elouise faith

fan girl that’s it

[if-found-return-to-sender]

Masterlist

Harry Potter Characters

Neville Longbottom

Little Ones

Bill Weasley

What a surprise

Stargazing

Just for you

George Weasley

Scars

Telling the Truth

Draco Malfoy

Forbidden

Oliver Wood

Hufflepuff Keeper

Marvel Characters 

Peter Parker

Unexpected

[gabithefanwriter]

*Dumbfuck and Dumb(er)fucker*

Caleb Widogast x OC!

I am so rusty I feel ashamed. Ugh. Not to mention I have not been able to to have time to listen to any Critical Role podcast/game *le sigh*

So in conclusion to that: Slight spoilers for The Mighty Nein animated series, I have probably over 1000 inaccuracies compared to the campaign because I haven't watched it, but I hope this is still readable..?

Uh, my oc is called Sylvia Songdrop. She's a Changeling Monster Slayer. Her backstory is here. The spirit of simp possessed me to write this, but the potential presence of Ashley Johnson terrifies me.

Smut. Idk, I got a thing for pathetic wizards and wanting to top them only to find out they're a switch.

So, anyways, have my oc x a canon character as I cry in knowing that oc x canon aren't popular at all and that I probably fucked this up ok goodnight.

Word Count: 4319

Warnings: Unprotected sex (irresponsible don't do that folks), switch! Caleb, switch!OC, this is an OC x canon character so we dying with shame folks, p in v, marking, oral (f!receiving) , too much kissing, plot all over, uhhhh missionary, cowgirl, gods-awful level dirty talk ( I have no game irl can you tell I'm a virgin)... yeah. Lemme know if there's more.

~~~

“CALEB!” Sylvia and Nott ran after him, finding him burning the tree and causing a hellfire around the tree. Seeing Caleb barely reacting, Sylvia reacts first, nocking an arrow and firing it at Caleb, piercing his hand. Then, she casts silence.

“YOU JUST SHOT HIM!” Nott screeches at her.

“Doesn’t matter; I’ll heal it later.” Sylvia runs closer to Caleb, seeing him hold his hand, tears running down his cheeks, before he passes out.

She catches him just as he falls, looking down at his forearms in shock, eyes wide, heart racing.

Her mouth instantly dries up, her breaths becoming shakier, colder, imitating  the taste of blood. 

“He’s…he’s a Volstrucker,” Sylvia whispers under her breath, whilst Nott picks and cradles Caleb’s head in her smaller lap.

Sylvia, fighting back the urge to snarl, picks Caleb over her shoulders as they make their way back to the small lodge, holding back her tears of frustration. She feels her lower lashline gather with stinging drops of tears, but in her rage, she holds them back.

Nott is next to her as they make it back, when Mollymauk, Beauregard and Jester make their way up to them. “Is he alright?”

Sylvia doesn’t answer, her jaw tightening as she continues walking. Beau turns to her. “What happened out there?”

“Let the damned fucker tell you when he wakes up,” Sylvia snaps back, glaring at Beau, who glares back. “The fuck was that-”

Mollymauk reaches for Beau, nodding at her to back off, before matching Sylvia’s speed. “What’s going on, love?”

“Don’t, Molly…not now,” Sylvia whispers, her voice barely a breath, and Mollymauk locks in instantly.

He doesn’t press further - at least, not yet. He knows she hates showing tears among many people. Hell, she can’t cry in front of others that aren’t so close to her.

Dropping Caleb’s body into a bed, Sylvia lets the rest tend to him, while heading out again.

“Where are you going?” Jester asks in a small voice.

“Hunting. The only fucking thing I can do in this place,” Sylvia lowly responds, before walking off and out. Molly grabs her hand when she reaches the door, gently trying to bring sense to her.

“I…I need a minute, Molly. Please…I’ll be back unharmed.”

Mollymauk sighs, nodding his head and letting her go.

***** 

Despite killing the devil toad, she couldn’t look at him.

How could she? He never told anyone he was a Volstrucker. 

But then again, Sylvia never told anyone other than Mollymauk that her parents were murdered by Volstruckers. 

She was out that night, after having a disagreement with her parents, only to come back later that night to find the house in flames, hiding among the trees only to see hooded figures -Volstruckers- escaping the burning house.

Once they were gone, she could still hear their screams. She remembers clawing through the logs, splintering and cutting open her fingers.

There was blood. So much blood on her hands.

She remembers reaching for her father and mother, trying to help them out, when the house collapsed in on itself, and Sylvia was practically thrown back.

The screams that became silent. Just the crackles of fire remaining.

And a young changeling’s screams of mourning.

That same changeling, who, now taking her birth form and leaving her skin pearlescent, silvery white, with meshy white eyes and brown-ish indigo hair, slowly stalks the forest.

She finds her prey, pulling back the bowstring, the moonlight barely reaching her and making her seem like part of the natural wildlife.

She fires, killing the herbivore with a devastating arrow to the skull.

She makes her way over, grabbing it gently, and grabbing it and using it for all its worth.

She sighs, brushing back a strand of her hair behind her ear, gathering as much as she can in her sack for camp supplies and potentially to use its horns and bones for items to sell.

Looking down at the blood on her scarred fingertips and gloved hands, she gets a momentary reminder of back when she was still a child, when she tried to save her mother.

That inhumane shriek of a sob that had escaped her then…had it not been for Mollymauk and the Fletching & Moondrop Carnival of Curiousities, she certainly would’ve died. 

The broken sob that escapes her lips now makes her shudder, closing her eyes as she leans forward, crying and leaning onto the corpse. She let out a wail, shuddering as she feels disgust, turning to the side to throw up violently. 

How could she even work with a Volstrucker and not try to kill him?

Fuck that, how could she even dare to have a fucking crush on a Volstrucker? This goes against everything she has known till now.

She sobs alone, wailing in utter anguish, clinging onto herself.

She sobs and sobs, before looking at the sky. 

Stars. Stars sparkling fondly down at her.

She remembers when her and her father used to stargaze. 

She shivers again, before gathering as many resources from the corpse as she can before burying it.

She passes by a small stream, using the clean water to cover and wipe her eyes.

She walks to the shack, shivering, before taking the form of a human.

She hates when people ask questions for her changeling abilities. Of course, they know she can change, but to Sylvia? Showing her changeling form is strangely intimate, something only people close to her can do. Like Mollymauk.

She thinks back to when she and Caleb were talking alone for a while, when she only showed him her eyes.

How could she have been so stupid? How could she be vulnerable around this shit-walking Volstrucker?

“Ugh,” Sylvia groans, before walking into the shack.

Everyone is sleeping. She turns to the room where she had last left Caleb. Molly is sleeping in the same room.

Sylvia can’t help but hold her shortsword and walk up to Caleb’s unconscious form, digging the blade almost against his jugular. 

Tears form in her eyes, the urge to kill overwhelming…she holds his hair, preparing to dig it deep to draw blood…

He’s still unconscious.

Sylvia has a maddening look in her eyes. A look of desperation and anger.

One Caleb himself had earlier…

She would’ve done it…she would’ve killed Caleb…

Had Mollymauk not woken up and dragged her off of Caleb, walking out of the room with her. “Have you gone mental?”

“He’s a Volstrucker! He’s one of them!” Sylvia whisper-argues.

“Does that mean you have to be the one that ends him?” Mollymauk counters in a whisper, holding her by the shoulders.

Sylvia lets out a guttural sob again, dropping the blade, tears falling freely, hyperventilating, before Mollymauk holds her close, cooing her softly, letting her relax in his embrace.

Sylvia reverts to her changeling form with the white skin and mesh eyes as she clings to Mollymauk, and he holds her by her face. “He wasn’t the one who killed them.” “What makes you so sure?” Sylvia whispers brokenly. Mollymauk sighs. “I…I just know it can’t be him.”

Sylvia just cries in Mollymauk’s arms.

***

By the time Caleb wakes up, everyone else is awake. 

Mollymauk enters the room with Caleb, and he speaks up, but it’s clear Sylvia has no interest in his words.

She has her scarf and hood up, glaring out the window. 

“Before we travel anywhere, got some food last night. Feast away,” Sylvia says after a while. 

She doesn’t spare a glance at Caleb, though she still holds her shortsword close to her.

***

The journey to Zadash is silent. Sylvia doesn’t speak at all. She stays next to Mollymauk, glaring at the road. 

“...I want him to die,” she whispers to Mollymauk.

“He didn’t kill them…” Molly reminds her.

She sighs. “I know…but…he’s still one of them.”

The second they reach Zadash, as they walk together, Caleb reaches for Sylvia. “Are you alright?”

Sylvia monotonously replies. “I’m fine.”

“...nein, I can tell you’re not.” Caleb reaches out and gently holds her forearm. “...please, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Sylvia replies, glaring at Caleb. Caleb falters, before his brows furrow. “...Sylvia…”

“Forget about it,” Sylvia scoffs. Caleb looks after her as she walks ahead, like a kicked puppy.

*****

Taking up the Gentleman’s offer, the Mighty Nein reach through to the mines, and Sylvia stays close to Mollymauk. Despite knowing of their close bond, Caleb narrows his eyes. Fuck, he feels this…emptyness. He knows Mollymauk and Sylvia are close, but just recently Sylvia had been opening up to him, showing him affection. He wants it back…

Leaving Mollymauk, Nott, Jester and Fjord down, Sylvia climbs after Caleb and Beauregard.

She keeps her distance from Caleb, with Caleb directing Beau on where to hop to reach the ship.

When Beau misses an invisible platform, Sylvia gasps. “BEAU!”

She watches with relief as Beau climbs up, when both women turn to Caleb. “The fuck was that for, Caleb!?” 

Caleb focuses his eyes on Beauregard. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Sylvia almost tunes out the conversation, holding back the urge to kill Caleb. Her fingers twitch and itch to her shortsword.

Until Beauregard mentions trying to take down Trent Ikithon.

Sylvia snaps her head to Beauregard, breath hitching imperceptibly. Eventually, Caleb gives the exact coordinates again for Beau to hop to the other side, giving them a bridge. Sylvia sights, walking before Caleb. It’s obvious and Sylvia sighs, helping around before Caleb whispers. “You…you hate Trent Ikithon too, I presume?”

Sylvia remains silent, when Caleb holds her hand. “Please…talk to me.”

“...What do you want me to say? I worship the guy? I’d rather worship the person who isn’t me that kills him.” Sylvia scoffs. “...I’ve trained my whole life to battle against spellcasters…may it be those that study magic, those that pray, those that play and those that are born with it. I don’t care about the origin, I care about how it’s used. And because of you and the other fucking Volstrucker, I have to be what I am currently.”

“Which is..?” Caleb narrows his eyes.

“...fucking Volstruckers killed my parents and I couldn’t save them! My parents were killed by wizards of Trent Ikithon!” Sylvia finally breaks, glaring and ready to kill Caleb. “YOUR PEOPLE!”

“They’re not my ‘people’ anymore!” Caleb argues, the entire argument igniting further, before Beau snaps them out of it. “C’mon! You’ll have enough time to argue further!”

Sylvia scoffed, joining Beau down to the rest, where they started a fight with the guards and the giant golems.

********

It was a welcoming break once they returned, only for the group to disperse. 

Sylvia was about to be on her way with Mollymauk, when Caleb calls out, asking her to stay for just a moment. Just to talk.

Before Sylvia can answer, Mollymauk intervenes. “Absolutely! You know where to find me, love! See you soon!”

He whispers in Sylvia’s ear. “Don’t cut out his tongue - just talk and see what he has to say.”

Walking with Caleb to the inn room, Nott not in sight. Sylvia sighs. “What. Caleb? What is it you want-”

She freezes, seeing Caleb darken the room, closing all windows, before he casts dancing lights into the room.

Looking up, Sylvia notices that with magic, Caleb has recreated some of Sylvia’s favourite constellations. “I-...what’s this..?” 

“An apology…for fucking up everything.” Caleb admits.

Sylvia sighs. “You didn’t fuck up…I should’ve told you…besides, I tried to kill you in your sleep. AND I shot your hand.”

“I…I won’t lie, I deserved that,” Caleb admits, before gently cupping Sylvia’s cheek - wait, when did he get that close?

The dancing lights slowly bounce and actually dance around them, leaving their form as constellations.

Relying on Caleb’s lack of darkvision and the somewhat darkness, Sylvia lets herself loose.

She closes her eyes as she lets her actual form surface, and Caleb…he fucking smiles.

“Beautiful,” Caleb whispers to her. She blushes, despite knowing that no colour will appear. “I…I had the rare case of being brunette. Otherwise as you can see I’m mostly pale and shitty looking-”

“Did you not hear me when I said you’re beautiful?” Caleb whispers with a fascinated glint in his eyes, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Sylvia shivers, before she feels Caleb gently undoing her scarf. “May I?”

She nods her head, before it slips off from around her neck. She looks up at Caleb, the lights fluttering and giving a romantic atmosphere. 

He leans in slowly, and Sylvia meets him halfway, pressing her lips to his.

She shivers, cupping his stubbled cheeks, thumbs rubbing over his rough skin as Caleb holds her close, like a lifeline. 

When they pull back, the lights show the desperation and need, the raw affection and love in his blue eyes. The lights make him even more stunning to Sylvia, before they kiss again.

This time, however, clothing is ripped off.

Clothing, bandages…

Sylvia gently removes and unwraps Caleb’s bandages, kissing along the skin as she maintains eye contact. She sees how he shivers, skin covered in goosebumps. She kisses his fingertips, going down to his palm, then up his forearm. Her eyes remain on his, noticing how his pupils enlarge, a ring of blue barely visible. 

She notices his breath hitching, the way he’s trembling under her touch. 

She closes her eyes as his free hand brushes her hair back in a fond caress, showing his own affection. 

The kisses slowly reach up his bicep, up to his neck, before Caleb shudders, pulling back as he focuses on her eyes. His hands hold hers, before gently bringing them higher up until he’s sweetly cupping her cheeks. 

Scars exposed. Freshly exposed. Sylvia shivers, with Caleb pulling her towards the bed, their mouths clashing, all teeth and tongue.

Sylvia shivers as Caleb moans at her soft bites, before she looks up at him desperately.

Looking down at her hands, Caleb kisses along the scarred, bubbly and faint silvery lines on her skin.

They fall onto the mattress, with Sylvia on top. Caleb frees her hair from the messy braid as she nibbles and bites the skin of his neck, gasping as his hands grab her by her thighs, tugging her into his lap. She shivers, pulling back and looking into his eyes. Caleb pulls himself and her up against the headboard, one hand leaving her thigh to brace her lower back, pulling her close and returning the favour, biting her shoulder and leaving his own lovebites.

Their scarred skin rubs against the other’s, with Sylvia gasping and slowly grinding down.

She closes her eyes, and Caleb gasps as she grinds against him on his lap. “I- hah…”

“No talking, wizard,” Sylvia replies, cupping his cheeks and kissing him again.

Her hands run down his chest, feeling his skin against hers. She shivers, and so does he.

She feels Caleb gently tugging her by her hair and pulling her back, attaching his lips along her jugular. She moans softly as he leaves more love bites down her body, along her clavicles, before trailing his lips lower, down to the swell of her breast. He can’t help but bury his face against her cleavage, against her breasts, tentatively licking. 

Sylvia gasps, her fingers tangling up in Caleb’s hair as he kisses the soft mound, his lips finally finding her nipple and licking it. She jolts, and Caleb smiles softly, wrapping his lips around the bud and softly, gently, sucking.

She’s perfect to him. She’s perfect for him. She’s perfect.

Caleb keeps his hands against her upper back, keeping her in place.  His eyes focus on her facial reactions, noticing her shaky gulps of air, the way her skin gets covered in goosebumps and twitches, the way her eyes are closed as she clings onto him for sanity. 

“Caleb…” she moans softly, making Caleb’s hard-on throb against her thigh. She shivers, nuzzling against the crown of his head as she gasps softly.

Caleb gently runs his hands up and down her back, nails gently raking her skin. He lets out a soft chuckle against her breast as she whines. He looks up at her with a teasing smirk, admiring her flustered face. “Quite the lovely sound…makes me wonder if I can pull out more from these gorgeous lips of yours? Or maybe some other sounds…more of the, well - wet - kind, hm?”

Sylvia huffs, cheeks red as she shakes her head, pinning Caleb again against the headboard, swallowing his chuckle into the kiss as he flips them over, pinning her under him, before switching to the other breast to latch on. 

Sylvia looks down at Caleb, gently guiding his face back to hers, when Caleb stops, just admiring her. His eyes are warm, loving, full of lust but full of yearning too.

“...you’re stunning.” Caleb breathes out. Her hair plastered over the pillow messily, her lips swollen from making out, her pearlescent skin covered in dark spots on her neck, her white eyes…ever so perfect…despite lacking a visible pupil, Caleb can read her. He can read every small sign from her.

He sees her deeper than just her exterior and skills. He sees how she has softened for him. How she is just as affectionate and protective over him as he is of her. 

Yes, it’s taken a while, but it still is worth it. It’s worth every moment that has led them here.

Sylvia blushes. “What, wizard? You’re staring.”

“Aren’t rangers supposed to be quiet and stealthy?” Caleb teases, before leaning down and kissing her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth, practically laying on her.

Sylvia shivers, closing her eyes and burying her face into Caleb’s shoulder, gasping softly as he grinds his hips against hers. She shivers and trembles, her legs wrapping around Caleb’s hips as his left hand props himself up, whilst his right hand goes down to her core, finding her utterly soaked. 

Caleb moans into her mouth. “All for me?”

Sylvia bites his shoulder in retaliation. “Don’t make me -ah- cast silence on you…” she threatens with a whine as Caleb rubs his forefinger along her slit, pulling back to nuzzle her cheekbone, admiring her soft gasps, the scrunch of her nose, her closed eyes, her parted lips, her eyebrows pinched together. 

“Caleb…Caleb please…”

“Shhh, shh sh sh,” Caleb whispers, mouthing at her earlobe. “I’ll take care of you…I promise.” 

Sylvia whines, her nails digging into his back before Caleb slowly goes down, kissing along her body, enjoying the small softness of her tummy, nuzzling the pliant flesh, before he gets down lower between her legs, gently kissing her inner thighs, pausing just above the crease to leave a few more bite marks and hickeys on the delicate skin there.

She shivers, whimpering and whining as she runs her fingers through his hair.

His stubble scratches her skin deliciously, with Caleb licking at her puffy lower lips, leaving delightful sensations of small burns between her legs as he gently, testingly, licks at her entrance. He then gives a long lick, making her jolt. She gasps, gripping at her hair. 

Caleb groans softly, smiling as he finds her clit peeking out from under its hood, instantly latching onto it. His fingers prod gently at her opening, slowly easing her up before slipping a finger inside of her, relishing her taste and her sweet, sweet moans. “Ah, Caleb…!” Sylvia gasps, whining softly, while Caleb eats her out, slow and calculated, teasing, a twinkle in his eyes as he shows his control over her.

Sylvia whines, arching her back the second Caleb brushes her g-spot with the ‘come hither’ curl of his fingers. 

“Caleb! please…I-oh that feels so good!” Sylvia whines, moaning louder. “Shit…shit shit shit shit Caleb, I-I’m so close…please..!” 

She moans out louder as Caleb eats her out eagerly, helping her reach that high. She feels the coil burst, like fireworks, like the dancing lights in the room which only seemed to enhance the intimate and romantic atmosphere. She fists his hair tightly as she climaxes into his mouth, meanwhile Caleb just slurps up her juices, looking up as her juices still drip down his chin.

Sylvia shivers, laying back against the pillows, before she brings Caleb up for a kiss, flipping them over so she can sink down on his erect shaft, giving a few pumps to keep him up and erect. 

Caleb shivers, pressing his forehead to her clavicle as he holds her by the hips. “Fuck…fuck so…ahhh!”

Muttering a few curses in Zemnian, Caleb looks up to see Sylvia waiting for the go sign, all the while admiring his flustered face the same he had done to her moments prior.  Caleb gently guides her down onto his shaft, to which both he and Sylvia shiver.

Sylvia gasps loudly, closing her eyes as she trembles and clings to him, whining as Caleb whispers sweet nothings, easing her, leaving open mouthed kisses on her skin.

And fuck…she fit like a glove.

She shivers as Caleb runs his hands over her body, before he lays back against the pillows, as Sylvia sets the pace, eyes closed, hands braced on his shoulders, and she rides him with no restraint.

It has Caleb choking, practically begging for mercy as his hands leave her hips and reach her thighs, covered in stretchmarks higher up, but still thick and strong enough to lift a lot.

He curses again in Zemnian, head thrashing as Sylvia rides him harder, setting the pace completely, utterly devoted and obsessed with Caleb. “Fuck…you’re so perfect…ahhh…”

She shivers, slowly losing the pace. Not for any other reason other than the fact that she doesn’t remember the last time she’s had sex at all, and she, despite her strong legs, feels them still shaking after her first orgasm by his mouth.

She whines, opting to grind against him for a while, with Caleb groaning, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he closes his eyes and flips them over.

Sylvia yelps, before wrapping her limbs around Caleb’s body, who begins to thrust in with the same pace she had initially set. 

She moans, and Caleb groans with her, gasping for air as he leans his forehead against hers, continuing to pump deep into her as they search for their peaks together, desperate, hungry, but filled with promise and love. 

Sylvia drags her nails down his back, leaving bright red marks, while Caleb has one hand on her hips and the other hiking her thigh higher on his waist, eager to thrust in deeper.

The room echoes with the sound of skin smacking skin, with the heavy scent of sex and sweat and other bodily fluids, emitting heat from their very beings as they continue their lovemaking.

Sylvia’s walls clench and begin to milk Caleb eagerly, the coil winding in her gut once more, this time with more pressure than before that only grows with each thrust, clenching down as Caleb’s hand leaves her thigh to circle and apply gentle pressure to her clit, feeling her nearing the edge.

“With me, darling, please…with me. Cum with me…”

Sylvia looks into Caleb’s disheveled state, his loving and lustful eyes, and she lets go.

Meanwhile, the coil in Caleb’s lower back also snaps, and whilst Sylvia enters her climax and her walls eagerly, rhythmically clench on his shaft, Caleb gasps, kissing her as he fills her with his seed, prolonging their orgasms by still rocking gently into her, easing her slowly down from their combined highs. 

Their kisses, even after sex, still convey their love for each other, their desperation for each other.

“Caleb…” Sylvia whispers.

“Not now…just…let us have this. Please,” Caleb begs, cupping her cheeks as he presses his forehead to hers. Sylvia nods her head, closing her eyes as well, her hands leaving his scratched up back to hold him by his wrists, promising softly.

“Caleb…I’ll always be here for you.” Sylvia begins, “I won’t ever leave. I hope we get as many moments like this as we dream of.”

“We will,” Caleb promises. 

A few hours later, both of them clean up, with them having switched their scarves without realizing it, and Caleb heads out. He returns with a bottle of alcohol, setting it on the night stand a little before a certain small goblin walks into the room. 

Nott walks in, pissed. “You left me.”

“I…brought a fresh bottle,” Caleb says to Nott, standing up. Sylvia doesn’t comment, knowing that this wasn’t her conversation.

“Hmmm… I’m listening,” Nott says, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I am so sorry,” Caleb says. “You asked for a friend, but I abandoned you. I am selfish, and I think…maybe I am broken.”

Sylvia looks at Caleb with a heartbroken expression, standing next to him to hold his hand. Caleb squeezes her hand in response. “But for a brief moment, you and the others made me forget who I really am. And perhaps if we all leave the empire, give up on revenge…we could try to find some peace again. After danger.”

Nott smiles. “That’s a nice idea. But…I was thinking kind of the opposite, actually,” she says as she faces the door again.

“Huh?” Sylvia furrows her brows, while Nott speaks up. “Let’s be muhfucking heroes.” She smiles over her shoulder.

Caleb stares with wide eyes before he contemplates the idea. “A filthy wizard and a goblin thief, and a changeling ranger.”

Caleb and Nott look at Sylvia, and Sylvia smiles. “Doesn’t sound half bad…” 

“But what could the three of us do?” Caleb asks softly.

“Oh nonononono! Not three!” Nott smiles and opens the door. 

Sylvia steps back as Jester hurls herself to hug Caleb, the changeling smiling as Mollymauk raises an eyebrow, before throwing a knowing smirk at her neck, leaving Sylvia flustered.

Jester chuckles as she pulls back, while Nott smiles. “Nein.”

Caleb, with wide eyes, smiles in delight, knowing he’s not alone as the group is reunited once more.

[euphocassie]

lesbian p★rn links pt.2 - cassie h.

disclaimer; those are twitter porn links. proceed with caution, do not open in public

★ maddy told her to meet important people to boost her career...little did she know she'd end up on her back while tiktok's most famous influencer devoured her pussy <3

★ waking up in the middle of the night with your head between her thighs <3

★ she would do anything for her fans. that includes letting her roommate feast on her pussy for hours <3

★ you haven't seen each other in weeks... <3

★ you got a little jealous after watching her fuck herself with her dildos... gotta remind her whose cock makes her come the hardest <3

★ you paid $50 for a private video from your favorite OF creator <3

★ making you cum on her tongue after the first date <3

★ riding your pussy like her life depends on it <3

★ making her beg for it <3

★ you've been working so hard; managing her, supporting her, and helping her bring in the money. cassie thinks it's only fair she returns the favor the best way she knows how <3

★ scissorring <3

★ she's been so bratty lately. overstimulating and spanking her pussy should teach her a lesson <3

★ how she gets off when she's lonely and you're away <3

★ she loves to sit on your face and ride your tongue after a long day <3

[thebriarbunny]

꒰ 𓈒 ୨୧ ۪ ֹ +18 minor dni ˖ ˚ !!

𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓱𝓪𝓶 + 𝓓𝓲 𝓛𝓪𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓼 𝓛𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓛𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼

-> links lead to nsfw vids ᝰ.ᐟ must be logged into Twitter/X

𝒢𝒶𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝒽𝒶𝓂⁴⁴

ᝰ.ᐟ helping him relax after a hard practice

ᝰ.ᐟ using your thighs

ᝰ.ᐟ couch quicky before the boys get home

ᝰ.ᐟ shower s*x after practice

ᝰ.ᐟ not an option she has to come—eyp

ᝰ.ᐟ t!tty f*cking with garrett

ᝰ.ᐟ making up s*x with <- the hands in this

ᝰ.ᐟ riding his face

ᝰ.ᐟ gripping your waist when you’re on top

ᝰ.ᐟ sneaking into his hotel room after an away game

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓃 𝒟𝒾 𝐿𝒶𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓈⁶⁶

ᝰ.ᐟ eyp + teasing

ᝰ.ᐟ he’s good at using his hands…

ᝰ.ᐟ … and he needs them on you at all times

ᝰ.ᐟ post-season vacation with dean

ᝰ.ᐟ pushing it back in

ᝰ.ᐟ in the front seat of your car

ᝰ.ᐟ casual but you can’t stay away from each other

ᝰ.ᐟ riding in reverse with your heels on

ᝰ.ᐟ back shot with your face against the bed

ᝰ.ᐟ pinning you to the mattress

𝐵𝑜𝓉𝒽

ᝰ.ᐟ sharing you on an off-day

ᝰ.ᐟ dvp with your boyfriends

dividers pixopix

[celebrityyimaginees]

Request: Hii, Could you do one where reader is a World famous pop singer/songwriter and a bunch of male celebrities have crushes on her.

[strangemar]

Funny Business

Dennis Whitaker x f!reader

Warnings: smut, masturbating, p in v, kinda sub Dennis, Dennis wants reader to stop because he's scared of Robby (he enjoys it), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (f and m receiving), praise, a pinch of degradation, spanking, fluff, Whitaker is really caring and sweet (ugh I love him so much), vouyerisum, a bit of inexperienced Whitaker, mentions of a minnor injury, mentions of blood.

Summary: You end up living with Whitaker after your dad asks him to house-sit. He was very clear about the rules before he left, and how you were strictly off limits. But some feelings aren't easy to control.

This was in my drafts and I somehow finished it. I'm stuck on the second part of Payback, so I'll probably be dropping fics until I can finally finish it a nd post it, but it's definitely coming.

"WHAT?!" You shriek at your father, who just told you that Whitaker is going to house sit while he goes on his three-month-long midlife crisis.

"Why are you freaking out? You won't have to come over to water the plants and get the mail" He says dismisively, looking back at the TV. Is he crazy? Did he forget?

You stare at him, completely dumbfounded. "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Forget what?" He says chuckling

"That I don't have an apartment this year." He turns his head slowly, his eyes widen like he's seen a ghost.

"Fuck." You shake your head. You're starting your clinical year, so you don't need to be that close to campus anymore and you have decided to live at home. "I can tell him to forget it."

You sigh, "No, it's okay, Dad. I'm pretty sure he's relieved he gets to save some money on rent, plus it'll be nice not to be alone here."

"Are you sure?" You nod.

The next day, he told Whitaker about the change of plans. After his shift, you went to pick up your father. He told you to wait for him in the staff lounge. You're scrolling on your phone when Whitaker comes in. You can't help but look him up and down; you've always thought he was cute, but he has gotten stronger; you knew he's been living with Santos, and right now, you can tell, he doesn't have the childish haircut he had last year. You give him a warm smile, which he responds to.

"Didn't expect to see you here" He says taking a seat in front of you

"I have to pick up your boss." You laugh

"Umm, he told me about the situation with your apartment. It's okay if you don't want me there; the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable, especially in your own house." He's scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh no! Not at all. I would love the company. To be honest, Dad was supposed to be home so we could spend time together. This sabbatical was a last-minute impulse of his." Santos opens the door and both of you snap up to look at her.

"Huckleberry! Robby is looking for you; he needs help with a patient." He nods and immediately gets up and walks out the door. You scoff. This is why you hate picking him up. You make your way to the ambulance bay. After a couple of minutes, your dad's next to you.

"Did you talk to Whitaker?"

"I did. He's staying." You see him nod.

Today is the day your dad is leaving. He was supposed to leave last night, but after you were nagging at him that it was late and a stupid decision, he agreed to leave the next day. Whitaker is there, Robby's explaining everything about the house rules and he also wants to have a talk with him.

"Those are all the basic rules. Now I do want to talk with you, regarding a really important matter, so I need you to pay attention." His voice is dark and his face is stern. Dennis almost shits his pants right there. "The only reason why I'm letting you live here alone with my daughter for three months is because I trust you. I told you that you can't have people over, but that doesn't mean that my daughter is a backup for whatever need you may have." Robby put his hands over his eyes. "If I somehow find out there's some funny business going on, I will personally escort you to the emergency room. Got it?" Dennis swallows hard. This isn't the same Robby who gave him advice on setting boundaries with Amy yesterday.

"Yes, I understand." He nods quickly. He's regretting agreeing to this, but you were so sweet and he didn't want you to be alone in the house. He also thinks you're cute, and if he were confident enough and you weren't his boss's daughter, he would've definitely slept with you by now, and even try to be in a relationship.

"Alright," He walks into the house, where you're making sure he packed everything he might need. "Okay, honey, I'm leaving." He picks up the bag and gives you a kiss and a hug. "Be careful, if anything happens, call Jack, and also call me. I'll try to get home as soon as possible." You nod "I love you"

"I love you too, Daddy." You let him go and follow him to the door. As soon as you see him drive away, tears begin to fall from your eyes. Dennis can't help but hug you and try to calm you down.

"Hey, it's okay. He'll be back soon." You nod, you knew your father needed this, but you were scared of him being by himself.

You get home, calling out for Whitaker as soon as you walk through the door. It's been a month already, and things have been going great. Dennis helps you cook, clean, takes care of the backyard, and he's amazing company; the only thing is that he barely makes any noise, and you forget he's there. When you confirm that you're alone, you go take a shower and decide to start making dinner for the two of you. After an hour, you see him walk through the door. He looks exhausted; today was supposed to be his day off, but by the looks of it, he went to Amy's.

"You okay? You look horrible." You giggle

