with calmness—too calm. Your hands forming into fists, trying to ease your mind.

Jae hummed as he tilted his head side to side slightly, “Mm, no.” He said thoughtfully. “But you’ve got this habit of forgetting who is in charge.” He pressed his body closer to you, “You start thinking you are free.”

The word free sends goosebumps in your body.

Oh, how you yearn to be out of this.

His breath touched your skin as he whispered. “Let me remind you once more—you are here because I allow it.”

“How can I forget?” You murmured, voice feeling tight, “You remind me every chance you get.”

A pause.

Silence.

You then hear a soft tsk. His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to face him, causing you to let out a soft gasp.

His eyes held that hungry, possessive look.

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered as he leaned in closely, gripping tightening, “it’s going to get you in trouble one day.”

He flickered his eyes between yours before letting go of your face, which caused you to inhale sharply as your hand reached to soothe the aching sensation on your face as you glared at him through the mirror.

“But don’t worry,” he circled behind you. “Not tonight.”

Your mouth parted slightly as you let out a shaky breath, eyes still on him. “Tonight I need to seal this deal.” He said as he stood still behind you.

He leaned down next to your face, removing some strands of hair from your face. You closed your eyes under his touch, feeling scared. “And I am counting on you to make sure it happens.”

His words held something dark which made your skin crawl as you clenched your jaw. He turned his head to your lips, leaning in, “Don’t make me regret it.” He whispered.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked at him through the mirror, hand sliding slowly off your face.

His words felt sharper than a knife.

He smirks at your reaction and stands up, taking a few steps back. And just like that—

He was gone.

Leaving the horrid, chilling of his absence behind.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You felt the beating of your heart in your ears. You don’t move—not right away at least.

Your eyes looked into the mirror and saw that they were hollow—empty of life and light behind them. You saw the way you slightly shook, raising your hand slightly to watch it tremble.

You placed both hands on the table and closed your eyes. You inhaled and exhaled deeply—shaky—and then opened your eyes.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then—

You snapped out of it.

It’s time to get to work.

You reached for the powder once more—calming down the slight redness from Jae’s touch. You then just moved on autopilot—hands moving like they belonged to someone else.

You can’t afford to tremble in fear tonight.

Not when the wrong breath, glance, movement—anything—could send everything into a dangerous spiral.

You stood up and leaned your hands onto the table. “Showtime.” You whispered to yourself.

You turned around, heels clicking against the floor as you made your way to the door—mask in place, heart gone.

—

You could hear the loud chatter of men as you walked to the stage behind the curtains. You watched as your coworkers came off stage, talking about how exhausted they were.

Finally you arrived and took off your robe, handing it to security near the steps that lead to the stage. He places a comforting hand on your arm, “You got this!” He whispered to you with a smile, “You can do it, Y/N.”

You gave him a wink and a small smile before he left. You then turned to the DJ, who had a direct view of you from the outside, and nodded at him to which he returned and went to work.

Finally—

The music played.

A mysterious and sultry tune that resonated throughout the club as the lights turned down low. Slowly, you make your way up the steps and then onto the stage.

Instantly—the atmosphere felt electric.

Once your silhouette was spotted, loud hollering and whistling from men commenced. They wasted no time in throwing money like confetti, hungry gazes waiting impatiently for you.

Then it hits—

A golden glow spotlight that shined heavenly on you in synchronicity of your movements, making you the sole person of attention.

Every single step you took towards the pole was a calculated step to captivate everyone in the room.

You let your hips sway to the rhythm of the song, reaching out to wrap your hand in the pole. Your body quickly curves and twists in fluidity and sensual motions.

Slow and deliberately spinning to which you arched your body—commanding the room without a single word.

You then turned your head to the side, smiling at the men as they erupted with loud cheers. The bright neon lights made your body glitter shimmer as you gently landed on your knees.

You crawled to the edge of the stage where eager hands clutched bills. Men desperately waving it in your face—signaling you to go to them.

With practiced ease, you smiled at one of the shy ones. You beckoned him to come closer, watching him gulp in nervousness as his shaky hands reached out to give you his money.

You let out a small laugh at his actions. You got closer and grabbed his hand—guiding his trembling hands to slip a bill into the strap of your bra while “confident” hands found the curve of your hips—tucking cash into the waistband of your barely there lingerie.

You kept your composure, maintaining that sultry smirk—remaining in control, but inside your stomach twisted in horror.

Their fingertips would linger too long as their gazes stripped away your clothes. ‘Ugh’, disgust coils deep within your chest, but you don’t flinch.

You don't let it show.

Instead, you arched your back—letting their fantasies run wild.

You just kept selling the illusion they crave as you internally wish to scrub every trace of their touch from your skin.

But—

Your focus wasn’t on them—

Not tonight.

In perfect sync with the sultry rhythm of the song, you turned your head towards the vip section—a section that was far away from the sweaty hands and greedy gazes.

Perched in the dimly glowed of the private lounge sat him. The man Jae would not shut up about.

Jeong Yunho.

Wow—

Is that him?

You could feel your breath hitch for a second.

There was no denying that this man was dangerously handsome.

Just one look and you can tell the power he held.

That tailored suit not only reeked of expensive, but—the way it looked like it belonged to him. Molding to every sharp line of his body like it had been made with only him in mind.

The way his broad shoulders displayed, long legs spread in a way that screamed power and ease. One arm draped over the back of the leather couch, his fingers lazily tapping against the rim of the glass while the other rested on his thigh—just a few inches away from the women clinging to him.

Despite the desperate attempts for his attention from the women, his eyes were elsewhere—

On you.

His gaze was dark—unreadable—piercing in a way that, suddenly, the air around you got heavier—hotter.

His lips, slightly, curled into something in between amusement and intrigued.

It’s almost as if he was already three steps ahead of you.

You crawled to the center edge of the stage—right in front of his view in a controlled feline motion. Your hips sway to the slow, hypnotic beat as you feel the music pulse throughout your body.

You take this moment to take in his surroundings.

Men—standing stationed all around him, even on the steps that lead up to the VIP section. Silent but watchful.

Yet—

He simply sat there. Completely unbothered, as if he knew nothing could touch him.

As if he owned the room. And—maybe he did.

Heat shot up your spine as you met his gaze. You slide off the stage with each sway of your hips being a calculated promise. The front of your heels hit the edge of the bottom of the steps—still keeping that eye contact locked on one another.

Then—

Like a predator closing in on its prey—

You dropped to your hands and knees, feeling the velvet material of the stairs below them.

In this moment, it’s like the crowd disappeared—no longer mattering. Everything fades as his eyes are the only thing that fills your vision.

The world shifts. Music slows.

Suddenly, there is only you and him.

Your feline–like movements were slow and deliberate. Every crawl forward was a tease—an invitation wrapped in pure seduction.

That smirk on his lips remained. But his eyes darkened with something almost… feral. He raised the glass to his lips, never breaking that contact with you.

The women around him, who were desperately clinging onto him, shot you judgmental glares. You watched as their eyes burned with jealousy as they pressed their bodies closer to him.

But you don’t care.

You are here to do your job.

That’s it.

But they just kept on. They whispered vile things about you. Laughed at you. You couldn’t make out what they were saying in specific, but with the way they exchanged looks with eyes of venom—you knew enough.

But then—

He raises his hand.

A single powerful gesture and the chatter—

Stops.

They fucking froze in their words. You watched as they stiffened up as his eyes flickered to them with an icy glare. The girls looked down to the floor, feeling upset that they got him angry.

But with a wave of his hand, he silently orders them to leave.

They tried to protest but he gave them a look. A look that held many words. They let out an annoyed scoff as they get up—heels sharply clicking against the floor as they retreat to the shadows, arms crossing and hips jutting out with attitude as they glared at you.

Within perfect timing, you reached the top. You remained kneeling down before him—your pulse racing. You felt like his presence was a magnetic force that pulled you closer without even doing anything.

Your eyes flickered to the top floor. For a split second chills were sent down your spine—Jae standing there with arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

Reality hits you.

‘Don’t make me regret it’ his voice rang in your head. You take a slow, controlled inhale through your nose and gently exhale—controlling yourself.

You began by gliding your hands up his thighs—teasingly slow—until they rested on his hard muscles beneath the fabric of his suit.

You can feel the heat radiating off of him underneath you as you move up, sliding onto his lap with the grace of a predator claiming its prize.

Your hands run up his chest, leaning in just enough to let that tension build. Your breath warm against his ear, “Are you enjoying the show?”

He inhales your alluring perfume. His voice was low and smooth—sending shivers straight down your spine, coating your skin in goosebumps, “Immensely.”

Shit.

You can’t help the smirk that curves your lips as you lean back, grinding your hips just enough to draw a breath from him. You placed a finger under his chin—running your thumb on his lower lip.

The room around you seems to blur. The thumping of your heart matches the beat of the music as you continue to tease him with each controlled movement.

From your peripheral, you see his hands sliding towards your waist but—

Before they can reach you, you look at him with a challenge flashing in your gaze, “No touching,” you purr out, your voice dripping in mischief as you slide off him, caressing his face with your fingertips as you stand up. “Not tonight.” You winked at him.

You lingers there, a few inches away, your gazes locking for one last breath—a stealing second.

And then—

The shift happens.

Something dangerous flashed behind his eyes. That smirk curled into a scoffed out smile. Behind that smile there was something deeper, almost sinister.

You have no idea what you have done.

What you have started.

But you’re already turning away.

Your body swaying with each step as you head down the steps. You smiled at the men who stood at the bottom of the steps, shoving money in your face, happily taking them as you headed up the steps with the help of the club’s security.

You left him behind, craving for you again.

You returned to the spotlight, music sweeping to match the energy surging through your veins. The cheers grew louder as you finished your routine—bills raining down, more than you’ve ever seen in one night.

From the distance, Jae smirks as he flickered his eyes between you and Yunho—a look of satisfaction. Yunho can’t keep his eyes off of you like a hungry predator watching its prey.

You lit a fire within him.

You then vanished behind the curtains. Unaware of the chaos you left behind.

—

The crowd has since scattered, leaving behind drinks and empty bottles on tables. Chairs all over the place, thrown or fallen, with bills scattered on the floor and stage.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement.

You stood on the stage, eyes looking at the bills that had yet to be collected and sighed. You took off your heels and just dropped them behind you, then you tightened the strings of the silk robe and crouched down on the stage.

You gathered the money in a bunch and started collecting them—straightening them out before folding a good amount and wrapping a rubber band around it.

You’ll count it later.

Right now, you just just want to go home and boil the night off and sleep.

The laughter and chatter from your coworkers with their clients was a background hum to your own thoughts. Enjoying this calmness.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the shadow at first. Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, casting a silhouette over you.

“Impressive performance,” a deep, velvety voice drawled.

You froze.

That voice.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes up to the voice. Your breath hitched when your eyes locked onto his. The gleam in his eyes was something unreadable, “May I?” He asked as he extended his hand out for you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your eyes flickered to his hand. You gnawed on your inner lower lip as you looked around the area. His men standing around you two, the same women from earlier with crossed arms with annoyance written on their face but most importantly—

No Jae.

You looked back at his face to which he tilted to the side, as if saying ‘well?’ Slowly, you reached out and grasped his hand, noting the rough patches on it as you stood up.

He steps to the side and helps you down the stairs with ease—as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you.” You told him gently as you stood in front of him. He smiles and slowly releases his hand from yours, reaching into his inner pocket of the suit.

“This,” he takes out a thick stack of cash, neatly stacked with a white paper band wrapped around it, “is for making my first visit… worthwhile.”

Your lips slightly parted in shock as your eyes widened at the sight of the money. He just took that money out as if it was nothing but pocket change to him.

You felt conflicted.

“I–“ You couldn’t speak.

Your eyes flickered between the money and his face—you were hesitant.

What if this is a test? Should you even take his money? Was the deal completed? What would Jae say—?

“Take it.” His voice was softer, taking you out of your thoughts. He noticed your hesitation, his smirking slowly fading. “It’s not a gift—it’s recognition.”

You swallowed hard. You still felt reluctant at the offer but eventually, you slowly reached out, brushing his fingers with you as you took the money.

You gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” You tell him, keeping your tone neutral. “It’s very generous of you.”

“Of course.” He said with a faint smirk.

There was a pause between you two.

You slightly shifted under his gaze, feeling like you’re about to suffocate. “Um, so,” you say softly, “Thank you for coming tonight. We hope it was up to your expectations.”

You gave him another small smile and went to turn around but—

“Wait,” He said, grabbing your arm with the most gentle touch you have ever felt. You looked at his hand and then back at him, eyes slightly widened. “May I have your name?” He asked with a smile.

You could feel your heart skipping a beat—something you’ll bitch at yourself for later tonight. “I think that…” you turned to face him and gave him a coy smile that didn’t reach up to your eyes, “you and I both know I can’t give that to you.”

Now, it’s not that you were hiding. You would gladly give him your name except—

It was about protecting yourself from Jae. It felt like he owned your own name. Jae was very keen on keeping you all to himself—not even wanting to let others breathe your air.

You can see his face slightly drop but kept smiling. “But,” you stepped closer fingertips lightly brushing against his chest, trailing down the smooth fabric of his suit until it hovered just above the top of his belt, “it was lovely meeting you… Mr. Jeong.” You murmured as you looked up at him with your lips curling into a teasing smile.

But before you could take a step back, his hand caught yours, once more, “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’ll be seeing you.” He said in a low voice, laced with certainty.

His eyes bore into yours, a smirk on his lips.

You let out a small scoff as the smile remained on your lips. You then slipped your hand out of his grasp, turning on your heels as you walked to the curtains.

His eyes stayed fixed on you until you disappeared—not bothering to glance back at him. He stayed there for a moment. The ghost of your touch lingered in his hand.

No one has ever made him feel so intrigued like how you have. Especially in such a short time like this. Yes, he has gotten dances before but something about you… he can’t pinpoint it.

“Who are you?” He murmured to himself.

He then straightened up, “Her name,” his voice low and sharp. “Find it.”

You won’t give it? Okay.

He will just find it first.

One of his men stepped forward, nodding once before disappearing.

Soon another one stepped forward, “Sir, the car is ready.”

He didn’t move at first, keeping his gaze on the curtain—wanting to open it and find you. He adjusted his cuffs on his suit sleeve and nodded, “Very well. Let’s go.” He turned around and headed to the entrance of the club.

His girls quickly dropped the sour faces and giggled as he propped his arms out to the side, causing them to hug his sides as they walked to the door. He glanced down at them with a mischievous smile as they whispered something to him.

Behind the curtain, you watched him the entire time between the narrow slits, feeling your heart race as you watched him leave. You stood up straight and let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. You then felt the stack of money in your hand, making you look down at it—fingers curling around it.

“Men,” you said in a whisper—bitterly, “They really do have it all, don’t they?” Your lips curl into a humorless smile.

—

It had been a week since that night.

A week since you disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Yunho behind—drowning in curiosity and intrigue.

But no need to worry, he sure as fuck did not forget you. Not the way you were perched up on him. Not the look in your eyes. Nor the delicacy in your touch. The way you said his name.

Safe to say, your performance—or rather, you—really sealed the deal with Yunho. Which is exactly why he was back tonight.

Partly to finish some business with Jae. But most importantly… in hopes that he is able to see you—even if it’s just a glimpse.

The lights were dimmed slightly in Jae’s office, casting a soft glow within the room. The air was filled with strong scents of expensive cigars and champagne with the music vibrating throughout the space.

Laughter echoed within the circle as Jae clicked his glass with Yunho’s—some liquor spilling out from the action. Jae leaned back into the sofa with legs spread comfortably apart, taking a huge gulp.

He sighed in satisfaction as he looked at Yunho. “Your terms are fair, Yunho.” He said with a grin. He then sits up straight with a devilish smile, “You won’t find a better deal elsewhere. Trust me.” His fingers lazily twirled the glass.

Yunho smirked as he placed his drink down onto the table, “Then we understand each other.” He said with his eyes glinting. “That’s all I need.”

Jae—a man who wants more and more. More reach, control, and power. But, in order for that to happen he needs Yunho—the man with the keys in his hands. He had the contracts, network, and the leverage.

And just like that—

The deal was sealed. Two men gaining more power and money. And to celebrate—?

Immediately, several girls came dressed in lingerie into the office—their eyes locking onto the scattered men in the room, picking who they wanted quickly. Jae gives two girls a glint of approval with his eyes as they sit next to him—all the girls settle in beside the men, laughter blending into the atmosphere.

Yunho looks at the girls who draped their legs over his. Watching how they quickly went to work when one girl slowly undid the top of his buttoned up shirt, caressing his exposed skin while the other rubbed his arm.

His expression was unreadable at the sight of them. “They seem to follow your lead without question.” Yunho said smoothly—calculated. He flickered his gaze to Jae, “Is that loyalty or… good training?”

