X Reader Fic Recommendations

Side Blog. 30’s. 18+ Only. Main: future-kat-lady. Mostly queued posts.

[sergeantangel]

2026 MASTERPOST

Some Tags. 2025 List

January ~ 1st ~ 8th ~ 15th ~ 22nd ~ 29th

February ~ 5th ~ 12th ~ 19th ~ 26th

March ~ 5th ~ 12th ~ 19th ~ 26th

April ~ 2nd ~ 9th ~ 16th ~ 23rd ~ 30th

May ~ 7th ~ 14th ~ 21st ~ 28th

June ~ 4th ~ 11th ~ 18th ~ 25th

July ~ 2nd ~ 9th ~ 16th

[ariiadnes]

i love you shy reader-inserts i love you naive reader-inserts i love you soft-spoken reader-inserts i love any and all reader-inserts and you should not complain about them in the x reader tag. by doing so you are putting down someone's creative work and efforts when you could have simply moved on, or even better, written your own story

[oceantornadoo]

team bonding

jack abbot x f!reader

undefined age gap, praise kink, smut

"alright, everyone, great work today. go home and", you raise your hand and it's clear on robby's face that he forgot about your announcement. "go ahead, doctor." he steps back a little and gives you the floor, tired brown eyes pleading with you to make it quick. "so, as you all know, i'm the admin liason." a role you picked up after robby pleaded with you to become the in-between him and gloria. you negotiated a higher salary and that was that, forced into weekly meetings with her to launch new ideas about patient satisfaction scores. everyone groans at your statement, anticipating a new rule.

"hey!" the crowd turns to dr. abbot, standing at the edge of the circle with his arms crossed, already frowning despite his recent arrival. "respect, people. i don't care if you haven't slept in twenty-four hours." everyone mutters their apologies and dr. abbot sends you a wink, a flutter of butterfly wings beat in your stomach. you nod in gratitude and continue, unable to blame robby for not stepping in since he looks like he's about to keel over from his own double shift. "as admin liason, i was able to convince gloria that to up patient satisfaction scores, we need some team bonding." the crowd doesn't groan again under abbot's watchful eye, but there's a wave of apprehension that travels through.

"so," you pause for effect, to which abbot rolls his eyes, "i got us a free night out at Taylor's!" the change is instant, a few people cheering while the rest clap. Taylor's is the favored Pitt bar, close to the hospital but on the right street where ambulance sirens don't echo and the drinks are good enough. you pass out a few clipboards with potential dates for people to fill out their availability and continue on. "it has to be this month, so pick your available times wisely. we've been promise free cover, even if the band is playing, and four drink tickets to a max of thirty people. i'll let you know what date wins next shift!" with that, you give the floor back to robby. as you step backwards, you stumble on a foot that wasn't there before.

"shit, sorry." you whisper, tracking the foot that didn't even flinch up to black scrubs before landing on abbot's face, serene and unmoving. "you picked the right foot to land on." he whispers back as robby continues his ending speech, a warm hand landing on the small of your back to steady you as you recover. "how many times have you made that joke?" you ask, smiling when he huffs. "not as many as you think. don't have a lot of people who know and chose to step on me anyway." you gasp in faux-outrage, quieting down when robby sends you a raised eyebrow. his speech concludes and the crowd disperses, some people waiting in line to fill out the availability forms.

"nice job on the free night out." abbot remarks. the praise turns you to mush, a fight to contain the warmth in your cheeks as you look at the crowd instead of him. "thanks. apparently, it's cheaper to pay for a bunch of alcohol than hire more nurses. i'll take what i can get." you answer, remembering the frustration you felt with how quickly the admins agreed to employee bonding over fixing the worker shortage. abbot nudges you, breaking you out of your memory of last week's meeting with gloria. "take your clipboards and go home, doctor. you look like you need it." he orders, pointing to the now abandoned clipboards. you gather them in your arms and adjust the strap of your bag slipping down your shoulder before turning to face him one last time. the silver that mixes in with his curly brown hair, his slashes of eyebrows, the fading scuff on his face. "you don't like my eyebags, doctor?" you blink your eyelashes suggestively, jokingly, but all he does is roll his shoulders before nodding his head to the exit. "never said that. get some rest, doctor."

never said that. he likes your eyebags?

you ignore the revelation and nod, determined to get home and sleep before contemplating your crush on your coworker.

-

the night out comes two weeks later, a rare friday where most of your crew is off at the same time. it's you, collins, and mckay sipping on drinks in a small booth and watching the baby doctors fail epically at pool. "no, huckleberry, you have to angle it this way!" santos and whittaker fight over the proper way to hold a pool stick while javadi stands off to the side, observing the pool table like she's never seen one in her life. "five bucks says whittaker accidentally hits santos with the stick." you giggle under your breath, your second drink taking affect. the two women to your right laugh, too smart to take a likely bet. "i'm insulted you're taking advantage of us in a bet you know you'll win." collins snickers, clearly tipsy from her second martini. mckay mutters under her breath that even her kid can play pool better than these idiots. you collapse into a fit of giggles at that, pitching towards the open air on your left and clutching at the table to stay seated.

except, that air is taken up by a very solid torso.

your head hits a pleasant chest, and you sink in for a second before immediately remembering yourself and straightening. when you do, abbot is looking down at you with a smirk written on his features, one hand clutching a beer and the other propped above the booth. his bicep flexes beneath his long sleeve shirt, 'US VETERAN' embroidered near his heart.

"abbot."

"think you can call me jack, seeing as you're drunk and off duty, doc." you roll your eyes. you're just tipsy and having a good time with the same people you've seen so much death with. it's something like contentment, being surrounded by your coworkers and knowing there isn't any pressure in your existence. no lives to save, no charts to fill out, just music, alcohol, and entertainment. "i'm not drunk, jack." you emphasize the syllables of his name, tasting them for the first time on your tongue. to prove your point, you hop out of the booth and stand in front of him, perfectly in control of your body. "see?"

instead of answering, jack's eyes sweep up and down your body, lightning fast. you suddenly remember the low-cut shirt you're wearing paired with your favorite jeans that show off the contours of your body usually hidden by scrubs. his gaze stops on your cleavage, just for a millisecond, but the triumph of it sinks into your bones. you take in the cargo pants he wears that cling to the muscle of his thighs, a bit tighter than the ones he wears to work. it gives you the impression that he chose his outfit on purpose, and you suddenly wonder who he had in mind when he did.

"pool?" he nods to the empty table in the corner, clearing his throat and lifting his eyes above your face like he can't look there. you say your goodbyes to mckay and collins before leading the way, picking up two abandoned pool sticks as you walk. the empty table is on the other side of the bar, obscured by the case of alcohol in the middle. you're in your own world here, tucked away from coworkers and friends alike. "not to be a cliche, but i really don't know how to play pool." you admit, handing him a stick. your hands brush, electricity traveling down your veins before you pull away.

"you never learned at another bar?" he asks, producing a blue cube from nowhere and rubbing it against the tip of his stick. it's practically obscene, that thought, and you're temporarily mesmerized by how his hand veins flex as he move the cube back and forth. he finishes with his, and instead of taking your own stick out of your hands, he simply steps forward and into your space, cube in hand. you don't move as you watch his biceps contract with effort, a few inches from your face. only when he steps back do you remember the question he asked.

"i'm usually dancing on tables, not playing pool, old man." you supply, memories of screaming favorite songs with friends coming to mind. he grunts a chuckle, gathering the stray balls on the table with a triangle-looking thing until they're all together in the center of the table before setting it aside. "c'mere, brat." he commands. your body follows his order instantly, delivering you into his place at the end of the table until you're almost toe-to-toe. "hit the white one into the others." you frown at his lack of instruction, the stick in your hand feeling as unhelpful as a hammer in an ER. deciding to improvise, you place it on the table and try to recreate the hand placement you've seen in the movies. clearly, you don't do it well as abbot sighs, the air escaping his mouth and settling on your exposed skin. gooseflesh ripples across the back of your neck and you shiver at the feeling.

all of a sudden, there's pure heat behind you. capable fingers rearrange your own around the thin part of the stick, not a single excuse or ask for permission following. his hands are dusted with coarse hair, fine and not yet silver. each movement is another shock down your spine, trying to restrict your breathing so you don't bump into the little bit of space between your back and his front. your hold now resembles more of that on a scalpel than a fist, allowing you to push the stick forward and back to adjust it. "better?" he asks, words right next to your ear. you nod, shaken at his proximity and his own lack of reaction to it.

"this is your easiest shot of the game. take it."

you ignore any suspicions of a double entendre and push the stick until it clinks against the white ball. that one rolls forward, a bit slowly, until it knocks the other colors around. some don't escape the middle, and you sigh at the underestimation of force you had. one of the balls, a solid-colored purple one, rolls into the nearest corner of the table and dips down from sight. you squeal in success, sure that means something good. when you turn, you forget the stick in your hand, almost whacking him in the face.

"stand down, soldier. game's barely started." he says in a brusque tone, softening it with a half-cocked smile. you now realize how close your bodies are, one heaving breath enough to touch your chest to his own. you don't take it, but you don't step away either. "a ball went in! that's something good, right?" you ask, eager for more praise. his eyes flick to the ceiling, a deep inhale traveling into his lungs, before finally meeting yours. "yeah, sweetheart. good job."

sweetheart.

it nuzzles into the corners of your heart, settling on the floor and curling into itself. sweetheart. he doesn't comment on the slip of tongue, if it was one, simply watching and waiting with that iron stare of his. sweetheart. like melted chocolate and sugar spun whisps and fresh fruit, juicy on your tongue.