He opens the fridge and gets some water. "I had to spend the entire day fixing fences and also babysitting." The comment made you roll your eyes. When your dad told you about the situation, you thought it was sweet that he was helping her out, but now you noticed that he was right. She's depending too much on him; he has to go over after he's done with his shift instead of being able to rest. You feel...jealous.

You nod, "Maybe you should listen to advice." Your tone is a bit snappy, and he looks down at his shoes. "You need to rest to be able to do your job correctly; you could get sued." Denni's eyes widen. Yes, he knew that at some point in his career, that was inevitable, but he had never thought that helping Amy could be a reason.

"I just feel bad and I'm not sure how to let her know that I'm done." His hand runs through his hair and you can't help but stare. You look away to the pan before he notices

"Just be honest. I think it's sweet you were willing to help, but she can't expect you to just volunteer at the farm for the rest of your life, unless there's a chance that you might develop a relationship with her." You lower your voice for the last part of the sentence, you don't want to sound like you're trying to be all up in his business, and you're also afraid of the answer.

"Oh! No, no. No relationship." You can't help but slightly smile at that.

"Well, that's a bigger reason for you to break things off. So you can focus on meeting people, if that's what you want, and also her. You just need to tell her the truth, that your career comes first and that helping her is just too much for you to handle. She needs to figure something out; she has kids."

He lets out a sigh, and his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. "You're right, I just want to help her fix most of the things that I know she can't, and then it's over." You nod and smile at him; he's too good for his own good.

A couple of weeks have passed and you can finally admit to yourself that you have a huge crush on Dennis. He has brought you your favorite ice cream, just because and he has cooked for you some of your favorite meals when he sees you're a bit down. He changed the oil in your car when you asked him if he could go with you to the shop, because it made you uncomfortable to go alone, and hung a shelf in your room when he saw you trying to do it. All of these simple tasks have completely changed your view of him, so you've been trying to get his attention, wearing really short pajama pants and really thin shirts, like some sort of desperate teenager. You wake up to the sound of the lawnmower, it's 8:00 am, and you were looking forward to sleeping late today, your classes start soon, so you want to take advantage of the last weeks of freedom. You look out your window and what you saw knocked out the sleep you had left. Dennis was mowing the lawn, shirtless, the sun was hitting his skin and you could see each muscle in his back and arms. You felt a tingle go straight down to your pussy. You were so needy; it's been a while since you had sex. Yes, you had toys to take care of your needs, but you were at a point where you needed actual human contact. You decided to go down, not even bothering to cover up. You make your way over to the door that leads to the backyard and stand there calling him. When he turns to you, he gives you a smile

"Morning" You smile back at him. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

You shake your head, you weren't going to make him feel bad after he was helping. "You want some breakfast?"

He nods, "I'm almost done, maybe in like 20 minutes." You nod and head back inside. You start making breakfast and you can't help but think about how good he looks. After 20 minutes, he was inside, sitting down and eating. "Thank you. I could've made myself something"

"Don't worry." You sit next to him and start eating. If you weren't so focused on your email, you would've seen the way he looked at you up and down and how he had to put the shirt he was using to clean his sweat on his lap. "I thought you had work today."

"I covered a double, so I'm free today and tomorrow" You nod

"What about Amy? Does she know?" You tried to sound as normal as possible

"I didn't tell her. I wanted to relax today," He says, taking both of your plates and going to the sink.

You laugh, "Yet you were mowing the lawn." He blushes as he looks at you with a shy expression. "I'll do the dishes. Why don't you take a shower and go to sleep, or lie in bed or on the couch, just do nothing today, rest." He giggles.

"Are you sure?" You nod and get up "Okay" you start cleaning and organizing the kitchen. You head back to your room to take care of your little problem. On the way to your room, you were focused on finding some porn that would be worth enough to watch, and as soon as you entered your room, you found it. You closed the door, or you thought you did, but it was left a bit open. Enough that if you looked, you'd see directly to your bed. You looked into your drawer and pulled out your vibrator. You took off all of your clothes and lay face up on the bed, legs spread open. You started to play the video, trying to "warm up" a bit more, not that it was necessary; you started pinching and rolling your nipples, and a loud gasp left your mouth. After a couple of minutes, your hand made its way down to your pussy. You rubbed a few slow circles on your clit and ran your fingers down to your entrance; you were embarrassingly wet. You took the vibrator and it buzzed to life. As soon as it touched your puffy clit a loud moan left your lips, not worrying if Whitaker heard you. If you hadn't been so worried about getting off, you would've seen a pair of blue eyes looking at you.

Dennis was about to shower when he remembered he had left his phone in the kitchen. He went over to get and when he was coming back to finally shower, he heard you gasp. He almost knocked and asked if you were okay, but since the door was cracked, he decided to take a peek, in case it was nothing. But what he saw knocked the air out of him. You were fully naked, pinching and rolling your nipples, legs spread open. He could clearly see your pussy, his pants started to feel tight, he tried to snap out of it and go shower, but his feet wouldn't move. When he saw your hand touch and spread your pussy he had to cover his mouth. You were wet, he could see your pussy glistening and his hand went down to rub his cock over his pants. When he heard you moan as soon as the vibrator touched your clit he sucked in a breath. You looked so good, he debated on walking in and fucking you right there. He wasn't dumb; he noticed you started wearing really short pajamas and really flimsy shirts, none of which left anything to the imagination, in front of him, but Robby's words were echoing in his head. The warning had been clear. And now he felt disgusted with himself. He trusted you to be around his daughter and here you are, looking at her touching herself and hearing her pretty moans, without her knowing. A loud and breathy fuck left your lips and Dennis's eyes snapped towards you again. You were close, your back arched off the bed, your legs tightened and the hand that was holding your phone, which was long gone, fisted the sheets. More moans, desperate "please" and "fuck" left your lips and then with a quiet gasp and a shriek, you came, your legs were shaking and you dropped the vibrator on the bed. Your chest was heaving up and down, but Dennis wasn't ready for what you were about to do. Your hand slipped down, rubbing your slit and then two fingers disappeared into your cunt, his breath hitched; he wanted to cum so bad; it had been a while. Then you put your fingers in your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself, licking them clean and Dennis couldn't take it anymore. He made his way quietly to the bathroom, where he fisted his cock and came harder than ever. After his high wore off, he looked in the mirror; horror was written all over his face. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to live there with you after what he saw and act like nothing happened.

After you calmed down from your little alone time, you got up and took a shower. You don't think you've ever came that hard from the vibrator, but you were sure thinking of Dennis fucking you helped. After getting dressed, you went downstairs. You didn't see Dennis the rest of the day. You decided to start making dinner and put on some music, not too loud, so you wouldn't wake him up. You were chopping some vegetables when his voice startled you, and the knife cut your finger; a sharp pain ran through all the way through your arm.

"FUCK!" As soon as you dropped the knife on the counter, he ran next to you, prying your hand out of the injured finger.

"Shit! I'm so sorry. Let me see." His voice was desperate and full of worry; he felt absolutely horrible. Blood covered your finger and hand and he couldn't see the cut. He turned on the water and then grabbed your hand. He asked you to move your finger, and then pinched the skin around the cut. "Okay, everything seems intact, let's rinse it." He tightened the grip on your hand when you moved it back as soon as the water touched the cut. "I know it stings." His voice is calm and comforting, "Is there a first aid kit around here?"

You nod, "It's under the sink, in the bathroom on the hall"

"Ok, keep your finger there. I'll be right back." You see him run to the bathroom and he quickly comes back. He starts washing the skin around the cut, and you lightly flinch. "I'm sorry, I have to clean it, I'll be gentle." You nod. "Ok, I'll turn off the water; it'll start bleeding again, so I'll apply some pressure." Your phone rings, it's your dad. You answer and put it on speaker.

"Hey daddy"

"Hey baby"

"Fuck! Whitaker, that hurts!" A high pitch yelp leaves your mouth and you're dad almost has a heart attack"

"WHAT?!" Dennis looks like a deer in headlights, he saw his entire flash before his eyes as soon as he hear Robby's tone.

"She cut her finger. I'm applying some pressure."

"Is it deep?" Your dad immediately went into doctor mode

"No, nothing some steri strips can't fix."

"Alright, baby, text me when you finish over there, okay?"

"Okay, bye," He hung up. "Dennis, it's throbbing."

"Okay, let's lift it; five minutes should do the trick." He walks a bit closer to you and guides your hand to rest on top of his shoulder, while still applying pressure. Your heart almost stops beating. He's so close and you can feel heat rush to your face. He looks at you, and a little smile appears on his face. "Is that better?"

"Yes, much better." You give him a shy smile, his blue eyes are focused on your face and you can see them move to your mouth and then back up to your eyes. His thumb starts caressing your skin, and you feel like you've stopped breathing. Whether he was doing it on purpose or unconsciously, you didn't know and you didn't care.

He did it on purpose, even putting your hand over his shoulder. He wanted you, but he couldn't have you, so he would take any opportunity that was given to him to drive you crazy.

Five minutes passed and he gently removed your hand from his shoulder. He slowly lifts the gauze to make sure the bleeding has stopped. He stares at it, and then he takes another gauze.

"I'm going to dry the area. If it hurts, let me know?"

"Okay," He cleans the skin thoroughly and gently. Your dad was never that gentle.

"All done. I'm going to put these on now. Try to be as still as possible" He starts pinching the edges of your cut together and then puts on the strips. When he's done, he smiles at your finger. "Looks like nothing ever happened." You pull your hand from his grip and inspect the area. It really looks nice and you smile. He grabs your hand back, applies some ointment to it, and covers it with some gauze and tape. "All done! Keep it dry until tomorrow and the stitches will fall on their own." He starts putting away the thing he used.

"Will do! Thank you, Dr. Whitaker." He felt a jolt of electricity travel to his dick; he didn't know why. But the way you said it did something to him.

He turns and gives you a smile. "How about we buy some food?" He wanted to avoid you, but he felt bad, it was his fault you cut your finger.

"I would like that"

"Perfect, I'll go change." You run to your room to get ready, then go eat, joking and talking about whatever comes to mind. You're actually enjoying your night, but you've noticed that Dennis keeps looking at you up and down. You try to shake it off, you're probably just overthinking it because you want him really bad. You head home and sit to watch some TV, until you decide to go to bed. You repeated what you did that morning, but unfortunately for Dennis, this time the door was fully closed. He waited with his ear to the door. He was about to give up when he heard you moan. A smirk appeared on his face and he felt his cock get hard. His hand made its way into his pants and with every moan that left your mouth, he gave his cock a squeeze and a light tug. After you came, he went to his room and took care of his problem. The next day, he woke up early and went over to his apartment. He needed to keep his distance from you. He sent you a text telling you where he was, you were a bit disappointed that you were by yourself that day. You've gotten used to having him around.

The next two weeks were definitely weird. You noticed he was avoiding you; he barely looked at you when he talked to you and it was just to check on your cut. He was also spending more time in his apartment. You have no idea if it had anything to do with Amy, but you were getting annoyed with the situation. Your friends picked you up, you were going out for drinks. After they dropped you off, you headed inside, definitely tipsy and feeling bold. You saw Dennis sitting on the couch, you lowered your shirt, showing your cleavage, and you made your way over to him. He definitely heard you come in, but he didn't bother looking at the door; it annoyed you.

"Hi," You said happily, putting your arms on the armrest and pushing out your tits.

He looked at you and you saw his eyes widen quickly when he saw your chest. "Oh, hi. I thought you were going to be out a little longer."

You let out a sigh. "I was. But I changed my mind." Your eyes trailed his body up and down, and you swore you saw a small tent appear in his pants. Your eyes focused on that spot and he chuckled slightly and straightened himself up.

"I see," He looked back at the TV, and you weren't going to be ignored.

"Did I do something wrong?" You say as you stand in front of him, brows furrowing. He looks at you in confusion. "You've been ignoring me and leaving. Are you seeing Amy again?" You cross your arms; that's clearly none of your business, but you couldn't bear the thought of him spending so much time with another girl.

He lets out a breath, "No, I'm not seeing Amy. And you didn't do anything wrong; it's me who can do something wrong." You had an idea of what he was referring to, but you were definitely going to find out exactly what he meant. He leans his head back as he runs his hands through his face. You quickly get on his lap, straddling him, his head snaps up and his hands go straight to your hips to try to push you off of him. You grab his wrist and grind down on his lap, his cock getting harder by the second. "I-We- You need to get off."

"Why?" You get closer, and you whisper in his ear: "You're clearly enjoying it?" He lets out a whimper, and you swear you almost passed out right there. You move your face to look at him, one of his hands grabs the back of your head and pushes your lips against his. You can't help but moan and his hips buck up. He pulls back

"I can't do this, Robby wi-"

"He's not here and he won't find out. Please, Dennis, I need you." You move to kiss and lick his neck. His fingers grab your hair and pull your head back, exposing your neck. He gives you an open-mouth kiss that makes you gasp.

"Let's go to your room then." His voice is low and sends a shiver down your spine. You giggle and get up. You grab his hand and guide him to your room. He closes the door behind him and pulls you over to him. His lips attack your lips and make their way to your neck, nipping the skin. You start walking backwards to your bed until the back of your knees hit the bed. "Wa-wait," You pull back and look at him. "I haven't really done this." Your eyes widen "that much. I don't want to make you waste your time."

"It's okay, I don't mind and I heard you're a fast learner." It's not like you're an expert either, you had a situashionship (which didn't last long) at the beginning of your undergrad and you've hooked up a couple of times with Jesse. You give him a reassuring smile and he smiles back. He starts taking off his clothes, your mouth waters at the sight, his pink tip has a fat bead of precum on it and the veins on his cock make you press your thighs together. Then takes off your clothes, leaving you in your underwear; you weren't wearing a bra and he licked his lips.

"Lie down." You do as you're told, he lies on top of you, his hand immediately lands on your breast, kneading while he kisses you. You bite his lips and as soon as he gasps, your tongue invades his mouth. His cock is pressed against your thigh and you can feel the precum on your skin. His mouth moves directly to one of your nipples, one of his hands preventing him from putting his body weight on you, while the other caresses your side. His hot mouth feels amazing. Your hands fly to his hair. He sucks, licks, and bites your nipple until it feels raw, and then he moves to the other one, doing the same thing. When he's satisfied, he starts trailing kisses down your stomach until he reaches your clothed pussy. He gives it a few kisses, making you whine. His fingers hook to the side and pull them down. He spreads your legs and a moan leaves his lips as soon as he sees your bare, wet pussy spread open for him. "Can I?" He asks shyly, and you nod. "I'm not sure how to do it. The girl I was with didn't let me. " There's clear embarrassment in his voice; you give him a warm smile.

"I can guide you." He nods, you feel nervous and excited, you've never had to teach a guy how to eat you out before, but you're definitely not complaining. "Give it a nice slow lick," He moans as soon as his tongue touches your slit and you gasp. "Fuck, keep going, baby." After a while, he was more comfortable with his actions.

"I can do it by myself now," He mumbles with his face buried in you. You were expecting him to do the same movements over and over, but he sucked your clit. Your legs tried to close and he pushed them away. He started sucking and flicking it with his tongue. You were starting to moan until a particularly hard suck made you scream and pull away. "Shit, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"It's okay. Keep going, what you were doing before felt really good." He nodded and you pushed his head back between your legs. "You can add a finger now." Without pulling his mouth away, you felt a finger run up and down your slit, before he pushed it inside slowly. "Yes, now move it in and out." He follows your order and you start feeling yourself getting closer. "Fuck, I'm close." A whine left your lips and he pulled away, his finger was still moving inside you.

"I don't want you coming yet." You feel another finger prod at your entrance. He pushes inside and the stretch makes your back arch. "You like that, baby?" You nod, his words making you dizzy. He curls his fingers up, hitting the spot that makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. And his mouth attaches to your clit again. "I want you to come all over my fingers and my mouth, please." You're gripping the sheets harder than ever, his licks speed up and before you know it, you're cumming. He holds you down.

"Fuck, it's too much," But he doesn't stop, your moans flood the room, and you're trying to pull away, but he's too strong.

"That's a good girl." He finally removes his fingers from inside you and lies next to you. You take his hand and press his fingers over his lips.

"Lick them, clean baby. Be a good boy for me." Where did this side of you come from? You don't know. He opens his mouth and you see his tongue lap up at the mess you left on his fingers. When you decide he's had enough, you make your way down and take half of his cock into your mouth, the taste of his precum floods your mouth, and you moan. You start moving your head up and down, while jerking the part of his cock that doesn't fit. He fists your hair and guides your movements, making you suck him faster until he pulls you off.

"I'm not going to be able to fuck you if you keep doing that." You smile at him and get on all fours on the bed, making sure that your chest is against the mattress. He groans at the sight and he quickly gets up and positions himself behind you. He taps his cock on your ass before he rubs it up and down your wet slit. You push back. "So fucking desperate. You're so beautiful."

"Please." You whimpered, your head felt fuzzy and you just wanted him to fuck you. You felt a sharp slap on your ass, followed by three more. Before you could say something else, he pushed himself completely inside you, you tensed up and felt the air get knocked out of your lungs. He was big. He started moving, slowly letting you get adjusted to the intrusion. He rubs your hips gently.

"You need to relax for me." You let out a breath, and you feel your muscles relax. "You're doing really well. That's it. I got you, baby." You let out a moan.

"Faster." You popped your ass back a bit more, and he felt even deeper. His hips start moving faster.

"Is this what you wanted? Is this what came to your mind every night you used your vibrator?" You let out a gasp. How did he know all that?

"Wh-"

"You need to make sure your door is completely closed next time you want to act like a slut. Unless you wanted to purposely give me a free show." He smacks your ass again, harder than before. His pace quickens, you can't think, moans and gasps are the only things that are coming out of your mouth and his. His grip on your hips is hard, his nails dig into your skin, giving you a bit of pain that makes you focus back on him fucking you.

"You should've come in and fucked me right there."

"Fuck, trust me, I wanted to so fucking bad." You moan.

"I wanted you to fill me up so bad."

"Shit! You need to shut up"

"Why? You know you want to. Let go, baby, cum deep inside me." His moans get louder, you start fucking yourself on his cock.

"I'm about to cum" His hips start stuttering

"You're so deep inside my pussy, baby. Be a good boy and cum for me." That was it, his moans got louder and his thrusts turned sloppy until he was barely able to move; he felt like he had been hit by a truck. He let out a bunch of groans and whimpers when you wouldn't stop moving yourself on his cock, milking him dry. Until he almost collapsed on top of you. He pulled out and plopped himself next to you. You started peppering kisses all over his face, and he wrapped his arms around you. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself up, and then you came back with a warm, wet towel to clean him. As soon as the towel made contact with his dick, he flinched. "I know it's sensitive, baby. I'll be careful." You finally cleaned him up and went back to him. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed you into his chest. "Are you okay?" You asked, nuzzling into his warm chest.

"Yes. You? I probably wasn't that good." You couldn't help but giggle.

"You were amazing."

"I'm sorry, I was avoiding you. I just really like you and your dad trusted me, and I fucked up. He's goi-" You put your hand over his mouth, you knew exactly what he was going to say

"Hey, it's okay, really. And for the record, I like you too." He sighs and a bitter smile appears on his face. He wanted to ask you out.

"I would love for you to be my girlfriend but Robby wo-"

You kiss him. "My father is just going to have to get over it."

"So is that a yes?" You nod, he gives you a kiss, and you hug him. How are you going to tell him you both broke his rules, you don't know, you'll cross that bridge when you get there.

[sonderrsblues]

After hours

Synposis ⟡˖ after a long week in the Pitt, you decide to surprise Dennis with a night he’s not had in a while.

Warnings ⟡˖ p in v with no condom, bath sex lowk, handjob, reader takes control for most of it, Dennis lowk forgets how to breathe when reader is around, very lovely dovey cutesy sex.

You barely hear the front door click shut over the sound of the running bath. Seven thirty four on the dot, the same time Dennis gets home every night. You know he’s going to be tired, drained after his day in the Pitt- but you also knew how excited he was to have the weekend off. He’d worked last weekend, despite it being your friends birthday- so he’d promised to see her with you this weekend.

But right now, you’d planned him something nice. To help him unwind. You’d seen the tightness of the knots in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. He needed this time. And honestly, so did you.

“Sweetheart?” Dennis’ voice carries through the apartment. You hear his footsteps echo through the kitchen and into the living room, before heading towards the bathroom.

“Hi- what’s all this?” His smile doesn’t hide the heaviness of his shoulders, scrubs dangling over his frame. He eyes the candles littering the room, the bottle of wine and two glasses on the edge of the bath. And then, you.

“Oh my- wow.” A hand rubs at his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. You giggle, legs crossed as you sit on the edge of the tub, swirling the water around to create more bubbles. A red, lacy night gown adorns what little of you it covers.

“I just thought you deserved a you night after all that work.” You shrug, turning the tap off and standing up in front of him. Your hands find the knot in his scrub pants, untying it slowly. Dennis bites the inside of his cheek. You see it, like he’s battling with himself. Then, with a nod of his head, he pulls his top off quicker than you can undo the knot in his pants.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I’m like, so down for this.” His hands grasp the side of his pants, pushing them down his legs. He’s almost jumping to get out of them, grinning like the Cheshire Cat by the time he’s just in his boxer briefs. He drags his eyes up and down you, again, smirk not leaving his face.

“You are just, something else.” He finally reaches for you, handling the flimsy fabric of your gown. You smile, turning around and grasping the bottle of wine.

“I always try to be, for you.” You twist the top off the wine and pour a generous amount into each glass, turning and reaching around Dennis to place it on the side. He looks completely awestruck, unsure of what his next move is- until you pull at the straps of your nightgown- which you know Dennis had not noticed were tied at your shoulders- and it falls, to the floor, leaving you bare in front of him.

If he didn’t have a hard on previously, he did now. Certainly. You and any fly on the wall could see. You step backwards, just out of his reach, and take another step over into the bath. You sink down, shoulders sagging as the warm, bubbly water envelopes you whole.

Dennis stands frozen on the spot. You know he’s mentally debating joining or sitting and watching- or probably trying to hide his obvious arousal- so you quirk an eyebrow at him, grasping a glass of wine. “Joining me anytime soon sweet boy or are you just waiting for the water to go cold?”

He needs no further invitation. His briefs are pushed down his legs, erection stinging up against his stomach as he climbs in and sits next to you in the bath. His signature nervous smile returns as you pass him his glass of wine, leaning back and sinking further into the water.

“This is- really nice. Thank you.” He swallows especially hard before taking a sip of his wine, resting his arm over the edge of the tub behind you. “It’s been so stressful today. I’m glad we’ve got the weekend off.” He comments, closing his eyes and finally leaning back.

“I know, baby. That’s why I’m doing this.” You turn to him, placing your glass of wine next to you on the edge of the bath. “I want you to relax.” You lean over, the water shloshing around you as you do so. Your hand lands on his thigh, eyes searching his own.

Dennis’s mouth falls open, desperately trying to form a thought other than the short circuit his brain is running on. “Yeah- yeah.” He just about manages, looking down at the bubbles as your fingers dance closer to his penis, still erect.

“Can you do that for me baby? Relax?” You ask, finally wrapping a hand around him. He’s painfully hard, throbbing underneath your fingers and you just know his tip is red and leaking precum, which you’d die to see. You’d settle, however, for his face right now as you do wrap your hand around him, and the little whimper that falls from his lips as your hand eventually moves.

“Denny? Can you answer me baby?” You tsk, thumb swiping over his tip. His entire body jutters, hand gripping the tub behind you as your tongue swipes over your lip.

He laughs. Genuinely, out loud, one singular time, laughs. “You’re so- wow. Yes, yeah. Please.” You smile, wrapping your hand around him tighter and beginning to move faster. Your eyes meet his, hooded and staring at you like you’re gods greatest gift- and you lean forward to close in on him.

In the movement you clamber ontop of him, thighs sitting either side of one of his muscular ones, hand still wrapped around him and setting a bruising pace. “You deserve to be cared for Denny. I love watching you relax.” You coo, free hand grasping his face to pull him in for a kiss. He reciprocates straight away, lips bushing against your own as he whimpers quietly against you.

“M’ not gonna last long,” he pleads against you, hips stuttering underneath you, shoulders tense. You smirk into the kiss, circling your thumb over his tip just like you know he loves- his eyes squeezing shut and head tipping back over the edge of the bath- and you know you’re got him.

“Good. Come for me, baby. You deserve it.” Your reach your hand round to threat through the curls of his mullet, pulling on it slightly and that’s all it takes for him, pathetic whines slipping from his mouth as he comes into the water. His shoulders lax, head fully leaned back against the edge of the bath as you work him through his organs with tenure, before releasing him with a kiss to his forehead.

He smiles, eyes closed, as you lean over for your wine glass. His hands find your hips under the water and he pulls you closer, resting you over his softening cock. “You’re actually amazing. I love you.” His lips press to your shoulder as you take a sip of wine.

“Fun doesn’t end here, big boy,” you shrug, placing your glass back on the side. “We’ve got a pizza and a movie with our names on tonight.” His eyebrows raise.

“Oh yeah?” You nod, fingers finding purchase on his shoulders. He grins, pulling you closer. You notice, immediately, that he’s already becoming hard against the inside of your thigh again, and you smirk.

“Round two already, cowboy?” Dennis snorts, pushing and pulling your hips subtlety over himself.

“I just can’t help myself around you, you know this.” He grins upwards at you, fingers cresting crescent shaped marks in your hips as he rocks you back and forth.

“Oh I know. Let me take care of you, Doctor.” He breathes out, particularly hard, erection fully sat against the inside of your thigh now. You reach through the water, grasping him as you raise up above him, positioning his head at your entrance.

“You are- oh my god.” He begins, halting himself as you sink down onto him fully. He shudders, hands grasping your hips tighter now, enough to leave bruises.

“I know, Denny, I know. This is about you.” You round a hand on his cheek, pulling his head to your chest as you begin to move up and down on him, pace steady as he fumbles with what to do.

“I- fuck me, you’re an angel.” He moans, guiding your hips as best he can. You whine, orgasm building quickly from watching him fall apart for you so easily. Usually, during your sex, Dennis takes charge because he knows how to get you there without even really trying.

To you, this is as horny as you’ll ever get. The feeling of having him under your fingertips so easily. The water ripples around you as your bouncing gets faster, Dennis’s moans echoing around the bathroom.

“Sweetheart I’m-” you press a kiss to his lips, silencing him, your legs aching and orgasm growing closer.

“I know. Me too. Come for me, yeah?” His heat tips forward, chuckle slipping out of his lips before he looks back up at you, nodding. Again, you thread your hands through the locks at the end of his mullet, maintain eye contact as you come, hips stuttering and legs cramping over him.

He gives one final thrust up into you as he comes himself, painting your insides. With laboured breaths, he slowly massages the spots on your hips where he kept his grip, chest heaving and face red.

“You’re the love of my life. Genuinely.” He finally laments, reaching for his glass of wine. You giggle, leaving against his chest.

“I know.”

This one is rushed I just couldn’t stop writing soz.

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Seven-week curse

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch

Robby Masterlist Updates Account

｡𖦹°‧➵Robby’s dating history is infamous, no relationship survives past seven weeks. So when he asks you out, you strike a deal: no sex until seven weeks have passed.

｡𖦹°‧➵ tags/warnings: smut, porn with plot, minors DNI, dry humping, unprotected piv, grinding, fingering, creampie, blowjob, f!social worker reader, kinda slowburn, robby is flirty and a bit of a manwhore (accurate)

 ｡𖦹°‧➵ A/N: This is only my second time writing for Robby, and I’m not really part of The Pitt fandom. So if you enjoyed this, maybe consider following me? I’d love to have more mutuals from the fandom

Ever since you were a little girl, you knew this was what you wanted, to spend your life helping people in the ways that mattered most. Nothing else ever came close to the satisfaction of knowing you’d made a real difference, even if it was just for one person on one impossible day.

Working as a social worker at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center has shown you the rawest edges of humanity. Abused kids, elderly patients with no one to hold their hand when the doctor delivered bad news, addicts fighting for one more chance while the world keeps telling them they’ve run out. You’d been there almost a year now, long enough to have learned the rhythms of the place, but it wasn’t perfect. Some nights, the weight on your shoulders was too much to carry alone. When a kid you thought was safe got pulled back into the same house, when an addict relapsed and the look in their eyes said they had already given up, when you left a room and realized you were crying in the stairwell without even noticing.

Your office was tucked away in a quiet corner of the administrative floor, a small room crammed with files and silence, so much different from the noise and chaos of the ED. But lately, your sanctuary had been invaded, not unpleasantly, but persistently, by Robby.