Jae lifts his eyebrow when he flickered his eyes to Yunho, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Well, you know how it is,” He smirks.

Actually, Yunho didn't, but proceeded with your stupidity.

“Loyalty isn’t given. It’s bought. Broken. And rebuilt.” He looks at the girl wrapped in his arms, smiling, “Ain’t that right, baby?”

Yunho watched as Jae kissed the girl’s neck, making her laugh—a little too high. A little too fake. Yunho saw the way the girl tensed up her shoulders, how she looked at the floor, dead inside, before laughing in fear.

Then Jae gets a thought.

He looks at Yunho, removing himself from the girl’s neck. “Why?” He smirked, “Did someone catch your eye?”

“Well,” Yunho said in a low voice. “It’s hard to ignore someone who doesn’t want to be seen.” He reaches down for his drink and takes a sip.

Jae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand who it was that he was speaking about. Then his eyes light up, snapping his finger when it hits him—

“You must be talking about, Y/N.” He lets out a small laugh.

He didn’t flinch.

He already knew your name.

The same night he sent his men to find it, he got it. Took a little bribing but nothing a few dollar bills couldn’t fix. The girls talked—eventually—made the men swear they won’t even breathe a word about this to Jae.

Yunho leaned back in quiet satisfaction, letting your name settle in his mind. He didn’t answer back at Jae, but that’s all Jae needed to know.

“Do you…” Jae paused. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Want to meet her?” He asked casually—too casually.

But his tone said otherwise. It’s as if he was going to show off his most prized possession. Telling Yunho subliminally that you belonged to Jae.

Yunho stayed silent.

Didn't blink.

He remained leaning back, the corner of his mouth barely twitching as his eyes locked with Jae's— unreadable but speaking volumes.

A slow, knowing smile slowly crept on Jae’s lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, keeping his eye contact with Yunho. Instantly, one of his men appeared with readiness as he leaned down to Jae’s level, “Go get her.” Voice was low and smooth as he whispered.

The man gave a curt nod, "Yes sir." And with that he slipped away.

Jae downed his drink, placing it on the glass table in front of him. “I figured you would want a closer look.” Jae said. “Eventually.” His smirk widening just enough.

Yunho gave him a faint smirk back, remaining silent.

This game just started.

—

Finally, the night was over.

Fuck.

The music faded, stage lights dimmed, and the noise from the crowd was nothing but an echo behind you as you stepped off the stage.

You thanked the security who handed you your robe and quickly slipped it on as you made your way to the dressing room, exhaling after a long day of work.

You shut the door and instantly, your body ached with exhaustion. You made your way to your chair and just dropped onto it. You sighed in relief as you kicked off your heels—flexing your sore feet, moving them in circular motions to get the circulation flow back with a slight tingling fire feeling.

You leaned back in your chair, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes for a moment. ‘Home’. It was all you can think about right now. You couldn’t wait to get out of this heavy makeup with this outfit that makes you feel like your boobs are pushed up to your ears.

Slowly, you get up, winching in pain as your joints burn, limping slightly at the ache in your legs. You rolled your shoulders back, moving your head side to side as you took off your robe.

You started to gather your things off the counter until—

A sudden knock on the dressing room door snapped you back into reality as you jolted. “Y/N?” Your body tensed up when you heard your name, muffled.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes shooting to the door, “Boss wants to see you.”

Oh, fuck no.

You closed your eyes as your jaw tightened. You exhaled a sigh of frustration through your nose. And just like that, the ache in your body was instantly forgotten—replaced by the heaviness settling in your chest—anger in your body.

You walked to the door and opened it with an attitude, “Can you tell him that I—“

“You’re coming.” He cuts you off, words feeling like a slap in the face. “Now.”

You glared into his emotionless face. You wanted to scream but you stayed silent. You turned around, putting on those dreaded heels back on. Once you finished, you stood up and closed your eyes one last time to enjoy the final peace you had.

You turned back to the guard, who didn’t even say a single word. You glared at him and he nodded, stepping to the side, waiting for you to follow him.

And you did just that.

The small peace you had was completely snatched from you.

—

Every step that led to him was a step you dreaded. This walk to his office felt longer than usual for some reason tonight. Maybe because you were just tired and wanted this night to be over.

Or because you hated him and didn’t want to see Jae.

Finally, you arrived at the door. You inhaled and exhaled, getting mentally ready for whatever bullshit Jae had in store. You nodded at the guy and he opened the door for you, his hand gesturing to go inside, “He is waiting for you.” He tells you.

You straighten your posture and take your first step inside and—

“Ah,” you heard Jae’s voice, “there she is!” You looked and saw Jae giving you the most wicked smile ever. He goes around the sofa and takes your hands, “my beautiful Y/N.” He plants kisses on them.

Before you could even gather your bearings—Jae grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him to the couch. He then pulls you down to his lap with a sharp tug. His hand immediately slid possessively across your waist and onto your backside, squeezing roughly.

You could barely suppress the flinch as the familiar disgust was threatening to show on your face, but you quickly pushed it down—giving a tight smile.

You looked across from you and froze.

How did you not see him? Maybe that’s why Jae was acting the way he was with you at first.

Yunho was watching you intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your body language. His gaze flickered to Jae’s hand on your waist—his expression was unreadable but the slight crease of his brow didn’t go unnoticed by you.

Jae chuckled, “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He said as he admires—if you can even call it that—you. “She’s shy at first but—once she knows her place, she is perfect.”

Yunho gives you a faint smile, “Beautiful,” he echoed, bringing his drink to his lips, “you got that part right.”

Your breath hitched—just barely.

Did you hear that correctly?

No—

No.

Last time you fell for a man’s words, you ended up in this bullshit.

This man is just as dangerous as Jae—if not, more.

Don’t be stupid.

“Pour me a drink, darling.” Jae said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Just like that, back to being a machine. He leaned back, arms resting on the edge of the couch.

You nodded as you leaned forward, grabbing the mini tongs. You placed three ice cubes into Jae’s cup—

“She’s a good girl, don’t you think?” He said caressing your back. You wanted to throw up from his touch as you poured his drink into the glass. “Knows how to listen. Knows when to stay quiet—that’s rare these days.” He said, looking at Yunho with a smirk.

You sat up and handed him his drink, watching how he smiled at you as he said a small thank you. Ugh, asshole. You wanted to throw the drink in his face and slap him right across.

During the interaction, you felt Yunho’s eyes on you. “Quiet doesn’t always mean obedience.” He said in a low, calm voice—an undercurrent tone you couldn’t pinpoint.

Your heart raced just a little faster at his response. Jae chuckled as he caressed your thigh. “Spoken like a man who’s never trained anyone.”

Trained.

That word sat heavy in your chest. You tried to keep your face neutral as you flickered your gaze to the glass Jae kept in his hand—waiting for this moment to be over quickly.

“Spoken like a man who’s afraid of what happens when they think for themselves.” Yunho answers back as he finishes his drink, placing it on the table as he stares down Jae.

His words ran a fucking shiver down your spine—fighting to not look at him.

Jae shifted beneath you—you can tell these words affected him. “Control is not fear.” He said smoothly. “It’s all about consistency. My girl knows that I’ve got her.” He smirks, “Therefore, she does not need to question anything. Right, baby?” He looks at you with a smile.

But before you could say anything—

“Or maybe she knows what happens when she does.” His words cut through the silence like a knife.

Your heart stops as you slowly look at Yunho.

No one has ever spoken to Jae like that.

Jae’s voice dipped into something darker, a grin still on his face. “Are you trying to say something, Yunho?”

Yunho slightly shook his head. “I’m just observing.” He said calmly. His eyes lingered on you as if it held you in place.

You knew the look in his eyes—the type of man who commands with just a glance. This only confirms how dangerous Yunho was and you do not want to fuck with that.

But—

You can’t help it. Something about him was tugging you towards him.

Was it…

The way he looked at you? The way he saw the cracks through the mask? The way he made you feel human, even if it was just for a second?

I mean—You don’t even know man. Yet, slowly, he has undone some of your walls… just with words.

Wait—

Stop—

This was reckless.

You have to stop it.

You know better than to want answers. Curiosity in this world gets people killed.

—

It was later in the night.

Yunho was sitting in the back of the car with one arm slung casually along the seat—the window cracked open as the smoke from his cigar disappeared into the night air.

His driver was silent—ready for any command.

But Yunho—

He was busy.

He was watching you.

There you were. Standing outside with Jae—who had two of his men standing behind him. You were at the back of the club, away from curious eyes. Your coat was wrapped tightly around you, shielding you from the cold night.

You adjusted your purse strap on your shoulder and then crossed your arms, looking away from Jae with attitude.

Jae had stepped closer to you—the argument was escalating as you looked back at him and scoffed at whatever he said, shaking your head at him in disbelief.

Jae just looked away from you, smoking his cigarette as he waited for you to comply with what he asked of you. You glared at him with fury in your eyes as you opened your purse, grabbing the stacks of cash and shoving it to his chest.

Jae stumbled back slightly—taken aback by your actions as he looked down at the money on the floor. He exhaled through his mouth as closed his eyes, letting out a scoff. He smirked as he looked back up at you, face written with anger.

“What do we have here?” Yunho murmured to himself as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity—the tip of his cigarette glowed a faint red as he took a drag, casting a brief flicker of light across his face.

“Sir?” The driver asked, looking through the mirror. But Yunho stayed silent, just keeping his eyes on you.

You then proceeded to tell Jae something that just sets him off, talking back at you in anger. You roll your eyes at his stupidity. Done with his bullshit, you turned around—

But—

Then it happened.

Jae’s hand shoots out and grabs your face, roughly and controlling as he leaned in, yelling something directly in your face. Yunho can faintly hear you yelling at Jae to let you go as you try removing his hands off of you.

There was a lot of back and forth yelling but eventually—

He let go.

Your chest was heaving as you looked at him with fear and anger all mixed up. You adjusted your purse and turned around to walk away—fast. But Jae tsks as he dropped his cigarette to the floor and rushed to you but only this time—

It’s gentle.

He caught up to you and turned you around, softly. You closed your eyes as he caressed your face, him apologizing for his actions. But you aren’t falling for his antics.

You completely tensed up as you looked away, removing his hand from your face as your lips curled in disgust from his touch. He caresses your hair and leans down, whispering something in your ear causing you to freeze and look up at him.

He steps back and walks to his car, opening up the backseat door for you. He gestures for you to enter as he gives you a smile. Yunho can see your hesitation.

He sees the way your eyes linger on the car before you slowly make your way to the car, stopping once more but eventually, you climb into the car. Jae then follows suit but before closing the door he orders one of his men to pick up the money.

Yunho flicked the cigarette out the window, little flicks of ember spark upon contact to the floor. Interesting, he thought.

“Let’s go.” Yunho told his driver.

And with that they took off, leaving Yunho curious of what just went down.

—

It’s been a few weeks and Yunho has now become a permanent fixture within the club. But of course, it was bound to happen now they are partners.

It just means he isn’t going anywhere.

You saw him more often than you wanted to.

He never once did anything to make you feel uncomfortable but—you won’t deny the feeling that occurs within you when you two lock eyes.

You don’t know what it is. It’s unspoken—unnamed. But it weighed very heavy every time.

The club was darker tonight. A spotlight on you as you performed. The music was sultry, dangerous—enough to make the men holler for you as you gave them your captivating smile.

Off in the distance, Jae leaned back against the leather of the booth with a lazy smirk on his face, “She is something, isn’t she?” He said in awe of you as he watched you dance.

Yunho just hummed in response.

He leaned forward as his elbows rested on his knees, glass dangling from loose fingertips. His eyes followed your movements, feeling like he was in a trance.

He then looks down to the floor and ponders hard before asking, “What is she to you?” His voice was quiet yet it sliced through the noise.

Jae didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, there was a pause. Both men looked at you in admiration—well, one did. The other looked at you as a money making machine.

“She is everything to me.” Jae said in a serious tone, downing his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh.

He then sits up with a face full of smugness. He places his cup on the table, opening up the bottle of liquor, “She is the best thing I ever invested in.”

Thing.

Asshole, Yunho thought as he let out a small scoff that went unnoticed.

Yunho looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “Invested?”

Jae chuckled, tipping his glass towards the stage in faulty delight. “Found her working at a shitty diner. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen…” He said as he zoned out, daydreaming about when he first saw you.

All bright smiles. Now they are all gone.

“Well,” Jae said, clearing his throat, snapping out of it. “I made her an offer, one where she can make real money—to live a little, ya’know?”

He then leans closer to Yunho, lowering his voice, “But, let’s just say, she signed the contract without reading the fine print.” He lets out a cackle as he shoves Yunho as if he just said the funniest joke ever.

“Ahhh,” he sighed happily, in a daze. “Now, she belongs to me.”

Let me tell you, if looks could kill—

Jae would’ve been dead.

Yunho’s stare had darkened but his face just remained cold—expressionless. He can’t believe someone would do something so fucking cruel to a person who was just trying to survive.

“Hey,” Jae said as he tapped his arm, “do you want a closer look?” He offered you. He then places a hand on his own chest, “It’ll be my personal gift to you.” He smiles at him.

He then gets serious, “But,” he warned, “don’t get attached.” He said in a low tone. They just stared at each other before Jae bursted out into laughter making Yunho smirk back at him.

Yunho looked away from Jae and watched you finish your dance. Jae didn’t bother for a response as two girls approached him and easily got distracted. Idiot, as always.

When you finished your set, your eyes roamed the crowd—the room. You caught Yunho’s eyes already looking at you and it felt as if time slowed down for the both of you.

But reality came striking in as the lights turned off—snapping you right back into the moment as you disappeared behind the curtains.

Yunho just kept his gaze on you.

Little by little, things were starting to make sense to him.

—

After the performance, the club was winding down. Once again, as always, right when you’re about to leave—

Jae.

Of course.

But this time, it’s slightly good news?

You stood off at the side of the bar, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stood in your silk robe. Jae was completely leaned into your space—mouth near your ear, smiling as he spoke to you.

Completely blinded that he didn’t notice your face was carved out in flat annoyance as you stared into an empty space—wondering when the fuck this conversation was over.

From the shadows, way up near Jae’s office, Yunho had the perfect view. He saw the way Jae cupped your face, caressing it with his thumbs as if you were something so delicate he wanted to take care of.

Right.

He saw how you removed his hand with a sharp flick of your wrist—careful to not draw attention from your coworkers. Jae’s smile faltered for half a second before snapping back into his cruel self.

He closed his hand around your arm, fingers digging into it as he guided you around the corner where the noise of the club thinned out, swallowed by the heavy walls.

He leaned in, voice low. “I’m leaving the city for a bit.” He said as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

Oh?

“Business things, you wouldn’t understand.” He said condescendingly, making you exhale deeply. “You see, there are some things I have to finish now that Yunho is onboard with us.”

You stayed still.

Silent.

Jae’s mouth curled into a smirk. His hand lifted your chin to face him, “And since I’m leaving, I’m trusting you with a little responsibility, mmh?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it?”

His hands slide around your waist, bring you close to him as he sways you two a little bit. “Take care of our new partner, yeah? I want you to show him why we are the best in the business.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But,” his eyes darkened. “Don’t get any fucking ideas. Do you understand me?”

You nodded as you swallowed down your nerves. “Good.” He said smiling. “I don’t know when I’ll be back but—“

He leans in slightly.

“Don’t give me a reason to come back early, alright?” He then gives you a patronizing little tap under your chin before walking off, leaving you standing there.

Yunho watches as you stand there, letting Jae’s words sink in your mind.

Slowly, he starts to back up into the shadows—disappearing just in time as you flickered your gaze up to the third floor where Jae’s office was, feeling someone looking at you.

But no one was there.

—

Jae has been gone for some time now and quite frankly it has been… peaceful.

Everything seems to flow with ease now. The club seems vibrant with good energy. The girls seemed happier and actually laughed more. Security seemed relaxed, less tense than normal—everything just seemed lighter.

As if everyone can breathe.

Why is that, you may ask?

Yunho was the complete opposite of Jae.

He earned the respect of people without raising his voice or barking out orders.

And the girls? Well, they noticed it.

They laughed more when he was around, joked with him in between sets—hell, even the newest ones felt safe enough to talk to him about issues they had. Something no one ever bothered doing with Jae.

It’s like he was always surrounded by them. Comfortable enough to drape themselves over him, flock to him, hooking arms around his shoulder or arms as they whispered things into his ears that made them giggle in the process.

They craved his attention—his gentle touch. A small piece of him. But it was understandable—we never had this type of figure in our lives at the club—it’s almost as if he was something the club itself was missing.

And you would see how he would let them.

Let them play their games. Pour his drinks. Caress his whole body.

You also saw how he would lean in, whispering sweet nothings to them making them turn shy under his stare. How the girls would send glances at each other before standing up, grabbing his hand as they tugged him to one of the many private rooms—where fantasies would roam.