"teach me more?"

he teaches you about stripes versus solids with a hand hovering at your back. he points out angles and compares them to procedures with his knuckles brushing your own. he lets you cheer when you've hit the wrong ball in and protest when he hits three in one go. with each quip, you stand closer to him and try not to sink into the cedar scent of his cologne. you're a little more sober now, the alcohol haze receding, and you can track the firm but patient tone he uses to explain distance and force.

it's your last ball, a solid blue one that stares at you resolutely. jack already won, ages ago, but he ordered you to practice with all the ones you had left. you weren't going to leave his orbit if he didn't want you to, practically forgetting about your coworkers on the opposite end of the bar. you bend over the table, and despite you being secure with your stance, jack crowds your back, hands hovering over your wrists. "show me what you've got." he urges. the need to please him is a living thing under your skin as you put your every effort into the hitting the ball. your stick wobbles a bit but makes contact with the white ball, which knocks the blue one into the waiting net. job finished.

"i won!" you abandon the stick in favor of the doctor behind you, forcing him into a hug as you cheer. he mutters that you technically did not win, by any means, but wraps his hands around your waist anyway as yours encircle his neck. you've never felt so much of him at once; the corded muscles of his neck and his back coalescing into pure strength beneath you. you pull back, barely an inch, and for a second, he doesn't let you move. then he does, like you've imagined it, hands returning to his sides.

"jack..."

you trail off, unsure of how to address this thing between you. he has to have felt it, all this electricity with nowhere to go. jack abbot is fearless, so you've thought, until he takes a half step back. "i'm your attending." he reasons, though you've made no argument. you stay leaning against the pool table, needing him to be the one to come to you. "you're an attending, not mine. different shifts too." he shakes his head at the truth coming out of your mouth. "old man, remember?" he adds. you scoff at that, crossing your arms against your chest. the action pushes up your cleavage, and when his eyes dip for a second, you know you haven't lost him. "not that old. ten years apart, if you round." you won't plead. you won't debase yourself to earn his attentions, no matter how good his praise feels.

"i'm divorced, sweetheart. not exactly the best track record with relationships." he admits, a fact you'd already surmised by the faded tan on his left hand. "jumping to marriage already, jack?" your joke has the opposite of its intended effect as he stiffens at your words. "i'm too old to be casual." he reasons. "and i'm old enough to know what i want, but i won't beg, jack." you state, refusing to plead. it won't work if he doesn't want this as much as you, isn't willing to put aside skeletons in closets and just-

jack abbot takes a step forward and kisses you.

his hand cradles your skull, sinking into your hair and holding you in place. his other hand drops to your waist, tugging you further into his grip until you're not quite sure where you end and he begins. it's gentle but possessive as your breaths combine -- feels like you've done this before, the comfort of coming home safe and sound. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, tugging him further into you. finally, you can sink your fingers into his salt and pepper curls, their softness surprising you.

"there's a bathroom that locks back here." you surprise yourself by suggesting, a sudden need to make real all this yearning. in another life, your first time with him would be on a king mattress surrounded by candles and rose petals, but time is your enemy as a doctor. you know you've picked correctly when he doesn't second guess your suggestion, simply kissing your jaw before pulling you into the hallway off his right. tactical skills lead him into the all-gender bathroom, his hand wrapped in yours as he tugs you after in him. the lock clicks into place.

"c'mere." there's a surprisingly clean granite countertop he lifts you onto with quiet strength. deft fingers pull down the neckline of your shirt and the cup of your bra until his lips wrap around your nipple and suck. "fuck, jack." you whine as he rolls your other nipple between his fingers, the suddenness of it sending sparks to your core. you dip your hands back into his curls, nails scraping against his skull. you can't control how your hips buck into the air, need bubbling up and out of your skin. you've been wet this whole time, since he came up to you in the booth if you're being honest. you need him now.

"jack," you pull him off you, his lips red from lavishing your breasts. "another time. i need you." he swears at your urgency, unbuttoning your jeans and shoving them down to your ankles. your underwear is a lacy scrap of pink you picked out, hoping, and he whistles appreciatively. "this for me?" his thumb pets the wet spot on the front, trailing down as he presses down the length of your seam. he slips under the fabric, thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "yes, yes, for you." you moan as he experiments, finding a pace you like. there's spit on your tits and your pussy is seeping over his fingers, belaying your desperation. despite that, there's an ache, an emptiness deep inside.

"please, jack." you ask. he hums, eyes locked on how your clit hardens under his thumb. "please, what?" he replies, calm and collected. "need your fingers." you plead. there's enough emotion in your voice to make him exhale a harsh breath before pulling his thumb away and hooking it around your underwear before pulling down. you open your knees wide, letting him get a look of your glistening pussy, needy for him. jack pushes in one thick finger, watching with rapt attention as one knuckle goes in, then two. his thumb finds your clit again and you're struck with how naked you feel in front of his clothed body.

one finger becomes two, crooking this way and that as he listens for your little sighs. you don't want to come like this, want to come on his cock even if the stretch hurts. you tug his belt loop until he steps forward between the cradle of your legs. that building crash of an impending orgasm is settling in your stomach and you lay a hand on his wrist, stopping him instantly. "shit, something hurt?" you shake your head, instead reaching for the top button of his cargos. "want your cock." you whisper, a little shameful of your desperation. he groans, helping you with the button and zipper until his pants drop, revealing black boxers. you run your palm against his hardness, smiling when he exhales loudly.

"take it out, baby." he orders, another petname rolling off his tongue. you follow his instructions, dipping your hand in and pulling out his cock. it's heavy in your hands, beads of white precum gathering at the tip. you guide him forward into your waiting pussy, stopping when he squeezes his hand on your knee. "i don't have a condom." he sighs. your heart flutters in your chest. "i'm clean and on birth control." you whisper. "i'm clean too." he grunts. this time it's him leaning forward until his tip taps against your clit before moving down to push against your weeping hole. you whine at the stretch as he pushes in, regretting the lack of prep you advocated for. his forehead lands against yours, his breaths coming out in pants. "so fucking tight." he mutters, straining as he controls his pace. you pant and attempt to relax, letting him slip further and further in until he's at the hilt.

"i'm close, jack." you admit, clit still fluttering from its earlier attention. "i am too." he kisses the side of your cheek before gathering you in his arms, tipping you back until your head hits the mirror. the angle allows for a wider stretch as he pulls out and pushes in again, the intrusion getting easier to take. jack experiments with small thrusts until your breathing evens out. once it does, his hips snap in controlled movements as he fucks you. that thumb rubs your clit again as praise drips from his lips, each sentence sending you closer and closer to orgasm.

such a good girl.

so good at taking it, baby.

just a little more, you can do it.

"feels like heaven, sweetheart." he growls, sucking at the skin of your neck. that's what sending you over the edge, crying into his arms with the satisfaction of praise. you're floating and still moving as he fucks you through it, cumming only when you're an inch from overstimulation. warmth fills your tummy and you look down to see cum slip out of your pussy, spilling over his cock. he slips out of you with a grunt, shushing your whines at the sudden emptiness. fingers fill you instantly, pushing cum back in until it won't stay anymore. he cleans you up with paper towels, kissing the insides of your thighs reverently to heal the sting. jack drags your panties up your legs, satisfied when you jump off the counter onto wobbly legs with his cum in your underwear. he tucks his cock back into his boxers and drags your jeans up your legs, zipping and buttoning them until you're covered back up. strong hands squeeze your jaw until your mouth opens for a wet kiss, practically debauched after what you've done.

"c'mon, sweetheart. still got two drink tickets left."

-

um

i can't stop thinking about him. pls enjoy.

[saradika-graphics]

hi j! is it possible to do stained glass banners? take that creatively however you want <3 thank you for all your work, I feel so lucky to have found your blog!

hey kylee!! 💖 you are too sweet, thank you so much! I can do that for sure - I tried a couple different ideas/styles for you. Hope you like them!

[Free] Masterlist Headers & Dividers!

Please consider liking or reblogging if you use 💕

[moonjellin]

Park the shark with a scent kink is so valid. I also feel like period sex is definitely on the table with him

(Hey so this possessed me so much so that I wrote this at work the moment I saw the ask. I'm not the best at writing in second person yet so it's like, half me rambling and half an attempt at a fic, plus I wrote this on my night shift and cleaned it up half asleep so apologies for any spelling or grammar errors or if it's a little clunky. Anyway, pls enjoy this lil thought blurb that kinda got away from me in length)

Park may be a little ooc but also we only saw like 30 seconds of him sooooo is it really ooc if he isn't fully fleshed out? Also it isn't super gender specific another than referencing you've got a vagina, a period, and nipples.

Word count: 3k

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Same Time Next Month?

Imagine if the Park the Shark moniker came from his frat days in college (you can pry frat bro Park from my cold dead hands) and it got around that he didn’t gaf about blood and would still fuck/eat out someone on their period. Like he’s in med school, he’s gonna be an orthopedic surgeon, why tf would something like blood deter him? 

If anything it was almost like he didn’t just “not mind” it, it was that Park craved it. He got off on it just as much as whoever’s legs he was between and thus Park the Shark was born, and he wore it like a badge of fucking honor the rest of the way through school.

Just from how strenuous and demanding orthopedic residency is maybe his sex life, and subsequently the moniker, gets pushed to the back of his mind until an old frat brother comes in and calls him Park the Shark in front of everyone and now the nickname is being whispered through the halls, following him like a shadow because hospital staff thought it was because he’s brutish, cold, and a total asshole. And yeah, he is those things, but the shark moniker had once been positive, a source of pride that fed his ego, it made him an outlier among his peers and made him popular with the ladies.

He had hook ups every now and again when he found the time during his later residency years, after carving out a place for himself among the PTMC staff, but found it brought more headache than pleasure to fuck where he worked- especially when he became an attending, so he gives up and forces himself to focus on work.

Of course until you, that is. 