You first noticed him about a month ago, during a particularly grueling case involving a young mother who'd been in a car accident. You'd been called in to assess her family's needs, and there he was, scrubbing out after stabilizing her, his scrubs splattered with blood. "Tough one," he'd said, nodding at you as you passed in the hall. "You holding up? I know you’re new here. It can take some time to get used to." It was casual, but there was something warm in his voice… something you couldn’t shake off.

Since then, it'd escalated. Subtly at first, he'd bump into you in the cafeteria, offering to grab your tray. "Let me get that for you," he'd say with that lopsided grin, brushing his hand against yours just a second too long. Then came the coffees, the first time, it was a surprise on your desk, a steaming latte from the hospital's overpriced kiosk, with a sticky note: "Fuel after a long day. -Robby." It slowly became a pattern. Every few days, another coffee, sometimes with a muffin or an oatmeal cookie. "Thought you might need a pick-me-up," he'd say if he caught you in person, leaning against your doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

You weren’t naive. You knew exactly how men worked. You could read Robby’s flirting as clearly as a neon sign: the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed in the corridor, his voice when he asked about your weekend like he actually cared what you’d done, the easy smile he flashed when he shared some absurd story from the ED that always made you laugh before you could stop yourself.

Every time he locked eyes with you, you felt that familiar flutter in your stomach. The dangerous kind. The one that whispered this could be trouble, while your pulse kicked up anyway. Because Robby’s reputation wasn’t just gossip, it was more like a well-documented pattern. You’d overheard all about his brief hospital romances with nurses, residents, and the occasional admin, who’d all fallen for the same things, his charm, his attentiveness. Until the moment things edged toward anything real… anything that required staying, vulnerability, effort, then poof: Robby was gone. Vanished into long shifts, vague excuses, and polite distance, leaving the other person to pick up the pieces and pretend it hadn’t stung.

So it didn’t matter that he was exactly your type: a little older, tall enough that you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes, that beard framing a jaw you’d caught yourself staring at more than once, kind eyes with wrinkles at the corners when he laughed, and a sharp mind. He could be funny, thoughtful, devastatingly good at his job. None of it changed the math.

You were done with flings. Done with hookups that left you hollow. Done with anything that came with an expiration date. You’d spent too many nights replaying conversations, wondering where you went wrong, promising yourself next time you’d be smarter. You weren’t going back.

Robby could flirt all he wanted. He could keep showing up with your favorite coffee and those stupid blueberry muffins he pretended he “just happened to grab.” He could lean against the nurses’ station and talk to you like you were the only thing worth his attention in the middle of a fifteen-hour shift.

But you weren’t going to let him charm his way past your walls just to discard you at week seven like everyone else. You’d built those walls for a reason. And this time, they were staying up.

One day, you found yourself buried in paperwork when you heard the knock. You looked up, and there he was, framed in your doorway, holding two coffees. He was in his navy-blue scrubs, a stethoscope draped around his neck, a hint of vulnerability in the smile he offered you that made your resolve waver.

"Hey," he said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. "Figured you could use this. Double shot, no sugar, right?" He set one cup on your desk, grazing his fingers on the edge of your keyboard as he did. Up close, you could smell his cologne, and it made you want to bury your face in his neck.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms to create some distance. "Robby, you don't have to keep doing this." Your voice was steady, but inside, your heart was doing that annoying skip it always did around him.

He perched on the edge of your desk, ignoring the stack of files he was displacing. "What, bring coffee to my favorite person in this building? It's no trouble." His eyes sparkled with that playful mischief, and he tilted his head, studying you. "Besides, it gives me an excuse to see you. How's your day going? Has Gloria come and annoyed you with her bureaucratic nonsense already?"

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite yourself. He was good at this, disarming you with humor, making the conversation flow like it was the most natural thing. You told him about the elderly patient you were advocating for, the one whose insurance was denying coverage for rehab. He listened intently, nodding, offering insights from the medical side. It was easy talking to him, he got the grind of hospital life with more compassion than most doctors showed.

But as the chat stretched on, you felt the way his gaze lingered on your lips when you spoke, the subtle compliments woven in. "You're amazing at what you do," he said softly. "Don’t know how we managed to get by before you." His hand reached out, almost touching your arm, but he pulled back at the last second, as if sensing your hesitation.

You've been here before, not with him, but with men like him. Now, all you were craving was something real. You wanted stability, commitment, a partner who sticks around when the novelty wears off. And Robby? From what you'd heard, he was the opposite.

Every time he got too close to you, you remembered the nurses talking: “He's dated a resident, nurses, oh, and that radiology tech too. He pulls away when things get serious. That man is really damaged”. "Seven weeks," one of them confided over lunch last month. "That's his record. Gets bored, or scared, who knows. But he's the type of man you should run from."

You decided it was time. No more dancing around it. "Robby," you said, your tone shifting to one firmer. He straightened, sensing the change. "You're really sweet. The coffees, the chats... It's nice. You’re nice."

He smiled, but it was cautious now. "But...?"

"But I've heard what people say about you." You met his eyes directly, not accusatory, just honest.

He smiled, arching his brows with both curiosity and amusement. “Ah, good things only, I presume.”

You sighed, leaning forward. “You have a reputation when it comes to women, Robby.”

His brow furrowed harder, and he set his coffee down, crossing his arms defensively. "Reputation? You’re making it sound a little dramatic. I don’t have a reputation, come on."

“I’ve heard about the seven-week curse,” you said without preamble, no sugarcoating the truth.

Robby choked mid-sip, the coffee going down the wrong pipe. He coughed hard, his eyes watering as he thumped his chest like he was trying to dislodge a lung. “Seven-week curse?” he wheezed, half-laughing and a little-horrified. “What the hell am I, some kind of demonic entity?” He gestured wildly with both hands, his palms up, eyebrows shooting toward his hairline in exaggerated disbelief. “Jesus. Is that really what people are saying about me?”

"I know you've dated other people here at the hospital. A few, actually. And from what I've heard, you don't stick around. Things get too serious, and you're out. You’ve never lasted more than seven weeks with any of them."

He winced, rubbing the back of his neck, a telltale sign he was uncomfortable. For a moment, he looked vulnerable. "Whoa, okay. That's... I’m sure it had to be more than seven at least once." He narrowed his eyes, as if he was thinking deeply about it. “Are you sure they said seven?”

“That’s what they said.”

“I must sound like a douchebag.”

“You do. You’re like Leo DiCaprio when his girlfriends turn twenty-five,” you said flatly.

He frowned, clearly lost. “Yeah… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“He dumps them and moves on to the next,” you explained. “You’re the same, except you do it when the relationship hits seven weeks.”

Robby scoffed, getting a bit defensive already. “You make it sound like it’s a pattern. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” He paused, then added, thinking it over, “And I’m pretty sure one of them lasted eight weeks… ish.”

He paused, like he was trying to read the verdict before you delivered it. “Look, I know exactly how that makes me sound. I don’t have a strong case here, and I’m not gonna pretend I do. But for what it’s worth… that was before. I’m a different man now.” You couldn’t help it, a mocking snort escaped you. “No, no, don’t laugh, I’m serious! The sabbatical really changed me. Three months away from this place, I’m not the same man I was.”

You raised an eyebrow, your skepticism kept creeping in. "A new man? If I got a dime for every time I’ve heard guys saying that, then I wouldn’t be working here."

He slid off the desk, stepping closer, his presence filling the small office. "I've been thinking a lot lately. About what I want. I see you, and... you're different. I don’t see you as just... a distraction from my life. I want to try something real this time."

His words hang in the air, and they sounded so tempting. Part of you wanted to believe him, the part that had enjoyed his relentless attention, the butterflies when he smiled at you. You imagined it: dates outside the hospital, lazy mornings, building something solid. But the wiser part, the one scarred from past disappointments, held back.

You stood up, creating space, pacing to the window. "Robby, I appreciate all you do. I do. But at this point in my life..." You turned to face him. "I'm tired of one-night stands, of no-strings-attached flings that go nowhere. I've done that, hookups after bad days, situationships with guys who are not willing to commit. I want something solid, shared dreams, someone who won't bail when it gets hard. And honestly? From everything I know about you, you're just not it."

He stared at you, opening his mouth and then closing it like the words were slipping through his lips before he could catch them. “Wait—that’s not fair,” he finally managed. “You can’t judge me on rumors and hallway gossip. Let me take you out. Just once. Get your own idea of me.”

You shook your head, unyielding. "It's not about one date. It's about patterns. I've seen too many people get hurt chasing the 'new man' version of someone. And I can't afford that anymore.” You paused, “I’m sure there are plenty of impressionable, young residents and nurses in this hospital who’d jump at the chance for something casual with the hotshot attending. You’d have no shortage of takers.”

“There might be,” he admitted before he caught the sharp arch of your brow. He exhaled through his nose, recalibrating. “But none of them are you.”

“You’re a manwhore, Robby,” you said without preamble. “And I don’t do men who can’t commit.”

“Manwhore? You— I’m not—”

“And if you want my opinion,” you cut in before he could scramble together an excuse, “you’re a little old to still be acting like a fuckboy with commitment issues.”

“I’m not that old.”

“You’re what—fifty?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Ish,” he said, rolling his eyes and making a vague gesture with his hand. Then, smirking, he added, “Have I ever told you how much I love it when you put me in my place?”

You chuckled, and for a second, the air between you felt too charged. “I’m sorry, Robby. At some other point in my life, I would’ve said yes. I would’ve let you take me out, let you charm me, let you break my heart. But I’m not that person anymore.”

The silence stretched. Robby's face fell, the charm giving way to something that looked just like disappointment, maybe even hurt. He nodded slowly, stepping back toward the door. "Okay. I get it. But for what it's worth... I think we could've been good together." He picked up his coffee and gave you one last look. "Take care of yourself."

He left without another word, the door clicking shut behind him, louder than it should have been in the quiet office. Maybe he was right. Maybe he had changed… maybe the man who just looked at you with unguarded eyes wasn’t the same one who used to disappear when things got real. But you’d been burned before, and you were not willing to gamble your heart on “maybe” anymore. 

You threw yourself into the chaos to drown out the echo of his voice. Every time you stepped into the main emergency bay, your gaze flicked involuntarily toward the trauma bays, the hallway, the nurses’ station, half-expecting to catch him leaning against the counter, with a crooked grin as he tossed out some flirty line just to watch you roll your eyes. But he wasn’t there. 

The week that followed felt strangely hollow. Robby didn’t hide. He didn’t avoid you. He was there, same shifts, same corridors, but he’d dialed himself back to something painfully professional. A polite nod in passing. A clipped “good work”. Eyes that met yours for exactly the appropriate second before sliding away. He was respectful and controlled. Too controlled.

You should’ve felt relieved. You’d told him you wanted boundaries, and he was giving them to you. He was doing exactly what you’d asked. So why did it sting? Some small, traitorous part of you missed the game, the way he used to lean too close when no one was looking, the teasing drawl of your name, the hum that crackled between you every time your shoulders brushed in the hallway. The mouse-and-cat chase that made the long shifts bearable, that made you feel seen. 

You missed the heat of it. The stupid, addictive thrill of knowing he wanted you.

Two weeks later,  the rain was coming down in sheets, turning the hospital parking lot into a glossy black mirror under the glow of the streetlights. Your shift had stretched with consultations with a suicidal teen, a battered spouse reluctant to press charges, and an overdose case that required hours of coordination with rehab facilities. Your muscles ached, and all you wanted was to collapse into your bed after a hot shower.

You pushed through the employee exit, you'd forgotten your umbrella again in the rush of the day, and now you were regretting it as fat drops pelted your shirt and hair. Cursing under your breath, you hunched your shoulders and made a dash for your car, parked in the far corner of the lot because the closer spots were already taken.

"Hey! Wait up!" The voice cut through the downpour. You turned, squinting against the rain, and there he was. Robby, jogging toward you with an oversized black umbrella clutched in one hand. His hair was plastered to his forehead, but that grin, God, that irrepressible grin, was still there, lighting up his face like he hadn't just pulled a 15-hour shift in the pitt.

"Robby? What are you—" You started, but he cut you off by stepping close, angling the umbrella to shield you both. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you. He was only inches away, and you could feel the warmth of his body next to yours.

"Come on, let me walk you," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "It's pouring out here. You'll get soaked."

You hesitated, it'd been two weeks since that awkward conversation in your office, and true to his word, he'd stepped back. No more overt flirting, but small gestures: a quick "How's it going?" during rounds, even stepping in once to vouch for a patient's social services needs in a meeting. It was like he was proving himself without pushing, giving you space while still being present. But now, here he was, holding his umbrella in, looking at you with those eyes that seemed to see right through your defenses.

"Fine," you stepped under the umbrella's canopy. It wasn’t big enough for two without being close, your shoulder brushed his arm, and you felt the solid muscle beneath his scrubs. "Thanks."

You walked in silence at first. "Long night," he said finally, breaking the quiet. "I saw you with that OD case earlier. You handled it well, got the family on board without a fight. Not easy."

You glanced at him sideways, surprised he noticed. "Yeah, it was rough. Kid's only 16. Parents in denial. But that's the job, right? Patch 'em up, send 'em out, hope they make it."

He nodded, his expression turning somehow thoughtful. "We do what we can. Day after day."

You reached your car, fishing for your keys in your pocket. The rain had eased a bit, but droplets still cascaded off the edges of the umbrella. You clicked the unlock button, and the headlights flashed in response. "Well, this is me. Thanks for the escort, Robby. I appreciate it."

He didn’t move, though, holding the umbrella steady over you as you opened the door. His free hand rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you'd come to recognize. "Hey, wait. Can we talk? Just for a minute?"

You paused before getting inside the car. "Robby..."

"I know," he said quickly, anticipating your protest. "I know what you said before. About my so-called… reputation, about not wanting something casual. And I've been trying to respect that, giving you space. But... come on. Give me a chance to prove I'm right. That I can be different from what you’ve heard."

His eyes were earnest, pleading almost, and in the dim light, he looked younger, more vulnerable. Water beaded on his lashes, and his breath fogged slightly in the cold air. You'd heard this before, but Robby's persistence felt different, or maybe you were just tired enough to want to believe it.

“I might’ve been a little… uncommitted before,” Robby said quietly,  like he was forcing the words out. “But I’m not a bad guy.”

You looked at him, even if doing so felt like daggers sinking in your chest. “I’m not saying you are, Robby. I just… I think we want different things.”

He leaned forward slightly. “What do we want, then?” His tone was careful, almost daring you to say it.

You exhaled, the sound coming out small and tired. “I want something real. Something with a future. I want stability, a routine. Someone who stays when shit gets hard. I want the boring parts too. The grocery runs, the quiet mornings. I want to build something.” You paused, searching his face. “And you… I think you want something you can use to run from whatever’s eating at you. A distraction. A good fuck. A way to feel alive for a few hours before you disappear back into your own head.”

He blinked, his eyes widening for a split second before he tilted his head to the right, a shocked little laugh escaping him, full of disbelief and admiration. “Oh-ho, you’re good at this.”

You couldn’t help it, a reluctant laugh bubbled up too, breaking the heaviness for just a moment. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. We’re incompatible. You’re a master at deflection, and I’m… I’m tired of being someone’s escape hatch.” You shook your head. “I don’t want to waste seven weeks of my life on something that’s just going to end when you decide it’s too real. I’d rather walk away now than wake up in week six hating myself for hoping.”

He leaned against the doorframe, the umbrella still sheltering you both. "Look, I get why you're skeptical. My track record sucks, I own that. Seven weeks? Yeah, that's probably accurate. But I can't stop thinking about you." He shifted closer. "One date. That's all. Let me show you."

The words hang there, tempting. Your resolve wavered, maybe it was because of the rain, maybe the exhaustion, or the way his presence felt like a warm anchor in the storm. You'd been single for over a year, focusing on work, on yourself. But the loneliness crept in on nights like this, and Robby was offering a glimmer of possibility.

"Fine," you said the word escaping your lips before you could overthink it. "I'll go out with you."

His face lit up, that grin breaking through like sunshine in the middle of the storm. "Why do I feel like there’s a “but” coming?"

"But," you interrupted, holding up a hand. "There's a condition."

He tilted his head, curious. "Of course there is."

"No sex. Not until we've been dating for at least seven weeks."

He blinked, stunned, the umbrella dipping slightly as his grip loosened. "What? Sorry I.. I don’t think I heard you right, with the rain and the cars passing by."

You crossed your arms, trying not to laugh at the confusion etching his features. "No sex, Robby. Seven is your magic number, right? The point where you usually run. If we hold off on the physical stuff, then you’ll be forced to have something real with me. No using me as a distraction, no running away from your problems, no rushing into bed to avoid dealing with emotions. You’ll get the chance to prove if you're serious or if this is just another fling."

He stared at you, processing what you’d just said. For a moment, you thought he might back out, but then he chuckled. "Seven weeks, huh."

"Is it a deal-breaker?" you asked, arching an eyebrow, though your heart pounded waiting for his answer.

He met your gaze, and somehow, he managed to look smug even now. "Oh, please, I could do fourteen weeks." 

“Fourteen?” You bit your lower lip, noticing the way his eyes moved there, full of want.

“Easily. But I’ll settle for seven, I don’t wanna make it too hard for you.” He extended his hand through the open door, and you shook it. The touch lingered a second too long before he pulled back. “We have a deal.”

"Okay, then," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. "When do we start?"

"I’m free this Friday. Pick you up at seven? Dinner, maybe a walk after if you’re up for it."

You nodded, sitting in the driver’s seat, closing the door but rolling down the window. "Friday it is. Don't be late."

He stepped back as you started the engine, folding the umbrella now that the rain had slowed to a drizzle. "Wouldn't dream of it." 

You drove off, watching him in the rearview mirror as he stood there, hands in his pockets, with a stupid smile painted on his face. The wipers swoop rhythmically across the windshield, clearing the view, and you wondered if you'd just made a huge mistake or the best decision of your life. Seven weeks. It sounded simple, but you knew it'd be anything but. 

The days leading up to Friday crawled by in a blur of hospital work. A multi-car pileup flooded the ER, keeping Robby buried in work while you worked in the aftermath, grieving families, insurance nightmares, and child custody issues for orphaned kids. You crossed paths a few times: once in the elevator, where he flashed a quick smile and said, "Still on for Friday?" You nodded, and he winked before the doors opened. 

By Friday evening, your stupid nerves had you second-guessing everything: the dress (too much? too little?), the way you laughed too loud at his last text, whether this whole thing was going to crash and burn the second you both made it to week seven. You were pacing your apartment when the doorbell rang at exactly seven. Not a minute early, not a minute late. 

You opened the door, and the air left your lungs. He was standing there looking unfairly handsome, holding a generous bouquet of tulips. “For you,” he said, with a small crooked smile that made your stomach flip.

The date was… easy. Stupidly, disarmingly easy. He took you to a quiet place. The food was perfect, but it wasn’t the food that made the date perfect. The conversation flowed naturally, from work stories to childhood memories and favorite movies. He listened, really listened. Robby kept his eyes on yours, no phone, no glancing around the room, no interrupting to one-up you. When you talked, he leaned in just a fraction, like he was afraid he’d miss a single word. 

Every now and then, his knee brushed yours under the table, and each time the contact sent a spark up your spine. When you laughed, really laughed, at something he said, he dropped his gaze to your mouth for half a second before he caught himself and looked away, flexing his jaw like he was trying not to do something reckless.

By the time the check came, you were warm from the wine and warmer from the way he was looking at you, like you were the only person in the room, maybe the only one who’d ever mattered.

After dinner, you walked along the riverfront, and he slipped his jacket over your shoulders when you shivered. "So," he said eventually, stopping at a bench. "We’re really doing this… seven-week ban."

“Yep," you replied, sitting beside him. The jacket smelled like him, and it comforted you. "Does it feel weird? Not drawing your sorrows in meaningless sex?"

Robby let out a low, genuine laugh that rumbled through his chest. “Oh, my sorrows keep getting bigger every day. And you’re not helping me.” He dragged his gaze over you deliberately, taking in the way your simple black dress clung to every curve like it was painted on, hugging the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, the soft line of your thighs. “You put that thing on just to punish me. Don’t even try to deny it.”

You felt the heat crawling up your neck despite yourself. “It’s just a dress.”

“It’s a weapon,” his eyes kept roaming like he was memorizing you for later. Then his expression softened, just a fraction. “And just so you know, the sex wouldn’t be meaningless with you. Not even close. It would be… very, very meaningful.”

A small chuckle escaped your mouth, and you half-hearted swat at his arm. “Don’t try to seduce me. It’s not gonna work.”

He caught your wrist gently before you could pull away, brushing his thumb over your pulse point. A beat of charged silence stretched between you, then he shifted, leaning back on his hands, trying to look casual even though the tension was rolling off him.

“Okay. We should probably establish some ground rules. Before I lose what little self-control I’ve got left.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling too wide. “Ground rules. Very mature of you.”

He shot you a half-amused look. “Kissing?”

You let the smile break free. “Allowed.”

Robby nodded once, like he was filing it away. “Second base?”

You tilted your head, considering, letting him sweat for a second. “We’ll see.”

His eyes darkened, and he exhaled through his nose. “Third base?”

“You’re pushing it, Robinavitch.”

He leaned in just a fraction. “I’m really good at third base.”

The confidence in it, cocky but earned, sent a fresh pulse of heat straight between your legs. You arched a brow, holding his gaze without flinching. “Then prove it. But after week seven.”

He stared at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a grin and losing. Finally, he nodded. “Week seven,” he leaned in just enough that your breaths mingled, but he didn’t kiss you. "I will."

When he walked you to your door afterward, he didn’t try for a kiss either. He just brushed a strand of hair off your face, grazing his thumb over your cheekbone for half a second, and said, “I had a really good time. Let’s do this again next week.”

After that, the rhythm established itself naturally. Every week, like clockwork, you found time. Sometimes it was a proper date: drinks at some bar near the shore with the city skyline glittering across the river, a late-night showing of some old film at a cinema where you shared popcorn and your knees kept touching the entire time. Other times, it was quieter, just takeout at your place after a brutal shift, tangling your feet under the coffee table while you binge-watched a crime documentary and argued about who the killer was. One time, he showed up at your apartment with grocery bags, insisting he was going to cook for you. He burned the vegetables and cursed under his breath, but the meal turned out surprisingly decent, and you ate it straight from the pan standing at the counter, chatting and laughing until your sides hurt.

You learned things about him in fragments: the foods he hated, the summers at his grandma’s house when he was just a child, and why he got into this job in the first place.

You noticed how, when he was anxious, he’d apply hand sanitizer and rub his palms together a little too long, to keep his emotions at bay whenever they threatened to spill over, like a tiny unconscious tic. Or how he was terrible at texting back quickly, but when he did, the messages were thoughtful, never one-word replies.

You opened up with him things, too. Told him about messy exes who’d left you shattered. Why you became a social worker after a rough childhood. How you check your phone every night before bed, terrified you’ll miss a call about a patient in crisis. 

The third date was different. It was a Saturday, and you met him at a park. He was already there when you arrived, leaning against a tree in a dark green jacket, two coffees in hand. You walked the trails for hours, talking about everything and nothing. When the sun started to dip, he stopped on a small wooden bridge over a creek. You were both quiet for a moment, just listening to the water.

He turned to you, looking at you with those soft eyes you couldn’t say no to. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart tripped over itself. You nodded. The first kiss was slow and careful, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. He cupped the back of your neck, stroking the soft skin behind your ear with his thumb. When you finally pulled back, resting your foreheads together, he exhaled a shaky laugh.

“Been thinking about that since the day I met you.”

You smiled against his lips. “Good things come to those who wait.”

After that, kissing became part of the routine. Quick ones in the hospital corridors when no one was looking. Longer ones on your couch when a movie neither of you was watching faded into background noise. Stolen ones in the elevator when you were both going down to the cafeteria at the same time.

By week five, the tension was a living thing between you. It was a Thursday night. His place this time. He was off tomorrow, you had a rare three-day stretch, so you’d decided to cook together. 

Dinner was eaten at the small table by the window, and afterward, you migrated to the couch. You were curled against his side, his arm around your shoulders, tracing patterns on your upper arm.

It started sweet and innocent, nothing more than a soft kiss. Then another, hungrier, deeper. Robby slid his hot tongue against yours, and you shifted without thinking, turning fully into him. He splayed his hand across your waist, digging his fingers in possessively as he yanked you closer until your chest was pressed flush against his.

Before you could catch your breath, you were swinging a leg over, straddling his lap, sinking your knees into the couch on either side of his hips. The thick, rock-hard outline of his cock strained against his cargo pants, pressing right up against your clothed cunt. You rolled your hips once, then again, grinding down harder, feeling every inch of him twitch and throb beneath you.

A low groan rumbled from his throat straight into your mouth, vibrating through you. He shoved his palm under your shirt, sliding up your bare back as he gripped you tighter, urging you to keep moving.

“Fuck,” he rasped, dropping his head back against the couch as he jerked his hips up instinctively to meet your next grind. “You’re gonna make me lose it, baby… you’re driving me insane.”

You ground down again, rolling your hips in a filthy drag that let you feel every ridge of his cock. He clamped his fingers down hard on your hips, bruising in the best way, guiding you into a lazy rhythm, making you ride the fat length of him like you were already fucking. 

Robby latched his mouth onto the tender skin of your throat, sucking softly at first, then harder, grazing his teeth until he’d left marks on your skin.

“You’re torturing me,” he sounded wrecked against your collarbone. “Every time I see you, all I can think about is this. You on me. Under me. Bent over every surface in this house. Fuck, just… everywhere.”

His filthy words hit you like a punch, making your cunt throb against him. You kissed him harder, twisting your fingers tightly in his hair and yanking it just enough to rip a hiss from his throat. He slid one of his rough hands up your ribs, dragging his thumb deliberately under the swell of your breast, teasing the stiff peak through your thin bra until you arched into it shamelessly, chasing more of that sweet friction.

He squeezed your right breast hard, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, kneading and rolling it roughly like he was trying to brand his handprint there. Robby bucked his hips up at the same time, grinding the head of his cock right against your throbbing clit through the layers of your clothes. Even with the fabric barrier, you felt every pulse of him pressing insistently against your slick center, making your pussy clench around nothing.

Robby clamped his other hand down on your ass, spreading his fingers wide as he yanked you forward, forcing you to grind faster.

Even with his reputation preceding him, Robby had gone long stretches without sex in his adult life, but this was different, seeing you every week, being so close to you was slowly killing him. He had to swallow the animal urge to pin you against the nearest wall, yank your pants down, and bury himself so deep you’d forget your own name.

He was so pent-up it physically hurt. His cock stayed half-hard most nights, throbbing painfully against his lower stomach. The restraint was agony, his balls were full, heavy and aching, every pulse was a constant reminder of how badly he wanted to spread you open, lick into your wet pussy until you were dripping down his chin, then fuck you raw until he’d pumped you so full of cum it leaked out for days.

He’d jerk off in the shower sometimes, quick and furious, biting his fist to keep quiet, picturing your thighs clamped around his head while you rode his face. It never helped. The second he saw you again, the need roared back twice as vicious.

But then… something clicked. You froze, pushing gently at his chest to pull away. Robby stilled instantly beneath you, snapping his eyesopen, his pupils blown so wide they were almost black.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice a little unsteady. It was difficult to remember the rules you had established for yourself when Robby felt so tempting under you. “I should… I should probably go home.”

He blinked, dazed in a cloud of pleasure. “You really have to?”

You slid off his lap, feeling your legs shaky as you stood. Your shirt was rumpled, your lips swollen, and your hair a mess from his fingers. “The rule,” you reminded him, though your own body was screaming in protest. “Seven weeks.”

He exhaled hard through his nose, dragging both hands down his face. “Right. The rule.” He looked wrecked, his cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling too fast, the obvious bulge in his pants doing nothing to hide how affected he was.

You grabbed your jacket from the arm of the couch, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” He stood too, wincing a little as he tried to adjust himself subtly. “Don’t apologize. A deal is a deal. I’m a man of my words.”

He stepped closer, not crowding you, just enough to reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “I really, really like you,” he said quietly. “Like… stupid amounts. I love spending time with you. The dates, the quiet nights. God help me, I even love losing our silly arguments. And I hate losing.” He gave you a small, crooked smile. “I love getting to know you. The way you hum when you’re concentrating. The way you steal my hoodies and pretend you don’t notice.” He took a breath, locking his eyes on yours. “So yeah. Even if you leave me here like a horny teenager who just discovered what a boner is… I’m still in. All the way. No rushing things.”