But—

You maintained your distance.

You’re not falling for his antics—his bullshit. I mean, let’s focus on the facts here; he’s just like Jae.

You tell yourself, ‘look away, it's not worth it.’

But—

Something always pulls you back.

You did look

Every time.

Every night, he would run off and disappear with different girls.

You had no clue what the hell would happen behind the closed doors but with the way they came out with makeup smudged, faces flushed, giddy as they adjusted their clothes, and fixing their hair said enough.

And Yunho? Untouched.

And yet—

No matter how much you try to avoid him, despite Jae's orders, he somehow manages to find your eyes through the crowd—every single time.

It never fails to make your heart race or breath hitch.

Like take tonight for example—

Finally, you finished your set and you just wanted to count your money and go. You were behind the bar, stacking up your cash tips into neat piles but your hands were trembling slightly.

Your fingers would fumble when you looked up to grab a glance—wanting to know if he was still looking.

And he was.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his stare was unreal to relentless. Feeling conflicted and frustrated with how easily you let him affect you—

You dropped your money and sighed, leaning on the counter as you closed your eyes, exhaling. You ended up gathering your money in one pile and decided to just count it in the dressing room—what you should’ve done in the first place.

You gave him one last look—slight annoyance written on to which he returned with a small smirk as you disappeared into the dressing room.

His stare felt like it whispered, I’ll see you. Soon.

—

The following night, you were in the dressing room with the rest of the girls—shift change.

But not for you, you have been here the whole day.

Some girls were wiping off their makeup and talking out loud about some handsy, cheap men, gaining some laughs from some girls as they made jokes over it. Some focused on getting dressed as they prepared for the night.

You sat at your vanity, tugging your zipper open on your makeup bag, grabbing your setting spray. You softly chuckled at the ongoing conversations from the girls as you took off the cap from the bottle and sprayed your face, waving your hand to help the skin soak in the liquid.

Once that was settled, you adjusted the straps of your outfit back onto your shoulder—hands moving on autopilot to adjust, tighten, apply.

Just as you were about to take off your heels to let your feet breathe for a second—“Hey,” your coworker leaned around the corner of your mirror, “You’re booked. Private dance. Room 11.” She said lazily chewing gum, voice casual.

You let her words sink in as you felt your sore body crying, complaining at her words. You exhaled slowly through your nose as you nodded at her words, giving her a forced smile, “Got it.”

She flashed you a wink and disappeared around the corner. You sat there for a second longer, staring at your reflection. You mentally tell yourself ‘you can do it’ as you get up, roll your shoulders and head out the room with some girls telling you good luck as you give them a small smile.

—

You approached room 11 and stopped in front of it. You gave your body a little shaky to wake yourself up and exhale once. You steadied your hand into a fist, knocking twice.

“Come in.”

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit private room. The heavy door thudded close behind you, muting the club's music into a dull vibration against the wall.

Oh my god—

There he was.

Yunho.

His legs were crossed at the knee—an arm draped lazily along the back of the chair while the other rested on the curve of his thigh with a glass of dark liquor dangling loose in his grasp.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched you through the huge mirror in front of him. A slow smirk curved his lips while you two stared at one another.

Internally, you were scared—shitless. You wanted to turn around and leave but Jae’s words haunted you. You had no time to slack off—

You leaned casually against the door frame, “Mr. Jeong,” a sweet, coy smile appeared on your face. “What can I do for you?” You purred, voice like honey.

His smile only widened—darkly. You pushed yourself off the door, ignoring the way your heart raced as your heels softly clicked towards him—walking around the room.

A predator's arc.

You let your finger trail lightly across the back of the leather sofa behind him until you stood directly behind him. Your hands slide down his chest, palms ghosting over his broad shoulders—all light and teasing.

You lowered your head slightly, just enough for him to feel the whispers of your breath against his skin. “You know,” you murmured, voice dropping to a sultry tone. “I was wondering when you were going to come to me.”

You felt the way his body tensed but barely. It was controlled within seconds.

Finally—

After what felt like forever—

He spoke. “I want you tonight.” His voice was low and smooth—unrushed. “Just for me.”

“All to myself.” He smirked. You felt the floor crumbling under your feet just by his words.

He tilted his head up just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. “You understand me,” he said as he caught your eyes. “Don’t you, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come from his mouth made your knees slightly buckle.

The room felt smaller now—hotter even. You felt your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“I understand.”

You smiled at him as your hands moved around the chair, humans saying with a practiced roll. You deliberately dragged your fingertips across his chest as you circled him and stood in front of him.

You hooked your finger under his chin and made him look up at you, “So…” you whispered, voice dipping into something dark—intimate. “What are you willing to do to get what you want?”

He said in full confidence, “Anything.”

That smirk remained on your face, “Anything?” You repeated as you tilted your head. He nods once at you.

“Mm.” You hummed in amusement as you let go of his face, taking a step back. The way his legs spread out just enough seemed to invite you in—but not enough to beg.

His eyes burned into your figure, waiting for your next move. You turned around and walked to the speaker—purposely leaning down to press the button of the speaker, showcasing your curves.

He lets out a quiet chuckle at your action, taking a sip of his drink before placing it off to the side.

And just like that—

The music played.

You walked to the center of the room, sliding down to your knees—maintaining that eye contact with him. You slowly crawled on all fours to him until you were between his legs. Your hands gently caressed his strong thighs—

Moving them up and down a few times before you use his thighs to help yourself up—your hands finding the hard plane of his chest, giving him a push.

He lets you force him back deeper into the chair with a soft thud, smirk flickering at the edges. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap with a slow roll of your hips that barely skimmed his—just enough for him to feel the unbearable heat trapped between your thighs.

You settled on him deliberately, your weight feather–light—teasing as your thighs squeezed around his hips.

You leaned in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear, letting your breath ghost over his skin until you felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide.

Here goes nothing.

“Tell me you’re mine, Mr. Jeong,” you murmured to him—voice dipped in velvet sin. You rolled your hips—slow.

Controlled.

You felt him slightly tensed at your actions causing you to look back at his face. Your fingers reached up to his hair—just enough to make him obey.

“But look at me when you say it.”

His breath hitched—fuck.

We are just getting started and he already feels in heaven with you.

“Yours–” His voice was low and strained, distracted by your slow grinding. “I’m yours.”

You smirked at him as you tugged his head back, just enough to expose his neck. Your fingertips traced from the tip of his chin down to his chest—barely a touch.

He bit his lower lip in delight—hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch you but you moved faster than he could—

“Oh,” you scolded, voice teasing, ”Mr. Jeong. Keep those hands to yourself.” You smirked at him as you grabbed his face gently, bringing his head to eye level with yours. “Wouldn’t want to get in trouble.”

Although you held that smile—inside, your walls were still up.

This was just a fantasy—a role you were just playing. And this man did not belong in your reality.

His lips parted slightly—a low growl rumbling deep from within his chest. You silenced him with a single finger pressed against his mouth, “shh,” you whispered, giving him a faint smile—just enough to keep in control of the moment. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a taste… eventually..”

Your eyes darkened as you removed your finger from his lips, using that same hand to drag it down your body. Over the swell of your breasts. Down the curve of your waist. Moving with a slow, deliberate arch of your back that made your core pulse with need as you grind shading him again.

Instinctively, his hand shot up—desperate to feel you more. But you smacked it away with a sharp crack against his wrist—the noise cuts through the room, making his jaw flex harder.

You grabbed his face firmly with one hand, forcing him to look at you. “I said no touching.” You warned him, your tone in pure dominance.

His breath caught in his throat as your grip tightened on his jaw. There was a pause between you two as his eyes flickered between yours.

Until—

“That look in your eyes,” his tone was deadly, “I know you only get like that with me.”

You paused at his words. Your brain short circuits for a second—

But you’re quick with words.

You let out a small laugh, leaning as your mouth hovers over him, your eyes narrowing with the faintest smirk on your lips. “You must think you’re special.”

You let the words hang there, your lips inches from his. Then you pulled back, in control of the moment. “Don’t mistake the fantasy for something real, Mr. Jeong.”

You won’t fall for his charms.

His voice.

His eyes.

You won’t fall for his act.

He’s just like Jae.

You won’t be stupid—Not again.

Yunho’s gaze devoured you. His pupils were blown wide, jaw clenched so tight you could practically feel the restraint vibrating off him.

He stays silent.

And then—

That smirk again. It’s like he can see through you. It’s as if he knew something you didn’t dare to say out loud.

Your fingers were the first too move—

Eyes still locked on one another.

You reached for his dress shirt. Undoing one button. Then another. Slow, no rush. Your touch brushed against the heat of his skin with every pass.

When the fourth button slipped free, you shifted closer—your body brushing his. Your lips hovered over his skin, pressing soft kiss just beneath his collarbone—

Right over his heart.

Your lips press kissing trailing up to beneath the ear. “Tell me,” you whispered, “does it still feel real?”

Yunho threw his head back, making a soft thud with the she of the sofa as he fluttered his eyes close with delight. He let out a low, desperate groan that growled deep from within his chest. “Shit”. He whispered.

You felt him twitch underneath you—for the first time feeling helpless. His hands flexed into fists, trying to restrain from touching you as he kept letting out broken, low groans.

Your hands dragged slowly down his chest, fingertips gliding over his skin until they reached his thighs—thick and tense beneath your touch.

You began to rub them in a slow, tormenting rhythm—up, down, up again—never rushing. Your thumbs brushed dangerously close to his throbbing bulge, straining against his slacks.

He inhaled sharply—he twitched as his chest heaved, head still thrown back as he now gripped the edge of the sofa.

You felt it—the way he was eager to know what you were going to do next.

And just when you knew he was about to break—

You stood up and backed away—leaving him with the ghost of your touch.

He let out a wrecked, frustrated groan as he snapped his head up at you—pupils blown wide, completely dazed out as he panted hard.

His eyes tracked your every move like he couldn’t believe this shit. You really walked away from him. Fuck.

You turned your back to him, hips swaying with a deadly rhythm. You knew his eyes were locked on you.

You ran a hand through your hair, then glanced back over your shoulder—just enough to catch him watching. And you winked—causing him to let out a scoff in disbelief.

Crossing the room, you approached the silver pole in the center of the mini stage. You turned, leaned your back against the cool metal, arching into it with feline grace.

It was cold against your skin but you didn’t flinch. This was your moment.

You threw your head back, exposing the curve of your neck as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took. One hand slide up to your throat, letting out a moan as you squeeze it gently—

Then gliding both hands over your breast, looking at him as you give a soft, purposeful squeeze before trailing them down the sides of your waist with fluid motion.

Across the room, Yunho shifted in his seat—feeling like his clothes were getting tight, air was thinning—he felt like he was suffocating.

He grabbed his drink and brought it to his lips, fucking taking a gulp trying to control himself. His eyes never left you—they were locked on you.

Dark. Frustrated. Barely blinking.

You smiled to yourself, remaining quiet.

Your fingers slid down the hem of your top, dragging the fabric upward—slow and teasing—peeling it off inch by inch until you finally lifted it over your head in a fluid motion, dangling in your hand until you dropped it beside you.

The soft lace of your bra hugged your skin perfectly. The swell of your breast showing the rising and falling with each breath.

You let him absorb every inch of you.

You then do a 180 twirl on the pole and face the mirror. Your vision adjusts on his eyes as you smirk—slowly, you bent forward, hands trailing down the back of your thighs.

They glide over the curves of your calves as your ass arches up high in the air. You stood up with a sensual roll of your hips. Then—

Your thumbs slipped into the waistbands of your shorts—dangerously dragging them down.

Just slow enough to feel every inch of the fabric as it slid over your hips, down your thighs, past your knees… until they pooled around your feet in a soft heap.

You stepped out of them, now standing in nothing but a delicate lace bra and matching thong.

You felt him. There was no need to look at him.

The way the air had thickened—the way his breathing faltered behind you.

He was dying in that seat.

And you weren’t done yet. Nope.

You turned your head—just slightly. Just enough to glance over your shoulder.

The corner of your mouth lifted into the softest, cruelest smile when you saw the sight of him—

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Completely wrecked.

Then you moved again—slow, dangerous, with a rhythm, turning around to face him.

Just then, you let your fingers trail down your stomach, throwing your head back as you bite your lower lip.

You lower and hover right at the thought of something completely unholy—

The music stopped.

Room fell into silence as you lifted your head and looked at him.

No one spoke.

Until you did, giving him a smile, “We are finished here.” You say softly as you walk to the robe hanging on the wall.

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there—shirt half unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath during the whole performance.

Then his chair scraped back slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw. “What the hell just happened?”

He wasn’t angry—just wrecked.

You turned your head to him, tying your robe, “A performance.” You said smoothly, walking up to him. “Did you enjoy it, Mr. Jeong?”

He remained silent and broken—wrecked, disbelief. He sat there fuming and aching, wondering where the fuck did time go.

You smiled, politely, and reached for his cup. “I’ll get you another one, sir.” You offered as you headed towards the minibar.

It was a habit. You did it for Jae. You did it for clients. Nothing more.

Yunho stood up and adjusted the buttons on his shirt, shaking his head as he let out a broken chuckle—he didn’t know if to laugh or curse. He turned his head to you and watched as you made his drink, ice clinking softly as you poured.

“How do you…” His voice was rough and low, “turn it off so quickly?”

You see glass down on the counter, feeling your hands shake as you try to calm down your rushing heartbeat. “What do you mean, Mr. Jeong?” You asked him, tilting your head in confusion.

There was a pause as he looked at you. He reached for his drink without looking at it—still trying to piece together what just happened.

He gives a small smile, slightly shaking his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”

But there was something that flickered behind his eyes—something you couldn’t pinpoint.

You slowly gave him a polite smile, stepping back. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Jeong.”

But his eyes were still on you—quiet, unreadable.

“You know,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “you can call me Yunho.”

You maintained a professional smile. “Of course, Mr. Jeong.” You said it softly—sweetly even.

But it hit Yunho harder than a slap.

“I hope you have a good night.” You tell him as you walk around him, getting ready to leave the room as your heels click on the floor.

But then—

Thud

You froze mid-step.

The sound cracked through the room—loud and final. He had the final power move.

Your heart jumped, slamming against your ribcage. You tell yourself to not turn around but—slowly, you did, internally cursing at yourself.

Two thick stacks of money sat on the bar’s counter. Tossed like they meant nothing, but to you it meant everything. Your eyes lifted to him.

He hadn’t moved. He stayed watching you.

“I know why you’re here.” His voice was low. “That night outside of the club—I saw you and Jae.”

Your breath caught as you slightly stepped back, eyes widening. “I saw you handing him all of your money.” He said as takes one step towards you.

You looked at the floor frantically—breathing a little bit heavier. You felt embarrassed right now, humiliated. Your eyes shot to him, “That doesn’t concern you.” You said in a cold tone.

He ignores your tone and steps closer to you. “You’re right, you’re right...” He shrugs and stops as he looks into your eyes. “But no one deserves to be treated like that.”

You didn’t look away.

Just stood there in silence. Letting his words wash over you. His words come back, getting you out of your thoughts, “This is what you’re going to do,”

He reaches for one of the stacks and slides it across the counter towards you, “You’ll give this one to Jae.” He pauses and then he picks up the other stack and hands it to you, “And this one—you keep. Spend it however you want.”

You stare at the money, feeling your pulse ring in your ears. “I can’t.” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“You can.” Yunho said with his tone unwavering—expression unreadable.

You shook your head, “No.” You said taking a step back, “I don’t want it.” Your breath was shallow as you turned around, feeling the room spin.

Your heart was racing, palms were sweaty. You placed your hand on your heart as you closed your eyes, trying to calm down the spinning in your head. You didn’t notice how fast you were breathing until Yunho stepped in front of you.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he took your hands, gently to ground you. “It’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot to him. “You don’t understand.” You tell him as you swallow to moisten your dry throat, “Jae will find out. You don’t know the things he will do once he does. He watches everything—He’ll know. He’ll know I’m hiding money—“

“He won’t find out.” He cuts you off gently. He held your gaze as he cups your face, “This stays between you and me. Okay?”

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded. Small.

“Okay.” He said in a whisper as he gave you a small smile.

You didn’t notice it but this was the first crack in your mask—your first moment of trust in him.

Then, without another word, Yunho lets go of your face and takes a step back, keeping that small smile before heading out the room.

There was no glance over his shoulder—just straight out the room.

You stood there for a moment.

Frozen.

“What the fuck just happened?” You whispered to yourself. Your breathing calmed, everything steadied. How did he do that so easily?

When you finally were able to move, your body moved on autopilot. You reached for the door, pulling it open—cool air from the club spilled in, brushing your exposed skin. Your eyes searched for him—why? You don’t fucking know why.

But when you did—

Across the club, already halfway to another private room. Two girls happily pull him inside as he gives them a smirk, one of them stopping to whisper into his ear as he wraps his arm around her waist for support.