You, a new ED resident who captures his full attention by simply walking into a room and not taking any of his shit for a millisecond, not even batting an eye under the Shark's looming figure and icy glare. You return it with a glare of your own, your lip curled in anger as you snap at him to stand up straight if he's going to talk to you like that and fuck, he’s enamored. Park wants you carnally, almost desperately, and every time you roll your eyes at him or pop your gum in his face he gets hard enough to see stars. You’re infuriating— your competency is infuriating. It would be easier to get over it if you were just stupid but no. No you just had to be top of your class with a spine made of steel and you don’t give him a single inch where he usually takes a mile. The chase takes a while, longer than any other person he's pursued in his life. You’re not an easy one to wear down and you give him hell the entire way, but he’s not quick to give up until he’s got you to say yes to "just one date".

You get to find that you actually kinda like Brendon Park outside of the hospital when he's shed the shark persona, and one date turns into two, two into three, and three into a trip to HR to update your relationship status to make sure all your bases are covered.

The first time you get your period at his house not only is he 

1. Prepared with anything you need (I like to think he’s got sisters who visit so he just keeps things stocked up. Big family Park the Shark my beloved) 

2. Harder than fucking diamond the moment you gently push him back and, uncharacteristically shyly, tell him you can’t do anything because of said period, and he gets to watch your pretty mouth drop open in surprise when he just shrugs and says “it’s never stopped me before.” 

Like… Bren what do you mean it’s never stopped you before???? Park blanks for a half second like “oh yeah, not everybody does that” and there’s no point in him being shy about it now so he just kisses you on the mouth, a smug little smirk on his face when he pulls away—

“I didn’t get called ‘the Shark’ in college for nothing, sweetheart” 

And holy fuck if that doesn’t stay in your brain for the next month. He’s put the thought it your mind now, he’ll assure you through this period that it really doesn’t bother him at all and maybe you don’t do anything about it at first, but he can see the interest growing as the days pass.

Maybe it takes a little bit of time, a little research on your end because hey, period sex is kinda out of your wheelhouse but it’s not like it's unheard of and you’re not entirely against it, just apprehensive, curious even. (As someone who’s done it, I was a lil nervous at first too and did a stupid amount of research to calm down about it lmao)

Eventually you broach the topic with him, maybe a little embarrassed because yeah it’s a natural bodily function but it’s still a lil taboo and even if Park has said he doesn’t gaf about a little blood you still need a little reassurance that he’s actually ok with it. And so you do, and he assures you that it’s fine, he’s ok with it— more than ok with it really, ever since the first time he’d mentioned it it’s all he can think about. He doesn’t tell you he’s been craving it since then, but you can see he’s eager, he’s practically vibrating with want. So maybe he drops a few “hints” here and there. It’ll help alleviate cramps, it’ll feel good because of the heightened sensitivity, it could help increase libido (not that the two of you need that), it's incredibly intimate, etc.

I think Park is a little bit of a boundary pusher in the bedroom, like things he can see you’re teetering on trying he’s gonna try and nudge you. He's not pushy, never bullying you into things, he's just…suggestive.

“We can try it, and if you hate it we won’t do it again.”

If you give him a firm no he’ll respect it, sure he’s a little bummed but it’s not gonna ruin his entire day. Brendon Park loves you and respects you, so he’d never force you into anything that is a hard no even if it’s something he likes.

However, if you say yes? Sweet love, say less because he’s already set aside everything you’d need for it just in case.

It’s a common headcanon that Brendon Park fucks, but this? This takes it to a whole new level. He’s got you spread out on his bed, a towel under your hips— oh did you think it’d be a dark towel? Not a chance. Park’s set out the bright white towels so that he can see the mess he’s gonna make with you. Ambient lighting, but not so dark he can't see anything because he wants to see everything.

He’ll get you nice and relaxed, Park’s a lover boy after all and at the end of the day he never wants you to be uncomfortable, especially with something he’s doing. He takes his time laid on top of you, letting you control how long your make out lasts, taking his time undressing you and only parting to pull your shirt over your head with his quickly following suit. You stop his hands from taking off your underwear just yet, still a little apprehensive, a little nervous, but that’s fine with him so he just kisses you again and lets you wrap your arms around his neck. He loves the feeling of your hands on his body but especially on his back, the way you trail them up the back of his neck to run your nails through the hair at the base of his scalp makes him shiver and lean more into you, a groan bubbling up from deep in his chest.

When you give him the ok to move elsewhere, his lips and teeth are everywhere. Trailing down your neck and chest leaving bites and newly forming bruises in his wake, some you can’t even see but you know you’ll feel for a while after he's done. 

He relishes in the noises you make when he gets his mouth on your already sensitive nipples, now more so that he’s given them a little attention. He sucks a bruise into your hip, leaves a bite on the inside of your thigh that makes you yelp, and just chuckles when your heel connects with his back as if to reprimand him.

We’ve established that I think Park’s got a scent kink and boy does this play into it. He looks up at you, raising his eyebrows as if to ask “this ok?”,  and only moves when you give him an affirmative for him to slide your underwear down your legs. 

It takes everything in him not to shove your soiled underwear against his nose and inhale like it’s a fucking drug— it is, in a way, because the moment the metallic scent of blood hits his nose he’s shaking, salivating, nearly panting like a dog when he throws your legs over his shoulders and— just once more looks back up at you to make sure you’re serious about this— and buries his face into your cunt the moment you give him the go ahead.

If you thought Brendon Park was a munch before, this was nothing in comparison.

He’s ravenous, eyes rolling back at the copper tang on his tongue as he eats you out like he’s been starving for it. And maybe he has been. It’s been years since someone’s let him do this to them.

Park’s bound to leave bruises from just how tightly he’s holding your thighs— now clamped around his ears like a vice with your nails digging into his scalp as you wail.

He’s groaning at the sounds you’re making, the sounds your sticky, wet cunt was making, and he gets a little lightheaded from how quickly all of the blood in his body makes a beeline south. He's still in his briefs and they're growing wetter by the second from the precum steadily leaking out with how desperately he's grinding against the bed, hips involuntarily searching for friction before he bullies a broad shoulder between your thighs forcing you to make room for him, gasping in a breath and sliding two fingers into your slick, messy heat curling them almost viciously just to hear that sound from before and you give it to him. 

Your body arches off the bed so suddenly it was as if you’d been struck by lightning, his one arm pressing down against your hips the only thing tethering you to the bed as you let out another high, pitchy wail.

Park can’t take his eyes off of you, fuck you’re stunning. You’ve got a hand latched onto his arm, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood, and your other covering your eyes as you pant and moan and chant his name like a fucking prayer, unable to squirm away with his strong arm over your hips.

Mentally Park is patting his younger self on the back for finding a place with above average sound proofing because had you been doing this at your apartment, your nosy neighbor would’ve called the cops the moment he got his mouth on you.

God he feels fucking drunk. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or maybe he really is drunk on your blood, either way he’s doing everything he knows you like to get you across the finish line.

Your hands find his hair again when you’re about to come, your breath quickening as you beg him not to stop, to keep going, to keep- keep- oh god Bren— Brendon!

He doesn’t stop, just eats you through it until your second orgasm is crashing into the aftershocks of the first making you shriek. You finally pull him away from you just as the third is ebbing into painful overstimulation territory, and make eye contact, his eyes half lidded but you can see his pupils are blown wide, the faintest hint of blue haloing them as he stares up at you from where he's still positioned between your legs and fuck if it isn’t erotic.

Half his face is covered in blood, it's smeared across his mouth and cheeks and a little ways up his nose, his sharp teeth glinting where the saliva on them catches the light as he heaves in ragged breaths, the parts of his face not covered by blood are still flushed red, his blush extending to his ears and down his neck where you know it's spread across his chest and shoulders— he looks as fucked out as you feel, and it’s so, so hot watching him fall apart from just how badly he wants you. He’s already tugging against your grip on his hair, eager to get his mouth back on you as if he can’t help but search out blood.

The sound Park makes when you pull him up by his hair to plant your lips on his is pathetic. It’s wanton and needy and he nearly comes on the spot when you lick into his mouth with a filthy moan at the taste of not only your wetness, but your own blood. Your faces slide against each other from the sheer amount of wetness on your skin. He moves over you, body nearly crushing you under his weight as his hips grind against the apex of your thighs but it's not quite the right spot— he's still got his briefs on and they're in his fucking way—

He didn't even notice your hands in his scramble to get his briefs off until you've got a hand around his shaft and he’s choking, gasping against your open mouth when you guide his cock to your folds. He bumps your clit making you jolt and mumbles out a quick “sorry, angel” before pushing in all the way.

God you’re slick and wet and so hot that the last of his self control snaps. Any other time he’d give you a second to adjust, a moment to breathe and get used to his size even after getting four fingers in you, but there’s blood in the water and he’s frenzied.

He holds you down by the backs of your thighs setting a relentless, punishing pace as he snaps his hips against yours, jackhammering like a virgin hellbent on sating his own selfish pleasure.

It’s electrifying and bordering on painful but it’s so so good— 

You can’t even manage moans anymore, just broken little whimpers as you grip the pillow underneath your head, your face wet with tears, the blood already drying around your mouth— you look so fucking filthy and he loves it. He loves you.

Park plants a hand next to your waist and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, grinding his cock into you at a slower pace to yank himself from the edge he'd been hurtling towards. Sure, you've come 3 times, but he can feel one more creeping up on you by the way your walls flutter around his length. You throw your head back in a wordless scream when his thumb rubs circles around your clit, aborted, broken little sounds escaping your exposed throat as you tremble violently, Park speeding up his thrusts just as you topple over the edge so he's right behind you.

His vision darkens at the edges, a high pitched ringing in his ears as his orgasm crashes into him like a freight train nearly knocking the wind out of him. For a man who's spent a good majority of his life in the gym, and spends a current majority of his time outside of work fucking you in just about every place you'll let him, it's a rare sight to see him genuinely out of breath.