Your throat felt tight. You stepped into him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to his chest. His heartbeat was fast under your ear. His arms came around you immediately, cradling the back of your head with one hand.

“I like you too,” you murmured into his shirt. “A lot.”

He kissed the top of your head. “I know. You’d be a fool not to.”

You stayed like that for a long minute, just holding each other, the tension from your shared desire easing into something more sweet and innocent.

Eventually, you pulled back. “I really do have to go. Got an early meeting tomorrow.”

He nodded, reluctantly letting you go. “I’ll walk you down.”

At your car, parked on the street right in front of his house, he kissed you again, softer this time, nothing like the hunger he’d shown you on his couch before.

“Two more weeks,” he whispered, half-laughing. “I can do two more weeks. I’m great. Abstinence is curing all my trauma. I feel reborn already.”

You grinned. “You’d better.”

He watched you drive away, standing under the streetlight until your taillights disappeared around the corner. In the quiet of your own apartment later, lying in bed, you realized something… You were not just waiting for seven weeks anymore. You were building something together.

The seventh week arrived on a Friday, exactly seven weeks from that first rain-soaked parking-lot promise. Tonight feels different from the start.

He texts you at 4:17 p.m., while you’re wrapping up notes on a domestic violence case that’s left your chest tight all day:

Dress nice. Pick you up at 7:30. I’ve got plans.

You choose the deep green velvet dress you’ve been saving, the one with thin straps, a fitted bodice, and a skirt that flares just enough to move when you walk. When you open the door at 7:29, he’s already there, ready to knock, but he freezes mid-motion.

Robby is in a navy suit, no tie, the top button undone, the sleeves rolled to his forearms, and his hair is tamed but still has that just-raked-through-it look. He’s holding a bouquet of white roses, almost shyly.

“Jesus,” he breathes, his eyes instantly traveling over you in an appreciative sweep. “You trying to kill me before we even leave?”

You smile, taking the roses. “You clean up nice, too, Robinavitch.”

He steps inside just long enough to help you into your coat, allowing his fingers to linger at your collar, brushing the nape of your neck. The touch is electric after weeks of holding back. “Ready?”

The restaurant is one of those places you’ve only ever seen in movies. None of the men you dated before would’ve dreamed of bringing you here, too expensive, too formal, too much effort for what they were willing to give. Tonight, though, the candlelight flickers across the white tablecloths, and in the corner, a jazz trio plays soft music.

He’s reserved a corner table near the window. Dinner is luxurious. Wine, plates of charcuterie and truffle oil, handmade pasta, and tiramisu shared with two spoons. 

Conversation flows effortlessly, you talk about the week’s chaos, his patient with the ruptured aorta, and your achievement with a teenage girl who finally agreed to foster care placement. You laugh about stupid things too: the way he can’t pronounce Italian words correctly, or how you’ve started adopting his little mannerisms, like scratching your neck when you get shy.

But underneath it all is a hunger that gets louder with every passing minute. Every time your knees brush under the table, every time he reaches across to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time his gaze drops to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly how it tastes.

Dessert comes and goes. Coffee, a third glass of wine. The check arrives, and he pays without fanfare, then looks at you across the candlelight.

“So,” he says, “seven weeks. To the day.”

You lean forward, placing your elbows on the table, your chin on your laced fingers. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Thought you’d ghost me by now.”

He grins, shaking his head as he places a hand over his chest. “Ouch, you had that little trust in me? Told you from the first moment… this was different, and I’m never wrong.” 

“Give me your final evaluation, Dr. Robinavitch. How’d we do?”

He exhales a quiet laugh, rubbing his jaw like he’s thinking about it. Then he leans in too, close enough that you can smell his cologne, a smell that’s so familiar now. “I’m deeper in this than I’ve ever been with anyone,” he says without any hesitation. “I like you so fucking much it scares me sometimes. Not in a bad way—just… I’m used to you. Your laugh when I say something stupid. The way you steal half my blanket when we watch movies on my couch. The little crease between your brows when you’re reading a chart. I can’t picture waking up and not having that in my life anymore. I don’t want to.”

Your throat tightens, you want to speak, but you don’t interrupt. He keeps going. “That sex ban? It was brutal, I’m not gonna lie. But it was good. Really good. It forced me to stay. To talk instead of fuck my way out of feeling things. I had to learn you, really learn you. And I did. I do.” He pauses, locking his eyes on yours. “But I’m not gentlemanly enough to pretend I’m not dying here. I’ve spent the last seven weeks imagining every single way I want to take you home and rip that dress off you. Slowly. Then not slowly at all. I want my hands on every inch of you. I want to wake up tomorrow with your marks on my back and you on my bed.”

The words land like sparks, the heat floods your chest, your thighs, everywhere. You swallow, your voice coming out barely above a whisper. “Then take me home, Robby.”

His pupils blow wide. For half a second, he looks stunned, like he wasn’t sure you’d say it. Then he’s moving, standing, offering his hand, pulling you up with him. 

In the parking lot, he holds the passenger’s door open for you, and then rounds to the driver's side, starts the engine, and pulls out onto the street. You glance at him and feel a surge of boldness. Leaning over the console, you press a kiss to his jaw, soft at first, then trailing down to his neck. He inhales sharply, tightening his fingers on the steering wheel, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

"Careful," he murmurs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Trying to drive here."

You hum against his skin. "You can handle it," you nip lightly at his earlobe, sliding your hand to his thigh, squeezing gently, feeling the muscle tense under your palm.

He lets out a groan, glancing at you sideways with heat in his eyes. Emboldened, you continue, peppering kisses on his neck, flicking your tongue to trace the curve of his ear. The car swerves just a fraction before he corrects it, chuckling breathlessly. "Okay, okay… Save some for when we're not moving at sixty miles an hour."

But you don't stop entirely, just slow down, brushing your lips over his skin in lazy patterns as the miles tick by. He finds your knee, stroking it in slow circles that mirror the rhythm of your kisses. 

Finally, he turns onto a quiet residential street in one of Pittsburgh's nicer neighborhoods and pulls into his driveway. "Home sweet home," he says, killing the engine and turning to you. 

Before you can respond, he's leaning over, capturing your lips in a kiss that's deeper than the ones before. He cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you melt into it.

You break apart only when breathing becomes necessary, both of you grinning like idiots. 

"Inside," he says. "Before the neighbors get a show."

You nod, fumbling with your seatbelt as he comes around to open your door again, placing his arm around your waist as he leads you up the porch steps. He fumbles the key at his door, cursing under his breath while you laugh against his neck. Then the door swings open and you’re inside, coats shed somewhere in the hallway, shoes kicked off, his mouth never leaving yours.

The hall is dark, but Robby confidently walks you backward toward the bedroom. The air in the room is charged with seven weeks of anticipation. Robby's hands are on you immediately, as if he's afraid you'll vanish if he lets go. He backs you against the door for a moment, pressing his body flush to yours, claiming your mouth in a kiss that's all desperation, tangling your tongues, teeth grazing, and breaths coming in gasps.

His fingers tremble slightly as he slides them up your arms, hooking under the thin straps of your green dress. He pulls back just enough to look at you. "God, I've waited for this," he murmurs with longing. "I can't believe I finally have you here. Like this. All mine."

The dress slips down your body in a slow cascade, pooling at your feet until you're left in black lace panties and bra. Robby's gaze rakes over you, hungry, almost feral. He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing, and you can see the restraint cracking in him.

You step forward, closing the distance, your hands going to his shirt. You unbutton it slowly, revealing inch after inch of his chest, the faint dusting of dark hair trailing down to his lower abdomen. His skin is warm under your fingertips, feverish almost, and he shudders when you scrape your nails lightly over his nipples.

"You were killing me," he breathes, tipping his head back as you push the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. "Every date, every kiss… Watching you walk away, knowing I couldn't have you. I wanted you so much it hurt. Physically hurt."

His words send a thrill through you, and so you sink to your knees before him. Your hands work his belt open with ease, the buckle clinking softly. He watches you, transfixed, one hand coming to rest lightly on your head, not guiding, just needing the contact.

You yank his pants and boxers down in one rough tug, letting them pool at his ankles. His cock springs free, rock-hard and aching, the thick length curving upward toward his stomach, veins standing out along the shaft, the fat and flushed head already slick and shining with a fat bead of pre-cum that drips slowly down the slit. The sight hits you like a punch, making your mouth flood with saliva, your cunt clenching hard and empty, dripping down your thighs in anticipation.

You wrap your fingers tight around the pulsing base, stroking once, twisting at the head, and Robby lets out a low groan in response, jerking his hips forward like he can’t help it, trying to fuck into your fist.

“Fuck—baby—” His voice is already ruined, desperate, and you’ve barely touched him.

You lean in close, letting your hot breath ghost over him first, then you flick your tongue out to lap at the salty, musky bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip. Then you open your mouth wide and take him in. His grith forces your lips to stretch tight around him as you slide down inch by throbbing inch.

“You taste so good, Robby.” You say, swirling your tongue around the swollen head, sucking lightly at first, teasing the slit, making his knees nearly give out as his whole body shudders, a choked sound ripping from his throat.

“Oh God—yes—fuck—” He gasps, squeezing his eyes shut for a heartbeat like the pleasure’s too much, before snapping back open. He can’t look away from the obscene sight of your mouth stuffed full of him, lips shiny and stretched, cheeks hollowed as you start bobbing in earnest, taking him until he hits the back of your throat and you gag just a little, the sloppy sounds echoing loud in the small space.

He fists his hands tighter in your hair, holding on like you’re his only anchor while his thighs tremble under your palms, twitching his hips forward in shallow thrusts. Every time you suck harder and swirl your tongue, he groans like he’s dying, completely undone

"You have no idea… How many times I imagined this," he pants. "In the shower, at work… fuck,  I'd zone out thinking about your mouth. You're perfect— so fucking perfect."

You hum around him, the vibration making him curse under his breath. You take him as deep as you can, brushing your nose against the coarse hair at his base, and he chokes out a moan, thrusting into your mouth despite himself. Tears prick at your eyes from the stretch, but it's worth it for the way he's unraveling, his head thrown back, his free hand braced against the door for support.

But then his grip tightens, tugging you back gently but insistently. "Stop—wait, please—" His voice is desperate. You pull off with a soft pop, looking up at him questioningly. His chest heaves, and his cock twitches in the cool air, shiny from your mouth. "If you keep going, I'm gonna cum right now, and I—fuck, I need to be inside you. Need to feel you first."

The raw plea in his words ignites something fierce in you. You stand, feeling your legs a little shaky, and he pulls you into him, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your tongue without a hint of hesitation. His hands roam your body, unhooking your bra with fumbling fingers, sliding it off, then hooking into your panties and dragging them down your legs. You're both naked now, skin to skin, and the contact is electric.

He walks you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, until the mattress hits the backs of your thighs. You sit, then scoot back, and he follows, crawling over you like a man possessed. His weight presses you into the sheets, comforting and overwhelming. He kisses down your body with open-mouthed drags along the sensitive column of your throat, grazing his teeth over your racing pulse before he moves lower.

His lips map the line of your collarbone, sucking lightly enough to leave faint marks, then down to your breasts. He latches onto one stiff nipple with his wet mouth, swirling his tongue hard around the swollen peak before he sucks deep, pulling the bud tight between his lips with suction that makes you curl your toes. At the same time, his rough palm cups your other breast, kneading the soft flesh possessively,  pinching and rolling the neglected nipple until it’s throbbing and aching in rhythm with the one he’s devouring. 

You arch into him, a broken moan tearing from your throat as you dig your nails into the thick muscle of his shoulders, clawing at him like you need to anchor yourself or rip him closer, either way, you’re desperate. Every pull of his mouth sends electric jolts straight to your dripping cunt, making you grind your hips uselessly against nothing. 

"Been dying for this," he whispers against your skin, trailing lower, over your ribs, your stomach. "Every night, I'd lie here thinking about touching you. Tasting you. You drove me insane. I wanted you so bad I could barely think straight."

He slides his big hand between your trembling thighs, brushing his fingers against the drenched heat of your cunt, finding you absolutely soaked, your slick dripping down your folds, coating his palm in a slippery mess the second he touches you. 

A groan rumbles deep in his chest, like discovering your wetness is the single greatest thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Fuck, baby… you’re dripping for me. You wanted me this much?” 

You nod, and Robby parts your lips with two thick fingers, gently at first, spreading you open, exposing your pulsing clit to the cool air before he pushes them inside, stretching your tight, greedy walls. He curls them just right, hooking perfectly against that spongy spot deep inside, stroking it with firm pressure that sends white-hot stars exploding behind your eyelids and a fresh gush of slick coating his knuckles.

“Robby—Oh fuck!” You curse, bucking your hips up off the bed, chasing more of his fingers, more of that perfect friction while your cunt clamps down around him like it never wants to let go.

He watches your face intently, finding your clit and circling with perfect pressure, slow at first, then faster, matching the pump of his fingers. 

“Like this?” he asks as he scissors his fingers wider inside you, angling them higher, curling the tips harder. “Tell me what feels good, baby,” The dual assault is making you tear up.  “Use your words, let me hear how much you love it.”

“So good… fuck! Like that—yes yes yes—” you cry out, cracking into desperate sobs. 

"Look at you," he whispers. You can hear the desperation in his voice. "So wet for me. So ready. I can't believe I get to have you."

“Just like that… don’t stop, please…” You beg him as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core when he plunges his fingers, curling and scissoring them inside your soaked cunt. The lewd, squelching sounds of your slick fill the room.

He ducks his head, latching back onto your breast with hunger, grazing the swollen nipple before he sucks hard. At the same time, he presses his thumb down firmly on your clit, rubbing filthy circles that match the punishing rhythm of his fingers fucking into you.

"Cum for me," he pleads, almost begs, his own desperation bleeding through his words. "I need to feel it… need to know I'm making you feel good. Please, baby. Can you do that for me?"

It crashes over you. Your cunt clamps down hard around his fingers, spasming wildly as you come undone, your walls pulsing and fluttering in rhythmic waves that milk every inch of him. He doesn’t let up. Not even close. He keeps thrusting through the slick mess of your orgasm, curling against that good spot, grinding merciless circles over your oversensitive clit until every aftershock drags another whimper.

“Oh, God. You made me cum so hard…” You giggle, blinded with the disbelief of feeling this good for the first time. “I’m still shaking…”

When you finally collapse, he drags his fingers out slowly, inch by glistening inch, strings of your creamy release clinging to his knuckles. He brings them straight to his mouth and sucks them clean, swirling his tongue deliberately over every drop of your taste

"Taste so good," he says, completely lost in the moment. "I could do this all night. But fuck, I need you now. Need to be inside you before I lose my mind."

You pull him up, kissing him fiercely, tasting yourself on his lips. "Get inside me," you manage to say through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Robby settles between your spread thighs, pressing his knees on the mattress as he notches himself right where you’re aching most. The thick head of his cock nudges your slick entrance, parting your folds. He drags the leaking tip up and down your slit, coating himself in your dripping arousal until every inch of him glistens, strings of your slick stretching obscenely between his cock and your greedy hole.

He pauses there, just barely breaching you, letting you feel the ridge of his crown stretching your tight ring of muscle, teasing you with the promise of being filled without giving it to you yet

He pauses, pressing his forehead to yours, your breaths mingling. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you've wanted me as much as I've wanted you."

"More," you breathe, framing his face with your hands, lifting your hips to try and get him inside you. "Now, Robby—please."

“Fuck, look at you… so wet, so ready to take every inch,” He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every rigid vein, every throbbing pulse as he stretches you around his girth.

Your walls try to pull him deeper while he holds your hips steady, controlling the pace, making you take it all in agonizing slow motion. The burn is perfect, your slick dripping down his shaft with every careful slide.

When he finally bottoms out, his hips flush tight against yours, balls pressed against your ass, you both let out a broken moan in perfect unison. 

"Fuck—" His arms tremble where they brace beside your head. "You're so tight… so hot. I can't—God, I can't believe I have you. You were killing me for seven weeks, walking away every time. I wanted to pin you down, make you mine right then."

He starts moving with punishingly deep thrusts that drag him along every nerve inside you, stretching and stroking your walls. Each pull-out leaves you clenching around nothing, dripping down your ass, before he sinks back in to the hilt with a wet slap of skin on skin.

“Right there—right fucking there—yes, yes, yes—” You wrap your legs tight around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back, digging your heels hard into the firm curve of his ass, pulling him deeper, forcing him to bottom out harder, grinding your clit against his pubic bone with every brutal roll of his hips.

He groans at the pressure, the way your pussy sucks him in deeper, and then he picks up the pace, snapping forward faster, until his balls are slapping wetly against your ass on every deep plunge.

"Feels so good," he groans, burying his face in your neck. "Better than I imagined… And I imagined a lot. Every night, thinking about you like this, wrapped around me, moaning my name."

The words fuel the fire, pushing you higher. You push at his chest. "Let me ride you."

He smiles as he flips you both effortlessly, so now you’re straddling him, your thighs spread wide over his hips, his fat length stretching you even fuller from this position, the blunt head kissing places inside you that make your vision flicker.

“Oh god… Robby, you feel so fucking good inside me…”

Robby clamps his hand down on your hips, digging in hard enough to bruise, guiding you exactly where he wants you. His eyes devour every inch: your flushed tits bouncing with each movement, the way your stomach trembles, the slick shine of arousal coating his shaft where it disappears into your hole.

You rise slowly, until just the head catches at your entrance, then you sink back down, taking him to the root in one plunge that makes you both groan. His cock throbs deep inside you, and the slap of your ass meeting his thighs echoes in the room as you start to ride him, rolling your hips in sloppy circles while he watches, mesmerized, like you’re the hottest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

"Ride me… Yes, just like that—" He's babbling now, completely undone, his head thrown back against the pillows until his throat exposed. " Fuck, look at you… You’re so perfect."

“You’re so deep—fuck, I can feel you in my stomach…” You grind down, dragging your clit along the base of his cock, and then you pick up speed, bouncing harder, taking him to the hilt on every downstroke.

He digs his fingers deep into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider as he helps guide your rhythm, lifting you just enough before yanking you back down onto his length. He meets every bounce with an upward thrust of his hips, fucking up into you with precision.

You notice him locking his eyes on where your soaked pussy swallows him whole, creamy rings of your arousal frothing at the base of his cock with every punishing bounce.

“Use my dick, Fuck, you’re so goddamn good.. I'm close—fuck, so close—" His voice is wrecked, desperate. "You feel too good… Gonna cum inside you, fill you up."

“I can’t—too good—too fucking good—” You moan, and the way he jerks his hips upward to fuck into you, tip you over again.

You come hard, clenching around him, your vision whiting out. He follows seconds later, hammering into you in erratic stutters. His cocik swells even thicker as he unloads in heavy spurts, filling you with thick ropes of cum that seem to go on forever. You feel every fat jet deep inside you, the heat of it blooming against your walls.

You collapse forward onto his sweat-slick chest, both of you gasping for air. Robby buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard against your skin, while his cock still twitches weakly inside you.

Robby’s chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, with one arm wrapped around your waist before you shift slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow so you can see his face. He looks wrecked in the best way, completely blissed out, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you watch him.

“Hey,” you say softly, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. “Promise me something?”

He hums. “Anything.”

“Don’t ghost me now that we’ve fucked.” The words come out quieter than you mean them to, but they land anyway. “Don’t disappear.”

He stills his hand on your back, and he shifts, rolling toward you so you’re face-to-face, your noses almost touching. “Baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

You hold his gaze, searching for honesty.  “I need to know this isn’t the end of the version of you I’ve been getting for seven weeks.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he leans in, presses the softest kiss to your forehead, lingering there. “I know it’s gonna sound like the most cliché thing in the world,” he starts, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes again, “but I don’t think I’ve ever felt this good before. Not just the sex, though Jesus, that was—”

He lets out a breathless laugh, shaking his head like he still can’t process it. “That was unreal. But it’s not just that. It’s everything about you. Being with you is different. I don’t feel like I’m running from my problems anymore. I used to, every time shit got real, every time someone got too close, I’d bolt. Find an excuse, pick a fight, disappear into work. Because staying meant dealing with the mess in my head, and I was terrified of that. But with you?”

Robby strokes your cheek again. “It feels like I’m choosing you. Every single day, because I want to stay. I want the mornings where we’re both half-dead and fighting over who gets the last of the coffee. I want the nights we do nothing but lie here and talk about stupid shit. I want your bad days, your good days. I’ve spent years convincing myself I wasn’t built for this, for someone to matter this much. But you make me want to be. You make me feel like I can be.”

He swallows, and you can see his eyes shining a little in the dim light. “So no,” he says firmly, “I’m not ghosting you. I’m not running. I’m right fucking here, and I’m staying. You’re stuck with me, okay? All of it. I’m choosing you. Every day.”

The words settle over you, comforting and easing all your doubts and fears. You feel the knot in your chest loosen, the old fear that always whispers “what if he leaves” starting to quiet.

You lean in, kissing him, tasting the truth of everything he just said. When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his. “Okay,” you whisper, smiling against his lips. “I believe you.”

A/N: Uhhh, thank you so much for all the support and love on the first one-shot I wrote for Robby. I honestly wasn’t expecting it hehe, but it made me so happy. And since he’s my latest obsession, I can’t stop all the ideas for new fics from popping into my head. I’m feeling really inspired, so I’ll probably keep writing more stuff for him in the future.

Like I said, I’m new to the fandom. I’ve read a couple of fics, but I haven’t really had time to fully get into it yet. I mostly write whatever ideas pop into my head, so if I end up writing something that’s already been done a million times… sorry jskdjd 😭

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[pankowcrumbs]

His Hands X Joe Keery

MasterList

Stranger Things and Cast Masterlist

Joe Keery Masterlist

I’d been told pregnancy would be beautiful. Magical. A glow, a radiance, a sacred softness. No one warned me about the bit where you cry into a half-eaten packet of biscuits at three in the afternoon because your ankles look like over-stuffed sausages.

Which is precisely where Joe found me.

I heard the front door open, followed by the unmistakable thud of his bag hitting the floor. “Honey?” His voice carried through the hallway, gentle, warm, already smiling.

I sniffled and wiped my cheeks with the sleeve of Joe’s oversized jumper I’d practically moved into the last month. “In here,” I croaked.

He appeared in the doorway to the living room, hair messy from filming, eyes softening the second he saw me curled on the sofa, blanket draped over my mountain of a stomach.

“Oh, baby…” He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of me. “Rough day?”

I broke. Fully, embarrassingly broke.

“I’m so tired,” I hiccupped. “I don’t feel like myself, and everything hurts, and I dropped the biscuits and then I cried because I couldn’t even pick them up, because I can’t even see my bloody feet!”

Joe’s face melted with worry and affection all at once. His thumbs brushed my cheeks, wiping tears away as if they personally offended him. “Oh sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing my knee, “you’ve been growing our little girl for nine months. You're allowed to be exhausted.”

“I look like a whale,” I muttered, fresh tears welling again.

“You look like the woman I’m obsessed with,” he corrected, utterly sincere. “And also, whales are majestic.”

A laugh escaped me, even as tears continued rolling. He caught that too with his thumb.

“Right,” he said softly, smoothing hair from my forehead. “Let’s get you out of your head, yeah? I’m running you a bath.”

I blinked. “Joe...”

“No arguments.” His tone was warm, firm. “Let me take care of you.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead before standing and heading to the bathroom. I heard the bath start, the water splashing, the faint clink of bottles. He was humming under his breath. He always hummed when he was in ‘husband mode’, as I teasingly called it.

A few minutes later he returned and held out both hands to me.

“Up you get.”

It took some manoeuvring mostly because I was convinced I had become a planet with my own gravitational field but he never once looked impatient. He lifted me gently, like he was afraid I might shatter. His hands slid under my arms, steady and warm, those same hands that had held me through morning sickness, scans, back pain, and 3 a.m. cravings.

He helped me down the hall, one hand in mine, the other resting protectively at the small of my back.

The bathroom was dim and cosy, lavender candles lit around the tub, steam drifting off the surface of the water.

“Oh, Joe…” My voice trembled.

“I’ve got you.” He kissed the side of my head. “Arms up?”

I lifted them and he helped me out of my jumper, then the rest, slow and gentle. There was nothing hurried about him; every movement felt like a promise. He steadied me as I stepped into the bath, lowering myself in with a sigh so deep it felt like it came from the core of my soul.

Joe knelt beside the tub, sleeves pushed up, eyes soft.

“There she is,” he murmured. “My beautiful girl.”

“I don’t feel beautiful.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’ll see it for you.”

That got me. My eyes grew hot again.

His fingers brushed my jaw. “Want me to wash your hair?”

I hesitated. “I can’t even lift my arms properly.”

“Exactly why I’m offering.” He grabbed the cup he’d set aside, filled it with warm water, and gently tipped it over my hair. His touch was unbelievably tender. He massaged shampoo into my scalp, slow circles that made my whole body melt. I swear I could have purred.

When his fingers slid down to the nape of my neck, I let out a breathy sound I didn’t intend.

“Good?” he whispered, amused.

“Amazing,” I admitted.

He rinsed my hair, taking his time, never rushing a single move. I watched him. Watched those hands mesmerised.

“You know,” I murmured, “your hands might be my favourite thing about you.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“They’re just…” I reached up, taking one of his hands in mine. The size difference alone made my chest ache in the sweetest way. “So big. And warm. And capable. They’ve held me together this whole pregnancy.”

His thumb stroked my wrist, tender. “They’ll hold you together through the rest of it too.”

I lifted his hand to my lips and pressed a soft kiss to each knuckle. He swallowed hard, eyes darkening with emotion not desire, but something deeper, fuller.

“I love your hands,” I whispered.

“I love you,” he whispered back.

He massaged my shoulders next, then my arms, then the sides of my bump, speaking softly to our daughter as he did telling her how strong her mum was, how excited he was to meet her, how she could come whenever she was ready.

He helped me out of the bath when I started to get sleepy, wrapped me in a fluffy towel, and held me against his chest. He towel dried my hair, helped me into pyjamas, and tucked me into bed. He lay behind me, one big hand over my belly, thumb stroking.

I fell asleep feeling safe. Loved. Cared for.

I woke to a small wet feeling. And a contraction.

“Joe…” I whispered, eyes wide. “Joe. I think my waters just broke.”

He sat up so fast the bed shook, but his face was calm. Focused. Soft. Exactly what I needed.

“Okay, baby. Breathe. I’m right here.” He kissed my forehead. “We’re going to meet our girl tonight.”

Another contraction hit and I gripped his hand the same hand I’d kissed hours earlier and he didn’t flinch.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured, rubbing my back. “In for four, out for six. Good girl.”

He helped me to my feet, one arm around my waist, guiding me gently. He already had the hospital bag ready cause of course he did and helped me into comfortable shoes.

“I’m scared,” I whispered.

“I know.” He cupped my face. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

We made it to the car between contractions, Joe breathing with me, murmuring reassurance. He drove smoothly, no panic, no raised voice. Just calm steadiness, checking on me constantly.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

“I feel like I might pass out.”

“You won’t. You’re stronger than you think.”

When we arrived, he helped me out, wrapped an arm around me again, and guided me inside. He spoke to the nurses, answered questions, never once letting go of my hand unless absolutely necessary.

During the worst contractions, he kept his forehead pressed to mine, whispering, “I’m right here. Look at me. You’re doing brilliantly.”

Hours passed in a blur of pain and pushing. But Joe’s voice, his hands, grounded me.

And then a cry.

A tiny, beautiful cry.

They placed her on my chest and the world stopped. Joe let out a sound half laugh, half sob and kissed my temple over and over.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered. “You did it. You did so well, my love.”

I was exhausted, shaking, overwhelmed, but I looked down at our daughter and felt a rush of something so powerful it almost hurt.

Joe sat beside me on the bed, tears in his eyes. “Can I…?”

“Of course,” I breathed.

He carefully scooped her into his arms, holding her with such awe I felt my heart twist. His hands dwarfed her tiny body, yet he held her like she was made of starlight.

“Oh,” I murmured, tears slipping free again. “Look at your hands compared to her.”

He laughed softly, emotional. “She’s so tiny.”

“She’s safe,” I said. “Because she has you.”

He looked up at me then and something in his expression shattered me completely.

“I’m so grateful for you,” I whispered. “For everything tonight. For everything always.”

Joe leaned forward, pressing his forehead to mine, our daughter sleeping between us. “I’m the grateful one. You’re incredible. You’re… everything.”

I took his hand, the same hand that had washed my hair, held me through contractions, and now cradled our child. I kissed each knuckle again.

“My favourite hands in the world,” I whispered.

He smiled, eyes shining. “They’re yours. Always.”