But then—

He looks back at you. A quick tilt of his head, barely noticeable.

Your stomach drops. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you can’t deny what you felt from it.

Soon enough he disappears as the door closes. You stood there, still gripping the knob of the door. Slowly you stepped back into the room and shut the door, turning to leaning on it.

Your eyes then dropped to the money on the counter. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t move. Just stared at it. You didn’t want anything from him but—

You sighed as you pushed yourself off the door. As you approached the money, your hand hesitatingly grabbed them.

You hated yourself for a second.

But this was the only choice you had.

—

It was a new night.

The lights were blinding, bass pulsed through your body, crowd was loud—

One thing that stood out from everything was how you felt before you saw him. The way everything faded the moment your eyes locked on him.

Yunho.

In the VIP section again. Legs spread out, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily cradling a drink he hadn’t touched.

Watching you on stage.

Your body moved on muscle memory. You knew this set like the back of your hands—hands know where to go, how your hips should sway.

But tonight, everything felt… different.

Something along the lines of intimate.

Your eyes flickered in his direction when they were suppose to stay closed, hips rolling a second longer, fingers sliding across your skin a little too slow—

Hey, what are you doing?

Stop it.

You know better. You know better than to give him a show.

But you did.

Somehow, you always did.

He could feel every thought passing through your head, every skip in your breath—it’s like he can read you.

And then— he smiled.

The faintest pull on his lips. Like he owned the way your body shifted in movements.

Your breath hitched, turning your eyes back to the crowd as you ached your back against the pole. Fuck. Get your shit together. You think to yourself as you collect yourself.

The music pounded as bills flew off of hands—loud cheers but you didn’t register it.

Because one name cuts through your mind like a knife; Jae.

Your chest tightened. Suddenly the air didn’t feel electric—it felt dangerous. Your movements snapped back to routine.

You finished the set.

But as you slid off the stage and stepped behind the curtain, heart pounding and knees weak, all you could think was that he saw it. He saw the way you messed up when you looked at him. Even deep in thought as you were up there.

You just wanted to go home.

But—

You just wanted to know why the fuck you were heading towards Yunho.

What the fuck are you doing, Y/N?

You kept telling yourself to stop.

You told yourself to keep that distance.

And yet–

One step.

Two steps.

One after another. The sounds of your heels against the floor felt louder than the music.

He was still there, seated. Relaxed. Confident. Watching the next performance.

Always watching.

You hate the way your stomach flipped inside at the sight of him. You hated the way your body reacted towards him.

Why were you going to him? You don’t owe him anything. You don’t talk to him. You don’t trust him. You can’t.

You should just stop and turn around, forget this even happened.

Five more steps.

His eyes lifted and locked onto yours. Your breath stuttered. You were close now—no turning back.

Your mouth parted to say something—maybe a greet? Come up with a half assed minuscule complaint that you can just deal with on your own?

You had no clue.

But suddenly— Jae’s voice echoed in your head. “Don’t get any fucking ideas.”

And for once, you agreed with the possessive, power-drunk asshole.

You were not going to get any ideas, even if your body betrayed you.

Your throat closed around the words you didn’t even know what you were going to say.

You clenched your jaw, swallowed the lump in your throat and just turned around.

You didn’t even look back.

Yunho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gnawed on his lower lip, curious as to what you were going to do as he watched you disappear behind the curtain.

—

It was later at night and the crowd had thinned out, lights were dimmed—and you were exhausted.

You saw in the farthest booth—away from the noise, away from stares, away from him. You did check your surroundings and didn’t spot him anywhere. You sat down with a sigh of relief as you counted the stack of bills resting in your lap.

On autopilot. Barely present.

Your fingers moved, but your mind was miles away. You wonder if he left already or is in a private dance with some girls—not that you care.

Just focus on you and everything will be okay.

You were halfway through rolling a band around a few bills when a shadow stopped at your table. You looked up and saw it was one of the new girls, standing in front of you with a cold bottle of water.

You tilted your head, “Oh?” You were confused as you reached out and grabbed it from your hands. “…Thank you?” You gave her a small smile.

“You’re welcome!” She said brightly with a little smile. “You… didn’t ask for one, right?”

You shook your head slowly, confused. “No. I didn’t.”

She grinned like she knew something you didn’t. “I know.” She beamed. “Someone wanted me to give it to you.”

Your heart skipped, taken aback. “Who?”

But she just winked and turned, heels clicking as she walked away without another word. Your eyes flicked to the bottle and then you saw it—

A napkin—

Folded neatly beneath the water, pressed flat under the condensation. You peeled it free with careful fingers.

For your hard work tonight. —J

Your throat tightened as your eyes slightly widened. Your head shot up as you scanned the room with too much urgency.

And you spotted him—

Outside of Jae’s office on the third floor—half in the shadow. He raised his glass to you. A silent acknowledgement.

You looked back down at the note, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered from his gesture.

But you couldn’t ignore the fact that he saw you for you. Not as a toy or machine or dancer… but you.

And in all honesty—you didn’t mean to keep it.

Seriously, you didn’t.

It was just a napkin.

So how did it end up in your purse?

You were sitting in your vanity, fully dressed in your sweats to go home, taking off the makeup before you left. Once you were done, you reached into your purse for your keys but felt something soft, causing you to take it out with furrowed eyebrows.

It’s crumpled a little now from being cooped up in your purse. You looked around and saw that you were alone in the room then read the simple words again.

For your hard work tonight. —J

You stared at it like it had something more to say.

But it was just a note.

He treats all the girls like this, maybe even more.

But your fingers fold it gently—delicately—like something fragile. Like something worth keeping. You then tucked it back in your purse.

You reached over to turn off the light on your vanity but before you did that, you stared at your own reflection, whispering. “Get a grip.”

With that you turned it off and headed on home.

Where you reread that note on the napkin a few times before drifting to sleep—napkin on your chest.

—

You were on bar duty that night.

The bottles clinked as you restocked the top shelf, lips pursed in quiet annoyance as you felt a cramp forming in your shoulder from extending your arm too far.

You stretched your neck to the side as you rolled your shoulder backwards to quickly release the pressure. Besides the pain in your shoulder—tonight was a good night.

First things first, no heels.

Secondly, no drunk men harassing you or any of the usual chaos.

But most importantly—No Yunho.

It was just your and your space with the low hum of the steady music and peace.

But you spoke too soon.

“Hey,” One of the girls called out as she leaned over the counter, adjusting her top in the mirror behind the bar as she chewed her gum, “you got a booking.”

You blinked.

Like hell you do.

“I’m not on rotation.” You didn’t bother to look up—just kept polishing the glass in your hand.

She smirked, “Yeah, well, now you are.”

You placed the cup down, her smirk quickly dropping as you looked at her. “Who is it?” You asked.

She blinked innocently—too innocent. She shrugged, “Didn’t say.”

Bullshit.

You can see the lie in your eyes.

But just as you were going to confront her, another dancer strolled in, heels dangling from her fingers like dead weight.

She tossed them on the bar as she sat on the stool, leaned her elbows against the counter and grinned at you.

“Whoever it is, paid in cash.” She paused, looking around and then leaned in closer to you causing the other girl to lean in as well to hear her. “They also tipped enough to cover someone’s rent for two days.”

The other girl gasped as she popped her bubblegum. “What?!” She exclaimed as the other one just nodded at her words. “Bitch, you’re so lucky.”

You gave them a deadpan look.

Lucky is something you are far from.

You scoffed as you rolled your eyes, wiping down the counter. “Well, whoever it is—“ you paused as you narrowed your eyes at them, “I’m not doing it.”

The girls exchanged a look before bursting out into laughter—loud and unapologetic. “You say that like you have a choice.” The barefoot one said as she got off the stool and winked at you as she scooped up her heels.

They both walked away, not bothering to hear a response from you.

You stare at the hallway then at the bar top. Let’s just get this over with.

—

You should’ve fucking known.

There he was.

Yunho.

Sitting in the center chair like it was and for him—legs spread, arms draped over the sides, head tilted slightly like he’d already been waiting for hours, but he didn’t care. He would wait for you.

His gaze dragged up your body, slow and heavy. “Thought you weren't going to come.” His voice was low.

You raised an eyebrow, taking small steps to him, “I didn’t realize I was expected.” You replied in a neutral tone—but you could hear the tightness in it.

Yunho smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You hesitated—just a flicker—and his eyes caught it.

Why does he have to say it like that? Why does he say things like this to you? Why does it affect you so much?

You turned your back to him as you untied the robe, letting it drop to the floor. You could feel his stare on you as goosebumps arose on your skin.

You stepped into the center of the room, “Then I hope…” you paused as you finally looked at him face to face, “I don’t disappoint you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, just watched. There was no way to describe the emotions Yunho was going through as you looked him in the eyes.

You walked until you stood between his legs, lifting your hand up at him.

His gaze flickered to it, a brow lifting in amusement but he didn’t move.

He sat there, motionless.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make you suffer just a little.

Was he going to accept it or not?

But then—

He reached out.

Sliding his large and warm hand into yours, fingers curling up. The contact sent heat spiraling up your arm. You gave him a soft smile—controlled and measured—gently tugging him up.

He smirked as he rose up, letting you lead him. His gaze never left yours as you guided him to the center of the room.

The look behind his eyes—it was something unreadable. It burned slowly, deep, and dangerous. You don’t know why his eyes felt different, compared to Jae. Compared to the many men you have met.

When you reached the spot, you stopped. His chest is a few inches from yours. Your hands slide up his suit jacket, over his firm chest. You then slide them down—until they paused just above his belt.

You look up at him, eyes twinkling. Your arms reach over his shoulders as you hover over his mouth, “I want you to get on your knees.” You whispered. “Mr. Jeong.”

A beat of silence.

You waited for rejection. For the challenge. For the smirk that always meant game over.

But what came instead—

Was surrender.

A slow shake of his head, that smile curling at the edges almost as if saying you have no idea what you’re doing.

Then—

He stepped back twice, still looking at you, and he dropped to his knees. You smiled down at him as you took out pretty pink handcuffs from your back pocket as it dangled on your finger, “Hands behind your back.” You lightly teased.

He didn’t hesitate or asked why. His hands slid behind him, interlacing at the small of his back as you began to slowly circle.

Your fingers traced across his broad shoulders—light, deliberate—like you were trying to memorize him through touch alone.

He stayed still. Relaxed.

Waiting.

You crouched behind him, your body close but not touching—hovering. Your lips close enough behind his neck as your breath fanned on it.

One hand reaches forward, slipping around the front of his neck, finger played across his throat. The other slid up to jaw, gripping just enough to make his lips part.

In the mirror across the room, you saw his reflection—on his knees, chest slightly heaving as he waited desperately for your next move while you were in control of this moment.

You leaned in, your breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. “Why are you so quiet, Mr. Jeong?”

He didn’t answer.

But the shiver that ran down his spine told you everything.

You smiled and pressed your thumb under his jaw, gently tilting his head back. “Always looking at me with loud eyes,” you murmured, “yet your mouth has gone quiet.”

You scoffed a quiet smirk against his cheek. You then reached down and with a soft click, you fastened the cuffs around his wrists.

“Or is this what shuts you up?” Your voice dropped to something darker—dangerous. “A woman touching you like this? Someone who you can’t control?”

And for a second—just a second, he didn’t breathe.

Then he chuckled.

Low and deep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he said, voice sounding strained but steady. “You think me being quiet means surrender.” His gaze lifted to the mirror, looking into your eyes, “But it doesn’t.”

His lips parted in a slow, wicked smirk. “It just means that I’m watching you.”

You could feel your heart drop.

You let out a silent chuckle.

You then stand up and circle back around to face him. You then raised your foot to his chest and pushed him back, his breath hitching at the impact to the floor.

“Still watching?” You asked him as you tilted your head to the side, smirking.

His eyes just went feral.

He couldn’t speak—you left him speechless.

You, too, couldn't believe what you have done as you felt your hand tremble slightly—

What the hell just came over you?

You dragged your foot off his chest and stepped over him. You sat down and straddled him—knees sinking to the cold floor on either side of him.

You lowered your hips just enough to brush his thighs—hard and straining with tension. You instantly felt his body tense under yours as he bit his lower lip—trying to keep his composure.

You started to roll your hips, slow and sensual. This wasn’t for pleasure—this was for control. You wanted to watch him fall apart.

But your mind was screaming at you. You better stop before things get worse. His back arched at the touch of you as he inhaled and exhaled sharply, trying to not break.

So you leaned in, grabbing his face gently to face you. “You think I mistake your silence for surrender?” Your voice was dangerously low. “You think that being quiet means power?”

You rolled your hips—slow and deep, letting out a small laugh as he twitched under you. “It just means you’re trying not to beg.”

Your hands slid up his chest, planting them there as your body rolled with a precision that was lethal. “Quiet men are always the loudest when they come apart.”

You dragged out every movement like punishment, “Let’s see how long you last.”

And just like that—

His groan cracked in the air, thick and broken as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” He whispered as his chest heaved, eyes shut tightly, body tensing.

Fuck, indeed.

The way he looked under you looked so ravishing that you barely caught the moan that slipped out your mouth.

Shit. You swallowed down the rest that wanted to come out down and leaned in, your lips brushing his throat. “You look better like this.” Your voice murmured like velvet. “On your knees. In cuffs. Beneath me.”

“Much better than the other night.”

You felt it when the words hit him.

He knows exactly what night you’re talking about. The night he left you in that confused state with his kind act, where he looked back at you and nodded as he was being dragged into the room by the two girls.

The night you told yourself you didn’t give a fuck.

“What a shame,” You kissed the corner of his lips, then whispered in his ear. “You don’t look nearly as desperate as them.”

Fuck, the way his body reacted.

A low grunt caught in his throat as he tilted his head up slightly to look at you—he felt like he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

Was this… jealousy?

But you masked it with a smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. You reached into your bra and pulled out a key—dangling it off one finger.

“Someone should help you finish.” Your voice was laced with a playful tone but your jaw was a little too tense. You hovered over his lips, “I’m sure one of your girls would be happy to.”

You then flicked the key off to the side and got off of him, heading to the door. He sits up slowly and glares at your figure, eyebrows furrowed—you struck a nerve. “Y/N, wait—“ he paused as he panted.

His eyes were burning with anger.

He doesn’t fucking want them.

He wants you.

Just before your fingers touched the handle, you paused. You turned around with a half smirk, “Thank you,” you said, “for your hard work… Mr. J.”

You didn’t wait for a reaction.

You walked out the door not bothering to look back at him. You didn’t slam the door, didn’t storm out—just remained calmed.

Your eyes spotted one of his girls leaned against the wall—looking at the crowd. When she spotted you, she stood up straight, “He is waiting for you. Go.” You didn’t say it rudely, you said it like a command.

She blinked in surprise. “O-Oh. Okay.” She nodded as slipped past you, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the room.

And as she opened the door—

There he was under dimly red lights in the room, still kneeling—still cuffed. Glaring at you through the mirror. He felt wrecked, pissed—betrayed.

You didn’t flinch. You turned and walked away, “Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.”

But you didn’t even believe those words. Not one bit.

—

Tonight, you were on bar duty again and you made damn sure it was going to stay like that. You checked the board twice—three times—just in case someone wanted to change things around.

Tonight was actually a slow night—Thank god. You were mixing some liquor and syrup sweetener in the cocktail shaker, lost in thought.

You grabbed two cups and placed ice cubes in each and popped open the top of the shaker, pouring the drinks in. You then placed them on the side counter for the girls to pick them up and at the same time—

A ticket came in.

You sighed as you looked over the order. You placed the ticket down and turned to the wall of bottles, grabbing one of them to turn around—

Only to nearly scream.

Yunho.

Sitting on the other side of the bar like he’d always been there. Legs spread as his elbows rested on the counter, watching you with a smirk.

Like nothing had happened.

As if you didn't cuff him and humiliate him with another girl walking in on him like that the other night.

Your breath caught, a soft yelp slipping out. You straightened fast, placing a hand over your chest as you slammed the bottle onto the counter—harder than you meant to.

“Jesus—” You hissed out. “What are you doing? You can’t just sneak up on people like that.” You tell him as you get back to work.

He waited a moment.

Just tilted his head a bit and smiled at you. “Why?” He asked.

“Did she take the cuffs off too soon?” He teased in a low voice.

Your body stilled.

Glass in hand as your lips parted but nothing came out. Your grip on the bottle tightened—but you kept your face expressionless.

You then looked him dead in the eye and just dropped everything you were doing and walked away. You headed to the storage room, telling yourself to grab some random bottles to “stock up” but really, it’s just to get away from him.

You opened the door and walked to the wall of bottles, you went for the highest shelf but couldn’t reach it. Soon the air shifted as you saw his hand reaching out and grabbing it for you.