The first sound to come back to him is your pitiful sniffles and your attempts to calm your own racing heart by taking in deep, shaky breaths. He moves the two of you onto your sides, his arms wrapped securely around your waist with yours around his shoulders, not an inch of space between the two of you. A shiver runs down his spine when he feels the faintest brush of your nails at the back of his head, he rubs a hand up and down your back as he presses his lips against your exposed shoulder. Park slowly makes his way up your neck and over your jaw, kissing the spot under your left eye where he always does before he kisses your lips. You're too tired to anything more and he's not about to start anything, just needing you close as you both come down from your highs.

Exhaustion weighs him down and he knows that the two of you should get up and in the shower because if you don't he'll hear it from the moment you wake up that you're still covered in dried blood, spit, and cum, and you'll make it his problem. (He's right where he wants to be)

Try as he may, Park still dozes off for just a moment, only coming to because you're kissing his face gently and slowly, your hand scratching over the back of his head and for a second he thinks you're crying again. He gets it, Park wasn't lying when he said it was intimate and he moves your head back to wipe your tears except you're not really crying anymore, instead you're chuckling quietly to yourself.

"What are you laughing at?" Brendon mumurs, his curious gaze sweeping over your face as you chuckled while tears dripped down your face. The headboard had been hitting the wall pretty hard but he was still sure that you hadn't bumped your head somehow, even if you bumped it against the headboard it was tufted leather on the side facing the bed so you shouldn't have gotten a head injury—

"So," you pause, your voice pulling him out of his slight spiral about a possible head injury, your pretty eyes roaming over his face and down to his chest where dried blood is smudged on the side of his neck and collarbone, your fingers gently brushing against some of it making it flake away before your eyes trail back up to meet his through your thick lashes, a teasing grin spreading across your lips as you lean your head onto the pillow he's half on. "Same time next month?"

He blinks, not fully registering what you've said until your teeth are digging into your lower lip in an attempt to hold back your giggles, a grin stretching across his face as he leans in to kiss you, swallowing down your giggles before pulling back and gently nudging your nose with his own.

"Yeah sweetheart, same time next month."

(oh my god that was so much longer than I meant it to be. I started my period and apparently this was exactly what my brain wanted to focus on. Anyways happy birthday to me I'm gonna go take a nap, k love you bye 💖🌕🪼)

[pope-codys]

Hi!

New fan, congrats on 1 year!

I'm too shy to send off anon,

but could I please get

Pope, on a roadtrip, fluff,with humor and possessiveness trope-you're so golden ☀️ style

I feel like I just ordered a sandwich off the menu

🤣😂

love your stuff!

Hi new reader! This was a great order! I had so much fun with this!!

if we’re talking body, you got a perfect one so put it on me (talking body by tove lo)

Pope hadn’t even touched the beer he’d ordered, he was too busy watching you. Half enamoured, half territorial, Pope’s eyes never lost sight of you spinning around the dance floor. It wasn’t really a dance floor, just some open space next to the ancient jukebox shoved in the corner of the roadside bar.

After a long day of travel, you’d begged Pope to stop at the roadside bar for some skeptical food and stiff drinks before settling in for the night at the motel down the road. Pope had relented almost instantly, he loved you too much to ever say no to you, and had pulled into the parking lot of the bar without a word of protest.

After two drinks you kicked the jukebox to life and spun around to the old rock classic that spilled from the speakers. You swung your hips and tipped your head back and let the music flow through you. Pope loved watching you like this, so free and unbothered by everyone around you. And you knew you could be so carefree thanks to the watchful eye of your boyfriend who’d make sure you were safe at all times.

Like now, Pope was perched on his barstool, scanning the bar for men who might approach you. Surprisingly, he was interrupted by a woman who approached him, boldly touching his bicep as she batted her eyelashes.

“Hi handsome, can I buy you a drink?”

“I’m not interested.” Pope said, shifting his arm away from the woman’s dancing fingertips.

“Are you sure? I-AH!” The woman yelped in pain as you grabbed a fistful of her hair in a vice and yanked her head back.

“Are you dumb? He said he’s not interested. That means no.” You snarled into the woman’s ear. The woman whimpered, her eyes darting around in a panic as you held her in the spot by her head. You let go and slid in front of her to become a physical barrier between her and Pope. The woman rubbed the back of her head as she used her other arm to hold onto the bar for stability. You leaned back possessively into Pope, his knees already spread to create a spot for you as your back rested against his broad chest.

“If you even look his way again, I’ll break that pretty smile of yours.” You threatened, your tone even and clear. Popes arm snuck around your waist, pinning you to him, which to others might look like Pope was just showing off that you two were a couple but you knew it was his silent way of holding you back. It wasn’t because he wanted to control you, he’d let you beat that woman up if that’s what you wanted, but he was worried about an assault charge.

Thankfully the woman ran off and you smiled triumphantly at her retreat. You spun around in Popes hold, giddy at your successful defending of what was yours, as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Popes hand settled low on your back, pulling you closer.

“You’re going to get us in trouble.” Pope said, his eyes locked on your lips, betraying how much he enjoyed how you were just as territorial as him.

“That’s why you like me.” You replied before pulling him in for a kiss that showed everyone at the bar who Pope belonged to..

[sergeantangel]

* = 18+. 2026 Lists. 2025 Lists. Some Tags.

The Pitt

Babymoon - Jack Abbot + Lakeside Cottage - Andrew Cody - @pope-codys

* Just The Way It Is - Brendon Park - @rr-after-dark

* Slice of Life: Baby Blue + Road Trip Home - Jack Abbot - @rynwrites4fun

* God Complex - Brendon Park - @metal-armed-muse

Looking Forward - John Shen - @youvebeenlivingfictional

* Only One Bed - Jack Abbot - @docrobinavitch

Everything Else

* Friday Nights at the Cinema Club (Reread) - Papa Emeritus I - @writingjourney

* I Know, Baby, I Know - Bucky Barnes - @sheriff-bodecker

I’ll Always Save You - Andrew Cody + Behind the Scenes - Jack Abbot - @se7entyrell

* His Lovely Obsession - Titus Danforth - @opulentpeony

* Desperate - Frank Castle - @little-miss-dilf-lover

Enjoy

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

18+ frank's girl being desperate for him

fem! reader, mdni. 1.6k words. cw: implied ovulating reader so she's really insanely horned up, little bit of everything but it's brief, general filth. gif from pinterest

there's something about frank that made you believe you had very little control over yourself, moments quite similar to how you behave when inebriated. though that was not the case, he just simply had that effect on you, even when totally and utterly sober.

you'd struggle at the best of times to refrain your hands from all near six feet of rugged, hunky handsomeness, but in the week following after your period, you found that to be the most laborious of tasks, one that you'd fail time and time again.

your want for frank had been like an incessant droning in your ear since you were last satiated a mere hour ago, repeating thoughts and visions growing almost agonising. they needed to be acted upon, it's the only way you can quiet the noise. you step out of the bathroom to see frank laid on the bed, dressed in a tank and jeans — you'll never be able to understand how that's even remotely comfy. 

he has an arm behind his head, forearm supporting the weight. it's a sight, truly. biceps bulging, hairy underarms exposed. it's just so manly.

you make your way to the dresser near the foot of the bed, towel wrapped tight around you. you pause and look over your shoulder, trying to figure out if he was sleeping or just playing with you. 

a slight, soft smile curls on your face when you realise the perfect way to test it — saying his favourite words like many do with their dogs. 

"beer… peace and quiet… guns… pussy…" you list, leaving a considerable gap between each as you await a reaction in his face. a faint grin forms and you knew you had him. you step closer and closer, knees knocking at the foot of the bed as you stand over him. "was it the 'pussy' that got you? really?"

he brings his free arm up to join the one behind his head and nods. he holds it there, elevating his eyeline so as to get a full view of you — a clearer image of you slowly ridding your towel. 

it drops to the floor, fabric pooling in an off-crescent shape around your feet just moments before you step out of it. you bend a leg and place your knee on the edge of the bed, and then the other, each one supporting you. 

slow and controlled, you lean over, placing either hand on the mattress between his thighs. you itch one shoulder forward, head tilting with it as you keep your focus on him — eyes locked on his. his expression has shifted, a change so slight it could be missed. he focuses on you, gaze entranced as it flickers between that devilish curl in your smile and to that tempting darkening in your eyes. each of which something he feels himself involuntarily respond to.

your nipples hide behind the uppers of your arms, tits poking out into view in a way that has his cock twitch beneath his jeans. 

you crawl closer, hands planting and lifting from the sheets as you make your way between his thighs, movement most leisured. you pause and lower, head dipping. you press your lips between the slight gap, the one between his tank and belt, and kiss the exposed slither of skin. tongue running over the vein that leads down to his pubic bone. it's light and playful, but really it's a hint. 

you push up the bottom hem of his top a little, creating more of a gap. the tip of your nose skims his happy trail while you plant a small litter of kisses just north of where you placed the first, each one lengthening. you lift a hand out from under your own support and place it over the middle of his thigh, palm grazing his jeans as your rise it. you still in motion right at the very upper of his thigh and it's when you reach the outside edge of his crotch, that you pull your face away from his lower stomach. 

you peer upwards and meet his eyes, holding onto his intimidatingly eager gaze as you nudge your hand to the side — directing it over the slight chubbing under his jeans. you let the weight of your hand sit there, presence of your touch enough to warrant even more of a hint. 

adjusting yourself, you move up frank, though you keep your hand put exactly where it is. you itch up and up, closer and closer until you're near enough within the same breathing space. you tease him with a kiss, lips barely grazing his as you in turn slip your hand past the waistband of both his jeans and boxers. your fingers extend outwards as you push more of your hand inside, fingertips brushing past his pubes. 

he's firmed up nicely, cock responding to your very minimal touch — so much so that you fail to hide your smile that you grace against his lips with. you didn't think he'd have it in him for another round.

"think it's funny?" he husks, words low as he speaks them into your mouth. 

you skim the upper of his cock, fingers skirting around the base of him. you run a finger up the length of what you can reach within this restricted circumstance and give him a little smile, a small shrug accompanying it. 