[colouredbyd]

The Button Nest

wolfstar x fem!whimsy!reader

summary: you’re a shy crow animagus, quietly watching the marauders from the shadows, admiring them from afar. you think you’re invisible, but sirius and remus have started noticing you in ways you never expected. then, after a sudden accident leaves you vulnerable, the quiet distance between you begins to unravel, one button at a time.

warnings: shy reder, animagus transformation, animal form, accidents and injury, vulnerability, slow-burn romance, subtle emotional tension, insecurity, blood, infirmary, angst, lonely reader, anxiety, social awkwardness, mention of ravenclaw!reader, teasing and gentle flirting, mild language, moments of self-doubt, themes of trust and acceptance, angst, happy ending.

w/c: 6.1k

a/n: as someone who was always seen as 'weird', this was so healing to write <3 masterlist

It wasn’t unusual for you to be roaming the grounds late at night.

In fact, it had become something of a ritual—an instinct more than a plan, something stitched into your routine without you ever deciding it. The forest always felt more alive once the rest of the castle fell asleep, the air cooler, the trees older, the world quieter in a way that let your thoughts breathe. 

Most nights, you slipped from your bed and disappeared beyond the edge of the grounds, feathered and weightless in the shape of a small crow, darting through branches and perching high in the canopy where no one thought to look.

What was unusual, however, was this: Remus Lupin limping through the forest, his arms slung around the shoulders of Sirius Black and James Potter like they were the only things keeping him from falling apart entirely.

Now that—that was something new.

You stilled in the trees, tucked between the leaves, dark eyes following the scene below.

It was strange, not because they were out after curfew. That much you’d come to expect from the troublesome Marauders. But because even here, in the middle of the forest, long past midnight, the three of them still carried with them that same impossible brightness. 

You had never spoken to them before, not once, and yet somehow you knew their names the way everyone did. James Potter, Quidditch star with a laugh loud enough to rattle windows. Sirius Black, the most troublesome student, who drew people to him like a flame. And Remus Lupin, softer than the others but no less magnetic, with his weary kind of stillness that felt older than all of them combined.

You’d seen them around—of course you had, everyone had, but you’d been watching them for longer than you’d care to admit. Not deliberately, or creepily, you hoped. 

It was just that once you started noticing them, you couldn’t seem to stop. 

They moved through the castle like they belonged to it, like the halls bent slightly to let them pass. Even when they weren’t trying to be the center of attention, the world seemed to place them there anyway, everything revolving around their presence like they were born to be the stars of some story no one else had been invited into.

And even now, deep in the forest where no one was meant to see them, that pull hadn’t faded. The trees themselves seemed to lean toward Remus, branches curving like they knew he was hurting. The wind circled Sirius like it was part of him, rustling his hair just so. And James—he kept his head high even though his shoulder bore half of Remus’s weight, eyes sharp and steady in the dark like someone who refused to be afraid.

From your branch above, your small body shifted forward slightly, feathers ruffling against the bark.

Remus looked worse than you expected. Pale and exhausted. His mouth was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on both of them, clearly fighting to stay upright. It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened. You didn’t need someone to spell it out for you.

You already knew.

You’d known for some time now, if you were honest with yourself. It wasn’t a secret, not if you paid attention.

The monthly disappearances, the gray pallor that settled into his skin for days afterward, the limp he sometimes carried with him, the faraway look he wore when he thought no one was watching. 

It was clear, if you knew how to see it. Remus Lupin was a werewolf.

You weren’t afraid of him.

You weren’t sure what you felt, actually. Not pity, not fear. Just this soft ache in your chest, a fluttering concern that made your wings twitch and your claws dig slightly into the bark beneath you. 

You wanted, more than anything, to help. Not in a way that would ever be noticed, not in some dramatic act of kindness or courage. Just… to be useful. To ease the weight of whatever he carried, even if only for a moment.

But you didn’t move. You stayed quiet in the branches as they passed beneath you, Sirius murmuring something to Remus that made the corner of his mouth twitch upward, just barely.

James glanced up once, scanning the canopy, but didn’t pause. None of them noticed the crow perched above them, holding her breath.

You watched them disappear between the trees, the sound of their footsteps fading into the dark, and felt that familiar twist settle in your chest again.

You were never part of their world. That much had always been clear. You moved through corridors like a ghost with pockets full of silence, a soft-footed observer in a universe that burned far too brightly for someone made of distance.

Where they shone with the ease of constellations, you lingered at the edges like mist, half-invisible and entirely forgettable.

It was not envy that caught your breath when you looked at them, it was something lonelier than that. 

You told yourself it was mere curiosity, a passing glance toward something golden.

But the truth pressed heavier than that simple excuse. You had spent so long folding yourself into the corners of rooms, shrinking beneath your own voice, that to witness something so effortlessly vibrant felt almost otherworldly.

It was not that they demanded your attention. You would have resented them if they had. It was that your attention, unbidden and unwilling, bent toward them in spite of you.

As though their presence altered the air itself. As though their laughter rewrote gravity.

You tried to retreat, to withdraw as you always had, but the further you pulled, the harder you were drawn in.

It was the slow inevitability of celestial force, like a lonely moon being dragged across the dark by a sun too blinding to ignore.

You told yourself you were content in the quiet, and maybe you were. But every so often, when the night made the world gentler, and their noise softened into something almost tender, you allowed the wondering.

You let yourself ache for the impossible. To imagine, just briefly, what it might feel like to stand in the warmth.

And then, as always, you turned back into the branches, into the dark, into the small and silent shape of someone who was never meant to be seen.

You stay in the tree long after they pass, eyes tracking the shape of them as they disappear into the thicket, the way James’s silhouette leads, the way Sirius shifts slightly to support more of Remus’s weight without ever making it seem like a burden. 

They speak in low voices, too distant for words to reach, but the rhythm of their steps is steady, if uneven, and for a moment you allow yourself to believe they’ll be alright.

Still, you follow.

You shift in the branches, feathers settling against your sides as your body lightens, stretches, and then lifts, black wings cutting through the night with soundless ease.

You dart above the treetops, careful to stay far enough that they won’t hear the flutter of your passage, but close enough that you can still see them through the breaks in the canopy.

You watch as Sirius ducks beneath a low-hanging branch—too low, it turns out. The edge catches his shoulder, just barely, and he swears under his breath.

James chuckles while Remus winces and lets out a soft noise you can’t quite hear. They all pause for a beat, just long enough for Sirius to adjust his grip around Remus’s back.

And that’s when you see it.

The glint of something small and dark tumbling from Sirius’s cloak as he shifts. It falls soundlessly into the underbrush, half-hidden by shadow and leaf, but you catch the flicker of it all the same.

A button. Round, worn, and gleaming faintly in the moonlight as it lands near the base of an old root.

They don’t notice.

They keep walking, unaware, their laughter returning faintly on the wind as they near the edge of the woods.

You watch them for a few more moments—watch as James pushes the castle door open with his shoulder, as Sirius leans close to say something low into Remus’s ear that makes him sigh softly despite himself.

Their backs retreat into the stone, swallowed by the warmth of the light spilling from within.

Only once the door swings shut behind them do you move.

You dive, wings spread in a wide curve, and land beside the tree root. The button sits half-buried in moss, still holding the faint warmth of Sirius’s coat.

You press your beak against it, tilting your head. It’s not much, just a lost scrap. An unremarkable little thing that no one will miss.

You nudge it into your beak carefully, curling your claws against the bark to steady yourself. The metal is cool, and a little heavier than it looks. A strange weight for something so small.

You glance up once more toward the castle, just to be sure. And that’s when you see him.

Sirius.

He’s paused in the doorway, slightly turned, head tilted back toward the woods. His eyes scan the tree line..

For a second, your eyes lock—his wide, gray, still crackling with whatever storm he always carries behind them, and yours small and dark and unblinking.

Then he gives a tiny tilt of his head, just barely perceptible, like a question. 

Then he turns and disappears into the castle all the same.

And you lift your wings again, button tucked in your beak like a treasure, and fly after him—back toward the tower.

The days that followed blurred into one another with a kind of quiet that felt dreamlike. Nothing monumental had happened, but something within you had shifted.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just curiosity, perhaps. A trick of loneliness. A moment that would fade if you left it untouched. After all, you didn’t really know them.

And yet, your gaze sought them in every room. You lingered in places you normally passed through.

You didn’t know how to name the feeling that followed you. It was not love, not yearning, not anything so clear. Just a soft ache that fluttered behind your sternum whenever they looked your way.

So you tried to smother it gently, the way you always had, with quiet rituals and familiar comforts.

That afternoon, the castle pulsed with early spring. Laughter echoed through open halls, and golden light spilled across the stone like a secret.

You had left the library later than usual, the small wooden box clutched protectively to your chest, your bag slipping slightly off your shoulder as you hurried to make it down the hallway before the rush swallowed you. 

You weren’t paying close attention to where you were going. Your fingers curled tightly around the lid of the box, and your thoughts, once again, had drifted far ahead of your body

You didn’t see them until you collided.

Your shoulder struck something solid—someone’s chest—and your breath caught in your throat as the impact jarred the box from your hands.

The lid sprang open, and in an instant, a hundred small fragments of your quiet world tumbled across the cold stone floor.

Buttons scattered in all directions, clinking and skipping like startled birds, tiny kaleidoscopes of color and shape spinning out across the corridor.

You dropped to your knees with a sharp breath, heart racing, hands frantically collecting what you could before they rolled too far.

You reached for them with trembling fingers, too humiliated to look up, your mind already preparing for the laughter, for the awkward glances, for the words you’d have to stumble through.

But the first voice you heard was warm, low, touched with a gentle humor.

“Are you okay, love?,” came the voice, unmistakably Remus Lupin’s.

Your breath froze.

You looked up slowly, dread tightening behind your ribs—and there he was.

Remus stood just above you, tall even when slightly tilted from the weight of his cane, his soft knit sweater stretched slightly across his frame, the collar turned wrong in a way that made your fingers ache to fix it. 

His gaze was steady, unreadable, but not unkind—warm in that quiet, bone-deep way he always seemed to carry, as if the tiredness in him was ancient and affectionate and chose what it wanted to notice.

Beside him, Sirius Black was already crouched to the floor, hair falling in black waves around his cheekbones as he reached for one of the stray buttons—a glossy red one with a cracked side. He held it between his fingers and tilted his head as he offered it out to you.

“I think this one belongs to you,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice—not mocking, not teasing, just bright and real and somehow far too much for your chest to hold at once.

You reached for the button slowly, your fingertips brushing his for a second too long. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Sirius turned the button once more between his fingers before letting it go.

“This looks exactly like the one I lost the other night,” he said thoughtfully. “Coat got caught on a branch, and I remember it falling.”

You blinked, your mind scrambling to build some sort of casual response. “Oh. That’s… funny. What are the odds?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion, but only smiled. “Yeah. What are the odds.”

Remus’s voice broke in again, quiet but curious. “Do you usually carry a whole collection around with you?”

You glanced down at the box in your lap, half-full, many of the buttons still scattered across the stone. 

“I collect them,” you said. “I find them, and rescue them, I guess.”

Sirius leaned closer, crouching again, interest flickering in his expression. “You rescue them?”

“Yeah, I just think buttons are really cute,” you said softly, cheeks warming. .

There was a pause, quiet and weightless, suspended like a held breath.

Then Remus smiled, slow and gentle. He leaned down slightly, balancing his cane with practiced ease, his gaze steady as it met yours. 

“I think you’re really cute,” he said, voice low but certain, as though he were stating a simple fact rather than handing you the sun.

Your breath caught. The heat in your cheeks flared instantly.

Sirius, still crouched beside you, let out a bark of laughter. “Moony,” he said, grinning wide, “you’re absolutely flustering her.”

He then picked up a button shaped like a starburst and turned it over in his hand.

“Do they have names?” he asked, half-smiling.

You hesitated again, but they were both still looking at you like they genuinely wanted to know. And so—shyly—you nodded.

“That one,” you said, pointing to the pink with the curved edges, “is Dai. The red one is Cheri, the little navy blue one is Ruxy, and the green swirl one is Teo.”

Sirius grinned. “Ruxy looks like a cutie.”

“She is!” you said automatically, and then blushed again.

Remus gave a small laugh—barely audible, but sincere.

And then Sirius’s gaze flicked back to you, brighter now, edged with something that felt almost like a secret.

“Well then,” he said, voice low and amused. “Can I have a button named after you, Miss Ravenclaw?”

The words hit you all at once. You stared at him, mouth parting slightly.

“I—um. You can have the whole box,” you said too quickly. “If you want, I don’t mind.”

Sirius laughed, rich and surprised, eyes narrowing just slightly as he leaned in a little.

“All of them?”

“They’d be safe with you,” you answered, almost without thinking. “With you and Remus.”

Remus looked at you again, gently. “But I thought you said they were precious.”

“They are,” you murmured, your fingers curling tighter around the box. “But I think they would be safe with you.”

Sirius leaned back, something like admiration flickering behind his lashes.

You didn’t quite know what to do with the way they were both looking at you.

And just when the silence stretched a little too long, a voice called from the far end of the corridor—“Oi! Sirius! Remus!”

All three of you looked up.

James Potter stood down the hall, grinning, fingers laced with Regulus Black’s in a way that felt less surprising than it should have been. Regulus looked vaguely annoyed, but didn’t pull away.

Remus stood first, then Sirius, both of them brushing imaginary dust from their sleeves.

Before turning to leave, Remus looked down at you once more, his expression softer than it had been all afternoon.

“Buttons like these,” he said gently, his voice as low and warm as a lullaby, “are safest with someone like you.”

He smiled once more, and then he was gone—walking beside Sirius, their shoulders brushing as they headed toward James and Regulus, leaving you behind with your heartbeat in your throat and your button box held close to your chest like it had just turned into something more than what it had been that morning.

In the days that followed, you found yourself seen in ways you had not expected. It was never loud or showy. Just the kind of noticing that lingered in the spaces between things. 

Sirius would greet you with a grin that curved wide, his laughter always arriving half a beat early, as though he had been waiting for yours. 

Remus had a different quiet, a warmth that never needed words. He would glance at you across the Great Hall, the corners of his mouth tilting up slightly, as though something about your presence softened the sharpest parts of his day. 

Their light caught you even when you were not trying to catch it.

And somehow, you found yourself orbiting them without realizing when it had started. You did not speak of it. You simply moved in tune with it, steps quieter, glances longer, as though gravity had chosen for you.

But on full moon nights, the gravity changed.

You could never remain in the Ravenclaw dormitories, not when the thought of them beyond the walls left your chest tight and your sleep restless. So you became what magic had allowed. 

You shifted. Feathered and silent, you slipped into the dark as a crow, wings slicing through the wind with singular purpose.

You did not follow too closely. You never let yourself be seen, but you watched. You hovered high in the trees, a shadow among branches, waiting for their safe return.

It was not out of duty. It was something far deeper, far stranger. It was worry, but it was also something you refused to name.

Especially when it came to Remus.

There was something about the way he moved beneath the moonlight that left you breathless. Something quiet and aching, something wild and controlled all at once.

It drew you in the way a fire does to someone who has always lived in the cold. You had not meant to fall into such devotion, but you did.

What you had not meant to do was get caught.

You had not seen the branch until it was too late. It had splintered beneath your landing, sharp as a blade, and pierced clean through the delicate bones of your crow’s foot.

You had cried out, a sound that belonged to neither bird nor girl, and now you are trapped. Your leg is twisted, impaled through the narrow branch, wings fluttering uselessly, body trembling from pain and fear.

The forest is deep and dark around you. The sky is heavy with clouds. The world below is quiet in the way that makes sound feel impossible.

You try to pull free, but it only burns. You try to breathe, but each breath comes thin and shaky.

You had come to protect. You had come to be sure they were safe.

And now, you are the one in danger, and no one knows you are here.

Remus was lying curled in the grass, his body trembling with the aftershocks of transformation. His skin was slick with sweat, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. 

James crouched beside him, murmuring something too low to hear, while Sirius stood just behind, watchful and steady, arms folded tightly across his chest.

They were preparing to carry him back—like always. The routine had become muscle memory by now: someone took his shoulders, someone his legs, and they would move through the underbrush in silence, just three boys and the weight of what they refused to name.

You watched from above.

You always watched.

Perched in the tree line, your feathers damp and trembling, your heartbeat a staccato against the splintered wood that held you. The pain was sharp now—constant.

The branch had pierced clean through your crow’s leg, the wound throbbed with each flutter, and your small body had begun to lean sideways from exhaustion. 

You really were trying not to fall.

You tried to call out again, but the sound was strange and half-formed, stuck somewhere between your beak and your pain. You blinked, dizzy and panicked, watching Remus blink slowly up at the trees, unaware that you were breaking just above him.

Sirius glanced up. It was casual at first, a flicker of curiosity. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze lingering.

"There's a crow watching us," he muttered.

James looked up too. “Bit early for birdwatching, innit?”

“Looks hurt,” Sirius added, voice quieter now, cautious. “Wing’s twitching.”

“Probably just spooked by us.”

But Sirius didn’t look away.

You wobbled again, wings fluttering helplessly, and this time the pain stole your breath entirely. Something gave—a soft sound, barely audible—but Sirius stepped forward like he heard it anyway.

“That’s not normal,” he said, a strange edge to his voice. “That—James, that bird's not flying off.”

James straightened, still holding Remus’s arm draped over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s not scared of us. It’s watching us. Bleeding, even.”

You blinked again, vision swimming. The pain was starting to blur the edges of things.

And Sirius had always been sharper than he let on. He stepped forward, squinting up into the tree line, eyes narrowing. “It’s too still, like it’s waiting.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach turn.

They didn’t know you had followed them—every full moon, without fail. That you had shifted the second they were gone, just to make sure they were okay. That you stayed out of sight. That it wasn’t a coincidence, the way a crow always seemed to circle above them at the end.

They didn’t know because you’d never told them.

Because what would they say?

The shy Ravenclaw girl who barely spoke at meals. Who had feathers hidden beneath her skin and a fondness for strange winds. 

You hadn't meant to be seen.

You hadn't meant to fall.

And now, all it took was one branch and one mistake to unravel it all.

Sirius took a step closer.

“Something’s not right,” he said, voice low now. “I’m going up.”

“Pads—” James started, but Sirius was already reaching for a low limb, already climbing, already listening to something he couldn’t name but couldn’t ignore.

Sirius climbed carefully, boots pressing against bark slick with moss, one hand braced on a branch as he narrowed in on the trembling bird.

The crow didn’t flinch. It only watched him with dark, glassy eyes, chest rising unevenly with every breath. Its feathers were ruffled, one wing visibly twitching from strain, its claws caught by a jagged splinter of wood. The wound had darkened the bark below it with a smear of blood.

And beside it, nestled in the fork of two branches, was a small, uneven nest.

A nest filled with buttons.

Sirius froze.

Red. Pink. Navy. Green.

His breath hitched.

Cheri. Dai. Ruxy. Teo.

It struck him like a gust of cold wind, the memory rising all at once—how you had shown him those buttons in the quiet corner of the hallway when you bumped into him and Remus, your voice barely above a whisper, explaining that you named the small things you kept close. 

He looked back at the crow, still trembling, and his chest clenched with certainty.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low but sure, “it’s you.”

And in the seconds that followed, you shifted.

Feathers melted into skin. Wings collapsed inward and became arms, trembling and bruised. Your body curled in on itself, still perched awkwardly in the tree, leg bloodied and twisted at an angle that made Sirius’s stomach flip. 

You clutched the branch with shaking fingers, hair matted and face flushed with effort and something deeper—shame, thick and suffocating.

You didn’t cry from the pain. Not even when your injured leg gave a sharp spasm, tearing through the nerves like fire, or when your fingers trembled uselessly against bark still sticky with your own blood.

You cried because you had been seen.

It had always been the one thing you wished for. The softest, most secret ache of your childhood.

To be seen. Not glanced at, not acknowledged in the polite way professors nod at a raised hand or classmates murmur a distracted hello—but truly seen.

To be noticed with intention. To be understood in your full, strange shape. You had begged for it in silence, prayed to stars without names, asked the moon to make you visible.

And now the universe, in its crooked wisdom, had answered. You had been seen—bloodied, exposed, and caught in your smallest truth.

You had sat through years of being overlooked, of having your voice mistaken for wind or your presence mistaken for absence. You had learned to expect it, but never stopped wanting otherwise.

You had begged, in ways that did not involve words, to be noticed

And now, here you were.

Revealed in trembling flesh and blood. Not behind a desk, not through the soft offering of a smile or a story or a named button—but like this.

Injured, fragile, unraveled, and caught.

They had seen you, truly seen you. Not the version you curated in classrooms or in hallways with quiet nods and subtle glances. They had seen the strange bird who followed them into the night.

The girl who built nests out of threadbare things. The one who had watched them like they were made of light and belonged to a constellation she would never be brave enough to touch.

And it was cruel, wasn’t it? How the universe had finally answered your oldest prayer, but in the wrong language.

How being seen could still feel like being misunderstood.

You hadn’t wanted them to think you were weak. You hadn’t wanted their pity or confusion. You hadn’t wanted their worry to be born from the sight of your blood or the way your hands shook. You hadn’t wanted to be caught.

You had wanted them to understand.

You had wanted them to see the quiet devotion threaded through every watchful flight. The care behind every shadowed perch. The love it took to stay hidden when every part of you wanted to land at their side.

But now that they had—now that they had seen the part of you you kept hidden beneath feathers and wind—you wanted to disappear all over again.

Isn’t that the tragedy of it? That the very thing you once begged for could arrive in a form you didn’t recognize. That after all the aching, all the hoping, all the prayers you sent to unseen gods, being seen could still feel so much like being misunderstood.

And yet, even in that moment, even with shame biting at the edge of your vision and tears sliding down your cheeks, part of you still clung to the hope that perhaps—just perhaps—they hadn’t misunderstood you after all.

“Hey—hey. Look at me,” A voice low but urgent breaks through your haze.

Hands find your face, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes with a softness that makes something in your chest splinter further. 

“Don’t cry, love. Please don’t cry. You’re alright. You’re safe. I’ve got you, just breathe with me, yeah? Just stay with me.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you. His gaze holds yours, steady and unwavering, the kind of look that feels like being tethered—pulled back to something real, something warm.

You barely notice Remus limping toward you until he drops beside the branch, breath catching in his throat.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and his voice breaks around the edges. “Is it your leg? Are you hurt? Y/N—what happened?”

You can’t answer, not right away. Your mouth opens, then closes again, but Sirius is still there, crouched in front of you, hands steady despite the thudding panic you can feel rising in both your chests.

He speaks again, softer now. “You—you’ve been watching us? All this time?” His voice trembles with something between awe and heartbreak. “Alone? During every full moon?”

You nod once, a small, broken motion, tears slipping down your cheeks in silence. Your jaw is clenched so tightly it aches.

“I didn’t want you to know,” you whisper. “I thought—if you saw me, it’d be weird or pathetic, or—”

He cut you off gently, reaching out to cup your cheek with a care that made your throat tighten.

“Pathetic?” he echoed, incredulous. “Pathetic? Y/N, you’ve been dragging your body into the sky just to keep us safe. You bled for us tonight. You’ve been doing this alone. That’s not pathetic—that’s... that’s fucking brave.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Below, James appeared at the base of the tree, voice rising in concern.

“Sirius?” James shouted. “Is it hurt? Is it—wait, where are you?”

“It’s Y/N!” Sirius called back down. “It’s her. She’s an Animagus.”

“What?” James’s voice cracked. “What do you mean it’s her?”

But Sirius wasn’t listening anymore. He was already helping you into his arms, cradling your body close with infinite care, his hand pressed protectively to your injured leg, holding you like something precious and breakable. 

He whispered reassurances as he climbed down, slow, careful steps that betrayed the panic beneath his steady hands.

By the time Sirius’s boots hit the earth again, Remus was already beside him.

His breath came ragged, the lingering tremors of the transformation still curled in his limbs

Now, standing just steps from you, Remus looked like the ground had given out beneath him. All the color had drained from his face, but it wasn’t just shock. 

You tried to speak, but the moment Sirius set you down gently in the grass, Remus was already kneeling, like his body had moved before his mind could catch up.

“Y/N?” His voice cracked, hoarse and thin. “What—what happened? What were you doing out there?”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. Not with the weight of both their gazes pressing into your skin. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” he repeated, the word leaving his mouth like it tasted wrong. “You’ve been following us? While I’ve been transforming? Every full moon?” His breath hitched. “While I was—”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry,” you whispered. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

Remus inhaled sharply and let it go like a wound reopening. His hand hovered near yours, trembling. Then he reached for you anyway, brushing your hair back from your damp, dirt-streaked cheek.

His fingers paused near the scratch below your ear, reverent, aching.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said, softly but with conviction, like he was swearing an oath he never should’ve forgotten. “You shouldn’t have had to hide this. You didn’t have to hide this.”

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” you murmured, tears threatening again.

“We understand now,” he said, brokenly. “And it shouldn’t have taken blood for us to see it.”

Sirius’s jaw was clenched so tight it trembled. Remus’s voice was frayed, but firm. And both of them looked at you like you had done something immeasurably brave. Like you were worth mourning, protecting, holding—everything.

You finally looked up at them, eyes glassy, face streaked with tears and dirt and disbelief.

Sirius exhaled sharply, pressing a kiss to your temple. Remus closed his eyes, his hand settling gently over yours.

James crouched nearby, still stunned, but his voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “Next time, you don’t watch us from the trees. Next time, you’re down here with us.”

The walk back to the castle was slower than usual. Not because the path had changed, or because the forest was any darker than it had been—but because something between the three of you had shifted.

Sirius carried you most of the way, arms secure beneath your back and knees, murmuring quietly each time you winced, while Remus walked close beside him, watching your face as though afraid it might disappear. 

James had gone ahead to clear the way and fetch Madam Pomfrey, but you hardly noticed his absence.

Your body ached, but it was the tightness in your chest that throbbed hardest. You had never meant for them to know, not the Animagus form, not the secret flights, and certainly not the nest tucked into the trees like a childhood you’d never outgrown.

By the time Sirius set you down gently on the edge of the infirmary bed, your throat was dry from trying not to cry again.

Remus didn’t speak at first. He just knelt beside you, hands gentle as he peeled away what was left of your sock and began tending to your leg. His fingers were deft but soft, brushing the dried blood away with a damp cloth, jaw clenched as he examined the wound with quiet intensity.

You hated the silence. You hated how heavy it felt.

“I’m sorry,” you said, the words breaking free before you could stop them. “I know it’s weird. I know I’m weird. I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

Sirius, who had been standing nearby, leaned forward suddenly, resting one hand on the mattress beside your hip.

“Stop,” he said, firm but not unkind. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize for being the one person who cared enough to follow us into the dark.”

Your breath caught.

“I just… I didn’t want to be a burden,” you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath. “I didn’t think you’d understand.”

Remus’s hands paused in their careful rhythm as he finished unwinding the gauze. He looked up slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet but certain.

“Y/N, if you truly believe we’d ever mock you for caring—for watching over us in the only way you could—then I’ve clearly failed to show you the kind of man I am, and the kind of man I hope to be.”

Your fingers curled in your lap. “I watched you,” you whispered, eyes flicking toward Remus. “Every month. I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there. I just... needed to make sure you came back.”

Remus didn’t look away. He soaked the cloth in warm water and pressed it gently to your scraped skin with hands that trembled slightly—not from fear, but from how much he was holding back. “You never needed to explain that,” he said. “But I’m glad you did.”

Sirius moved closer, silent until now. He sat down beside you on the bed, his palm finding the small of your back, grounding you.

“You watched over us,” he said, his voice low and rough at the edges. “Even when we didn’t ask. Even when we didn’t know. You broke your body trying to keep us safe. And you’re still sitting here thinking we might call you strange for that?”

You looked up at him then, wide-eyed, voice shaky. “I mean... I collect buttons. I sleep with open windows so I can hear the wind. I speak to animals. I—I’m not exactly—”

“Normal?” Sirius offered, a half-smile playing at his lips. “Good. We’re not either.”