You turned around, fast, and stumbled back a bit, not realizing he was very close to you. He hands you the bottle and tilts his head, “Why do you keep walking away from me?”

You tilted your head to the side and gave him a deadpan look, “If it was obvious, I’m working.” You gestured to the bottles behind you and in your hand.

He steps a little closer. “So was I.” His voice was low, “But you know that’s not what I meant.”

Your breath caught at your throat.

You just shook your head, “I’m not doing this.” You said in a whisper as you left the room but he was hot on your steps.

“You keep walking away, but I know you don’t want to.” He tells you as you two walk down the private hallway. “I know you feel what I feel too.”

You stopped in your steps and sigh, turning around to face him. “What makes you think that you know what I want?” You got closer to him, “What I feel?”

He got serious as he closed the gap between you two. “Because I know how you sound when you do.” He lifts a hand and cups your face, “The way you react when we touch.”

Your knees nearly buckled.

You closed your eyes at the warmth of his hands, letting out a soft sigh. No, no, no—

This can’t be happening.

You removed his hand and backed up.

There was a silent moment.

Your eyes snapped at him. “What do you want from me, Yunho?” Your voice was a whisper, feeling like it nearly trembled.

“You look at me in a way I can’t explain.” You said. “You show up one moment and the next you’re gone. You do things to me and it makes me feel like something is there.” You gestured between the both of you.��

You shake your head. “No matter how much I tell myself what we have is just transactional—just a fantasy… I almost start to believe the feeling. Which is the worst part.”

You don’t know why you’re getting teary. You bring the back of your hand to your mouth as you clear your throat, feeling like you’re going to collapse. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me yet why am I getting like this?”

You let out a scoff as you shake your head. You really can’t believe you are actually confessing to him.

“But then you know what you do? You run back to your girls. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.” You spat at him. “Like none of this matters.”

He flexed his jaw. “Is that what you think?” His voice was quiet—dangerously low. “You think none of this matters to me? You think this is about them?”

You let out a disbelief laugh, “Are you serious?” You asked him, sarcastically. “No, really, are you being serious? Because I don’t think I have ever met anyone so stupid before.”

“You say these things to me, you are always asking for me—you think— you think I don’t know you were asking for my name that same night?” You dropped the bomb on him causing his eyes to widen.

“You give me money for myself. You call Jae out on his bullshit whenever I’m around, trying to subliminally talk to me—trying to reassure me that you see me for me.”

“Let me explain myself—“

“Explain what? How you tell me things to make me believe that you are different from others and then turn around fuck whomever you want leading me to think you actually are the same as everyone else—?”

“That’s not what it is—“

“Then what is it?” Your breath hitched, chest rising with everything you were trying to bury. “Am I just a game to you? A power trip?” You asked him.

“No—“

“You don’t want me, Yunho. You just want control.”

His eyes flickered between yours, brow twitching.

But you weren’t done.

“You want me quiet. Obedient. All yours—just like Jae.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?” You asked sarcastically. “Because judging from where I’m standing, you’re just like him.”

And that landed like a slap to the face.

“Don’t ever compare me to that piece of shit.” His voice was low but filled with rage.

He was fucking hurt.

You froze, swallowing that lump in your throat. “Then why are you working with him?” You said. “If you hate him so much—if you’re not like him—then what the fuck does that make you?”

He just looked down, shaking his head in disbelief.

Your voice cracked. “You knew what he was. You knew exactly who he is—“ You slightly raised your voice, “And yet, you still chose to sit next to him. Become partners. Protect him. So let me ask you—“

You glared at him. “If you’re not like him… Why are you helping him keep me in a cage?”

Now, it was his turn to talk.

He steps closer, his dark eyes locked on you. “You want to know why I partnered up with him?” His voice was laced with something darker.

“Because someone like him is better as a partner instead of an enemy.”

Honest. Brutal.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t get things twisted with me. You handed him the keys to the cage.” Your stomach flipped. “You let him break you. Piece by fucking piece—until there was nothing left but obedience.”

You looked to the side, not being able to stare at him anymore as tears were stinging your eyes. But he kept going. “You blindly gave yourself away… and stayed.”

“And those girls?” He let out a bitter scoff, eyes burning into yours. “I never once fucked them. They were all background noise. Distractions. Faces I don’t remember. Touches that meant absolutely nothing.” His voice cracked—just slightly.

“Empty. Fucking empty. They didn’t mean shit to me.” He tells you as he looks between your eyes.

You felt angry tears streaming down your face as you glared at him. “And what you saw was an act for the cameras.” He says. “To make Jae believe the girls are doing their part. I would never, ever make you think otherwise of my words. I would never disrespect you like that. Because what I feel for you is real.”

“So,” he said, “don’t you compare me to that man that you chose.”

Silence.

You looked back at him with tears streaming down your face. Behind that fury in his face—regret already forming but it was too late.

You cleared your throat, feeling like your voice was going to tremble when you spoke.

“I really—ahem—“ your voice did crack, you sniffed as you stared into his eyes. “I really thought you were different.”

His expression cracked—barely—but enough. His harsh words are repeating in your head. “But, I guess I was blind. Once again.”

You sniffed once more, biting your lower lip. “Fuck you, Yunho.”

You quickly run out the hallway and through the back of the club, pushing open the exit door as the air of the night hits your face.

You placed your hand out to the wall for support as you walked towards the edge of the club—feeling like you’re going to just fall. You then leaned against the wall, placing your hand over your mouth and just broke down.

Quiet sobs that shook your shoulders as your other hand clutched your ribs like you could hold yourself together as you slid down the wall.

Inside—

Yunho just stood there.

Replying the way you ran away from him—your words still sting him.

Just then—

“Yunho~” One of his girls cooed when the both of them turned into the hallway. “There you are. Are you coming to the VIP section?” She asked as she grabbed his arm.

The other girl caressed his arm, giggling. “Yeah, we miss you.”

Yunho was just zoned out, looking at the floor. He then shakes the girls off and walks between them—they stumbled slightly back. “Leave me alone.” His jaw clenched.

They gasped and blinked in confusion as they watched him walk away. But just before they could say anything—

He turned the corner.

He just walked up to the office and slammed the door shut, shoving everything off the desk as everything hits the floor. He stands over it with his chest heaving as he looked at the empty table.

He slams his fist on it and then leans on it, feeling like he, too was about to break down.

"Fuck." He whispered in defeat.

To be Continued.

968 notes · View notes

flowersforbucky · 1 year ago

Text

down bad

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

author's note: i couldn't stop thinking about bucky being able to use his metal hand as a vibrator and therefore this was born.

warnings/tags: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, bucky being used as a human vibrator, multiple orgasms, language, consumption of alcohol, reader is afab, no use of y/n, slightly possessive bucky, 18+ only

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Natasha mutters through a mouth full of popcorn. “Tyler from the statistics department? Are we talking about the same Tyler from statistics?”

“Nat, for the fourth time, yes. Tyler from statistics. The only Tyler from statistics that I know.” You reach for the bottle of Moscato that the two of you are sharing, pouring yourself some more wine.

“Nuh-uh,” Natasha shakes her head. “I don't believe you. There's no way he could be that bad.” She takes a sip from her own glass of wine. “He's too gorgeous,” she shrugs, turning to face you on the couch. The romantic comedy you had picked out for your bi-monthly movie night plays forgotten in the background.

“Trust me,” you sigh. “I was just as shocked as you are. But I swear on my life, he stuck his tongue in my ear. In my fucking ear, but wouldn't go down on me.” You can tell by the look on her face that Nat is trying her hardest not to laugh.

“He said his dick game is ‘too good to need to eat a girl out’.” You shake your head, cringing at the memory. “Which is also what he said when I merely suggested that he use my vibrator on me instead. He looked like I had kicked his dog.”

“Well?” she asks, a pained expression across her features. “Was it? Too good?”

“I didn't stay to find out,” you admit. “I faked a work emergency and dipped.” A laugh breaks through her pursed lips.

“I'm sorry–” she says, although her face says otherwise. “I shouldn't laugh. You just have the worst luck with men. Isn't that the third failed hook-up in what? Six months?”

“Don't fucking remind me,” you groan, throwing your head back on the couch and staring up at the living room ceiling. “I think I've lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to me by another person again.”

Nat opens her mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when you both notice voices approaching from the hallway.

Sam and Bucky enter the room a moment later, both dressed uncharacteristically nice. You suddenly feel the desire to conceal yourself with the fleece throw blanket laying across your lap. You and Nat usually plan your movie nights for when the tower is relatively empty, so you're just wearing a pair of old sweatpants and a tank top. Bare-faced and hair unstyled, the fact that Bucky's gaze is locked on you as the two of them approach where you and Nat are lounging doesn't help. He's not smiling - but there's a look on his face that you don't quite understand. The ghost of a smirk on his lips and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

It's a look that makes you nervous - in addition to already feeling flutters in the pit of your stomach at how fucking good he looks.

“Hey, boys,” Nat greets them cheerily. “Where are the two of you going so dolled up?”

“There's a new nightclub in Brooklyn that a group of SHIELD trainees are going to tonight,” Sam answers. “They invited us and we've got nothing better to do. Figured we'd go check it out, get a few drinks. You ladies want to tag along? Or are you too busy watching - what is this, 10 Things I Hate About You?” He gestures towards the screen.

“Couldn't hurt to get out of the house for a while tonight, right?” Nat looks at you for confirmation, a knowing gleam in her eyes. “Who knows, you might even meet someone,” she adds, nudging you with her elbow.

Bucky lets out a sound halfway between a laugh and a cough, which he tries to play off as the latter. You narrow your eyes at him before glancing back to Natasha.

“For sure,” you agree, trying to ignore Bucky's bizarre behavior. “Couldn't hurt. You guys go on, we'll get ready and head there soon. Text us the name of the club?” You direct the last part to Sam in particular.

“You got it,” Sam says as he pulls his cell phone from his coat pocket. He turns to leave when both your and Nat’s phones chime with the club information. “Let's go man, our Uber's here,” he directs at Bucky.

“See you both soon,” he says before turning to follow Sam, though his gaze is still only on one of you.

“I'm gonna go throw on some make-up, curl my hair, and hope I can find something somewhat cute to–” Nat starts as soon as Bucky and Sam have turned back down the hallway.

“Was he acting kind of odd?” you interrupt her in a hushed tone.

“Barnes? Always. I've stopped reading into it too much.”

“Some spy you are,” you mumble. “Meet me back here when you're ready.”

— — — — —

One hour later, you're applying some last minute mascara and lip gloss in the backseat of an Uber on your way to downtown Brooklyn. Natasha sits beside you, ranting about an assignment that Fury has tasked her with and you swear you're trying your hardest to absorb everything she's saying - but your mind keeps going back to the way Bucky was looking at you just an hour ago.

What was with that little smirk? That curious glimmer in his eyes? Had he overheard your conversation with Nat? Had he developed the ability to read minds and knew you were thinking about how fucking hot he looked? Or was that thought simply written all over your face?

You knew you couldn't deny it. Bucky does look exceptionally attractive in his black suit, with his perfectly tousled hair - but you had found him to be ridiculously good looking since you'd first met him. Even in casual, everyday clothes, even in gym shorts and drenched in sweat, even covered in blood after particularly brutal miss–

“You girls have a great evening,” your Uber driver interrupts your train of thought as he comes to a stop in front of your destination.

You really need to get fucking laid. You definitely shouldn't be having these kinds of thoughts about Bucky. He's your coworker, your teammate, your training partner on many occasions, your friend…

Natasha thanks him and hands him a generous cash tip before climbing out of the car right after you.

“Thanks,” you tell her. “I'll buy our drinks.”

“Don't worry about me,” she tells you with a sly grin as you both flash the bouncer your IDs and enter the club. Despite the night still being relatively young, it's already bustling inside.

“You just focus on meeting people, mingling, maybe hitting it off with a super hot guy and taking him back to your place for some mind-blowing–”

“Super hot guy? Are you talking about me?” Sam’s voice interrupts Nat. You both turn around to see him and Bucky walking towards you, drinks in hand.

There's a roguish smile on Bucky's face as his eyes skim up and down your figure.

“You both look wonderful,” he compliments, but once again, his stare is focused only on you. If Natasha notices, she says nothing.

To be fair, you were impressed with how well you managed to put yourself together with such little notice. You found a black, backless mini dress crammed in the back of your closet that you had forgotten all about after snagging it on clearance forever ago. The form-fitting material hugs you in all the right ways, and paired with your favorite pair of strappy black heels, you're feeling infinitely more confident than you were when Bucky saw you just an hour prior.

“Thanks!” You chirp quickly, averting your gaze from him to take in your surroundings. To your left, the dance floor is lively, though not too overcrowded for your liking. To your right, there's a bar surrounded by tables filled with groups of people conversing - you vaguely recognize a couple of SHIELD agents huddled around one. The entire room is illuminated by the faint blue-green glow of the mood lighting, and the bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards.

Sam and Bucky excuse themselves to go say hey to the group of agents that had invited them, while Nat all but drags you over to the bar. You order a double shot of whiskey and throw it back as quickly as you can.

“I see what you mean now,” Nat whispers to you after downing her shot of tequila. “About Barnes,” she clarifies. “He's been eye-fucking you since we walked through the door.”

If you hadn't already swallowed your liquor, you would have spewed it all over her.

“He has not been eye-fucking me, Nat,” you say in an almost scolding tone.

“I'm just saying,” she throws her hands up. “There’s no way he could possibly be any worse than the last few guys you've gone for. I think you should go for it,” she shrugs.

“It's not that I don't think he'd be good,” you say defensively, forcing yourself to look away from where he and Sam are socializing with the small group of SHIELD agents a few tables away. “I just don't want things to be weird afterwards. We work together nearly every day, and we have a bunch of mutual friends–”

“Suit yourself,” she cuts you off in a tone of voice that very much says if you say so. “Now, are you going to dance with me or not?” She adds as she begins tugging you towards the ever-busying dance floor.

You spend the next half hour dancing with Nat before she's swept away by some black-haired doctor looking type. Good for her, you think as you watch them converse intimately at a small booth on the other side of the room.

Thanks to the liquid courage that runs through your veins, you're okay with the fact that Bucky stands just twenty feet away from you, watching you as you dance among the thick crowd of people.

You've made eye contact with him a few times now - on accident or on purpose, you're not sure at this point. But each time, your eyes lingers on his for a moment longer than the last.

You're mentally daring him to come here, to make a move, to do something other than stand to the sidelines of whatever conversation Sam and the others are engaged in.

The slightest bit of pressure on your waist snaps you back to the now congested dance floor.

You look up to find that the hand on your waist belongs to a tall man with shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. He's conventionally attractive enough, though not who you were hoping would come grab you on the dance floor.

“I'm Shawn,” he introduces himself, loudly enough for you to hear him over the roaring music. You tell him your name, pushing aside the pang of disappointment in your chest.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter to talk, maybe? Let me buy you a drin–”

“There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you,” a voice booms from behind you.

Shawn immediately retracts his hand from your waist, backing up a few inches as Bucky comes into view beside you.

“Must not have been looking too hard, I've been right here this whole time,” you jab back with a smug smile.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to–” Shawn says as he starts to back away.

“No worries, bud,” Bucky says in an overly friendly voice as he moves to stand in front of you, blocking you from Shawn's view entirely.

“Took you long enough,” you tell Bucky once the man is out of ear shot, once again beginning to sway to the music. “Get bored of listening to Sam hype himself up to the newbies?”

He takes a step closer, angling himself behind you. The crowd of people surrounding you edges you closer to him - your bare back brushing against the cool satin fabric of his suit.

“Maybe,” his chest vibrates against your skin when he speaks. He places his hands on either side of your hips - eliciting goosebumps across your skin in a way that no one else has in a long, long time.

“Or maybe I just wanted to save you from wasting your time on another guy who can't make you come.”

Your movements come to an abrupt pause as his words hit you.

He had fucking overheard your conversation with Natasha.

At a loss for words, you turn to face him. There's a shit-eating grin spread across his face. He thinks this is hilarious and it's obvious.

“Hasn't anyone ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?”

“Is it really eavesdropping if I have superhuman hearing?” He takes a step closer to you, closing what little distance was separating you. The peaks of your breasts brush against his chest.

“So what happens now that you've saved me from another unsatisfactory hook-up?” You challenge, staring up at him in the neon blue lighting.

You can smell hints of cedarwood and sage from his cologne in your close proximity. It's so delicious that it's dizzying.

“Let me take you somewhere more private than this dance floor and I'll show you.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in your ability to give me a better experience,” you say, leaning forward so that your face is just inches from his.

He responds by placing his flesh hand on the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. The tips of his fingers continue to dance down the skin of your exposed spine. His vibranium hand comes to cradle your jaw, his metal thumb tracing your bottom lip.

His mouth forms a dark smirk - and then you feel it. It starts soft and subtle and then gradually increases in intensity.