"a bit."

"I don't," he mutters, clearly finding no amusement in being teased like this. he nods down, gesturing with his eyes to his jeans — to where your hand lays. "undo 'em."

you pull your hand out from beneath his jeans and boxers and peer back to look at what you're doing, keen on using your eyes if you're already going to be undoing him with one hand.

he tuts and brings an arm out from behind his head. he places his thumb one side of your chin, first two fingers on the other, and twists you back to face him — making you look him in the eye.

frank's grip drops from your chin and slides down the length of your throat, palm settling comfortably as he holds you in place. you begin to fiddle with his belt and jean buttons, struggling most definitely. with as much dexterity as you obtain, you finally unlock his belt with a singular hand and guide his cock out between the gap you've made. 

you bring your hand up between either of your faces and spit into the centre of it, right where your palm and fingers connect. carefully, without losing any, you reach back down to his dick and smear your spit all up the length of him — simultaneously lubing and working him up at the same time. 

frank's hold on your throat tightens as he brings you in, lips seemingly eager to meet your own. he keeps you in place, kisses devolving from something quick and rushed into something slow and slopping as you in turn begin to jerk him off. 

he retracts his other arm out from behind his head and places his now free hand on the side of your tit, fingers pawing and grabbing at your squishy flesh with as much as he can grab a hold of. 

the kisses reduce next to nothing and he pulls you away slightly, the absence of his tongue in your mouth a reminder to the twitching in your now stilled hand. 

you didn't have to ask for what you want when you were like this, frank would let you have it, take what you wanted without a question about it. you shimmy yourself from him and crawl backwards essentially. you situate yourself over his groin, bare cheeks of your ass planted over the tops of his covered thighs.

reaching down, you wrap either hand around his cock, one stacked on top of the other. lining up with the head of his cock, you spit down onto him — thick bead of saliva rippling off the tip of him and down to your hands. you rub it in, polishing your spit over the crown of him as you in turn lift yourself and align your pussy with him. 

you nudge the head of his dick at your cunt, tip tapping at your clit under your own control. holding him in place, you lower down onto him; sinking onto his cock. you're slow, motion leisured as you stuff him all inside you. 

you pause and take a breath, so full of his cock that your eyes flutter and lips part. you didn't need to prep yourself, you didn't need to touch yourself beforehand — this was all you needed, just his dick. you sit on him fully and place either hand on his chest for your own support, fingers spread wide across the beefiness. 

frank's knees bend behind you, each one raising so as to nudge your body forward. with your body taking his involuntary hint, you close the gap slightly, face no more than half a foots distance from his.

you adjust your support and place either hand flat on the pillow that's under his head, each one wobbly as you wind your hips — itching him out only to take him in again. frank's roughened hands glides down your sides, movement unrushed as he slides each into a firm, tight hold on your hips. 

he doesn't direct your winds, his grasp simply there for his own need. 

your nipples graze his chest as you begin to form a very slight and inconsistent rhythm, your grinding hips taking him over and over and over again. 

"take what you need, baby."

that was exactly what you needed.

⎯ 𑄹 ⎯

[opulentpeony]

His Lovely Obsession

Pairing: Titus Danforth x Reader 

Summary: Your life took a complete turn the moment you made one single decision: to help a billionaire with something so trivial that only a psychopath like him would mistake it for love. 

Titus has found a lovely new obsession to focus all his energy on now and you're unsure how you're going to make it out of this unscathed… 

Word Count: 20.3k

A/N: I had this itch to write a slow burn, grumpy x sunshine fic with a splash of angst, yearning and fucked up manipulative behavior so this is what I cooked up.

I will note, you call him "sir" and he really likes it! Because I like it! Whoops!

For a full list of warnings, you can check out the fic on my AO3. Though this one is quite mild compared to my other fics so you can go in blind if you want to! 

Oh, and of course, there will be porn! Hope it's a fun read ♡ 

You let out a little yawn in the elevator after you drop off your thirtieth delivery for the day. Usually you don't do this many, but the fine dining restaurant you normally work at cut your hours so you've been needing to work on the apps to make ends meet. 

You've been up since the crack of dawn and now the sun has set. You're ready to go back to bed.

Your eyes shift to the man in the elevator with you. He definitely is dressed like he is meant to be here. It is a luxury high rise that has both a hotel and residences. You just dropped off food for some rich asshole who barely tipped. You wonder if he is one of those rich assholes. 

You glance downwards and notice that there's a tiny tear in his dress pants. He looks like he's dressed to go to some fancy event. He probably shouldn't have a noticeable tear like that. People in his world would spot it. 

So, you tap him on the shoulder, saying, “excuse me, sir.” 

Titus Danforth turns to glare at you. Here we go again, he thinks to himself. You must know him from somewhere. Though, he doesn't know many people who wear cheap, wholesale clothing that is likely made of plastics. 

You must want his money, then. 

But you point to the hem of his dress pants and ask, “do you want me to fix that for you? There's a snag. You must've caught it on something.”

You pull out a small sewing kit from your bag, which you have since sometimes you have to mend your work clothes on the fly. It helps your coworkers too, since fine dining requires a certain level of pristine. 

He blinks at you, surprised. It's such a tiny tear that he wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't said anything. 

But his father would've definitely scolded him if he saw it. 

There's no time to go back to his apartment and change. He needs to get to this fundraising gala right away. He spent a little too long fucking the help. 

Titus looks up at the floor count. He knows there's a private floor that only certain members in the building have access to. He goes to scan his keycard and hits the thirteenth floor. 

“We'll get out here and you can do it.” He shouldn't be accepting some stranger's help so he definitely can't be seen taking it.

For all he knows, you snagged his pants and this is some kind of ploy to get a pay out from him.

But he doesn't think that's it. 

You must just be a good samaritan because the moment he sits down at one of the plush benches by the elevator, you are on your knees in front of him, sifting through the threads you have to find the one that matches his pants the best before you start sewing it back up. 

Titus likes the look of you on your knees. You're very pretty. Much prettier than the maid he has been fucking. 

You're so focused on mending his pants that you don't notice the way he's staring at you, like he could swallow you up with just his gaze. 

You make a little small talk, completely oblivious to the desire in his eyes, “are you heading somewhere fun?” 

“I wouldn't call being stuck in a room full of boring rich people fun.” He tells you and his heart pounds a little faster when you giggle. 

That's a real laugh. Titus is used to hearing the dry, fake ones people give him, in a meager attempt to show him interest. You're genuinely amused. 

“I totally get you.” You say back, still chuckling under your breath. “That's how I feel every time I go to work.”

“Do you usually deliver food to this building?” Titus doesn't know why he's asking. He shouldn't care. You're just a delivery girl. 

But then you shake your head, your words intriguing him, “I usually serve at Opulence but they cut my hours recently. They hired this TikTok influencer and she's been driving in business so they've been giving her most of my shifts. I just deliver when I need to get by.” 

“Opulence? The place that makes the cabrito asado?” Titus has eaten there a few times. His father loves that dish, since it's an herb-crusted, slow-roasted young goat on a bed of microgreens. 

“Yeah, that's it! Though, I've never had it.” The restaurant owner doesn't provide free meals and the chefs are super stingy with their ingredients, since they're so expensive. Even the nice ones won't let any of you have a taste, besides that one influencer girl. She got to try everything to post about on her social media. 

You're trying not to be envious but…you definitely wish you could do something like that. You can't afford the equipment, however. She has the latest phone model. Two of them actually, one for work and one for personal use. You're still using the phone you got on a deal a few years ago. 

“You haven't eaten anything at the restaurant you serve at?” 

You shake your head. “I can't afford anything on that menu. I can barely afford my rent as is—ah, shit, sorry, I keep complaining. Ignore me. You don't want to listen to some stranger yap.” 

You do the final tie to secure the thread and cut the remaining with your compact scissors. You brush your hand over the fabric one last time then show him.

“Does it look good to you?” 

Titus is impressed. It doesn't even look like there was a tear to begin with. “Have you done this a lot?”

“Oh, all the time! The owner is very particular about how they want us to look at all times. Even the littlest of snags will get you sent home and most of us can't afford—shit, sorry, I need to stop doing that! Bad habit…” You catch yourself before you complain about money again. You're sure a man like him doesn't even think about money. 

Titus definitely doesn't. The idea of not being able to afford anything is a bit ridiculous to him. He could buy the world if he wanted to.

He could buy you the world if you wanted him to. 

What a strange thought. 

Why did that pop into his head? 

Maybe because you get up and ask for nothing in return for helping him.

“All good?” You gesture to the elevator buttons. “Ready to go?” 

“I should pay you for the help.” What the fuck is he saying? He has never offered to give anyone money before. At least not like this. He has offered money to people to get the fuck out of his way. Or to get something he wants. 

Is that what this is? Is he doing this because he wants you?

You wave him off. “This cost nothing. Just a smile.” 

You flash him a happy grin and he…can't help but smile back. Especially when you beam at him so brightly, like pure sunshine. 

“I love ending my day by making someone smile.” You nudge him playfully as the elevator doors open then step inside. 

Titus doesn't know what to make of that. Being touched so casually normally repulses him. But with you, he wishes you'd stay close to him. 

“When do you work next? Maybe I can tip you then.” Again, he doesn't understand why he's saying any of this. The words just spill out. 

“Hmmm.” You don't have your schedule yet. You should be getting it tomorrow, since it'll be the start of the week. “I won't know yet. If you want, you can call in and ask when I'm working. I just need to tell them your name so they know I'm okay with you knowing my schedule.” 

Technically, it's not a good idea to let a customer know exactly when a server will be on shift. But since it is a fine dining restaurant, if a wealthy customer does want a specific server, the server just has to make note of the customers they don't mind sharing their schedule with. 