Remus finished wrapping your leg and looked up, expression softening like a wave pulling back from shore. “You think we’ve spent all these weeks noticing you for no reason? You think we didn’t see the way you listen more than you speak, or how your eyes always catch the smallest things—the things no one else notices?”

“You care in ways no one else ever has,” Remus added, more gently now. “You cared about me in a way I didn’t know how to accept until right now.”

Your breath caught. “Wait… are you saying...?”

Sirius laughed under his breath and leaned a little closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Love, we’re saying we’ve been completely enchanted by you for ages. We just didn’t know how to say it until tonight.”

You blinked, stunned. “Really?”

“Really,” Remus said, his voice warm. “In every way that matters.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came. Your throat was too full of something tender, too new. 

Remus leaned closer, his voice softening. “Listen to me,” he said. “You don’t have to hide yourself from us. Not your wings, not your magic, and certainly not your quiet. We like you—we care about you—for everything you are. You’re not strange, love.”

Your lip trembled.

“And the button nest?” he added, grinning now. “It’s the most heartbreakingly you thing I’ve ever seen. That nest in the tree… it wasn’t weird. It was beautiful.”

Sirius smiled, something quiet and bright in his expression. “Well, we were talking about it on the way back—Remus and I, and if there’s ever room for two more in that nest, we’d be honored to be named and to be part of something you created.”

You blinked. “You want to be… buttons?”

“Not just buttons,” Sirius said, bumping his shoulder gently against yours. “Your buttons.”

Remus looked up then, meeting your eyes with something deep and sure and aching in its sincerity. “If we’re lucky, maybe you’ll even give us names.”

You looked down at your lap, hands trembling in your lap, and then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, tentative but real.

“You can be in my button nest,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

And for the first time, it wasn’t just that someone had seen you.

It was that they had recognized you — all the strange, quiet, fragile pieces you’d kept tucked behind your ribs, the ones you had never dared to name aloud.

They hadn’t flinched from your softness, or your silence, or the wild devotion stitched into the things you loved. They had understood it. And more than that, they had chosen it. 

Chosen you.

You had spent your life making altars out of small things. Buttons, feathers, the hush between words. You had prayed in your own language — not in churches or temples, but in the way you noticed everything others overlooked. You had asked the world for so little: just to be held in return. 

Just to matter to someone the way you had quietly, unfailingly let others matter to you.

And for so long, the world hadn’t answered.

But maybe it was not that it hadn’t heard you. Maybe it had simply taken time.

Because now, without asking, without performing, without even meaning to — you were seen. Not in passing, not in pieces, but fully, tenderly, and without having to translate your love to the world.

You were no longer a distant thing. 

And perhaps, after all, the universe had been listening the entire time.

Now, it had spoken , softly and reverently, in the form of two boys who looked at you as if you were something celestial stitched into the earth. 

After all, the button nest had always been waiting for them too.

a/n:

to the readers with soft hearts and quiet hopes; may someone see your soul the way you see the world. to the readers who love gently, who notice everything, and who wait, patiently, to be noticed in return; may your button nest always be full ❤️‍🩹

-dalia

[hoziercult]

When The Levee Breaks

You can't seem to watch your mouth tonight.

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: female!Reader x Hozier

Tags: Smut (18+!), breeding kink, dirty talk, piv sex, creampie my beloved

Beta by the lovely @uprightpillar

Read it on AO3

Transmasculine reader version

You’d never been in a building this nice in your entire life. You weren’t even sure what the building was. It seemed like the kind of mansion that would have gotten the owner guillotined some hundred years ago. Every hallway you walked down was fancier than the last, with sprawling corridors filled with windows, cavernous ceilings covered with murals, and ornate chandeliers that glowed dimly. The guests who walked among you were just as elegant as the building itself – people you would describe as high society.

“I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb,” you mumbled to Andrew, sitting next to you at your table.

“Half the people here feel the same way.” He gestured at the crowd with the glass of whiskey in his hand, before taking a sip and grimacing. He was clad in a tux that looked phenomenally uncomfortable, but god did it make him look ravishing.

It was someone’s wedding, the reception, a friend of someone or other of Andrew's, clearly someone with outrageous amounts of money to blow. You didn’t know them, and you didn’t particularly care to. Andrew wasn’t all that interested in the proceedings either, opting instead to keep a low profile and talk to you. Or, as low a profile that someone of his size could keep. He hated events like this. Hated wasn’t even a strong enough word – he loathed this type of gathering.

You could see it on his face, in the subtle disdain that glinted in his eyes, in the way he was drinking just a bit more than he normally would. You didn't mind a wedding, in fact, you tended to thoroughly enjoy them. But any gathering of this level of opulence was borderline unbearable for you. The only reason the two of you hadn’t left yet was optics. And the only thing that made it even somewhat bearable was the live band, crooning out covers of classics that Andrew seemed to somewhat enjoy, but few of which you knew.

You caught yourself zoning out, staring at one of the murals on the ceiling. When you finally snapped back to reality, you looked over at Andrew, who was already staring at you. He had a look on his face, one you’d seen before but couldn't read.

“What?” You asked with a soft smile.

“You just look quite nice tonight, is all.” He returned the smile, reaching over to give your thigh a squeeze.

“Thank you, love.” You gave him a soft smile. “And you look…” you raked your eyes over him, feeling a prickle in your skin at just how good he looked. His hair, cooperating today in the best way, pulled half into a bun with the rest tucked behind one ear. His outfit, the tux he kept in the back of the closet, his jacket undone as he reclined back in his chair, his legs crossed at the ankle, one hand holding his glass and the other dangling down to the marble floor. “You look like…I wish you’d dress like that all the time.”

“Tough luck, darling. You’ll have to drag me by the hair to get me in a suit like this within the next six months.”

You leaned a bit closer to him, propping your elbow up on the table to lean your head against your hand. “I bet you’d like that, hm?”

A flash of something passed over his face, imperceptible to all but you, there one moment, gone the next. He squinted at you over the rim of his glass before he spoke. “Don’t start. This is already bound to be a long night.”

“Start what?” You batted your eyelashes at him, playing dumb in the way you knew drove him crazy, for better or for worse.

"That."

"I don't know what you mean." You gave a little pout, and reached for your glass on the table, filled with some wine, you couldn't remember what kind and didn't care. "I just think you'd like the thought of me…" you reached out to twirl a finger in one of his curls, his hand coming up to wrap gently around your wrist. "Pulling at this pretty hair."

It was all bluster and both of you knew it. You would be doing nothing of the sort, unless he decided to allow you to use your hands while he was buried between your thighs. That is, if he even deemed you deserving of sex at all tonight. It was always a fine line you had to tread when teasing him like this. Just a bit too much, and he would genuinely punish you, by tucking you in to bed with nothing more than a kiss on the forehead. But just the right amount, and you'd be in a world of pleasure so perfect it would haunt you for weeks after.

He grabbed your wrist a bit tighter, and moved to stand up, pulling you along with him. He didn't say anything, only looking back at you with a soft smile as he pulled you gently along towards the center of the room. There, elegantly dressed partygoers danced slowly across the marble to the music. The band was playing some Frank Sinatra tune that seemed awfully cliché for an event so luxurious. The two of you disappeared into the crowd, all of them far too engrossed in themselves to even look in your direction. He stopped then, pulling you close with an arm around your waist, the hand on your wrist slinking up to cover your hand with his. It felt much more natural than you'd expected, when you rested your hand on his shoulder.

"What are we doing?" You asked quietly with a bit of a giggle as the two of you started to sway with the music, matching the movements of the other couples around you.

"Dancing," he answered plainly. "If you have more to say about what you'd like to do to me later, you can say it in a crowd of strangers."

It was a game now. A game of who would be braver, until the two of you couldn't take another second of the teasing. You had no intention of losing. "You want to hear more?" You asked, with that same fake innocence he loved.

"I'd be delighted, darling. Tell me."

"Well, I can't help but think about you taking this dress off me. It's terribly uncomfortable." You added a lilt to your voice.

"That so?" He smiled at you. "And those tights. Thigh highs, I presume?"

"Just the way you like it."

Your voices were quiet, drowned out by the chatter and music in the room, and you had no qualms that anyone would hear either of you. But it still made your cheeks flush with color, and sent a sick thrill through your body at the mere concept of someone overhearing.

"This dress really looks nice on you," he remarked, his thumb tracing circles into your back. "Maybe I'll have you keep it on. Pull it up just enough to do what I need to do, hm?"

"Weren't you the one who told me don't start?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"That I did." He nodded once. "And you started anyway, so now I have to play the game."

"We could end the game right now if you want. Right over that way…" you rested your cheek on his chest, pointing down a hallway with your gaze, which he followed. "There's a bathroom. And past the bathroom, a whole lot of empty rooms."

Laughter rumbled quietly in his chest. "A secret rendezvous in a dark corner of the chateau?"

You dragged your eyes back up to him, taking in the sight of him staring down at you. "Should I meet you down there in five minutes?"

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes with a smile when you pouted. "You want to know what I think?"

"What's that?"

“You’re hoping I fall for it.” He only gave you a cursory glance, before looking away at some unknown point in the room. “You’re hoping I snap, and I grab you by the wrist and drag you out of here, back to the hotel room, and I fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.” It sounded remarkably casual, coming from his mouth. “Is that right?"

His words made your stomach twist, your hand clenching against his like a vice, your eyes widening. You couldn't meet his gaze when he turned to look at you, averting your eyes so you only caught the way his hair swept over his shoulder. Your mouth opened and closed a few times, while you stumbled over a response in your mind.

“You don’t have to answer. I know I’m right.”

Your brow furrowed, and you finally looked at him to find that shit-eating grin on his face you hated. It made him look far too pretty for his own good. You choked on your words for a moment, before spitting out just one. “That’s–”

He cut you off with a shush. “Be good, baby. Maybe you’ll get what you want.”

As much as he loathed a social gathering, he enjoyed a game of teasing more than enough to outweigh any hatred. He kept you waiting as long as possible, leaving the venue with zero haste after making you wait what felt like hours. You wouldn't know, though – he wouldn't let you check the time. Little touches here and there gave way to whispered promises of how he was going to simply ruin you. It left butterflies dancing in your stomach, and you wondered if you hadn't bitten off more of his wrath than you could chew.

Those suspicions would be proven more than correct. When the moment came, he practically dragged you out of the front door, shoving you into the car, telling the driver to hurry, please. In the elevator up to your hotel room, he'd taken you by the shoulders and shoved you into the wall, his hand cradling the back of your head and the other wrapped delicately around your throat as his lips met yours. You'd think both of you had waited years for this, the way you ran out of the elevator the moment the doors opened, down the hall and to your room, smiles and giggles the whole way.

Now, hours later or minutes later, who could be sure? Your clothes laid in a pile at the foot of the bed, your shoes thrown haphazardly somewhere by the door. Earrings still dangled from your ears and your hair was still pinned into an updo. Andrew didn't mind, it just gave him more to grab while he rode you down into the mattress.

The air was thick with it, the scent of you and him. Nothing else existed, other than the glide of the sheets beneath your sweat-slicked body, and him. The sound of him above you was like music to your ears. The symphony of your breaths in sync, the drag of his cock in and out of you, noises so obscene you had a permanent blush stuck on your cheeks. And when he spoke, the words that came from him were so filthy, they would make angels turn away.

You’d long floated away on a cloud of bliss, everything coming through your vision as hazy, bright smears of colors. You’d collapsed onto your stomach, yet two firm, gentle hands gripped at your hips, managing to keep your ass in the air just enough. He'd not been able to keep good on his threat to keep the dress on you, at least not for very long – he'd wanted to see your body a bit too badly. You're pretty sure he broke something in the hotel bed when he threw you onto it, but neither of you cared.

He was keeping his pace slow, preferring to watch you slowly unravel. There was no rush to finish. He'd already coaxed an orgasm out of you, and you were already well on your way to a second one.

He leaned down, one hand next to your head to hold himself upright as he murmured in your ear. "How do you feel, love?"

The change in angle had you arching your back into the mattress and digging your already cramping fingers into the sheets. "Good," you gasped. "Really…really good."

He pressed kisses along your bare shoulders, sweat dripping from him onto your back, the sensation nearly too much. Resting his forehead on your back, he shifted again, pulling your hips up a bit more to give him access to your core. Every stroke of his fingers against your clit was like an electric shock, your whole body trembling, your mouth forming nonsensical syllables and sounds.

Inside your mind was a war zone. Every time you closed your eyes, shapes and colors fought to make themselves known behind your eyelids. Thoughts, or at least the suggestion of them, raced through you like drops of rain in a storm. You could only see each one for a moment before it was gone, leaving the trails of a shadow in its wake. Things you wanted, words you wished to say, you tried to reach out and tether them, but it was no use.

There was something you wanted, something that burned hot and bright at the edges of your consciousness, but the static of him was too loud, too much. You fought back for a moment, an attempt to clear your mind. "Andy," you whined, trying to force the words out.

"Yes, darling?"

"Take it off." The words tumbled from your lips. It was a request you'd made before, and one he had obliged more than once, yet you still braced yourself for rejection.

He didn't seem to process your request, or didn't understand. He just huffed out a "what?" in reply.

"The…the condom. Off."

His hips slowed, then stilled, and then he was pulling out of you. He didn't say a word, and he didn't have to.

You babbled out something, some nonsense about wanting to feel him, needing to feel him cum, praying your words made more sense to him than they did to you.

"Baby," he cooed, with a hint of a laugh. "Shh. It's alright. I'll give it to you." His voice was so smooth, every syllable like music to your ears. You wondered if you'd ever get used to hearing it. He slid the head of his cock, now bare, along your core, drenching it in the mess of wetness that coated you. "Is this what you want?"

You whined, pulling away for a minute, moving to flip yourself onto your back. Your body felt so heavy, every muscle taut and strained with heat and pleasure. He guided you, strong hands pulling you back between his legs, two hands on your thighs lifting you into his lap.

"Better?" He asked with a smile.

You nodded, taking in the sight of him. He was just so beautiful like this. The little hairs that framed his face clung to his forehead and cheeks with sweat, and a pink flush was painted across his cheeks. The way he was looking at you was primal, wild, like you'd taken off a leash. Now, as he pressed back into you, he seemed to barely be holding himself together.

"Talk to me," he breathed, his voice strained, his breaths coming quickly. "Tell me how it feels."

"So– so warm," you choked out, bringing your legs up to wrap around his waist despite how sore your hips already were. "Full, and…oh, god, I need you to…to…"

"I know, love." He wrapped an arm under you, pulling you closer, needing as much contact with you as he could get. "You need me to fuck you full of me, yeah?"

You slung your arms around his shoulders, whimpering out a string of yes, yes, yes into the side of his neck, taking in the scent of his skin. Shampoo, and cologne, and that unique scent that was just him, it was all so overwhelming and perfect.

His next words were quiet, murmured into your shoulder. "You want me to put a baby in you?"

Time paused. He faltered for a moment, pulling back just a bit to read your face, see if he had crossed a line accidentally. His brow was furrowed with worry. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could track them, your mouth hung open in a half-smile. The look on his face seemed like even he couldn't believe he'd said that.

"I'm sorry, that was–"

You cut him off. "Yes."

As you both tried to process it, every movement hit you both like a bolt of lightning, his arm wrapping around you a bit tighter and your legs pulling him in closer. This was new. This wasn't something you'd discussed in the past, some existing kink or some fantasy. But you wanted it. You wanted him to do exactly that.

Fighting against himself, he finally managed to find a steady pace again. "My sweet girl wants me to put a baby in her," he cooed.

You pulled him back in close, nearly trying to fuse the two of you together. Shaking with effort, your legs were pressed tight to his hips, your ankles locked together in some kind of primal need to keep him close. "Keep talking," you begged, digging your nails into his back.

"Keep talking?" He parroted. "Do you want me to tell you how often I've thought about this?"

This angle, the curve of his hips, the closeness, it was perfect. Somehow, there was just the right amount of pressure on your clit, just enough that you thought it might actually be enough to get you off. Combined with his words, smooth and slow and sweet like honey, it was plenty.

"Do you want me to tell you how I wish I could always fuck you like this?"

"Tell me," you choked out, sinking your teeth into his shoulder to try to keep some semblance of quiet. This was a hotel, after all.

"Wish I could just…knock you up, over and over again." Such vulgarity wasn't typically Andrew's style, but he was much too far gone to make it sound pretty. "You'd make such a wonderful mother," he whispered.

Heat rushed through you in response to his words. Stimulation came from every possible source, every one of your senses heightened and overwhelmed. All you could manage to do was draw short hiccups of breath that turned into whimpers as they slipped past your teeth. Your hands were all over him, just wanting to feel as much of him as possible, all at once. You looked and sounded crazed, but you didn't care.

"Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. You need it so badly, don't you?"

You were on the verge of tears now, every thrust reaching so deep you could probably see it if he wasn't pressed against you. Teeth buried in his shoulder, you managed to squeak out something like mhm.

"It'll be so nice and warm. And you'll take every last drop, right?"

You dug your fingers into his back so hard you wondered if your nails had broken the skin. You hissed out a yes, no other words present in your brain.

"Of course you will," he said, with a singsong kind of lilt. The only betrayal of his calm, collected demeanor was the stuttering of his hips, and the almost frantic pace he'd worked up to.

It felt like you were losing your mind. He'd already unraveled you, now he was just tangling your strings. You pulled at him fiercely when he started to pull back, your limbs too weak from the constant strain and flex to hold him. He sat back on his heels, looming above you, never once pulling out of you. He found his pace again quickly, barely missing a beat.

"How's that feel?" He asked, watching as your eyes slipped shut.

It was all just so perfect. Every minute of it. You took in what you could of him through the tears that stung your eyes and their half-lidded state. He'd left his hair half-up, and god did it look nice, the way it moved with each thrust of his hips. His eyes traced along every curve of your body, down to the way his fingers melded into your muscles when he wrapped a hand around your thigh.

The constant stream of little breathy moans came to a grinding halt when his palm pressed flat against the skin of your abdomen, feeling himself inside of you. For a moment you saw stars, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream, the pressure unbearable, the pleasure unfathomable.

"Oh, does she like that?" He asked, a smile on his lips, pressing down a bit harder.

It felt like the wind had been stolen from your lungs, and you had to fight to recall how to breathe. When he adjusted his hand a bit, circling his thumb across your clit with measured strokes, you thought you might just pass out. You were clenched tightly around him, your hands twisted in the sheets, your back arched off the bed.

"Love, if you keep squeezing me like that…" His fingers dug tighter into your stomach, a warning.

You were near tears now, that familiar coil quickly tightening in your stomach. "Please," you choked out, a single tear coming with the word.

"Please what?"

"Need– I need–" you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm. You could barely think, everything was so far away, and everything felt so good. "Fuck, Andy, baby, I…"

"Darling, shh, I've got you," he whispered. He took his hands off you, pulling you back into the position you'd been in earlier, his body caging you in, his hips rocking against your clit in that perfect way. "Is that better?"

You nodded against his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him again. It felt like home, being so close to him. "Need–" your words came out between gasps of air. "Need you to– to fill me."

He always loved it when you begged. "Sweet girl needs me to knock her up?"

With the way his body was rubbing against yours perfectly, you were already teetering on the edge. You let out a shaky breath, followed by a yes.

"You're gonna be my good girl and cum for me so I can put a baby in you, yeah?"

You groaned, scratching deep marks into his back, so hard you pulled a satisfied hiss from him. Every sense was overloaded, the scent of him, the taste of his skin on your tongue, the sound of the dirty whispered praises he fed into your ears. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling into your hair and scratching lightly against your scalp. It was a stark contrast to the brutal pace with which he fucked you, even as his hand shook with each movement.

It snuck up on you, your orgasm. And when it hit, it hit you like a fucking train. You gasped in a deep breath, letting it out in staccato bursts as he built you up and sent you tumbling off the edge. Nails digging into his back, your legs wrapping so tightly around his waist it left your legs trembling. He held you close, letting you scratch and thrash and cry out while he whispered words of praise into your ear.

"Good job, baby," he whispered. "You're okay, it's alright. I've got you."

You were still riding the last waves, limp in his arms as he fucked you through it. A gentle smile was stuck to your face, the all of it feeling just so perfect. He was close behind you, his rhythm already falling apart as you clenched and fluttered around him.

He didn't bother trying to choke out any kind of warning, the need for it long since gone. With a quiet whimper into the crook of your neck, his hips stilled, giving way to short, shallow thrusts as he spilled into you. It was everything you wanted, everything you'd imagined. You could feel it, the warmth and the pressure and the way his cock twitched.

The tears you'd been fighting finally fell, as you were struck with a sudden sense of completeness. When he finally pulled back enough to look into your eyes, you were sure you looked insane. But he didn't seem to care one bit, pulling you into a slow kiss, one that radiated love.

You were like jelly when he finally pulled out of you, your eyes only ever half-open as you watched him waddle off to the bathroom with a giggle. You were half asleep through the clean-up process, as he planted kisses along every inch of your body he could reach. When he finally slid back into bed with you, throwing the sheets over your bodies, it was blissful. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you in close, blanketing himself with the scent of your skin.

You'd have to talk about it in the morning, you knew. But for now, tangled up with him, both of you coated in sweat and lust, things were perfect.

[m00nlight-ramblings]

Talk

As a famous singer, you find yourself at the same terrible party as Hozier, but you two decide to do something about it.

Pairing: fem reader x Hozier

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v (protected) sex, fingering, 18+ MINORS DNI

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who waited for this one...I'm so sorry it took so long. Please enjoy, and remember, my inbox is open for requests!

This party sucked.

Somehow, at one of the biggest album release parties of the year, you found yourself bored out of your mind, sipping on a weak gin and tonic. Leaning against a corner wall, the bass of the music from the DJ vibrated through you as you watched other people dance – your bandmates were somewhere amongst them, but for whatever reason, you just weren’t feeling it. Maybe you were just in a mood, maybe it was the music (one good song for every ten awful ones), but you sipped your drink, checking your phone every so often until it became a polite time to excuse yourself. You could already taste the revelry of getting back to your house before midnight – pajamas, Thai takeout, and scrolling aimlessly on your phone while Grey’s Anatomy reruns played in the background.

Suddenly, you saw a head bobbing around the others in the crowd – standing what seemed like almost a full foot above everyone else, his thick, curly hair pulled back in a half bun, he smiled and tilted his head to the music distractedly. Your breath hitched for a moment as you saw him – you had seen Hozier at countless red carpets and events in the past year it seemed, but he was also more handsome than the last time. He turned his head and your eyes locked, making you blush, and making him smile. He gently pressed a hand on someone’s back to alert that he was making his way behind him.

As if the giant could ever go unnoticed.

“Hi,” He said as he landed next to you, sipping from his drink. Something brown and in a rocks glass, one giant ice cube anchoring the liquid.

Of course.

“I feel like I needed to come over and speak to you – we seem to orbit each other at basically every red carpet this year.” He spoke, seemingly reading my mind. You smiled.

“That’s funny – I was just thinking that.”

Hozier nodded and his eyes scanned the crowd before landing back at you. It was like he was staring into your soul. Extending a hand, he smiled, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m –”

“I know who you are,” You admitted, somewhat bashfully as you shook his hand. “I’m a big fan. I’m–”

“I know who you are,” He echoed, a smirk playing on his lips mischievously, “I’m a big fan.”

You could feel your blush deepen as his smooth words washed over you. His accent was enough for you to want to drop your panties, and his smile was already sending your head upside down.

“Your ‘Best New Artist’ win was well deserved,” He continued. “Your album was one of my favorites this year. Selfishly, I hope you guys are working on another one.”

“Wow, thank you,” You breathed, your heart thumping in your chest, “That means a lot coming from one of like, the best lyricists of our generation.”

“Ah,” Hozier waved his hand, bashful, “Come now.”

You cocked an eyebrow and smiled, “You’re going to write something like ‘I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found, I'd be the choiceless hope in grief, that drove him underground’ and not expect to be considered that?”

He simply shrugged and sipped his drink. He was blushing, embarrassed.

“This album was also very good,” He changed the subject, speaking of the current album release party. He cleared his throat, “Even though this party sucks.”

You laughed and gently grabbed his forearm in agreement, “Yes! What is that about?!”

“I think it’s the DJ,” He admitted, leaning into you, “The guys releasing this album are buddies of mine, but I’m starting to think if I need to end our friendship based on the DJ they picked for this party.”

“The music he’s playing is making me feel old,” You admitted, “I don’t know any of the songs, and I don’t seem to really like it, either. Is this what our parents feel like when we were listening to Good Charlotte and Britney Spears?”

“Not mine. My mom loves Good Charlotte.” His eyes twinkled.

You laughed. Your eyes fell on your bandmates dancing to the music, obviously drunk off of the expensive beer being served at the open bar. You were acutely aware of Hozier standing next to you, his heat seemingly radiating.

“Is it an inappropriate time to tell you that I think you look beautiful tonight?” He asked, his breath warm on your ear as he leaned down to whisper it. Shivers were sent down your back as he spoke. You turned your head and looked at him, trying to play it cool with the smile that played on your lips.

“Probably not, considering how I’ve been thinking about how handsome you look since I saw you from across the room tonight.” You retorted, titling your head. He smiled and nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd.

“I’m reminded of your beauty every time I see you at events,” Hozier said, his hand finding the small of your back, “And, admittedly, every time I scroll your Instagram feed.”

You laughed, “Hozier is my internet stalker, eh?”

“Can you blame me? That number you had on at the Grammy’s this year?” He made a face, whistling, “It took every ounce of strength not to follow your account as soon as you were done presenting on stage.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” You asked, almost interrupting him. He seemed taken aback, so you tried to backtrack, “I mean…in a bit. We could go somewhere where…the DJ doesn’t suck? After we finish our drinks.”

Hozier quickly chucked back the rest of his drink, putting the glass on the nearest table. “Let’s go.” He took your hand as you chugged the rest of yours as well, finding the spot next to his glass for yours.

He guided you through the party, his hand never leaving the small of your back. You felt heat rushing through you as you made your way to front door, and Hozier handed the valet his ticket. He turned to you.

“Did you drive here?”

You shook your head. “Car service.”

“Great. We can take my car then.”

As the valet pulled up in a sleek Audi, Hozier thanked him and handed him a large bill as a tip. He waited until you were situated in your seat before he slid into the driver’s side, closing his door and pulling into traffic. Some sort of blues-y jazz was coming through the speakers softly.

“So where are you kidnapping me to, Mr. Internet Stalker?” You teased, looking out the window at the lights of downtown L.A.

He smiled, “My hotel,” His voice was a low purr. You exchanged a glance as he leaned his head forward, in explanation, “The bar there is really nice. Live jazz band tonight. It’s mellow.”

You nodded and smiled. As your heart raced, you were trying to calm yourself down, fiddling with the clasp on the purse in your lap. Hozier’s arm was resting on the console in between you, and every so often, his hand inched closer to you. By the time he pulled into the swanky hotel parking lot, his large hand was resting gently on your thigh.

Your stomach was in excited knots.

After another valet exchange, Hozier took your hand and led you inside the hotel. It was grand and beautiful – a $500/night type place. To the right of the entrance was a beautiful restaurant, speakeasy in style. As promised, a four-piece band was set up in the corner of the bar, playing soft tunes and creating the atmosphere of an underground jazz club.

“Told you,” Hozier said, raising his eyebrows playfully, “And the drinks are great as well. Had one before the release party.”

“It’s really nice.” You awkwardly agreed. Hozier stopped for a moment, his face unreadable. He stood before you.

“I also have a minibar upstairs in my room, if you want something to drink.”

“Oh, that sounds much better.” The coil in your belly was itching to be sated, and you didn’t know how much you could play this cat-and-mouse game of will they/won’t they. For a moment, a darkness of lust flickered in his eyes, but he simply smiled and took your hand, leading you to the elevator. He scanned his room card and pressed the button to the top floor.

The air in the elevator was thick, heavy. You both stood facing the door, saying nothing. As the doors open and he led you to his suite, your heartbeat doubled in time. Flicking the lights on, he shut the door behind you, placing the lock in it’s place.

It took all of 30 seconds before your bodies crashed together, teeth clacking and moans erupting.

Hozier grabbed you and pushed your floor length dress up so they he was able to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed. Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair. You pulled back slightly, your breath ragged already.