His fucking thumb is vibrating against your lip.

If you hadn't been standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a nightclub in downtown Brooklyn, you would have taken that thumb into your mouth and sucked on it right then and there.

“What do you say?” he asks, now tugging on your bottom lip with the pulsing digit. “Are you going to let me take you to the first empty room I can find in this place and make you come?”

“I say show me the way.”

He removes his hand from your face and turns you in the direction of the back of the club. He guides you through the throng of dancers, keeping his hands placed firmly on either side of your waist from behind. His vibranium fingers still hum softly, reminding you of what he says is to come.

Directly past the dance floor, there's a hallway blocked off by a rope with a sign that reads employees only. Taking a quick look around, you see that all of the patrons surrounding you and Bucky are paying you no mind. Bucky unhooks the flimsy rope and the two of you slip down the hallway.

He jiggles the handles of several doors that all turn out to be locked. Not wanting to waste any time or draw any attention to yourselves with picking locks, you continue down the dark corridor until the heavy music from the heart of the club fades to a muted roar.

The very last door opens without a hitch.

Thanks to the pale orange glow of a table lamp on a desk in the corner of the room, you can see that you're in a makeshift office/supply room - a couple of filing cabinets, cleaning supplies, extra glassware, and some sound equipment strewn haphazardly throughout the limited space.

Bucky clicks the lock into place as soon as he closes the door behind him.

You're going to turn around him and tell him that he doesn't have to do this - that as badly as you want this, you don't want to ruin your friendship, that as badly as you want him, he doesn't have anything to prove to you - but his lips are already on yours as soon as you start to open your mouth.

He doesn't take his lips off of yours as he guides you backwards to the rickety wooden desk. The backs of your thighs hit the table and Bucky effortlessly lifts you to sit on the edge, giving him the perfect angle to deepen the kiss - with his tongue exploring your mouth, you're unable to stop yourself from groaning into the kiss.

You fist your fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough so that he hisses into your mouth. His own hands trail from the sides of your stomach and down your thighs, until he reaches the tail of your dress. You instinctively part your legs for him, as much as the restrictive fabric will allow, and his vibranium hand shoots between your thighs.

He teases you, dragging his index finger along the cloth of your panties that you know you're close to soaking through already. Just as the tip of his finger pauses above your clit, his finger begins emitting the softest vibration.

You break the kiss, breathless as you throw your head back at the sensation. Bucky takes it as an opportunity to attach his lips to the pulse point of your throat, nipping your flesh with his teeth followed by a wet kiss.

He continues with the ministrations through your panties until you're rutting against his hand, needing more. He tugs your underwear to the side and increases the intensity of the vibration before nudging his middle finger past your entrance.

You have to hold onto his shoulders to steady yourself - despite the fact that you're sitting, your body feels like jelly beneath his touch. He adds in his index finger with ease before cupping your pussy in his palm - the heel of his hand pulsating against your clit.

“Fuck, Bucky,” you cry against his mouth.

“You're so fucking wet for me, you know that?” He coos, thrusting both of his fingers against the spongy-flesh of your walls.

You can feel the vibrations of his hand all the way from your belly to your toes.

You begin grinding your hips to meet the movement of his fingers, fucking yourself against his hand. There's a familiar knot forming in your lower belly as he curls his fingers inside you -

“I want you to think about me and how good I'm making you feel every time you think about letting some fuckin’ nobody touch you,” he says in a low voice next to your ear. “I want you to think about riding my fingers until you come all over my hand.”

His words send you over the edge and you do exactly that - your pussy clenching around his fingers as you ride them through your orgasm. While you're still coming down from the high of your climax, Bucky pulls his metal fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, inserting his index finger in your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the slick metal as he brings the vibrations to a halt and then slowly pulls the finger from your mouth.

He picks you up off the edge of the desk and plants you back on the ground - your legs still shaking from how hard you had come.

“Turn around and lean over the desk,” he instructs you, soft but authoritative.

You don't know if it's because of the way he's looking at you or because of how good he's already made you feel, but in that moment, you would've done anything he asked of you.

You bend over the desk, supporting yourself by leaning on your forearms. You peak back over your shoulder to look at Bucky - he hikes your dress up, baring your ass to him.

He lets out an audible groan before he has even pulled your panties down to your ankles.

He kneels on the ground behind you, his face inches away from your cunt. He uses both his flesh and metal hands to spread you open for him, and then his tongue is licking up your center from behind.

God, you hope no one tries to come into this room. The door may be locked but the sounds that someone would hear if they even walked up to the door…

Bucky knows just how to make you writhe above him. He's soft when he's kissing up your folds and unsparing when he's sucking your clit between his lips. His hands hold your ass in a firm grasp that teeters between pleasure and pain.

You grind back against his face and he moans so deeply that you feel the vibration of it up your core. Your eyes roll back into your head as you clutch the sides of the desk to better support yourself.

His enthusiasm alone has you spiraling towards a second climax embarrassingly fast.

“You know,” he murmurs against your sensitive pussy. “When I overheard you say that someone had refused to go down on you, I couldn't believe it. What a fuckin idiot to pass this up.” He gives your ass cheek a firm slap with his flesh hand before diving his face between your legs once more.

It's just seconds before you feel the telltale pressure growing in your lower belly once more. You go limp against the table, Bucky placing his hands on the backs of your thighs to help keep you upright as you ride out your orgasm on his face.

You continue to lay against the desk as you regain control of your breathing. Bucky stands up, tugging your panties up your legs and back around your waist as he does. He then shimmies your dress back down into place so that you're once again looking club-appropriate.

When you turn around to face him, he's wiping your slick from his lower face on the sleeve of his suit, once again displaying a shit-eating grin.

“What was it you said?” He asks in mocking contemplation. “You had lost all hope of ever having an orgasm given to you by another person again?”

“I think you've made your point. You're fantastic at eating pussy and you're a walking human-sex toy.” You roll your eyes at him and start to walk towards the door, but he grabs your wrist in his metal hand, stopping you.

He pulls you back to him and brings his flesh hand to cradle your jawline. He stares at you in a heavy, uncertain silence for a split second before bringing his lips to yours.

It's a kiss that's a bit more hesitant, and a lot less rushed than the one before. You taste yourself all over him, warm and salty. He takes his time getting lost in your mouth - you savor every second and it still comes to and end all too once.

“Couldn't help myself,” he smiles softly when he pulls away. “Just had to kiss you one last time.”

You can't help the way your heart skips a beat when he says the word last.

You clear your throat. “We should probably go find Sam and Natasha,” you say, giving him a small smile in return. “I'm sure they're both wondering where the hell we are.”

You spend the rest of the evening attempting to mingle with friends, but there's one thought that torments you for the remaining duration of the night - just a few hours ago, you doubted that you'd ever have a satisfactory hook-up ever again.

Now, you had to wonder if anyone else could ever make you feel as good as Bucky did.

♡♡♡♡♡

i left this kind of open-ended soooo leave it to your own interpretation what happens next for them 🤭

as always comments/reblogs are infinitely appreciated. thanks for reading!

my masterlist

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes one-shot #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #my writing #flowersforbucky

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scorpiosbite · 8 months ago

Text

the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the bag and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

#𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 actress!reader x drew starkey works #drew starkey #drew starkey smut #drew starkey x actress!reader #drew starkey x you #drew starkey fic #drew starkey fluff #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #rafe x reader

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afatkidclub · 1 year ago

Text

Older Boyfriend Simon Riley

Thanks to the notes on my last post, I will be posting this blurb here. It's just for shits and giggles.

Older Boyfriend!Simon Riley who has been the best boyfriend you have ever had.

Refuses to let you call a handyman. Leaky sink? He had it fixed before you even knew there was a problem. Squeaky desk chair? Suddenly completely silent.

Gets really competitive with Mario Kart and refuses to play again after losing a couple of rounds. Gets really into Minecraft but doesn’t let you help build things because “You’re doing it wrong” even though you’re the one who taught him how to play

Does not understand girl math.

-- “The fuck you mean it’s not real money

-- “If I use cash, it’s free because it doesn’t come out of my account. Therefore it’s not real money.”

-- “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

-- Now drops cash in your purse so that you have “fake” money to use.

Hates girl dinner only because he knows that a bowl of popcorn or a couple crackers and cheese is not a full meal.

A year of his life drops off every time he hears you saying “I’m doing it for the plot.”

Refuses to download tiktok but will watch them on your phone with you for hours at a time

Went on a very long lecture about the Roman Empire and how it came to be (talk specifically about the military aspect) once you mentioned something was your Roman empire. Didn’t even notice you had fallen asleep halfway through the lecture. Still doesn’t know what you mean when you say something is your Roman Empire.

Has absolutely no idea what you mean when you say “same.”

-- You had to explain that it was just something you said when you found anything relatable

-- “What the bloody hell could be relatable about a plastic bag blowing across the road.”

Has attempted to use the word slay in a sentence and it only ended with you in the longest laughing fit known to man.

Listens to you explain celebrity beef and wonders why you talk about them like you know them personally and how you know all this information.

Vine references, goes right over his head.

-- One time quoted “Road work ahead, uh yeah I sure hope it does” after you had done it so many times, you nearly choked to death on air that day.

Emojis are his worst enemy. Never gets the message when you try to hint at something using emojis.

Learns very early on that anytime you two go out for errands, you require a sweet treat.

-- Uses going out to get a sweet treat as an excuse to take you out on dates

-- Also makes sure to buy you a sweet treat anytime you complete a task you didn’t want to do.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley hcs #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost hcs #call of duty hcs #call of duty #ghost call of duty

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slttygeto · 2 years ago

Text

SO, YOU GOT A BOYFRIEND? | GETO S.

synopsis: when watching a certain scary movie gives your husband, suguru, the perfect idea on how to ruin you.

c.w: p0rn with plot, fem!reader, reader is referred to as “good girl” “pretty girl”, mask kink (hehe<3), slight fear play, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, suguru talks you through it, praise kink, strength kink if you squint, im obsessed with suguru's arms, clit smack, multiple orgasms.

word count: 2,1k

note: i am BRICKED after writing this. happy halloween hehe.

ghostface suguru! ( @aurelianamu )

In a dimly lit room, at around 10PM—it was a bit cold outside, the perfect weather to snuggle up and watch some movies. Romance movies? No, you did that last week. Action movie? Eh, you were not in the mood for that—oh, Scream. Your thumb presses on the movie before you put the remote control down and walk towards the kitchen to grab some snacks.

“Sugu, I picked a movie!” you announce as you make your way out of the kitchen with a bowl of popcorn and two drinks. Your husband marches down the stairs in a lazy manner, his long strands messily sticking out of his ponytail that he has to stop and tie it up again. He sees what movie you picked and he stands behind you on the couch.

“Scream?” he questions, hands resting on your shoulders.

“First movie, pretty iconic.”

“I don’t think it’s that scary though,” he doesn’t really say that he would rather watch something else, simply joins you on the couch and pulls you towards him with the bowl of popcorn resting on your lap.

The movie is indeed not that scary, you kept quoting some of the lines here and there, which earned you a chuckle from Suguru every time.

“No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface I wanna be in the sequel,” you say in the same voice and attitude and your husband runs a hand through your hair.

“I think you’d easily outsmart him,” your husband is very supportive of you, but instead of making fun of his statement, your heart thrums in your chest when you picture Suguru in the ghostface mask.

“Really?” you look up at him through your eyelashes but Suguru is staring ahead and doesn’t notice the eyes you’re giving him.

“Yeah, they’re all pretty stupid—minus Sidney, I mean the fact that—“ your husband goes on a three minute ramble about the plot, how he appreciates the intelligence of the main character all while saying that the choice of the ghostface killers was nice. Unbeknownst to him, you were thinking of something else. Something far dirtier than intended.

“Baby,” you cut him off from his ramble and he hums in response.

“You’d be pretty hot as ghostface.” Suguru looks down on you when you say that and raises both eyebrows knowingly.

“Are you insinuating something?” To which you shrug your shoulders before staring back at the big screen in your living room, playing innocent.

“Just saying.”

You weren’t just saying, you knew exactly what you were doing. The next day, you’re sat on your bed folding laundry while watching the newest episode to your favorite podcast. You liked keeping your brain stimulated, and it distracted you from the fact that your husband was always gone for long hours during the day. But when you hear the keys rustling and the front door opening, you raise an eyebrow but don’t question it. Today’s mission must’ve been quick, you think to yourself.

“Welcome home!” you call out from your bedroom but don’t bother to get up, you knew he would come to your bedroom immediately so you keep your eyes on your computer and go back to folding the laundry.

A couple of minutes pass and Suguru doesn’t walk inside the bedroom, so you start getting a little suspicious and decide to go check on him.

“Sugu?” you walk out of the bedroom and notice how the lights downstairs are turned off. You remember leaving them on for him, so he must’ve turned them off on his way upstairs—but where was he?

“Baby, are you in the shower?” the lights in the bathroom were on but the door was closed. Suguru never walked to the bathroom first without greeting you—unless something was wrong. You put your hand on the door handle, but before you could twist the knob, a warm and rough hand covers your mouth and your blood runs cold when you’re being pulled into a different room.

You don’t have time to scream or panic, because when you’re being pinned to the wall by a rather familiar set of hands, your eyes almost bulge out of your skull when you notice the ghostface mask. You’re breathing heavily, cheeks flushed but there’s no sign of panic because you know who this is—the dragon tattoo peeking out of his shirt and the wedding band on his ring finger are enough evidence.

“Do you like scary movies?” Suguru’s voice sounds silky smooth, but the flirting connotation to it has your heart leaping out of your chest.

“Sugu—“

“Wrong,” he pins both hands above your head and his body is so close to yours that you feel the heat radiating off of it. “Let’s try again, I know my girl is smart.”

Your breath is caught in your throat, but you play along and nod sheepishly.

“Do you like scary movies?”

“Mhm,”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He traces a finger over your cheek, and the arousal slowly starts pooling between your legs.

“Hm, I don’t know,” you reply in a similar flirtatious tone, nervousness long gone. The realization that you didn’t have to explicitly tell your husband about the ghostface mask and him buying it for your pleasure made all of this very thrilling.

“You have to have a favorite, what comes to mind?”

“Hm, Halloween,” you stick to the same script of the movie, you buck your hips towards him but he pushes a knee between your legs and pins you again to the wall. “Y’know, the one with the guy with the white mask that walks around and stalks baby sitters?”

“Yeah,” Suguru breathes out and takes in how gorgeous you look like this—how he should’ve thought of doing this a long time ago. Your eyes were blown out with lust, chest heaving in excitement all while allowing him to play with you like this. He could feel his pants tighten and his cock was slowly getting hard from knowing exactly what was coming.

“What’s yours?” you bring him out of his thoughts and although you can’t see his face, you know that he was giving you that signature charming smile that always won over your heart.

“Guess.” He purrs out and you subconsciously start grinding against his knee before giving him a reply.

“Nightmare on Elm Street,”

“Wrong,” Suguru goes off script and your lips part for a moment. You’re about to complain, tell him that this wasn’t in the movie—he lets go of your wrists and throws you over his shoulder, delivering a harsh smack to your ass, his rough hand kneads the skin as he makes his way towards your bedroom.

“Better luck next time,” he throws you on the bed and you let out a gasp when your back hits the mattress. You try to sit up, but your husband grabs your ankles and pulls you down towards the end of the bed. “Now let’s see just how fucking filthy you are,”

He parts your legs with his big hands covering the plush skin of your thighs, and you whine out when he removes your shorts to reveal your panties that had an obvious wet patch on them.

“Fuuuck,” he breathes out and lifts up the mask enough for his mouth and nose to be visible. He presses his nose against your panties and takes a whiff of your arousal, the sight is obscene and your face turns red at how pussy drunk he sounds. “Fuck, fuck—should’ve done this sooner baby, you smell so fucking good,” he gives your pussy a kiss through the fabric of your panties before his fingers remove them so messily that you let out a startled noise.

Suguru dives in between your legs and the wet sounds are dirty and make you feel even more turned on. His tongue laps at your clit, fingers pulling the hood back before spitting on it and your eyes roll to the back of your head when he sucks. Two of his thick fingers prod at your entrance, gathering some of the slick that’s pooled there before pushing a single finger inside.

“Thaaaat’s it, good girl,” he breathes out against your clit before giving it a kiss as he pushes the second finger inside. “Yeah, this pussy loves being stuffed by me—fuck, you’re so wet for me. All because of this mask baby girl?” his tone is playful but you’re far too gone to complain and just mindlessly nod.

“So drunk off of me and I haven’t even given you my cock,” he pumps his fingers in and out of you all while curling them to find that one spot inside you. He licks, sucks and spits on your clit with so much passion and when he finds that one spot, you let him know pretty quickly.