“You don't know my name?” That's shocking to Titus. He is one of the wealthiest men on the planet. 

“Oh shit, are you like super famous or something?” You scratch your head, trying to parse out who he could be. “My bad…I work so much that I barely have time to keep up with anything.”

“Titus.” He tells you. “Titus Danforth. And you are?” 

You tell him your name and then give him another beautiful smile. “I will definitely look you up later so that if you do come into the restaurant, I will for sure know who you are, I promise!” 

The elevator doors open so you head out first then turn around and wave goodbye to him. 

“See you later, Titus!” You say his name so sweetly that…

He'll think about his name leaving your lips any time someone says his name from then on. Like when he's fucking that maid of his the next day and she's screaming his name and he's wondering what his name would sound like on your lips if you were bent over in front of him. 

That might be the only reason he's able to finish today. He's been struggling this whole time to stay hard. His mind is so consumed by thoughts of you that he can't seem to cum unless he imagines it's you. 

This can't be healthy. Though, he has never been mentally healthy before. 

“I need you to get the fuck out.” He tells his maid the moment he pulls the condom off. “I don't want to see you again.” 

“Titus—” She gasps when he wraps his hand around her throat, stopping her from speaking another word.

“I don't want to hear my name come out of your mouth ever again. Now, get the fuck out.” He tosses her towards the door. “You're fired.” 

She scoffs and then heads out. He knows she'll likely sue him but he has the footage to prove it was all consensual. His lawyers will guarantee that he wins the case. 

Titus grabs his phone, searching up the number for your restaurant. He debates calling. 

Should he see you? 

Why does he want to see you? 

You're just some pretty girl who helped him out with a little thing. You definitely have looked him up. Your entire opinion of him has likely morphed once you realize how rich and powerful he is. You wouldn't want him for him. You probably want him for his money now that you know. And he definitely shouldn't want you. 

But he calls anyway. 

“This is Opulence, how can I help you?” The voice is so familiar. That's because it's your voice. You ended up being called in to fill for the hostess today. 

“I'm looking to inquire about a server's schedule. How do I go about doing that?” Titus doesn't realize it's you until he tells you your name. 

And you giggle that beautiful giggle that he is growing too fond of. “Oh my goodness, is this Titus? How are you! I didn't think you'd call in so soon. I haven't even looked you up yet. I was so tired after working that I—shit, sorry, I'm doing it again…babbling on and on.” 

“It's alright. I don't mind.” What the fuck? Of course he minds. He hates it when people blab on and on. 

Why is he acting like you're special? 

Maybe because you are, when you tell him all cutely, “aw, you're so sweet. I knew I'd like you. I'll have to sneak you something good when you come in. I'm serving this Saturday if you want to stop by!”

“You aren't working all week?” Today is Sunday. Is your next shift really Saturday?

“Ah, yeah. It's okay. I'll be alright. Saturdays are typically good days so I should make a decent amount!” You are wildly optimistic, despite the struggle to make ends meet. “Should I book you a reservation or do you want to just pop in? I'll try to leave a table standing for you if you want!” 

“You would do that?” 

“Of course! How about I do that and if you show up, you show up! If not, the restaurant will live with one less table to serve. They make plenty of money as is.” 

Titus doesn't get you at all. You don't know who he is but you're giving him the five star treatment regardless. 

Would you do this for anyone?

He doesn't like thinking that you would. That he isn't special in any way. That you're only doing this because you're just a nice person in general. 

He wants you to only be nice to him. He wants to monopolize your attention. 

“When do you get off work?” He asks. 

“I close on Saturday, so last reservation is at 9:30PM.” It goes completely over your head that he's asking when you're done with work. Other people would take that as a flirtation. You're too innocent to think of it as anything but a simple question. 

“Then book me a table at 9:30PM.” He decides that's when he'll see you, so he has the chance to see you after work too.

Even though Titus is unsure if that's a good idea. 

“Alright! Just you or are you bringing someone special?” You're only asking because you need to know how many people to put down on the reservation.

But Titus thinks you're asking because you want to know if he's single. “Just me. I don't have anyone special.” 

“Well then, we definitely should fix that.” You say to him, chuckling. “You're way too handsome to not have someone to spoil. I can ask around to see if any of my regulars are single. They're all around your age, super rich too! I can play matchmaker for you.” 

He doesn't want anyone special. He just wants you. But you aren't even putting yourself on the menu. You don't even consider yourself someone he would be interested in. Probably because you're so much younger than him and in a completely different tax bracket… 

“Do you have anyone special?” The question leaves his lips and he regrets asking. It's too forward.

But again, you're totally oblivious to it, since you're so used to customers asking you all sorts of personal questions. You don't see it as anything out of the ordinary. “Oh no. I've never even dated anyone before. Too busy working, you know!” 

Titus should not be happy to hear that but he is. He is very happy to know that you've never dated anyone before. Because that means there's a chance you've never been with anyone ever before. 

And now he's invested in you. 

His lovely new obsession. 

“Maybe we can change that. I'll see you on Saturday.” He says, smirking into the phone. 

You don't notice anything strange in his wording and just say back, “see you then, Titus!”

You hang up the work phone and go back to prepping the restaurant to be open. The hostess always comes in early in case people call in to make same day reservations, so you're glad you came in and caught Titus's call. You really need to look him up. 

You make plans to do so when you get home but then you get a notice from your landlord saying that you have a week to move out since their kid flunked out of college and needs the room back.

There goes your cheap rent… 

You then spend the rest of the week stuffing everything you can into your car and throwing out everything else. Thankfully the room was furnished so you didn't have any furniture to pack but…now everything you own is in your car. 

You've been calling different listings for places to live but no place at the same price point as your old place stays available for long enough. By the time Saturday rolls around, you're still unhoused and living out of your car. 

You have to buy a gym membership so you can shower and get ready for work. There's no way you can show up looking like you've been sleeping upright for the last few days. 

You feel like shit but you still put on your best smile when you get to work. You could use the tips for your deposit. 

But tonight, no one seems to want to tip you, specifically. 

You didn't realize they booked you with that influencer girl, so most tables are requesting her. Which is totally fine, it makes sense that people would want to come to see someone they follow online. 

You have a handful of regulars who tip you alright so you know you'll make it through this shift with some money in your pocket. Less than you'd hope, but enough to be okay. 

That's about to change real quick. 

Because the owner of the restaurant comes and grabs you, yanking you off the floor to ask you, “what the hell is Titus Danforth doing here?” 

“Oh, he's here already?” You look at your watch. It's fifteen minutes before his reservation. You didn't realize he was an early bird or you would've had his table ready sooner. 

“What do you mean “oh, he's here already"? You knew he was coming in?” 

“Yeah. I booked his reservation.” 

“You booked…” The owner looks like they're about to throw a fit. “Why didn't you tell me you booked a reservation for Titus Danforth? The books only had his initials!”

“That's…what we always do?” You're not supposed to put full names down, in case someone hacks in and sees an A-list celebrity has a reservation and then tries to come in at the same time. 

“Do you not know who he is?” 

You shake your head. You have been so busy all week that you haven't gotten to looking him up just yet. He must be a big deal if the owner is going nuts over him being here. 

“He is one of the wealthiest men on the fucking planet and you reserved him a standard table.” The owner pinches their brow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” You didn't realize part of your job description was to research every wealthy person on the planet in case they show up here. Nor did you realize that being verbally abused over and over was suddenly an okay practice to do. “Look, I'm sorry, but—”

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” They point to the staff room, which has the private entrance/exit so customers don't see you leaving or entering the building. “Get your shit and go. Thankfully we have an actually competent server to help Titus Danforth tonight. We don't need you anymore.”

You can't believe this. You're seriously getting fired because you didn't know who Titus is. This is actually ridiculous.

“You know I just got evicted, right?” You had told them when it happened, in hopes you'd get more hours. 

“I don't give a fuck about your sob story. Just get out of my fucking restaurant now.” The owner shoves past you to go to the front of the house, presumably to talk to Titus. 

You let out a sigh. You did want to see him. You brought him something you figured might make him smile.

So when you spot your now-ex coworker, the influencer, in the staff room on her break, you open your locker and grab it, giving it to her.

“Hey, you're going to serve a Titus Danforth in a bit. Could you give this to him for me? I wanted to give it to him myself but I just got fired so I got to go.” 

“Oh shit. Is it because of Titus? Did he cuss you out or something?” Her words strike you as strange. 

“No…? Does he do that?” She would know, since she's all over that online drama stuff. 

“Oh yeah, all the fucking time. He gets people fired wherever he goes, like even over the tiniest little thing. I heard he's a fucking prick.” She takes your gift for Titus, looking at it. “Are you sure you want to give him something? Are you a fan of his? I know some billionaires have fans but I wouldn't pick him as my choice…”

“Just give it to him, please. Tell him it's from me and that I'm sorry I couldn't be here.”

“Alright.” She tucks it into her apron. “Good luck. Sorry you got fired.”

You shrug and wave goodbye as she heads out onto the floor. It does suck that you got fired but life happens. 

What can you do about it but move on? 

Titus can't seem to move on, though. 

He hasn't spotted you at all since he got to the restaurant. He came early in hopes of just watching you work for a little prior to you serving him. He expected to see you.

But the person serving him isn't you.

The owner personally apologizes to him for not booking him a private booth but managed to get one situated for him, despite it being a busy Saturday night. Titus couldn't care less where he sat. He's here to see you and that's it. 

But you aren't the one serving him for some reason. 

So he asks the server where you are and she tells him, “I'm so sorry, Mr. Danforth. She was let go because she didn't know who you were and booked you at a standard table. The owner never wants their VIPs to ever be booked at a standard table. She should've known better.” 

Titus scoffs. “What the fuck? I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for her. I have come here maybe twice with my father. He's the VIP. I'm just a regular customer. She booked me correctly.”

“You're a Danforth, sir.” Titus does not like the sound of the word sir coming out of anyone's mouth but yours. 