“So what the fuck do I call you?” You asked, breathlessly.

Confused, he looked at you, “What?”

“I need to know what I’m saying when I scream your name later…is it Hozier, or is it Andrew?”

He barked out a laugh and bit your lip, “Andrew. Andrew is fine.” He pressed his lips on yours again, dropping on top of you as he guided you to the bed. His large hands ran their way up and down your waist, palming at the skin on your body. He was moaning, grunting into the kiss, as your tongues danced together. You felt his hands leave your waist and slip your heels off, your toes already curling.

Andrew pulled away and slipped off the tweed suit jacket he was wearing. He looked down at you as he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.

“So fucking beautiful,” He murmured, pressing hot kisses down your neck. “So fucking sexy. Every time I see you.”

You moaned and pressed your hips to him slightly, causing him to gasp lightly in surprise. He kissed down your neck, to your collarbone, gently slipping the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders. Licking a stripe from your neck to just above your breasts, he smiled, looking at you.

“Fuck,” You breathed, looking down at him. You watched as he stood, slipping off his shoes and socks next to the bed. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and slipped that off, revealing his thin, hairy chest. He was lean, built lithly but strong. Biting your lip, you stifled a moan. He was on you once again, pulling you into a kiss, his hand cradling the back of your neck. His other hand made quick work of the zipper on the back of your dress, and he shimmed it down, before sliding it off of you completely.

Revealing the intricate…shapewear…you wore underneath.

For a moment, both of you stopped breathing, looking down at the ugly, functional corset that covered your body. Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together before looking back at Andrew. Suddenly, both of you were in hysterics.

“I really wish I was wearing some sexy lingerie right about now.” You said, throwing your head back and cackling. Andrew laughed and peppered kisses on your cheeks, shaking his head as he undid the shapewear and took that off as well.

“That was brilliant,” He said, wiping a tear away from laughing, “What a fuckin’ reveal.” As he took it off, you were completely nude, your skin softly pressed against his fingers. He groaned as he took you in, “That’s much better.” His voice was back to husky, low.

He kissed you once more before his fingers found their way to your clit, spreading your legs gently. He didn’t take his eyes off of you as his fingers felt your wetness. Quickly, he inserted two fingers, pushing his long digits all the way in. You moaned and furrowed your brow as he didn’t move for a moment, letting you adjust.

“You’re so wet for me already, darlin’.” He purred, his forehead on yours. You whimpered and nodded. He started to pump inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Immediately you started to squirm, which made me smile.

“Jesus Christ, Andrew.” You said, your eyes flickering to his fingers moving in and out of you. Heat rose in you as you watched him, the pleasure evident on his face as he licked his lips. When your eyes found his again, you found him looking at you, and not his handiwork.

“I love seeing you like this,” He said plainly, “You’re so beautiful when you squirm.”

He increased his speed, causing you to buck your hips. He nodded, his eyes twinkling, as he continued to pleasure you with his fingers. He leaned down to kiss you – a hot, open-mouthed kiss, with his tongue finding yours immediately. You moaned into it as he curved his fingers inside of you and took your bottom lip in his mouth, sucking gently. Pulling away, he dipped his head and moved his tongue to your hardened nipple, sucking on the bud as your body started to convulse under him.

The coil in your belly was tightening, and fast. Your hips started to buck faster, your wetness pooling out on to his fingers. You started to repeat his name like a prayer, and as you moved closer to the edge, your hand found its way into his hair again, tugging lightly.

“I’m close.” You whimpered.

“I know,” He smiled, moving his mouth to your ear, “Come for me. Be a good girl.”

You gasped slightly at his words as the coil snapped, bucking your hips one last time before your orgasm sent waves of pleasure through you. You moaned loudly, gripping the back of his head tightly as he bit down on your earlobe, never stopping his fingers inside of you.

“That’s it,” He groaned, his voice raspy, “That’s it, pretty girl. Give it all to me. Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”

Your head swam and your heart raced, your eyes squeezed shut because you could focus. The pleasure that was spreading through you was warm, electric – it was one of the best orgasms you had ever had, and it was only with his fingers.

Jesus Fuckin’ Christ.

After a few moments, Andrew slipped his fingers out, causing you to open your eyes, your breath coming in heaving pants. He was smiling, obviously proud. Slowly, he licked his digits as he stood, moaning.

“Jesus, you taste delicious.” He said, looking at you. He undid the button and zipper on his pants, the obvious tent of his arousal very evident before he slipped them off. Down came his pants and boxer briefs, his large member springing free, wet with precum. He made his way over to a duffle bag thrown on a chair in the corner of the room and rifled through it, finally emerging with a condom in between his fingers. Opening it quickly, he slid it on himself, pumping himself a few times as he walked back to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Are you ready?” He asked, straddling himself in front of you, continue to stroke himself.

“Actually, if you’re not inside of me within the next few seconds I might lose my fucking mind.” You said, watching him. It was silly, but seeing him touch himself in front of you like that made him seem like a god. He smiled and crawled on top of you, slowly positioning himself at your entrance. As his tip teased your wet folds, you whimpered.

Finally, Andrew slid himself inside of you in a single thrust, his forehead finding yours again. Your moans filled the room, and as he started to pump inside of you, the familiar numb feeling of being filled spread throughout you.

“So good,” You said, closing your eyes and pressing your head to the pillow, “So, so good, Andrew.”

“That’s it,” He said, his breath hitching, “Wanna make you feel good. You make my cock feel so good.” He dipped his head in the crook of your neck as he started to slowly increase his pace, finding himself deeper inside of you. The sound of your wet skin slapping together filled the room, matched only by your breathy groans and his primal grunts.

“Fuck!” You shrieked, Andrew finding a particular spot that made your vision fuzzy. Andrew tilted his head up to look at you and he smiled.

“Yeah? Right there, darlin’?” He asked. You nodded, your brows knitted together. His hand found your chin, holding it roughly, “You like it when I fuck you right there?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Lemme hear you say it, baby.” He gently commanded.

“Fuck. Yes, Andrew, right there!” You said, unable to take your eyes off of him. His eyes darkened as he continued to fuck you, his face flushing.

“My name sounds so good on your lips.” He groaned, continuing to pump in you. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he continued to hit your spot. His hand moved from your chin to your tits, and as he pinched your hardened nipples, you moaned. His thrusts became erratic, irregular.

“You’re close already, aren’t you?” You toyed with him, taking a moment to bite down on his bottom lip, “My pussy so good you’re gonna come for me?”

“Fuck,” He barked, furrowing his brows, “You’re so fucking tight…you’re so wet…I’m gonna come soon. I’m close,” His face flushed deeper as he stared into your eyes, making your heart thunder in your chest. Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut, his head thrown back, voice parted in a silent moan.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you, the condom filling with his orgasm. He jerked his hips, almost a spasm, as he moaned your name. His hands gripped the pillows on either side of you, his biceps flexing. You smiled as he finally opened his eyes, almost in submission as he rode out his orgasm. Your hands found their way to his back, gripping him and bringing him closer.

A few moments went by as he stayed inside of you, trying to catch up with his breathing. He placed gentle kisses on your cheek lazily, finally rolling out of you. Standing, he quickly made his way to the bathroom to toss the condom and clean himself up, but laid next to you again, scooping you up in his arms.

“You’re fucking incredible.” He murmured in your ear, his Irish accent coming out with his tired demeanor. You giggled and looked at him, brushing a sweaty lock of hair behind his ear.

“I’m really glad that party sucked so bad,” You said. He chuckled, his eyes still closed. Opening one, he looked down at you.

“Me too…” He paused for a moment, drawing you closer, “Though, even if that party was fun, I still would’ve made my way over to you.”

“Yeah?”

Andrew nodded and shifted so he was propping himself up on his elbow, “Yeah. I had been trying to muster up the courage for like…three awards shows to come over and say hi to you, now. Months worth of time.” He was somewhat bashful. You blushed.

“Well I’m glad you did.”

“Me too.” He reached out and started to brush his fingers through your hair, and you couldn’t help the fluttering in your chest.

That party sucked. But you were glad it did.

---

A/N: I'm actually kind of obsessed with their banter and relationship...should I make this multiple parts?! I was originally only planning on doing this as a oneshot but I kind love them (teehee).

As always, comments and reblogs mean a lot if you liked this one <3 Thanks for reading

[upsidedownmvnson]

like the flowers in the kitchen | matt murdock

summary; you buy new lingerie to surprise your husband matt, and he loves it.

warnings: smut, sensual smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, oral (f receiving) unprotected sex, talks of babies/trying to get pregnant, so much praise, literally this is porn with very little plot, not edited was too excited abt it lol

"I want you to feel something," you said, walking into the living room where Matt was laid back on the couch, fingers tracing over some documents for a case he's working on.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, hands stilling as you sat on the edge of the couch. "What is it, love?"

"A surprise, just... tell me which one feels better." You picked one of the few scraps of fabric you'd come over with, "hold your hand palm up."

He did.

You placed the first piece of material on his palm, and he smiled when he recognized the silk between his fingers.

"Here, could you take these please, sweetheart," he asked, handing the small stack of papers over so you could put them on the coffee table. "I want to give this my full attention, I have the feeling it's a very important decision."

"Mhm," you smirked. "How does that one feel?"

"Soft," he mused, "feels good on the skin, wouldn't be too warm." Matt smiled, "but still nice. Like cool to slip into."

You smiled. Matt thought you were buying sheets, for once, once, you were one step ahead of your overly observant boyfriend.

But you had no intention of buying fancy sheets today.

"Next one," you said, taking the silk and placing down lace.

Matt scrunched his eyebrows together. "It's okay, not something I'd want to feel all night though."

"Hmm," you hummed, "okay, last one. I think you'll like this one most."

You replaced the lace with satin, and he smiled. "Would be a very nice choice. A little fancy for how the bed ends up for us though, no?"

"Just pick your favourite, not the most logical. I just want something nice."

"Well you, my love, were right as always. I like the last one the most, just feels the best in the my hand, yaknow? Between my fingers."

You narrowed your eyes at him, it was almost like he knew what you were up to. But he couldn't have. You'd been dropping hints at buying new sheets for two days now. You were trying to play the long game. You wanted to surprise him for a change. For a blind man, being Daredevil had made it nearly impossible for you to ever get the upper hand. But you think, hoped, you'd done it.

"Well, all right then." You ran your fingers through his hair, and your favourite boyish, dopey smile graced his face. "I'll be back in a few hours, don't work too hard while I'm gone."

"Yes, ma'm," he nodded, "any requests for dinner?"

"No," you said, running your fingers gently down his cheek til you were softly grabbing his chin. "Whatever you'd like."

You gave him back the papers he'd been working on, kissed his forehead, and left him on the couch.

Before you were heading out the door, you called over your shoulder, "any preference on colour?" And closed the door as he laughed loudly from the other room.

You weren't gone very long, a few hours like you had thought. You'd spent the afternoon in a lingerie shop, picking out something perfect for the evening. You had some already, of course, but nothing quite... soft enough, nothing that was special to the touch. You wanted something that fit you in just the right way in just the right places for Matt to run his fingers over.

The other ones you owned were fine, but he'd felt everything before. And you wanted to give him something to be excited about. Wanted to give him something extra. He'd been working so hard on a case this week and you just wanted to help him take his mind off of things this evening.

And recently, you'd been trying for a baby. And Matt had been so patient and loving with every attempt. Never made you feel bad for it not working yet, promised you it would happen when it's supposed to and you're doing everything right. He was the ideal man, ideal husband, the kind of guy you wanted to be around whenever possible. And trying was the most fun part.

When you'd finally settled on a few different ones, all made of the satin he preferred, you came home to Matt standing in the kitchen, cooking some pasta, looking sexy as hell chopping some veggies with a cloth slung over his shoulder.

"Hey sweetheart," he said, smiling before you even walked into the kitchen.

You coming home, safe and sound, always filled him with a sense of contentedness and relief. Just you two, being with each other, exactly where you should be.

"Nice time at the store?"

You hummed happily, dropping the bags by the counter and walking up behind Matt, putting an arm on his back and looking at the sauce he had cooking.

"Yes, I took my time and found something that was just right," you sighed, what he was cooking smelled divine. It was simple, but wonderful. Kind of like how it was being with Matt. You used to worry it would be hard, but something about it just wasn't. Something about it always felt right.

"You gunna tell me what it is you got?"

"You'll find out later," you said, patting his back a couple times, and moving away from him, grabbing the bags back up and walking to the bedroom.

Matt smiles, thinking you're going to change the sheets on the bed. And well, he was kind of right. You did end up buying new sheets, soft ones, comfy ones, but nothing crazy. You wanted him to be extra surprised, so you did change the sheets. Being extra sneaky, you tried to do it 'quietly,' acting like you were trying to hide it from him. There had to be layers if you were going to get one over on Matthew Murdock, the devil of Hell's Kitchen himself.

"C'mon baby! Food's ready!" Matt called down the hall, right as you finished slipping into the light purple outfit you'd bought. It was tight and thin enough over your chest and hips that he could feel it without it moving around too much, and loose over the thighs where he could slip his hand up your thigh and feel it ghosting over the back of his hand, with thigh straps that each had a little metal heart securing it, clipped onto thin soft stockings. You angled the hearts to be on the route his fingers usually take when he's kissing your neck and trying to slide his hand up your skirt.

"Coming!" you called back, straightening out the front of your skirt.

Now you just had to get through dinner without getting anything on it. You thought that him finding out you'd been wearing this in front of him would just excite him even more.

"Get everything done in there?" he asked, placing a plate for each of you on the table.

"Get what done?"

"Oh, you know. Whatever you were doing," he smirked. You really couldn't tell if he knew what you were doing. You'd done everything to mask it. You'd put your regular socks over top of the stockings in case is sounded different across the floor, slid into the seat across from him without being in arms reach, because if you were in arms reach he would always find a way to get his hands on you, and you'd walked with the fabric held down so he wouldn't hear it swishing around differently. It was like playing chess.

You didn't answer him, just continued watching him, his smile giving nothing away. "All right, fine, I'll try not to ruin the surprise then. Eat up, I feel like there's something important we'll have to do later."

"And what's that?"

"Oh I don't know, test drive those new sheets you got maybe," he grinned, laughing softly. "Are you pouting?"

"No," you pouted, arms crossed over your chest.

He just laughed, "eat your supper, it's gunna get cold."

Throughout the meal, the two of you held normal conversation, he told you what he could about the case, you told him the plans you had for tomorrow. You'd tried to slyly kick off your regular socks, so you could slip your leg over to his side of the table, brushing your toes up his pant leg, and running the soft material against his leg just above his sock.

"Hey," he mumbled, reaching down to catch your ankle before you could sneak away, and you giggled, trying to kick out of his grip, but he effortlessly pulled your leg up, making you slouch in your chair. "You got new socks too? Oh wait, no..." he ran his other hand up along the back of your calf, "stockings," he mused, sliding his back back down your leg. "Soft, baby, these are very soft." He leaned back, letting go of you, smile twitching at the corner of his lips as you dragged your foot slowly down his thigh, just to bring it back up again.

"Notice anything else?"

He brought his hand up to his mouth, finger running over his lips as he held his own chin. "Did I miss something?"

"I wouldn't say you missed it," you said, leaning forward in your chair to rest your elbows on the table, chin resting on your knuckles. Matt looked so pretty, his sparkling with wonder as he tried to figure out what you were hiding.

"What're you hiding, pretty girl? Hmm?"

"Since you think you're so smart, figure it out."

Matt raised an eyebrow, not moving an inch otherwise. "Figure it out, she says," he mumbled, voice getting lower and pants growing tighter. All he really wanted to do was run his hand up your leg again, and figure out how high those stockings went.

"I think I'm all done with my food," you said, pushing the plate a few inches away from you.

"Oh, I think I'm still very hungry," Matt smirked, chair squeaking as he drew back from the table. "And I think you're gunna have to help me with that."

"Want me to make you something else?" you chuckled, watching him come around the table.

"No," he said, grabbing your chair and pulling you away from the table as well. "I just want you to lay on those new sheets you got us and let me have you for dessert."

"I think I can do that for you," you said, putting your hand in his so could guide you to stand. You didn't get all of two steps before he grabbed you, slinging you over his shoulder with his arm wrapped around your thighs to stabilize you, as he walked you off to the bedroom. He hadn't said anything yet, maybe he was too caught up in the moment, or maybe his shirt was just hiding the feeling of the new fabric.

You laughed as he kicked the door to the room open, leaving it open wide behind him. He brought you over to the bed, crouching down to set you back onto your feet by the foot of it.

He sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to place a few chaste kisses along your knuckles. He tugged you to stand between his spread thighs, handing coming down to both of your knees, fingers spread on the backs of them.

"You stand right there, baby." Matt's hands ghosted down a few inches, then slid back up, fingers searching for the end of the fabric. When he found it, mid thigh he sighed, the frilly edges of the stockings making him lick his lips. He felt around the edge of the stockings with his thumbs, so softly like he was afraid of breaking it. When he got to the thin straps on the side, he followed them up, til his thumbs hit the metal heart. Your breath caught in your throat, his quiet exploration making your heart start racing.

"All this for me?"

You nodded, knowing he'd know.

He traced the hearts, now warm from resting against your thigh, then felt the thick straps holding them in place. One more inch higher and he'd feel the satin, but Matt was a patient man, and he'd be taking his time with this gift.

"What colour?" he asked, thumbs flicking the bottom edge of the thigh strap.

"Pink," you answered softly.

"Pink," he repeated, hands sliding down to your knees just to trace the exact same sequence back up, savouring the feeling. You put your hands on his shoulders, gently massaging the muscles, and he moaned, head falling back.

"You spoil me," he moaned, head lulling to the side, "absolute spoil me. All dressed up, baby, you're takin' me right to church."

"Keep going," you urged, thumbs digging into his tense muscles.

"Let me take my time," he whispered, head falling back into place, face determined, focused. "We've got nowhere to be tonight. Just right here," he sighed, fingers inching up higher, slower than he'd ever moved. His fingers hit the edge of the lingerie, and it was his turn to stutter. His breaths deepened, and his pinched the fabric between his thumbs and fingers, swirling it around in tiny circles to feel it.

"What colour?"

"Purple," you answered, moving closer to him so your stomach was pressed tight against his chest.

"Wait," He gripped your thigh in one hand, and leaned back, away from you, so he could use the other hand to pull his shirt over his head, "okay, come back." And you did, lingerie pressing against his bare body. "Fuck," he whispered, leaning forward to press his cheek onto your breast, taking a deep inhale to smell your perfume. Just a drop mixed in with water, not overwhelming, just like you knew he needed. "What kind of purple?"

"Light, so light it's almost white," you said, bringing your hands up to thread into his hair, following his lead with slow, ginger touches.

He moaned, fingers back to work on your body, holding the back of your thighs to press you tighter into him. One of his hands stayed above the fabric, settling over the curve of your butt, while the other slid up under the fabric caressing the plush skin there.

"So fucking soft," he mumbled into your breast, "So soft and pretty," he continued to mumble, placing kisses over you, lips almost quivering over the feel of the fabric against his skin. "And it's all for me, forever. I'm yours, pretty girl. I'll always be yours. Wrapped around your pretty fingers, whatever you ask of me, I'll do it. I'll do anything," he continued praising, muttering things that barely made sense as his brain went into overdrive feeling the edge of your panties, thin and soft and spread over your cheek tightly, wrapping up his favourite present. "What colour?"

"Pink," you smiled laying a few kisses to the top of his head, "also a light hue, like the flowers in the kitchen."

He huffed a shy laugh, "that picture is gunna come back into my head when I make coffee in the morning and I smell those damn flowers."

"I can move them if you want," you offered, fingers scratching gently at his scalp.

"Don't you dare."

He stands suddenly, hands gripping your thighs and pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist earning a whispered gasp from you, music to his ears. But he doesn't throw you on the bed, doesn't waste one precious moment of the feeling of you against him. Instead, he just brushes his nose against yours, your fingers grazing over the stubble on his chin, before cupping his cheeks to pull him into a slow, sensual kiss. Mouths moving slowly, his tongue sliding against your bottom lip, but he doesn't rush even this, even a dance you've practiced a thousand times.

Instead he crawls onto the bed on his knees, pulling away from your kiss to lay you sweetly on his side of the bed, head resting on the pillow that smells like him. You're surrounded by him, in feeling, in scent, in comfort. Every movement he makes is lovingly calculated. He kisses you once more, and brushes the stray hairs off your face, making sure none gets trapped under you.

"What made you do all this for me, huh? Did I forget my own birthday?"

"Just been working so hard, baby, thought you deserved something nice."

"You tricked me," he says, "made me think you were buying sheets."

"I did buy new sheets," you smile, running your hands across the linens.

He follows suit, face lighting up with laughter. "So you did."

"But you don't care about that."

"Not right now, not at all."

And he doesn't have much else to say about, instead brings his mouth to your neck, placing open mouthed kisses against the areas he knows are most sensitive, enjoying every moan and gasp you give him. He takes pleasure in your hands wrapping themselves in his hair, tugging to beg for more, but he's almost evil in his patience. Takes the strap of your lingerie into his mouth and drags it down your shoulder, out of the way of his kisses, where he can suck a shallow purple bruise onto your collar bone.

And he switches sides, giving your other side as much love and attention. And then he's moving down to where the curve of your breast pokes out, and he's laying kisses there, one hand is in your hair, his elbow supporting him, and the other is on your hip, thumbs moving slowly back and forth to feel his gift for as long as you'll let him.

"Matty, please."

"Mm, please what?"

"Please touch me, pretty please."

He moans. "Baby, you never need to beg for me, I told you I'll give you everything." The hand on your hip dips down, sliding under the short skirt and stopping when it reaches the line of your panties on your hip. "It's all coming, I just have to appreciate every inch of it if I'm gunna build the picture of this in my mind." His mouth returns to your breast, the edges of the fabric getting wet from how his tongue licks across it. He nips at it, teeth catching your skin and fabric together and you moan. "Such a pretty fuckin' girl."

"Please," you moan again, unable to ignore the pulse between your legs, the way his crotch presses into yours, his bulge giving you a little but not nearly enough.

"I'm picturing the smirk on your face all dinner, when I didn't even know what was waiting over there." His thumb brushes closer to your core, and you wriggle in a weak attempt to get it there. "Made me pick the fabric I liked best, then wore it and didn't even tell me." He ran his finger down the soaked panties, pressing against your clit and keeping it perfectly still there. "Are these new?"

"No," you moaned, hips bucking to get more from him. "They just matched the thigh straps."

"Then I don't need to take my time on them," he said, finger looping around the soaked material and pulling them down your legs, the speed of it making your legs detach from around his waist so he could get them all the way off, but he quickly moved your legs back, your bare pussy rubbing against his erection made you both moan. "Already so wet for me baby," he mutters, hand sliding back between you to wedge themselves between his jeans and your soaking wet centre. "What did I do to deserve you? I'll never get it," he kissed your breast again, then moved his hands to hold himself fully above you. "My sweet girl, treating me so good. My turn to treat you good, right?"

"Please, yes please." You arched your back up, pushing the satin against his abs and he nearly crumpled, but he stayed steady. Crawled his way down the bed to settle himself between your legs, kissing each thigh once. He pressed his cheek into your inner thigh, hand reaching up to roll a lazy finger through your folds.

"So good for me, aren't you? Always so good to me, baby." His finger found your clit with ease, your moans encouraging him to roll gentle circles around it. "I'll never deserve you," he mumbles so quietly, almost to himself, "but I'll never stop trying." He pledges, finally moving his mouth to where you want him so desperately. His tongue worked like it was one purpose in life, like it was the only thing keeping in here on earth. Flat licks followed by tight circles, repeated and repeated until he was the only thing on your mind, and then when you were a moaning mess above him, he slipped a finger into you, your wet folds welcoming him like an old friend.

"Matty, treat me so good, fuck, you're so good. So good to me," you moan, words coming out rushed, every thought just falling off your tongue like you were speaking directly to God. "I love you, love you so much." Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging the roots as he slipped in another finger, hitting you directly where he knew would make you fall apart.

And fuck, you did. You moaned and begged and pulled hair until you were coming against his face, hips gyrating against his mouth and chin, making stars explode behind your eyes as you bit back a scream, followed by the loving coax of him helping you ride the waves of your orgasm, until you were lax against the bed, and he moved his kisses to your leg, kissing the soft skin, up to the crease in your hip.

"Come up here," you sighed, opening your arms for him to fall into.

"Let me just," he finally undoes his pants, kicking them and his underwear down his legs, and falls into your arms. Bodies flush together, Matt winds his hand between your bodies to grip himself, and line himself up with you, kissing you deeply before pushing himself into you. He groans, your tight walls warm around him, squeezing him as he works himself into you. "Fuck, you got me so worked up, I'm not gunna last long."

"That's okay baby, let go for me," you moan, arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders. "Want you to feel good."

"Feels so good baby," he moans into your shoulder, "always so good."

He hikes your leg higher around his hip, and grips your soft, plush, satin covered hip, and thrusts into you, so deeply, each thrust thoughtful and intentional. He sucks the skin by your ear, and your moans make his dick twitch, it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard. The way you moan and gasp and grab him, he's overwhelmed by the feelings, both physically and emotionally.

"So in love with you," he mumbles, lost in the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him. He always fell into a loop of praises and I love yous when he was getting close. "Gunna fill you up, baby, gunna give my beautiful bride a baby, huh? Would you like that?"

You just moaned in response, unable to form words as he continues to fuck himself into you, hips meeting your with enthusiasm.

"So pretty," he mumbled, lips working the skin of your neck in between his dirty praises, and your nails scratch over the muscles on his back. "Gunna look so fucking pretty carrying our baby, baby."

"Matty, gunna..." you just moan, unable to warn him that you're close again, but he feels like. He holds himself back as your walls clench around him, fluttering and pulsing as you come, back arching and loud moans in his ear as he pants and grunts, wanting to give you more but coming close to the edge himself.

"Let go baby," you moan, "it's perfect, let go for me."

His kisses you as he fills you up, groan vibrating into your mouth as his hips stutter and still, warm cum painting your walls. He holds himself still completely sheathed inside you, keeping all his cum inside you, hips flush against yours and lips still moving languidly against yours.

He pulls away, nose bumping yours affectionately. "I love you."

"I love you," you murmur, eyes fluttering closed as you tried to even out your breathing. "Always treat me so well."

He kisses the tip of your nose, slowly pulling himself out of you as you both gasp, the overstimulation both perfect and overwhelming all at once.

Matt falls beside you, arms wrapping securely around you, hand spreading over the fabric covering your stomach. "This one's gunna stick," he whispers, "when we're not trying and just loving each other."

You mumble happily, wiggling closer to him. You had to get up and change, but for now, you just wanted to be wrapped up in loverboy's arms.

"Hmm," he mumbles, running his hand across the sheets in front of you. "These are nice."

[sunday-bug]

Dressed Out

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Curvy!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Content: unprotected p in v sex, public sex, reader has insecurities about her body

18+ Minors DNI (NSFW)

Synopsis: Bucky takes you shopping for a formal dress and you struggle to find the perfect fit until he lends a hand.

A/N: Thank you to my gorgeous, big-brained friend @buckybarnes82 for this idea based on this ask!

The fabric clings in all the wrong places - bunched around your hips and stretched too much around your chest. It's clearly a size too small. You eye the sizes of the other dresses and pray that one will fit correctly, not wanting to have to ask for a size up in everything in front of him. You accidentally ruffle the dressing room curtain as you shimmy out of the cocktail dress. 

“You okay in there, babe?” He asks from the velvet cushioned stool outside. 

“Uh, yeah - yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, trying to stay calm. Clothes shopping is never your idea of fun, but dress shopping? It’s your worst nightmare. Finding something that hugs you in the right places and is forgiving in your least favorite spots is basically impossible. You take the next dress off the hanger - a dark blue off-the-shoulder floor length gown - and step into it. The fabric is a bit more stretchy, and you are able to zip it up all the way. You turn in the mirror and examine yourself, searching for imperfections.

“Any luck?” He calls again, and you hear him stand up and walk to the curtain. He starts again, quieter this time. “Do you need any help? Zipping up, or…?”

“I’m fine. Thanks,” you say, pulling at the fabric where it’s hugging your backside a little too closely. Almost a win, but not when you turn around in the mirror. It’s just too… much. No way you can go to the Governor’s Ball in this. You unzip it quickly and don’t bother to hang it up, just setting it on the chair in a heap. Before you even pull the next dress off the hanger, you’re skeptical. The sequined material is sure to be too rigid to accommodate your curves, but you step into it anyway. You get it over your hips, but can’t zip it up all the way.