“Oh!” you gasp and your thighs shake. “S-Suguru, oh fuck--!” his wrist is burning as he keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you, and the veins in his forearm are bulging out from the sheer strength he is using to finger fuck you until you see white. His free hand comes down and presses against your stomach to apply pressure and keep you pinned down.

You make the mistake of opening your eyes to stare at him. His hand is covered in your arousal, but what truly pushes you over the edge is the fact that his mask had come down and was covering his face entirely. So when he decides to talk you through it, give you that one final push—the ghostface mask seems to intensify the orgasm tenfold.

“I know you’re a good girl, but I’m gonna need you to get dirty for me baby—there it is, theeere it is,” he sounds proud when you finally cum, and you’re loud. You whine and let out soft cries, your hands weakly push at his arm when he keeps fingering you through your orgasm.

“Suguru—too much!” you cry out and gasp when he pulls his fingers out of your soaking pussy to slap your clit.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he quickly starts to unbuckle his belt and pushes his pants enough to free his cock. The tip nudges at your folds and your husband hovers over you with his lean stature. Big broad shoulders cover your entire frame and you’re fucked out from your previous orgasm.

“I’m going in baby, let me in,” your legs spread instinctively to welcome him inside of you and you groan when you feel the sheer size of him inside you. Your hands grip at the back of his shirt, but Suguru holds himself up on his forearms so that you look at his mask.

“Yeah, that’s right—look at me baby, filthy fucking girl,” his strokes were slow but hard. His hands grab at the back of your thighs and push them before fucking into you harder. “You like it, huh?” you couldn’t even give a proper response, only mindlessly nodding when you could feel him even deeper inside you.

He pushes your knees to your chest before setting a dizzying pace. You feel so full of him, so full of his thick cock and Suguru’s eyes roll to the back of his head behind his mask every time he felt your pussy squeeze around him. His finger rubs at your clit the same way that you’ve shown him you like it, and the tip of his cock repeatedly nudges against that one spot that has you falling apart underneath him with a loud cry.

Your orgasm hits you hard and Suguru can’t hold it in any longer—he fucks into you for another minute, head buried in your neck as he groans out your name. Your pussy milks him dry, and he fills you up to the brim—to the point where you could feel him leak out of you.

You lay there breathing heavily, and you weakly reach for the ghostface mask and remove it off of your husband to reveal his sweaty forehead and flushed cheeks. He looks gorgeous like that, and you lock eyes for the first time since the entire night and you’re immediately pulled in towards one another.

Suguru kisses you with so much passion, dick still buried deep inside you and your legs stay wrapped around him as you two make out heavily under your sheets that stuck to your sweaty bodies. You pull away for a moment to kiss his forehead and Suguru closes his eyes as he melts at your touch.

“Thank you for that,” you say, so love struck that the man can’t help but chuckle at how breathless you sound.

“Let’s do it again, yeah?”

2023: all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

—💭 if you like this, leave a tip!

#moon's works #yoooou're deaaaad and burieddd darling--AND BRICKED HELLO?#enjoy this because I did too #ghostface suguru my love #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto smut #geto x reader smut #jjk geto #jjk smut #jjk geto suguru #suguru geto smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x reader smut

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kxsagi · 1 month ago

Note

hiiii

can u make blue lock boys with a s/o who tries to be as quiet and never really expresses her opinion during an argument, but starts crashing out when she's at home/alone 😛😛

LOVE YOUR WORKS BY THE WAYYYY

"𝐭𝐬 𝐩𝐦𝐨 🥀"

a/n: reader is me i fear

AND THANK YOUUUUUU!!!

ft. itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito, ness alexis, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae

itoshi rin

you and him are both quiet in public, so he thinks you’re twinsies in social apathy.

“don’t say anything, it’s not worth it,” he mutters. and you nod all calm like “yeah.”

but when you’re home? OH.

you throw your bag down like it's a dead body and start barking: “OH MY GOSH IF I HEAR ‘IT’S JUST MY OPINION’ ONE MORE TIME I’M GONNA LAUNCH MYSELF INTO ONCOMING TRAFFIC.”

rin freezes mid sip of water like you just spoke in tongues. “wait. who is this demon i brought into my house.”

you slam your phone on the bed: “I WISH I COULD FIGHT PEOPLE THROUGH TEXT.”

rin’s like “you need to go outside.”

after the third time this happens, he stops letting arguments slide. he just starts solving them ON THE SPOT because he knows if you bottle it up again, he’ll have to survive another 30-minute monologue about some guy who “walked with too much confidence for someone with that haircut.”

nagi seishiro

does not notice your inner rage until he walks in on you kicking a stuffed animal while whisper-screaming “DIEEEE YOU EGOISTIC PUNK.”

stands there scratching his head like, “uhhh. you good?”

you start unloading a rant about a barista who said “no problem” instead of “you’re welcome,” and he’s just watching you like a confused cat.

“so like… do you want me to fight them? or just listen?”

you start acting out the entire scene with voice impressions like, “‘next!’ no ma’am, how about NEXT time you respect basic customer service etiquette–”

nagi goes “damn. that’s kinda fire.”

starts encouraging it. “yeah babe, get mad. do the voice again. the evil barista one. that’s my favorite.”

fully believes your rants are better than any anime. once got mad when you didn’t go off. “what do you mean you’re calm today? but i made popcorn.”

mikage reo

LOVES the duality.

when you’re being all polite in public, he’s whispering in your ear like “do it. DESTROY THEM. go for the jugular.”

and you just smile and say, “it’s okay! mistakes happen :)”

cut to 9:13 PM and you’re in his penthouse pacing like a man possessed. “OH REALLY?? MISTAKES HAPPEN?? THEN LET ME MISTAKE-FULLY THROW A CHAIR AT YOU.”

reo is wheezing. he’s filming you. adding background music. making edits.

he even starts giving you imaginary awards like, “ladies and gentlemen… BEST DRAMATIC RANT OF THE YEAR GOES TO–”

you once threatened to fight a man for wearing flip-flops indoors and reo started crying from laughter.

wants to get you on reality TV. he thinks your angry alter ego could win a whole season without leaving camp.

karasu tabito

absolutely lives for your inner beast.

in public, you’re all quiet and sweet and he’s like, “she’s such a lil angel 🥰”

but then later he hears you go “I WILL DIG HIS FUTURE, PRESENT, AND PAST SELF OUT OF EXISTENCE,” and he’s like “NEVERMIND. SHE’S A DEMON.”

laughs his ass off while you’re slamming cabinet doors.

you’re like “this is why his hairline is running away from his eyebrows. IDIOT.”

karasu: “BAAAAABEEE PLEASEEEE 😭😭”

starts intentionally causing mild public inconveniences just so he can watch the rant later. “oops, i accidentally knocked over her coffee. oops, someone cut in line.”

this man is sick. he’s got a NOTES APP of your most iconic lines.

ness alexis

absolutely terrified the first time he sees it.

you’re sweet and reserved in public, but then later you’re storming around your bedroom like: “NOOOO BECAUSE I HELD BACK SO MUCH– IF I HAD A SHOVEL AND DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY I WOULD HAVE–”

ness pokes his head in like “h-hey baby, you okay–”

“SHHHH I’M MID RANT.”

man shuts the door like he just walked in on a crime scene.

now he just peeks in with snacks and goes “you want emotional support chocolate? ice cream? maybe a hug and a punching bag?”

scared you might start roasting HIM one day, so he starts keeping receipts just in case you snap and go “REMEMBER WHEN YOU ATE MY FRIES THAT ONE HUMID NIGHT.”

but also? kinda proud.

“she may be quiet… but she’s a warrior. just needs a private arena to unleash the fury. maybe a rage room is better.”

isagi yoichi

during arguments, you're standing there looking like the human version of an unsalted cracker.

"it’s fine. no big deal,” you whisper, while isagi is next to you mentally going, “she’s soooo cool under pressure omg she’s my strong silent queen 😩”

WRONG.

10 minutes after y’all get home, you’re in the kitchen like: “NO BECAUSE IF HE BREATHED ANY LOUDER I WAS GONNA STUFF A SOCK DOWN HIS THROAT–”

you're mimicking the whole conversation, hands on your hips, pacing like a mom yelling about bad report cards.

isagi is watching from the couch like it’s a documentary. “so this is what she’s like when the polite filter turns off…”

you throw a fork across the sink and go “AND ANOTHER THING!!”

he flinches. “another thing??? there’s MORE???”

now he straight up brings popcorn to your post-argument breakdowns. even got a playlist for it: ‘angry girlfriend showtime vol.3’

kaiser michael

he thinks you're classy. elegant. above it all.

like, “oh wow, my girlfriend doesn’t even need to raise her voice, she wins arguments with a look.”

yeah well. wait until he hears you alone in the kitchen popping off like it’s an unscripted drama.

“THEY WANNA PLAY STUPID GAMES? THEN THEY BETTER BE READY FOR STUPID PRIZES–”

kaiser peeks around the corner like 👁️👄👁️ “who… the hell… are you???”

you’re out here holding a hairbrush like a mic, screaming at the air. “AND ANOTHER THING: WHAT TYPE OF NAME IS THAT ANYWAY. SOUNDS LIKE A YOGURT FLAVOR.”

he deadass chokes on his mineral water.

he’s torn between fear and admiration.

“i’m dating someone who bottles rage like champagne and explodes behind closed doors. incredible. terrifying.”

but don’t get it twisted, he starts triggering it for sport.

he’ll say some dumb shit like, “maybe they were right, you were being a little sensitive,” and then stand back like he just lit a firecracker.

kaiser 10 minutes later, filming you storming around the room with full captions and a laugh filter: “and this, my friends, is why i never cheat. she’d destroy me in 7 dimensions.”

shidou ryusei

he’s the exact opposite of you.

like, in the moment of confrontation, he's already taking off his shirt and saying “let's settle this in the PARKING LOT.”

and you’re just there holding his sleeve like, “let’s not… it’s okay…”

“no, it’s not okay, babe. i saw the micro-expression on your face. you wanted blood. i could feel it.”

“nah ryu, i’m chill.”

cut to 12 minutes later when you two get home and you’re doing WWE monologues in the mirror like: “IF I WAS BUILT DIFFERENT, HE WOULDN’T HAVE TEETH RIGHT NOW.”

shidou walks in halfway through and SCREAMS.

“OH MY GOSH YOU DO WANT VIOLENCE. BITCH I’M SO TURNED ON.”

now he purposely instigates people in public just to see if it’ll get you to crack.

“watch this babe, i’m gonna push his buttons.”

you remain silent.

later that night though: “he was chewing with his mouth open, and i swear to the heavens, ryu, i almost inhaled a fork just to end it all–”

“I KNEW IT. I KNEW YOU WERE A FERAL LITTLE BEAST.”

itoshi sae

this man is ICE COLD. he barely talks in arguments and honestly, he thought your silence was just... normal.

“hm. she’s like me. emotionally done with everyone.”

but BOY was he mistaken.

the first time he catches you mid-breakdown, it’s because he walks in early from practice and hears something like: “NO BECAUSE IF SHE BREATHES NEAR ME AGAIN I’M GONNA CALL THE IRS ON HER.”

sae freezes in the hallway like you just summoned a demon.

you’re pacing in socks and a hoodie, dragging a blanket around like a cape, arms flailing as you imitate every dumb sentence said during the earlier argument.

“‘i didn’t mean it that way’ THEN IN WHAT WAY DID YOU MEAN IT?? TELEPATHICALLY???”

sae just turns around and leaves the room. comes back three minutes later with a drink.

“so we’re doing this now? okay. continue.”

literally just sits there while you explode, nodding like it’s a business meeting.

“mhm. right. yeah she was dumb.”

but later in bed when you’re calm, he’ll whisper: “you know you scared me a little back there. but… kinda hot.”

you look at him. “i blacked out. what did i say?”

“something about mailing someone’s eyebrows to the moon.”

752 notes · View notes

em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

Text

Got You (Where I Want You)

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

Summary: You walk in on Bob staring at himself in the mirror.

Warnings: Fluff, with some intimacy thrown in there for good measure, because why the hell not, right? The sweetness is cavity inducing lol

Author’s Note: Had this idea yesterday and had to put pen to paper y’all, I don’t know what the hell got into me that made me push aside my other stuff for this idea, but I liked it too much to not go absolutely bonkers on my keyboard lol…Anyways, enjoy <3

Word Count: 4,785

Subject: FINAL HR WARNING - CONDUCT REVIEW (Walker/Starr Conflict)

From: HR Officer Marshall Greene

“Agents Walker and Starr are now under internal review for insubordination, hostile communication, and repeated disregard of team mediation protocols. One more infraction and we’ll initiate temporary removal from field rotation. Val has been informed. There will be no further email warnings.”

Walker (Reply All):

“Good to know HR thinks performance under pressure is ‘hostile communication.’ No wonder no one trusts leadership anymore.”

Ava (Reply All):

“Glad we agree that nobody trusts you.”

Yelena (Reply To: Ava and Walker):

“I swear if you get us all sent to HR group therapy again we are going to leave you both at the next extraction site.”

You choked on your own laugh, face half-buried in your pillow as your tablet buzzed again. Notification after notification trickled in like popcorn kernels catching heat–erratic, chaotic, and loud as hell. The entire thread was spiralling quickly, and all you could do was watch the digital tornado unfold before your very eyes. You sat up quickly, nearly dropping the tablet in your lap as you scrolled through the influx of new messages. One leg was tucked under you, while the other bounced with that familiar blend of amusement and secondhand dread.

Ava’s spelling had deteriorated into pure adrenaline–half her words missing vowels, full of heat and fury and thinly veiled threats. Walker had officially gone full defensive, slinging phrases like “operational leadership failure” and “compromised team integrity” like he was writing a dissertation for Val.

You snorted as Yelena replied again but to everyone this time with a simple:

“You guys are literally down the hall from each other, there’s no need to continue to document the arguing, just kill each other now.”

It was definitely a full-blown HR meltdown, and it was definitely going to warrant group therapy again, but the thread was just too good to keep to yourself.

Your thumb hovered over the screen for one more second, then you grinned, tossing the tablet to the side of the bed, because you knew exactly who would enjoy this as much as you.

Bob.

He was never in these threads–more because he didn’t even think to check them anyways. He was never mentioned, never cc’d. He just floated above the chaos like a gentle cloud of soft-voiced concern. He was never involved enough to be a direct problem, but he was always tuned in enough to notice when issues were brewing. He never participated in the drama, but he loved hearing about it. Only from you, though. Only when you read it out loud with your overly expressive hand gestures and dramatic reenactments–like you were performing Shakespeare in the park…But only for him.

It was a tradition. A rhythm that only belonged to you and Bob alone, because every time a thread decided to spiral into a tailspin of arguing, you sought him out immediately.

Sometimes it was in the kitchen over cereal. Sometimes it was on the roof, sitting hip to hip with your legs dangling in the wind. Sometimes it was huddled on opposite ends of the couch with your legs draped over his lap…And sometimes–like right now–it meant running to his room like you were delivering urgent news straight from the battlefield.

You glanced down at yourself–sports bra, and underwear–and let out a low huff. Bob had seen you like this before, technically. That’s what came with the territory of shared safehouses, mission recovery stations, and walking around the compound late at night when you thought nobody else was awake. Those were different situations though.

You padded across the room and yanked open your dresser drawer, rifling through your exercise shirts until you settled on a worn black t-shirt–oversized and thinning with age. You tugged it over your head in one swift movement, letting the hem fall just past your hips, then you grabbed a pair of navy basketball shorts off the back of your desk chair and shimmied into them with a quick hop-step, tightening the strings as much as possible so they wouldn’t fall as you rushed down the hall.

You scooped the tablet back up in your arms, the screen still glowing with the madness you’d left behind.

HR Officer Marshall Greene (Reply All):

“This is a formal thread, please refrain from using inappropriate language and making unfounded comments on others performances.”

The excitement only grew, as you slapped the tablet against your thigh, and bolted into the hallway.

The compound was quiet except for the distant clack of someone’s boots echoing down from the other wing–probably Ava pacing while she types another scorched-earth reply to the recent email. Regardless, you padded forward, barefoot but quick. The hum of the overhead lights casted your shadow along the wall as you rounded the corner toward the kitchen for a quick pit stop.

The fridge gave a quiet suction-pop as you pulled it open and reached for one of the bottled iced teas Bob always hoarded–hibiscus and lemon honey, the kind he insisted was the best. You grabbed one–already cool against your palm even though you had restocked them an hour ago–and tucked it into the crook of your arm as you shut the fridge with your hip.

”What’re you? A professional basketball player?” A voice from behind you asked.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was Bucky–leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen like he’d been planted there to deliver commentary on your outfit. His arms were crossed, dog tags peeking beneath the neckline of his exercise shirt. The glint in his eyes showed unmistakable amusement as he raised a brow at what you were wearing. You didn’t slow your pace though, you just tossed him a look over your shoulder.