“Where is she?” Titus looks around. “Did she leave already?”

“Yes, I think so. She probably finished packing up her stuff and left. She did tell me to give you this, though. And to tell you that she's sorry she couldn't be here.” The server hands him a little box. 

He opens it. It's…a small sewing kit. The same one like you had in your bag. 

With a cute note attached saying: For any future repairs ♡

You had planned to tell Titus that you'd show him a few different ways to sew up a snag, to go with the gift, but you can't now obviously. You probably will never see him again. 

You put all your work stuff with the rest of your things in your car, sighing. You didn't think you'd be off so early, so now you have to figure out where to park. Most places aren't free to park until 10PM so you could wait in your work parking lot until then but you don't really want to stick around a place that fired you… 

But then, you look up at the sky and decide it's okay to stay for a little. You'll miss working here. It's just a few miles out of the city, in a beautiful part where plenty of wealthy people live, with barely any light pollution. 

There's so many stars out tonight. 

You sit up on the hood of your car, staring up at the night sky from this vantage point one last time. You're so engrossed by the sight of the stars that you don't notice a figure walking up to you until a shadow engulfs you.

You turn your head to see… “Titus?” 

How did he find the employee parking lot? 

It's quite an uphill trek from the restaurant, which is on purpose since the restaurant valet would prefer to not have any “ugly” cars parked in that lot.

Titus just stares at you, at how pretty you look in the light of the stars and the moon. How they seem to add an extra sparkle in your eyes. How he is so grateful he caught up to you before you left. 

There was no way he was going to wait any longer to see you again. 

He wasn't going to let some fucking stupid restaurant owner get in his way. 

“I heard you got fired.” He says to you, noticing how cleaned up you look in your work attire compared to the casual clothes from before. “I didn't end up staying since you weren't there.” 

“Aw, you should've at least enjoyed the food.” You feel bad he just left. 

“Did you like working at that restaurant?” He asks because he just bought it and if you wanted to, you come back to work there. He won't tell you he bought it, of course, but he would get you your job back. 

But it doesn't seem like you want to, from the way you shrug. “It was nice while it lasted. Maybe this is the universe telling me I need to be somewhere else.” 

“What do you mean?” 

You pat the hood of your car, inviting him to sit with you. He would never normally do this. Especially on an old car like yours. But he does, for some reason. 

For you. To be next to you. 

Titus sits beside you in his designer clothes and you giggle, pulling your knees up to your chest, leaning your head against them as you look at him. “We really are from two different worlds, aren't we?” 

“Are you going to move?” He noticed all your things packed in your car. 

“I don't know.” You look back up at the stars. “I don't have a place to stay right now. I don't have a job. I don't have anything besides what I got right here.” 

Again, he just stares at you. But this time, it's because he has never met anyone like you before. He has met people who are desperate, who would do anything to get out of whatever hole they dug themselves into. 

But, despite whatever life has thrown at you, you don't show any signs of that same desperation.

You actually seem content to just look at the stars in the sky, basking in the moonlight, enjoying the moment, ignoring the reality of your situation for a second. 

“Do you like stargazing?” You turn your head towards Titus again. 

“I don't really look up.” 

You chuckle at that. “I guess when you're one of the richest men on the planet, you only look down, right?”

“So you looked me up?” Titus figured you would eventually. 

But you shake your head. “I didn't have any time to. Had to pack all my stuff into my car this week since I got evicted. I just heard that from the owner. Sorry, bad joke.” 

“What else did you hear about me then?” He wants to know what you know. 

“My ex-coworker said you're a fucking prick.” You reply, followed by another cute laugh. “I wonder what you must've done to give the internet that impression.” 

“You don't think I'm a prick?” He would understand if you did. He is a fucking prick. The worst of the worst. 

But you don't judge people based on the words of others. Maybe that is naive of you but you like to believe most people are good people. Though you have no clue who you're sitting next to right now… 

“Do you want me to think you're a prick?” You nudge him playfully like you had before. “I can do that if you want.” 

“How can you be so…normal around me? After learning who I am?” Titus hasn't noticed any change in your behavior. 

You're acting exactly like you had when you first met him. 

“Am I supposed to act a certain way around a man with money?” You tilt your head at him, feigning befuddlement. “Should I get on my hands and knees and beg you for a crumb of your wealth, sir?”

Yes. Titus wants to say but then you laugh, obviously having said what you said as a joke, so he bites his tongue. But it's hard not to imagine you on your hands and knees, with his cock buried inside of you from behind, moaning beneath him. 

He needs to figure out how to curb his desire for you. This is getting out of hand. 

Especially when you nudge him again and point at the sky. “Look, or you'll miss it!”

Titus looks up and a shooting star blazes across the sky, drawing a line of light for just a moment before disappearing. 

“Did you wish for anything?” You ask him, still displaying that brilliant smile he's growing to love. 

“No. Did you?” Titus doesn't make wishes. He can get whatever he wants. 

Except you and your free spirit. “I wished for a sign from the universe to tell me where to go next.” 

You're like a pretty bird, ready to soar towards your next adventure. You never stay in one place for too long. 

Titus won't have that. He needs to cage you. To keep you. 

So, he says to you, “do you want to work for me?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Doing what? Do you own a restaurant I can serve at?”

He literally owns the place that fired you but…he won't tell you that now. 

Instead, he tells you, “I recently fired my personal assistant so I'm looking for a new one. You'd get your own room in my apartment and you can buy food and other necessities on my card.” 

“What does a personal assistant for Titus Danforth do?” You lean your head against your knees, looking up at him. “Am I writing emails all day or…?” 

“Just whatever I need help getting done for the day.” Like getting off. He really wants to get off. He hasn't cum since he fired that maid. He wants to cum inside of you.

Maybe even without a condom.  

You don't seem to notice the lust in his gaze at all. Probably because no one has ever looked at you like that before. 

“You should get someone with actual personal assistant experience.” You definitely aren't the right fit. You've mainly worked in restaurants, minus that singular stint you did at a retail store in your teens. “Also, you definitely shouldn't hire someone you've only known for like an hour.” 

You chuckle, the sound so intoxicating to him. Little do you know, you have been on his mind every second of every day since the moment you left his sight. He tried his best not to let his mind wander to you but it always did. 

“I was following your lead. The universe brought you to me when I needed a personal assistant and the universe brought me to you when you needed a job. Is that not a sign?” He manipulates your wish and uses it against you. 

“I guess you're right.” You tap your finger against your lips, which makes Titus stare very closely at them, wishing he could kiss you. “But still, you barely know me.” 

“You barely know me.” He counters and that makes you laugh again. 

“Touché!” You lean against him a little as you giggle then move away. “Alright, why not! If I'm horrible, you can always fire me. I heard you're very good at it.”

Titus will never get used to the casual touches you do. You are so relaxed around him. You should be more guarded. 

You have no idea what he has in store for you now that he has you in his grasp…

You don't get what Titus's last personal assistant must have done to get fired. This has got to be the easiest job you've ever had. And the benefits are incredible! 

Titus gave you a super nice car, completely paid off, since he doesn't want his personal assistant to be driving something dingy. You have all brand new, designer clothes in your closet that fit you perfectly and match your style. He apparently had people come over once you moved your things in to sift through your closet and figure out what you would like so that you had clothes to wear when you went out with him. 

You go out with Titus a lot. Mostly to restaurants he's scoping out, thinking of buying or investing in. You and him eat and drink and laugh and chat so much that you're shocked this is even considered work. 

Your paycheck is also enormous too and he even helped you set up a high yield savings account at the bank his family runs with a very good rate. 

You're making more money now than you have your entire life. 

You don't have anything to use it on, either. Titus pays for everything, always. You try to pay sometimes, for groceries or for household goods, but then he just adds the money to your paycheck when you do, effectively zeroing it back out. You get that he is obscenely wealthy but you don't want him to always have to pay. 

“It's an insult when you try to pay for me.” Titus tells you as he drives the two of you from the airport to a resort on the tropical island he's thinking of investing in. 

“This rental car cost like a tenth of my check. You could've let me pay for it.” You pout at him and he shakes his head at you. 

“A tenth of your check is not even a penny to me.” He will not have you spending any money when he has plenty. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I'm in the presence of an almost trillionaire. My apologies, sir.” You exaggerate a bow then giggle. 

It has been months since Titus hired you to be his “personal assistant” and he still hasn't touched you. He has no idea how he is keeping it together, especially when you laugh so beautifully like that all the time and jokingly call him sir. 

You are so playful and so cute that he just wants to eat you up. 

But you are horribly oblivious to any and all of his advances. 

You two go out to eat and you think it's just work. You two stay in a hotel suite together and you think it's just work. You two go on vacations together and you really, truly, seriously think this is just a work excursion. 

That is totally why Titus paid for the all inclusive resort package for the two of you that includes a private pool attached to the room. 

Though this time, he made sure there was only one bed. The last few times, the hotels and resorts you've been to have had other rooms available to swap to, so you and Titus have never had to sleep in the same bed. 

That changes today. He booked out all of the available rooms to ensure you had to sleep in the same bed as him. You can't avoid him now. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” You stare at the king sized bed in the very nice room. “I can sleep on the floor. Or the tub. I've done that before when I've crashed at people's places.” 

“I'm not letting you sleep in a tub.” The idea makes him grimace. 

“I'm surprised there isn't like a couch or something.” You would assume a fancy resort like this would have more furniture in the room but there's really only the bed and the desk and you can't sleep in a desk chair for a week. 

Titus made sure there was no alternate sleeping places. They took the couch out and rearranged the furniture to make it look like this is what the room should look like. And Titus told you that you shouldn't ever look up anywhere you and him go since he wants you to experience it blind to get the best feel for the place. You listen because he's your boss. 

Now you're going to be sharing a bed with your boss… 

“There really weren't any other rooms?” It's a huge resort. Though, it does look like there's some kind of convention going on. 