“Fuck!” You whisper-shout, feeling a lump forming in your throat. 

“What’s wrong, baby? Can I come in? Let me help,” he says sweetly. You look at yourself in the mirror and swallow, not wanting any tears of frustration to fall. 

“No! Don’t come in!” You plead. “I - I’m fine. We might have to try a different store. I’m not having much luck here.” You step out of the sequined dress and put it in the growing pile of rejects on the chair. “I have one more to try.”

“Can I at least see you in one?” He asks. “There’s no one else out here if you’re shy…”

You pull back the corner of the curtain and peek your head out. “I’m not shy. It’s just that none of these look right, ya know… on my body.”

Bucky scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I seriously doubt that. You look good in everything.”

You close the curtain again as you get into the last dress - a dark red number with a low back - and zip yourself up. “Liar.”

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” he whispers, his voice still close to the curtain. “Now let me see you.”

You shudder at the sight of your bare back in the dress and rip the curtain open in frustration. “See? This looks awful-”.

Bucky cuts you off with a whisper, “Fuck me.”

“What?” You ask, embarrassment heating your cheeks. Your arms come up instinctively to cover your middle as Bucky walks toward you, offering a hand.

“Spin,” he demands. “Spin around.”

“Bucky, no - this doesn’t look right on me,” you mutter.

“It looks perfect on you. What are you talking about? What don’t you like about it?” He asks as you spin around for him, showing off the entire gown. 

“It’s just a little - fitted?” You manage, shrugging.

“And that’s a problem?” He looks at you with hungry eyes as his hands skate over the curve of your waist.

“Isn’t it?” You prompt, standing back and gesturing to yourself in the dress. “Dresses like this are for someone… smaller.”

His eyes snap to yours and he registers your feelings. His brow furrows and he caresses your face. “This dress is made for you. It fits you like a damn glove, baby. It shows off everything I love about you - your hips, your back…” he continues, whispering in your ear, “your tits look fucking amazing. Come here with me.” He guides you back to the dressing room and latches the curtain closed behind you both. “Look in the mirror for me.”

You obey and look at your reflection. “What don’t you like? Tell me,” he says softly, his breath ghosting over your bare back. 

“The back is really open,” you admit, twisting to look at it in the mirror. He runs his knuckles down your spine and makes you shiver. 

“It’s gorgeous. I can see my two favorite freckles here and here,” he says, circling them on your skin. “What else?” 

You run your hands over your stomach and hips. He puts his hands over yours. 

“You really don’t see how fucking stunning you are, do you? Your hips drive me insane,” he kisses your neck as he says it, his tongue darting out to nick your earlobe. “And trust me, the view from back here is incredible.” He palms your ass through the dress and you feel a jolt of electricity vibrate through you into your core. 

“Wear this tonight so I can take it off of you later,” he begs, turning you to face him. 

“Bucky…” you start, watching his pupils dilate.

“You’re beautiful. Let me make you believe it,” he whispers, unzipping the dress with a steady hand and letting it fall to the ground, leaving you nearly naked in the mirror. “Let me worship you.” His hands are everywhere - your breasts, your waist, your ass, your thighs. Every place that you shy away from on yourself is where he gravitates - caressing, kissing, kneading, grabbing - until you feel his arousal through his dress pants. His hand hooks your underwear to the side and you welcome it. 

“That’s it, baby. Let me see you.” He unzips his pants and pulls out his cock - hard and ready.

“Be quiet for me, okay?” He whispers, kissing your neck and turning you back toward the mirror. You put your hands on either side and lean forward, giving him access.

“There you go,” he hisses as he guides himself inside you. His hands grip your hips harshly as he starts thrusting into you. You close your eyes in pleasure as he works.

“Open your eyes. I want you to see what you do to me,” he mutters. You flick your eyes open and see his focused expression taking you in - all of you.

“You’re mine. All mine.”

You feel your orgasm building and grip the edges of the mirror with fervor. “I can’t - fuck - I don’t know if I can stay quiet!” He brings a hand up immediately to cover your mouth and watches as your eyes widen and slam shut as you hit your peak. He lets out a not-so-quiet whimper as he feels you come around his cock. 

“God damn it,” he whispers, pulling your arms behind your back, pushing your breasts out and into the mirror. “Look at you. You’re so soft and fucking perfect. I’m gonna cum,” he announces with a groan. You shush him as you feel him fill you up, his hips stuttering in pleasure. He pulls out after a few seconds, pulling your panties back into place. 

“Look at me,” he says, turning your face to his. “I know I can’t magically make any insecurities you have disappear overnight, but I wish that you could see yourself the way that I see you. And not just this,” he says, gesturing to your naked body, “which is tempting as hell, but you - your mind, your heart, your empathy for others. You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, sexiest woman I’ve ever met. I need you to tell me you know that.”

You swallow another lump in your throat, but this time it isn’t from frustration. “I know that, Bucky. Thank you.”

He kisses you softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You both hear footsteps enter the dressing room, “Do you need any help with the dresses?” The sales lady’s familiar voices echoes into the room.

“No, I’m fine!” You say quickly, your face beet red.

“She’s gonna take the red one. I was just helping her get unzipped,” Bucky says casually, walking out of the room and shutting the curtain behind him. “She’ll need some shoes to match. Think you can help her out with that?”

“Of course, Congressman,” she replies.

You smile and shake your head in the dressing room as you get back into your normal clothes before walking out to meet them. 

“I think I’ll take a look at your lingerie, too,” you tell her as you wink slyly at Bucky who’s holding his heart like you’ve just stabbed him. 

“You’re gonna kill me, darling,” he whispers as you head to the shoe department.

“You kill me with kindness everyday,” you reply. "It's only fair."

[nurseofren]

Late Night Special | Trevor Wagner x fem!reader

Summary: Things heat up one night at Trev’s place…

Words: 1.1k

Tags: smut, dry humping, fluff

Note: yes this is about the guy from tik tok w the tattoos and the sturdy thighs. Was very inspired w recent videos ehehe. But yeah, here’s this. I think this is the first thing I’ve really written in months. Hope you enjoy!

[AO3]

Every few seconds you rechecked its position, heart racing faster once you realized it had moved up considerably since you’d both cuddled in. His fingers had started by tracing nondescript patters along your knee, but they were now steadily resting just inches from the apex of your thighs. The brief thought fled through your mind that only a few measly millimeters of fabric separated the warmth of his hand from branding directly into your skin. Your cheeks burned at that idea.

Every few seconds you rechecked its position, heart racing faster once you realized it had moved up considerably since you’d both cuddled in. His fingers had started by tracing nondescript patters along your knee, but they were now steadily resting just inches from the apex of your thighs. The brief thought fled through your mind that only a few measly millimeters of fabric separated the warmth of his hand from branding directly into your skin. Your cheeks burned at that idea.

Truthfully, you were stilled by shock. It’s not that you hadn’t anticipated this, not like you hadn’t imagined Trevor doing all kinds of unmentionable things to you — and you doing similar for him — but you were entirely off kilter. He seemed to swallow up the whole room, his big, firm, unyielding body a constant force of attraction that your own hummed for.

By this point, his thumb sweeping along the inner seem of your leggings, the pulse between your legs was dizzying. The pull to have him, to feel him, to touch him was overwhelming as everything around you faded just that little bit more until all you could focus on was Trevor.

He smelled of rich, decadent pine, yet there was a softness to the edge of his scent, a gentle floral tone that only further intoxicated you. You shifted closer to him, following those scent notes, your head resting on his strong shoulder. A contented sigh left you unbidden, and you didn’t miss the way he shifted his hips a few seconds following the sound.

“I think it’s past your bedtime,” he hummed, a grit to his tone that hadn’t previously been there. The screen switched to a deep, inviting red and when you felt his head shift down to nod into yours, you swore your heart stopped for that single beat of time.

A staggering breath preceded you sighing, “I’m not tired, Trev.”

With all the courage you could muster, you placed your shaking your hand over his, his pinky now coiled barely a centimeter from your center, and you squeezed. He swallowed, the sound punctuated in the room’s suffocating quiet.

His eyes swallowed you up the second yours met them, your throat tight and burning, the air heavy and charged. That pulse between your legs now pounded along with every other part of your body, your lips parting to match his own, the warmth of his mouth coming closer as his hand squeezed the slightest bit.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for weeks,” he said, pure sex living in his voice, his nose now pressed to the side of yours.

There was a note of animal frustration in his tone, like he was barely containing himself. And that seemed true, judging by the new pressure beneath his hand.

“Yeah?” you breathed, and it was you who shifted first.

You closed the waning distance between your mouth and his, the first meeting of your lips soft and questioning, but the hunger for his body overtook you before you could think further. Trevor’s hand slid away as you straddled him, your fingers moving to take residence over his hair. There was no gentle finesse to your touch, just pure carnal need forcing you to pull him in, to keep his mouth on yours.

“God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” you rushed out, shivering as his strong hands rested on the tops of your hips, his thumbs tracing up toward your waist and lighting a fire along the skin they touched.

Trevor groaned, his tongue slipping deep into your mouth, your own meeting it with fervor, everything but him unknown to you. His hands pulled you in, one pressing your chest to his, the other sliding under your shirt and finding your breasts. A throaty, desperate moan sank into his mouth, chills following the lead of his skilled touch.

“I love your body,” he hummed, “I want it all for myself.”

The thought sent you reeling, imagining giving yourself completely to him, trusting him to do with your body things you had only imagined before. You ground down into him, whimpering when you felt the hard ridge of his cock jutting from beneath his pants.

“Fuck,” you whined, grinding harder and faster, kissing him deeper, devouring him.

He pulled your bra down, breasts bouncing out, and in all of a second your shirt was lifted and discarded to whatever corner of the room it landed. Trevor’s mouth left yours, finding new residence along the column of your throat, your fingers clutched into his hair. Arching your back, grinding your hips, you pushed your tits into his face, panting when he all but growled in pleasure.

”Good girl,” he murmured, “such a good girl for me.”

Trevor shifted his hips, the slight cant leading into your own making it so your body shook with the promise of release. A moan flooded the room, Trevor repeating the motion and making you all the louder. A big hand slid up your side until it cupped your breast, the pad of his thumb circling your pebbled nipple.

You fell forward, hands clutched to the couch’s back, Trevor’s face buried between your tits and your own screwed up into pleasure. The warmth of his tongue lit against your skin, the tender flesh buzzing as his teeth grazed just behind. And when his full lips, strong and firm and practiced, took your nipple into his mouth and sucked gently, you couldn’t help but cry out.

The seam of your pants coupled with the ridge of his cock was the catalyst to your release, his mouth and hands orchestrating all the little sensations that got you there. He continued to thrust as you did the same, and your mouth was at his ear when your body tightened, tightened, tightened until pleasure ripped through you and all you could do was call out his name over and over again.

His head came up from your chest, a wet pop punctuating your nipple leaving his mouth, and he kissed you hard and rough, his breath blowing over your cheeks.

The two of you remained there for a few minutes, your fingers delicately brushing through his hair, his hands skimming up and down your bare skin. He placed small, whispered kisses along your cheeks, his breath coming down with yours.

“That was…” you drawled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Perfect,” he kissed. “That was perfect.”

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

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

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[il0vebe]

| Married and milky |

Pairings: Lewis Pullman x female!wife!reader

Summary: lewis pullman is a tired dad, a full-time simp, and extremely obsessed with your boobs — in that order.

Warnings: dad!lewis, lactation kink (light), fluff overload, domestic chaos, thirsting, no smut just vibes

Authors note: pray for me… i can’t stop thinking about Lewis Pullman, and i fear it’s going to destroy me

You hadn’t meant to fall in love with Lewis Pullman, but it had happened in the quietest, gentlest way—over coffee mugs and late-night calls, the smell of rain on the back porch, and that ridiculous way he laughed with his whole body. You were just the production assistant on set. He was the actor who somehow made being sleepy look hot. Years later, you were married, living in a cozy craftsman house in upstate New York, and waking up every morning to the chaos of two very different little humans you’d made together.

Your daughter, Sadie, five years old and full of energy, was all wide eyes and wild curls, practically bouncing out of her unicorn pajamas. She had Lewis wrapped around her little finger. Total daddy’s girl. And your son, Theo—barely eleven months—was the clingiest mama’s boy you’d ever met. If you even hinted at putting him down, he’d let out a betrayed little wail that shattered Lewis’s heart every time.

This morning was no different.

You stood in the kitchen, hair a mess, robe half-tied, baby on one hip, trying to get coffee into your bloodstream while also nursing Theo. He was latched on, humming softly, content and warm against your chest. And then, like clockwork, your husband entered the kitchen shirtless, sleepy-eyed, and unfairly hot, like some kind of domestic god with bedhead and boxer briefs that hung just low enough to be a distraction.

He paused in the doorway, eyes locked on you—and more specifically, on Theo breastfeeding.

“…God,” he muttered, voice low and a little raspy. “I still get jealous of him.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lewis…”

“No, seriously,” he walked over, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “He gets you, and milk from you, and gets to sleep curled up on your boobs all day. I’m just saying. I should get dibs.”

“You do get dibs,” you said, laughing softly, adjusting Theo as he shifted. “Just… not at 8 a.m. with spit-up on my shirt.”

Lewis pressed a kiss to your neck, voice low against your skin. “I love this version of you, you know that? All sleepy and soft and feeding our baby. It’s hot. Like… wildly hot. Dangerous levels of hot.”

“Babe, we’re in our kitchen.”

“Yeah, and?”

Right then, Sadie burst in, carrying a plastic tiara and demanding Lewis attend her royal tea party.

“You promised, Daddy! You said you’d be King Sparkle!”

Lewis groaned dramatically and kissed your shoulder one last time. “Duty calls.”

As he scooped Sadie into his arms and pranced around the living room wearing a glittery tiara, you couldn’t help but watch him—barefoot, half-dressed, playing princess at full volume. A part of you still couldn’t believe this was your life. That this insanely hot, big-hearted man was all yours. That you had built this warm, chaotic little universe together.

Theo finished nursing with a sleepy sigh, his chubby cheek resting against your chest. You smiled down at him, then over at Lewis, who caught your eye mid-curtsy and winked.

Yeah. This was your favorite version of forever.

Evening settled over your little house like a worn-in sweater—familiar, warm, just snug enough to make your heart ache a little.

Sadie had declared it was “Mermaid Spa Night”—which really meant dumping half a bottle of glittery bubble bath into the tub while Lewis played sea captain and you tried not to step on any squishy plastic fish. Theo had been fussy most of the day and now was finally quiet, dozing on your chest in that heavy baby way, his chubby cheek plastered against your collarbone like he belonged there.

“Hey,” Lewis murmured, lifting Sadie out of the tub and wrapping her in a fluffy towel. “You okay?”

You nodded, watching as he gently rubbed her hair dry. “Just tired. He didn’t nap, and I’ve been used as a human pacifier since lunch.”

He gave you that look. The one he always did when you said anything involving you nursing. A flash of something dark and teasing crossed his face as he walked over, brushing Theo’s curls back and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I’d volunteer as tribute,” he whispered into your ear.

You let out a low laugh, adjusting Theo in your arms. “Oh my god, Lewis. You’re literally jealous of a baby again.”

“Tell me it’s not insanely hot that you make milk, though.” He kissed the side of your neck, slow and warm. “Like. From these.” His hand brushed your chest, just enough to make your breath catch.

You turned to swat him away playfully. “You are impossible.”

“And yet you married me,” he grinned, then leaned in close again, eyes gleaming. “Remember when you were breastfeeding Sadie, and I asked if I could just try it once?”

Your eyes widened. “Lewis—”

“You let me. You liked it.”

“Because you were hot and I was hormonal!”

“You’re still hot. And now I’m the hormonal one,” he said, dropping a hand to your waist.

Theo stirred and let out a tiny burp, drool seeping into your shirt. Mood shattered instantly.

Lewis groaned, pulling away with a dramatic sigh. “They always know when I’m about to make a move.”

“They’ve got sixth sense for foreplay,” you said, laughing. “Tiny cockblockers, the both of them.”

Sadie shrieked from the bathroom. “MOM! DAD! The mermaids escaped!”

Lewis looked at you like a man defeated. “Rain check?”

You nodded, stepping closer so he could kiss you properly—slow, lingering, just long enough to promise later.

Later never came. Sadie insisted on three bedtime stories, Theo peed on the sheets mid-diaper change, and by the time the house was finally quiet, the two of you crashed on the couch, exhausted, tangled up like laundry.

Lewis tucked your hair behind your ear. “Still the hottest milkmaid I’ve ever seen.”

You threw a pillow at him.

The house was quiet.

Not “naptime quiet,” not “TV is paused quiet.” It was the kind of stillness that only came once both kids were deeply asleep and the universe granted you a night off from chaos.

Theo had finally slept through the feed. No cries. No midnight diaper blowouts. Sadie was curled up like a cinnamon roll in her blanket fort, and you were standing in the kitchen wearing Lewis’s T-shirt—one of the old, soft ones that hit your thighs and still smelled like him.

He walked in slow, quiet, barefoot, shirtless. His hair was a mess, and his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“You’re still up,” he said softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I’d get this lucky.”

You smiled sleepily. “Figured I’d enjoy the silence for five minutes before one of them wakes up.”

He stepped closer, eyes flicking down your body. “I was hoping I could enjoy you for five minutes. Or maybe… ten.”

Your lips twitched. “You’re really still thinking about it, huh?”

“I haven’t stopped,” he said honestly, his voice low and wrecked. “I’ve been so patient, baby. I let Theo have them all day—every day. And you… you just walk around leaking, looking like that, and I’m supposed to pretend I don’t wanna sink my face into them like a damn starved man?”

You laughed softly, cheeks flushing.

“God, I missed these,” he murmured, stepping closer and cupping your breasts through the fabric, reverent and a little desperate. “I mean—don’t get me wrong, watching you feed him is… it does things to me. Like I get why he’s obsessed. But I’ve been obsessed since before they even made milk.”

He pulled your shirt off slowly, breathing hard, and his eyes flickered with awe and hunger when he saw the swell of your chest, full and heavy from the day.

“Can I?” he asked, soft but aching.

You nodded.

He didn’t rush. He cupped you gently, thumb brushing a nipple, then leaned down and kissed it like it was sacred. He tasted—tentative at first, then bolder when he heard your breath hitch.

“Jesus,” he groaned against your skin. “You taste like heaven.”

His hands splayed across your back, holding you so close you could feel the rise and fall of his chest. There was no performance in it—just raw want, soft sighs, and Lewis finally getting something he’d been quietly desperate for since the baby was born.

“Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed of this?” he whispered. “You. Like this. Full and soft and mine.”

“Lewis…”

“I know they’re for Theo. I know. But god, just for a moment… can’t they be mine too?”

You tugged him up and kissed him, messy and deep, his hands roaming your body like he couldn’t believe he was allowed. You let him worship you—because you were still his, even after becoming theirs.

Later, curled up on the couch in a tangle of limbs and discarded blankets, he whispered into your hair, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you murmured, eyes heavy.

“For sharing,” he said. “Even when you’re tired. Even when you give every part of yourself to them. You still save some of you for me.”

You pressed your lips to his shoulder. “Always.”

It was one of those rare, slow mornings. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting that buttery golden glow across the kitchen table. Sadie was deep in her cereal, humming to herself, little curls sticking out in every direction, while Theo sat in his high chair slapping a spoon and squealing like a gremlin.

You? You were in leggings and a sports bra, hair up, trying to sip coffee that had been reheated three times.

Lewis?

He was behind you, hands very much not helping with breakfast.

“You’re being a menace,” you warned in a whisper as he slipped his arms around your waist and slid his palms up.

“You’re being unfair,” he murmured in your ear, voice low and scratchy from sleep. “Walking around in this tiny thing, jiggling all over the kitchen while I’m just… standing here starving.”

You turned slightly, narrowing your eyes. “You had your midnight snack, Mr. Pullman.”

He grinned—that grin. The one that made your knees wobble and your brain short-circuit.

“I want seconds.”

You tried to swat him off, laughing under your breath. “Sadie’s right there.”

“She’s focused,” he whispered, eyes dropping to your chest like they had a gravitational pull. “And Theo doesn’t know what these are. He just thinks they’re milk machines.”

“Which they are,” you teased, sipping your coffee.

“They’re mine,” he muttered, half to himself, kissing your bare shoulder. “Even if I have to share them, they’re still mine.”

Then—you felt it.

A very cheeky little squeeze.

You yelped, turning to smack him, just as Sadie looked up with narrowed eyes.

“Daddy,” she said with the serious tone of a child who knows something, “why were you kissing Mommy’s boobs last night?”

You choked on your coffee.

Lewis froze. “I—uh—what?”

“I saw!” she insisted, pointing her spoon like a gavel. “You were holding them like this—” (she mimed a very aggressive grab) “—and kissing them like they were cupcakes.”

Lewis coughed violently. “I—I was just—uh—helping Mommy.”

“Helping her boobs?” she asked, truly confused now.

Theo babbled something in solidarity, smacking the table.

You stepped in, still pink in the face. “Sometimes Daddies kiss Mommies because they love them very much. And also because… grown-up reasons.”

Sadie squinted. “Weird. I’m never kissing anyone’s boobs.”

“Please don’t,” Lewis mumbled. “Not until you’re married. And thirty-five.”

As Sadie went back to her cereal, totally unbothered, Lewis leaned into your ear and whispered, “We’re so getting caught one day. I need to be faster.”

“You need to be better at hiding it.”

“I can’t help it,” he groaned. “They’re right there. I’ve been deprived for months. I see them and my brain just… empties.”

You smirked and handed him Theo’s spoon. “Well, Daddy. Channel that energy into feeding your son.”

He gave you a long, hungry look.

“I’ll feed him if you promise to feed me later.”

The house was quiet for once. The kids were both out — your daughter at a friend’s birthday party and your son napping after a long morning of play. The rare silence wrapped around you and Lewis like a warm blanket, cocooning you in a bubble of intimacy that felt both new and deliciously familiar.

Lewis found you in the kitchen, humming softly while you cleaned up after lunch. His eyes darkened the moment he saw you, that familiar hunger bubbling beneath the surface, the way he always looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

He crossed the room in two long strides, hands sliding gently onto your waist. “You smell like home,” he murmured, voice low and thick with something more than affection.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And you smell like trouble.”

He chuckled, but his hands didn’t move. Instead, they began to roam slowly, reverently, as if rediscovering the curves of your body like the map to his favorite place.

Then, his fingers brushed over your chest — soft, tentative at first — and a familiar thrill shot through you. Lewis always had this magnetic fascination with your boobs, and it made your skin tingle every single time. But today, with the kids gone, you could see it clear as day in his eyes: he wanted you all to himself.

His lips found your collarbone, trailing warm kisses that sent shivers down your spine. “I’ve missed this,” he whispered, voice husky, “missed you.”

You leaned into him, hands tangling in his hair as his mouth found yours in a slow, heated kiss. It was the kind that melted away everything — stress, tiredness, the chaos of parenting — leaving only the two of you.

Then came the teasing, the thing you both knew was coming.

Lewis pulled back just enough to murmur, “I want you… all of you. Especially your mommy milkers.”

You laughed, breathless, heart pounding. “You want to try again?”

He nodded, shy but eager, eyes sparkling with that mix of vulnerability and craving that always made you want him more.

Carefully, you guided him as he nuzzled against your breast, tasting you gently at first, then with more confidence. The sensation was electric — his lips warm and soft, his hands holding you steady. It was intimate, sensual, and filled with that delicious lactation kink edge that sent a thrill straight to your core.

Lewis groaned softly, pulling back just to look at you with wide, adoring eyes. “God, you’re perfect.”

You smiled, fingers tracing patterns down his back. “Only for you.”

For the rest of the afternoon, you let yourselves get lost in that quiet, stolen bubble — no interruptions, no distractions, just the two of you and the simmering heat of love that felt like home.

The doorbell rang just as you and Lewis were settling into the couch, still basking in that rare quiet glow from earlier. You glanced at the clock — perfect timing. The Thunderbolts cast was coming over for a casual hangout, and Lewis had insisted on showing off his “domestic MVP” side.

You opened the door to Florence Pugh, David Harbour, and Sebastian Stan all grinning like they were about to crash the coziest, most intimate scene ever.

“Look at you guys, invading the family nest,” Lewis greeted with a shy but proud smile, slipping his hand into yours.

Florence, ever the mischief-maker, caught sight of your still-flush cheeks and those lingering hints of milk from the afternoon. Her eyes sparkled with immediate mischief.

“Okay, spill,” she said, plopping down next to Lewis like they’d been best friends for years. “What’s the secret? Lewis is glowing. Like, literally glowing. We thought it was just the lighting, but—”

David, deadpan as always, added, “I mean, the dude’s basically got heart eyes. For… you? That’s wild.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning in. “I think he’s just obsessed with your boobs.”

Lewis’ face turned a bright tomato red. You could barely hold back your giggles as he scrambled to defend himself.

“I’m just… uh, very appreciative of, you know, what she provides,” he mumbled, voice cracking slightly.

Florence smirked. “Yeah, we saw that. The whole ‘trying your milk’ thing? Legendary. We didn’t know we were dating a lactation kink king.”

Lewis groaned, burying his face in your shoulder, but you could tell he was loving every second of the gentle ribbing. He squeezed your hand tightly, his shy jealousy mixed with pride lighting up his eyes.

David raised an eyebrow, teasing, “So, do you get exclusive access? Or is this a public boob buffet?”

You laughed, squeezing Lewis back. “Exclusive. Dad’s got dibs.”

“Dibs!” Sebastian echoed with a grin.

The rest of the afternoon passed in laughter and playful teasing, but through it all, Lewis never took his eyes off you. The way he looked — part adoring husband, part protective daddy, and all-around hopelessly in love — made your heart melt.

And when the cast finally left, Lewis pulled you close, whispering, “I don’t care if the whole world knows. You’re mine… and so are these.”

He cupped your chest with a possessive tenderness that made your knees weak.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Forever yours, Lewis.”

It was late afternoon, the kids were with your mom for the night, and you were curled up in bed — not sleeping, not reading, just… scrolling. TikTok, Instagram, Twitter — they were flooded with edits of your man. “White Boy of the Month” wasn’t even enough. Lewis was everyone’s new obsession. And you? Oh, you were thriving.

You played one of the edits on loop — a slow-motion scene of Lewis in Top Gun: Maverick, walking with that easy, almost bashful confidence, the soundtrack matching every smirk and blink of his long lashes. Someone captioned it: “he could ruin my life and I’d thank him.”

You couldn’t help it — you snorted, then bit your lip as your body warmed with the tiniest flicker of pride. You grabbed your phone and snapped a selfie in Lewis’s shirt — oversized, worn soft from years of being stolen from his side of the closet — and posted it to your story with a zoomed-in shot of his name stitched into the collar.

“Y’all can thirst, but just know… I do more than that. 💅🏼 #WhiteBoyOfTheMonth #Mine”

Just as you hit post, Lewis came out of the shower, hair damp and curling, a towel slung low on his hips.

You looked up, blinked, and exhaled like you’d been punched. “Babe,” you groaned, “you’re making it so hard not to objectify you.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, smirking shyly as he rubbed his hair with another towel. “Didn’t realize I had to stop you.”

“Oh, you don’t,” you said, climbing off the bed and sauntering over, arms sliding around his waist. “You’re the people’s white boy, baby. But you’re my husband. My personal thirst trap.”

His ears went pink as you traced your finger across the line of his chest. “I saw your story,” he murmured. “So now the whole internet knows?”

You kissed under his jaw, slow and smug. “They knew before. I’m just reminding them.”

He pulled you closer, voice dropping. “And what are you reminding me?”

You leaned in, lips barely brushing his. “That you may be the world’s White Boy of the Month, Lewis Pullman, but you are my forever.”

His breath hitched. “Yeah?” he whispered, like you didn’t already own his soul.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

And then you kissed him — slow, deep, teasing — not rushed, not desperate. Just a full, heavy moment that reminded him you were more than proud. You were possessive.

And Lewis? He didn’t mind one bit.

It was Sunday morning — the kind that smelled like warm pancakes and baby shampoo, sunlight pouring in through the curtains like honey.

Lewis had one arm around your waist, the other wrapped securely around your daughter, Sadie, who was currently passed out on his chest like a drooling little koala. On your other side, your son Theo was curled up like a kitten, one chubby hand tangled in your hair.

The house was still — not quiet, not really, because the sound of cartoons drifted in from the living room, and someone’s sock was definitely stuck to the ceiling fan. But still in the way that mattered. Still in the way that made your chest feel like it might float off your body.

Lewis looked down at Sadie, then at you, eyes soft, sleepy, and completely wrecked with love.

“How’d we get so lucky?” he whispered.

You smiled and reached over to brush a curl from his forehead. “I think you tricked me with your baby blues and I never recovered.”

He huffed a sleepy laugh. “Guess I really was the white boy of the month, huh?”

“You still are,” you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “But now you’re a daddy first. Mr. Milky Boobs Stealer second.”

He grinned, that shy dimple flashing, and dipped his head to whisper, “Speaking of… once the kids are down tonight, I fully plan to—”

Sadie stirred with a tiny snort, then sleepily patted his chest. “No talkin’, Daddy. I sweepin’.”

Lewis’s mouth dropped open in a silent laugh, biting back a groan. “Okay, okay, sorry, bug.”

You reached for your phone and snapped a picture before anyone moved — your sleepy husband, baby drool on his shirt, one kid flopped over his chest, the other half on top of you, all tangled in blankets and limbs and love.

Caption: “This is it. This is the good stuff.”

And it was. Not the edits. Not the red carpets. Not the chaos or the teasing or even the boobs.

This. Warm beds. Lazy mornings. Pancake batter handprints on the counter. The way Sadie said “I wuv you, Dada” and the way Theo only fell asleep when his cheek was pressed to your collarbone. The way Lewis looked at you like you hung the stars, even with a spit-up stained hoodie and three hours of sleep.

It wasn’t glamorous.

But it was yours.

And it was perfect.