”Careful Barnes, comments like that are how group therapy gets scheduled.” That earned a bark of laughter from him–rough and low.

”I’ll tell HR you threatened me with that iced tea bottle,” He called out as you walked off. You raised it above your head in mock-warning without looking over at him.

”Weaponized refreshments fall under Walker and Ava’s jurisdiction. Not mine.” You heard his chuckle echo faintly behind you, but your attention was already zeroed in on the familiar stretch of hallway that led to Bob’s room.

It was quiet here. Soft, almost. The air always felt a little warmer around his end of the corridor–in heat and in emotion in general, there was less tension, less noise, it was very…Bob. use him, his stacks of books, and the faint sound of whatever playlist he decided to put on.

You didn’t knock, you never knocked.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle and turned it without ceremony, pushing the door open like it was your own room, like it was a shared space you were both too sentimental to label.

“Bob! You are not gonna believe this thread..” You said as you were stepping into the room, clicking the door shut softly behind you before turning around.

And that’s when you saw him…And he nearly jumped out of his skin.

”D-Don’t you knock?!” He stammered, jolting like you’d fired a dart into his shoulder. His hands scrambled for the shirt slung half-off his desk chair, eyes wide, and cheeks flushing crimson, “I-I could’ve been–!”

”Naked?” You offered helpfully, lifting a brow as you stepped more into the room, “I think I’ve survived worse than accidentally walking in on someone mid-change.” Your voice had trailed off a little by the time you got to the middle of the room, because it hit you then–just how good he actually looked.

He wasn’t even trying, and that was probably the worst part–because you didn’t want to see him when he was…

The golden hour light poured through the west-facing window like warm syrup, catching the faint dampness along his skin and the light brown locks that his head sported. The light turned the droplets of water that still trailed down his back into halos of shimmer. His chest was broad and high with clean muscle, sharp and thick, and a bit swollen. There were red marks stretched faintly across his collarbones and the tops of his biceps, fresh from a too-hot shower–evidence of his notoriously sensitive skin. A small pink scar marked the space just under one of his ribs, thinned out from more than a decade of bearing it.

You had always known he was strong–he had to be because of the serum–but this was not what you were expecting.

Bob was built like a cathedral. Sturdy like he’d been carved from something permanent, and yet somehow he still stood like he was embarrassed of that.

”Bob.” You started, but he was already trying to pull his shirt over his head and failing–his arms were moving like they had forgotten how sleeves worked. Then after a second of struggling, he gave up with a frustrated sigh and just pressed the cotton against his bare upper torso like a towel.

“I-It’s really nothing…” He insisted, voice strained and high with shyness, “I-I was just…Looking at something.” Your brows raised as you padded even further into the room, placing the iced tea gently on the nearest stack of books.

“Got a rash or something? I know that Sentry suit probably isn’t a pleasant experience. It’s basically painted on…Probably got chafing in all the wrong places.”

“W-What? No! I–I don’t have a rash,” He sputtered, a nervous laugh catching on the tail end of his words. You could see his ears turning red, then watched as the flush crept down his neck and beneath the top he was holding against him. You grinned, leaning against the footboard of his bed, crossing your arms over your chest.

”So what were you looking at then?”

“I-It’s nothing…I swear…” His gaze couldn’t even meet yours, it just darted everywhere but your face: the floor, the ceiling, the bottle of iced tea, his desk lamp. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he shook his head, “It was n-nothing.” You sighed and, without another word, turned and sat on the edge of his mattress, tablet still in hand as you looked around the room–deliberately taking your time, giving him space to breathe. To maybe cool down a little before you asked him the same question again.

His room was neat, but not in a sterile fashion. He had bookshelves stacked high with paperbacks and limited edition copies of stories–science fiction, poetry, philosophy, he even had a few battered field manuals, but they looked like they hadn’t even been opened. A few of the books had some sticky notes jutting out in soft yellows, greens and blues, all in varying shades. There was a well-kept ficus in the corner by the window, catching sunlight in its leaves. One of his walls held a corkboard filled with photographs of places he had been with the team, with little notes he had kept from you–handwriting scrawled on torn napkins or on the backs of receipts. His Sentry suit hung off a hook like a molded second skin, and a flannel blanket was folded with precision at the foot of the bed.

“W-What are you doing?” Bob’s voice cracked with a soft, almost wounded hesitation. You didn’t look up from the bed right away, instead dragging your thumb along the edge of the tablet as you let the silence sit. Then you finally lifted your gaze, brow raised with soft mischief.

“Waiting for you to move,” You said simply. “So I can see what you could’ve possibly been looking at so intently before I barged in.” He shifted on his feet, his toes curling against the floorboards like he was trying to plant himself there and disappear.

”Y-Y/N, I wasn’t looking at anything…” You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes dropping from his for just a second–slowly taking his body in again from the reflection of the mirror behind him, the long, broad line of his back, the way the light caught in every indentation of muscle like it was sculpted for this hour of the day and no other. Then you looked back at him.

”So why’re you hiding from me then?” You asked softly, “You’ve seen me topless before…Thought you might’ve been comfortable returning the favour.” You joked. His eyes flickered to yours, then away again, lashes fluttering like a startled heartbeat. His grip tightened on the cotton he still held over his chest, the fabric slightly damp now from where it met his skin. You set the tablet down with a quiet tap on his nightstand, fingers curling loosely at your sides as you pushed off the bed and stepped toward him. The floor creaked softly beneath your bare feet. His breath hitched–just barely audible–but you caught it. His whole body tensed, like prey too stunned to run, and yet… He didn’t back away.

“Let’s look together, hmm?” You said, voice soft, it wasn’t a command…It was more of an invitation, “Turn and look in the mirror.” Bob’s eyes darted down to yours, nervous and questioning, the light in them flickering gold just for the briefest moment.

“W-What…?”

”Just…Trust me,” You whispered, inching close enough for your hand to find the edge of the shirt he was still holding to his front. You pinched the soft cotton between your fingers, “Turn and look in the mirror…And move this.” He stared at you, searching your face as if trying to find the trap. But there wasn’t one–not with you. So, with hesitantancy, he turned back toward the full-length mirror beside his bookshelf. His broad shoulders squared, his spine straightening instinctively like he expected to be judged, and slowly, he shifted the cotton away from his chest. He didn’t let it drop–he held it against his side like a safety net–but it no longer blocked his reflection.

You stepped behind him carefully, and rose up on your toes, putting your chin on his heated shoulder, eyes flickering over both his reflection and the way his skin flushed beneath you. The heat coming off his body was tangible, like the golden hour sun had been sucked up by his skin and refused to leave. His damp hair curled at the end where it had dried, and the slope of his shoulder tensed beneath your chin.

Up close like this, with nothing but the mirror before you both, it was impossible not to take him in fully–not just the parts you’d glimpsed, not just what the suit hinted at beneath all that gold-threaded armor and pressure. But this. Him.

The soft curve of his clavicle, just beginning to dry, still slightly pink from the heat of his shower. The small cluster of faded stretch marks that swept just beneath his chest, curling slightly toward the soft ridges of his ribs. They looked like pale lightning, half-silver in the light–evidence of how fast he’d grown into himself, into this body he never asked for. Another quiet mutation to accommodate the weight of what lived inside him. There were more across his lower stomach, ghosting down either side of his abdomen where the muscle swelled thicker. They branched just beside his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his joggers, pale and delicate, like silk run beneath sharp fingers. You wanted to trace them. God, you wanted to press your mouth to every single one.

His skin was smooth in some places, textured in others, but all of it was flushed with heat. And that light trail of hair that you’d never seen before–white blonde, so soft it nearly vanished unless you were this close–drew a path down the center of him that had you unconsciously tightening your arms just slightly where they curled behind his back.

“You definitely don’t have any rashes,” You said softly, voice light with teasing but thick with something warmer. “You’re just a handsome guy…That’s built like a house.” You gave a small shrug against him, trying to diffuse the sincerity with humor, but it still rang true. Bob’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and his reflection turned red so quickly you thought it might spread across the mirror itself.

“S-Stop it,” He muttered, ducking his head just slightly, like that might shield him from your words.

“Why?” You murmured, brows lifting gently. “It’s not like I’m lying to you.” He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched for a second too long, and then his voice came–rougher, smaller.

“I-I don’t see it… I just see this…This person who’s not themselves anymore.” His jaw clenched a little, eyes glued to his reflection like it betrayed him. “Not like I u-used to be. Everything’s just…D-Different.” Your frown came slowly, spreading across your face with a heaviness that tugged the corners of your mouth down and softened your eyes into something deeply pained. You finally connected the dots.

He hadn’t been admiring himself in the mirror. He wasn’t checking for a rash or even trying to catch a glimpse of some half-healed wound. He was judging himself–tearing himself apart with every second he stared. Comparing himself to the man he used to be. The one he probably thought he lost the day he became more myth than man. Your heart twisted with it. That quiet kind of ache that came from loving someone too much to let them stay hurt.

“…Can I touch you?” you asked gently, voice barely above a whisper.

Bob’s eyes met yours in the mirror, startled like you’d touched a raw nerve instead of just offering kindness. His lips parted slightly, breath catching in his throat.

“O-Okay,” He said, like it was foreign–like no one had ever asked that before. You moved even closer to him, your chest now pressing against his back. You lifted your hand and just…Touched him.

Your fingertips met the warm skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his joggers, feather-light. He inhaled sharply. Not in fear–just surprise. His stomach tensed for a second, then loosened, like his body didn’t quite know how to receive affection that came without demand. You smoothed your hand upward, tracing the soft rise and fall of his abdomen, the slope of strength beneath the surface. His skin was warm and velvety under your touch—damp in places from the shower, and soft in others from where his skin had healed from stress and strain and godhood.

“You’re so…” You breathed, thumb sweeping just beneath his ribs, “Unbelievably beautiful, Bob.” He blinked like he hadn’t heard you right. Like that word had never belonged to him.

“I mean it,” You said softly, your hand traveling up his chest now, resting briefly over his heart–feeling the beat pounding steady and strong beneath your palm. “You have no idea what you look like, do you?”

His breath shuddered. “N-Not like this…”

“Then let me tell you.”

Your voice dropped, low and tender, like a vow.

“This body,” You whispered, your fingers tracing the faint stretch marks just below his pecs, “This is a testament. To everything you’ve carried. To how hard you fought to stay here. How strong you’ve had to be. You didn’t just survive…You built this. And you built it with love. With the way you protect people. With how gently you hold things, even when you could crush them.” You leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his bare shoulder, kissing him once. Then again, higher, where the tension lived tight beneath his neck.

He shivered.

Not out of discomfort–but because he knew you meant it. Because your mouth on his skin felt more like an affirmation than anything anyone had ever said to him. His skin jumped beneath each press of your lips. Your other hand slipped around his waist, palm resting over his stomach again–feeling the subtle flex as he tried and failed to keep still.

“You’re real, Bob,” You murmured between kisses. “You’re good. You’re so good. And every inch of you–every mark, every muscle, every breath–is deserving of love.”

He made a sound then–a quiet, choked breath like he was holding something in his throat. His chest hitched slightly under your hand, and when you peeked up at his reflection, his eyes were glossed, gold flickering around the rims like he was lit from within. You tightened your arms gently, holding him from behind like a tether, your forehead pressing into the curve of his shoulder. Your lips grazed the top of his spine.

“Even if you can’t see it… I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of breath. Of tension. Of emotion so thick it filled the space between your ribs and his.

After a few long seconds, his hand moved. Trembling at first, like he didn’t know what to do without being awkward, before lowering it to cover yours.

His palm was big, warm, and dampened with sweat, but you didn’t mind the way it felt. He held your touch in place like he didn’t want you to stop. His thumb swept softly along the edge of your hand, nervous but desperate to keep you there.

When he turned to face you, his breath hitched again. His eyes didn’t look away this time. He just stared at you like he was memorizing the moment.

You were still holding his waist. Still close enough that the warmth of him surrounded you like a sun. His hand lifted–slow, hesitant, like the moment might shatter if he moved too quickly. You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Not when his fingers brushed your jaw and then curled so gently against your cheek it made your eyes sting.

He held your face like it belonged in a museum among the works of art. His thumb grazed the space just beneath your eye, sweeping along your cheekbone with the softest pressure–as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch. Like if he just held you long enough, maybe he could believe this was real. That you were real. That someone had truly looked at him–all of him–and still wanted to stay.

Neither of you blinked.

The air shifted–thick with something golden and unspeakable, heavy in your lungs but light in your chest. Like standing on the edge of something vast and beautiful and knowing, this is the moment it all changes.

And then he leaned in.

Not in a rush. Not in some burst of passion where your teeth could possibly clash together. But slowly–like the sun melting into the sea. Like a secret unfolding, tender and certain, inevitable as gravity.

His lips met yours with gentleness you didn’t know you were starving for.

It was so soft it almost didn’t feel like a kiss at first. Just a breath of warmth, and a quiet hum of surrender blooming behind your ribs. His mouth moved against yours with cautious wonder, wanting more but keeping his thoughts under control just for this one moment–just so he could display his secret devotion to you.

The world narrowed to the press of his lips, the curl of his fingers that were still on your cheek, the faint tremble in his shoulders, and the heat of his bare skin where your hands moved now–trailing up his sides and over his back. You traced the soft slope of muscles with your palms, admiring, until your fingertips danced along the small of his back.

And that’s when he gasped.

The kiss broke as his body flinched against yours with a startled breath, a laugh hiccuping through the sound.

”I…Sorry,” He stammered, half-flushed, half-laughing, his hand falling from your cheek like he had ruined it. You grinned, still feeling your heartbeat throughout your entire body, your eyes shining.

”Don’t you dare apologize for a kiss like that,” You whispered, and before he could respond back to you–before he could shrink away or stumble over a hundred more nervous syllables–you leaned in and kissed him again.

It was just a quick one. A seal on the moment, something that could contain it. His breath hitched like he hadn’t expected it–like he still couldn’t quite believe you were touching him so freely, so warmly.

You pulled back just enough to smile against his lips and murmur, “Only you would apologize for something that sweet by the way.” Another blush lit his face instantly, rising to the tips of his ears like fire spreading across his skin. You laughed softly and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a proper hug, letting your cheek press to his chest as he melted into your touch.

His arms folded around you slowly, his forearms curling tightly around your waist, his palms flattening against your spine, pressing your body flush to his like he wanted to make sure there was no space between you at all. You melted into the hold instinctively, sighing against his chest as the tension slid out of you like sand between fingers. Your cheek rested against the warm pillow of muscle just over his heart, and there it was–the steady galloping rhythm, thumping firm and fast beneath your ear. You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in.

The scent of his shower was clinging to him and invading your senses now, there was sage, and a hint of pine, he smelled like a forest, or the wilderness–he smelled like the safest place you would ever come to know.

For a long beat, neither of you moved.

His chin dipped until it came to rest lightly on the crown of your head, a sigh escaping him–low, content, full of something that bordered on reverent. When he hummed, it was quiet and barely even a sound–just a vibration in his chest that pulsed through your cheek and down your spine like a tuning fork finding your frequency so he could slip in and be one with you. You smiled against him.

“So…” You started, voice muffled slightly by his skin, “Is there any chance you’ll start walking around shirtless more often now that I’ve thoroughly showered you with compliments?” He let out a soft, incredulous laugh–half embarrassed, half endeared–and you felt it echo all the way through your ribs. His hands tightened slightly at your back as he ducked his head a little further, his voice feathering warmly against your scalp.

“I-It’ll be u-under heavy consideration now, I think…” He mumbled, voice playful but still laced with that soft-spoken sincerity that was so uniquely his. You smirked.

“Hmm,” You hummed back, fingers curling gently against the thick muscle of his upper back before giving him a teasing squeeze. It made him jolt, just slightly–a tiny gasp of a flinch, like you’d shocked him. He barked out another laugh, and you pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“I’ll take that as a very soft yes,” You said, grinning up at him, your fingers still resting against the planes of his back. His eyes met yours–wide and dilated, but glowing now with something unguarded and bright.

“Y-Yeah,” He said shyly, a smile tugging at his lips, “I guess…I-If it’s for you, it might be okay.” He scratched nervously at the back of his neck with one hand as he looked down at you, then added sheepishly, “B-But you have to promise not to look at me like I’m a sculpture again…I-I almost combusted.” You laughed, arms still around his waist, resting your chin on his chest now so you could meet his eyes directly.

“No promises,” You whispered. “You are a sculpture. Just one that happens to blush when I compliment him.”

His face turned a glorious shade of red, and you watched the smile spread helplessly across his lips even as he tried to hide it. His hands came up again, this time cradling your jaw like it was something precious. His thumbs brushed softly against your cheeks, and he leaned in again–this time a little more sure of himself.

And when he kissed you again, it was with a quiet hunger. Still gentle, still sweet, but layered now with the quiet thrill of knowing that you saw him–really saw him–and loved every part you found.

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