It's packed on the island right now!

“Is the idea of sleeping with me that horrible?” Titus tries to be playful with this question but there's a bite to his tone he can't hide. 

You, again, are oblivious to it. “No, not at all. I just feel bad because you probably don't want to sleep with me.” 

“I don't mind.” He wants to desperately. 

“Hopefully I'm not a weird sleeper.” 

“You've never slept with someone before?” He finally has a chance to casually ask this question. 

“I've shared a bed with friends on trips and stuff like that to save money.” Again, it goes over your head that he's not referring to real sleeping. “They've never complained but like what if I kick you in my sleep? I would feel so bad!”

“That should be the least of your worries.” You'll be lucky if you have the opportunity to actually sleep. 

“I know. If you don't think it's a big deal, then I shouldn't worry about it.” You appreciate that he's looking out for you.

Titus has no idea how you got to your age and you're so fucking oblivious to the fact that he wants to pin you down on this bed and fuck the brains out of you. 

Maybe it's because you don't see him as a man. You only see him as your boss. You haven't put it together in your mind that he should be someone you should be careful around. 

But you aren't careful at all. 

You casually touch his arm when you're walking past him so you don't accidentally bump into him on the way to the closet to unpack your things. You place your hands on him to straighten out his clothes without warning. You nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder then flash him a big smile whenever you feel like bothering him with an ask of something kind.

Like, “can we get smoothie bowls? Please!”

“Please what?” He pokes your nose and you laugh, knowing what he's looking for. 

“Please, sir. Can we get smoothie bowls?” You bat your eyelashes at him, like you always do.

It takes everything in his soul not to grab you and kiss you. He opts to clench his fist tight and gives you an even tighter lipped smile in response.

“Sure.” His heart races at how happy you look.

“Great, I'm starving and that place looked so good.” 

It's one of the restaurants in the resort. A cute hut that makes smoothie bowls. It should be included in the resort package, though Titus wouldn't care how much it cost regardless. 

As long as he gets to see you all giddy to eat a colorful bowl of fruit layered on top of a smoothie, he would pay anything. 

“You know, you haven't called Pepper back.” You manage Titus's personal cellphone and his father recently sent him a bunch of potential matches for marriage. 

Titus went out with one of them as a formality but hated being there. It meant he wasn't with you that day and he hates not being with you. Everyone else in his world is dull and power-hungry. 

You're a breath of fresh air.

Except when you push him away from you. “She seemed really nice. She sent the yummiest fruit basket to the apartment. I was just thinking about it since these fruits are just as yummy.” 

Titus digs his spoon into the smoothie bowl the two of you are sharing because he didn't want to get his own and you offered to share yours with him so he could try it. The fruits are good, in season, ripe, sweet. Like how he imagines you must taste. 

“You do realize if I get married, you'd be out of a job.” Titus is harsher with his words than he intends but he can't hide his annoyance that you don't view him as someone of interest. You never look flustered around him.

Not even when he pulls you towards him by wrapping his arms around your waist so that someone doesn't bump into you as they run by. His hands linger at your sides. You don't seem startled at all that he's touching you.

“Oh my goodness, that person almost rammed into me!” You catch your breath, your heart racing. “Thanks, Titus.” 

You pat him gently on the chest, then look up at his face. He almost flinches when you reach up and cup his jaw with your hand. He almost expects you to lean up and kiss him.

But instead, you wipe a bit of smoothie off the corner of his lip and then proceed to lick it off your thumb. “You had a little drip. Can't have you walking around with—”

Titus can't stand it anymore and just kisses you. His arms hook you in closer to him, locking you to his chest, before his lips crash down onto yours. 

You don't know what's going on.

You've never been kissed before. 

Is this a kiss? Why is Titus kissing you? 

His lips are so soft against yours. You don't know what to do. 

Should you kiss him back? But he's your boss… 

A weird feeling pangs in your chest. The one you've been avoiding. Ignoring, because you figured it was just silly to imagine that he likes you. 

Now that you're getting some proof that he does, maybe even just physically, you're suddenly afraid that everything is going to change. And you don't want things to change. You liked how everything was. 

“Titus…” You breathe out against his lips when he finally lets you swallow air again. 

You don't have any words to say. You can't form the sentence you want to speak aloud. Because you should tell him not to do that again. That he's your boss and you're his assistant. 

But instead, you ask him, “is this why you fired your last assistant?”

Your words catch him by surprise. He wasn't expecting you to ask that of all things right after he kissed you for the first time. 

“What are you talking about?” His head is all over the place, his heart pounding in his chest. He wants to kiss you again but you're looking at him with such devastation in your eyes. And he can't help but like the look of it. 

Because is this not that same envy you had for that influencer? 

“Did your last assistant…let you kiss them? Was that in their job description…” Your stomach is doing somersaults and you feel nauseous from the fear that everything is going to change forever. “Because I-I don't know if I can do that if it is.” 

“You don't want to kiss me?” Fury causes Titus to dig his nails further into his fist, his palm bleeding. 

There was always a chance you didn't like him. That your sweetness was just a facade. 

Is that what you're showing him now? That you weren't the genuinely aloof, adorable girl he wants so badly to fuck up? 

You glance down at his fist, at the blood dripping from it. “Titus, your hand!” 

He watches as you grab a hold of his hand, opening his fist up, seeing the way his nails had dug into his palm.

“Oh no, shit, I knew we should've gotten manicures before we flew here.” 

The edges of his nails are all sharp since it's been a while. You were planning on booking one of the resorts’ manicurists to come to the room. You should've thought of this sooner. 

You quickly grab some napkins and apply pressure to the cut. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I just kissed you and you give more of a fuck about my hand?” He yanks his hand out of your hold. “Are you fucking serious?” 

Your throat is closing up. This reminds you of when the owner of the restaurant yelled at you. Only this time, it's Titus. And seeing him angry with you scares you to the point where you can't control the tears that are blurring your vision.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You try to find some words to say but none of them will come out. You're so nervous all of a sudden.

Titus has never seen you like this before. Flustered, scared, anxious, delicious. He wants more of this side of you. The one that you've been hiding under that confident mask of yours. 

The girl underneath who wants nothing more than to be spoiled rotten. 

Without letting you say anything else, Titus scoops you up into his arms, carrying you back to the room. You cling onto him, shocked that he's carrying you so easily. 

Though, should you be shocked? 

You have seen him practically naked before, wearing only his boxers around the apartment. You know he works out because he has a gym set up. You have watched him exercise before. 

But for some reason, the thought of him without any clothes on is making your heart flip flop on your chest. You've never felt whatever feeling is stirring inside of you. 

Is this…lust? 

Titus opens the door to the room and then proceeds to toss you onto the bed. You scramble to sit up, backing up until your back is against the headboard. He climbs onto the bed like a predator stalking its prey until he has you trapped beneath him. 

Your heart is going to leap out of your chest at this point. You've never seen Titus look so…hungry before. Like he wants to devour you whole. 

“I don't care to wait anymore.” He tells you, looking you up and down like he's planning out how to feast on you. “I don't care if you scream. I don't care if you fight back. I fucking don't care anymore. I'm done waiting for you.” 

“Wait, wait, Titus—” You can't stop him from kissing you, his lips sealing over yours, stealing your breath away when he slips his tongue into your mouth. The warmth of it mixing with yours makes you dizzy. 

You didn't realize kissing could feel so…hot. You taste the smoothie bowl, that sweet fruit flavor on his tongue. You like it a lot. You like kissing him a lot. 

That's why you have to stop him. You can't be doing this. He can't be doing this. He's about to marry someone else. His father will make sure of that. And then you'll just have been some blip in his memory. 

That's all you'll be.

And you don't want that.

You want to be able to remember your time with Titus fondly. 

“Please, Titus, let me talk.” You beg against his lips. 

“I'm not going to stop so don't waste your breath.” He goes to kiss down your jaw, to the column of your neck, placing a bite right in the center that stings and shoots a tingle down to your core, something you've never felt before. 

“I don't want you to stop.” Your words flip a switch in his head and he lifts up from your neck to look at you, confused. 

That wasn't what he was expecting. Nor was he expecting the tears that are welling up in your eyes. They aren't from fear. 

They're…from sadness. 

Longing to be specific. 

Yearning, more like it. 

“But you need to know if we do this, you're going to break my heart.” You go to wipe the tears that spill from your eyes with your hands. “So if you want to do this, we can. But it will hurt me more than you will ever know.”

“Why?” He doesn't understand. 

How can he break your heart when he doesn't even have it yet? 

You cup his face, pulling him up towards you so you can lay your forehead against his, before you tell him, “because I know I'm just one of many people you've done this with. You like me now, sure, but there's no guarantee that'll last. And you can't promise me it will. I won't believe you. But…”

You let out a sigh, before you lean in and press a kiss on his lips. He's so stunned to feel you kiss him.

He's even more stunned when you tell him, “I don't mind if you break my heart. I just want you to be aware that you will.” 

You give him a soft smile, like you always do, and it burns a hole in his chest. 

“You aren't one of many.” He knows that to be a fact. He has never wanted to spend time with anyone like he has with you. 

“Then tell me about the person before me. Did you kiss them too?” You know the answer from the look on his face but you want him to say it. 

“I didn't have a personal assistant before you.” That's the honest truth.

But you know it's not the full truth. “Who did you have before me?”

“She was just a maid.” 

“Will I be “just a personal assistant” one day?” Your words make him ache in ways he never thought possible. 

“No.” He shakes his head. He doesn't want you to just be a personal assistant to him. 

He wants you.

“Did you break her heart?” 

“We just fucked. That's it. I didn't feel anything for her.” The words slip from his lips and you catch them.

“You feel something for me?” So this isn't just physical. What is it then? 

“You have to understand.” Titus won't hold himself back anymore. “You are never going to be able to leave me. I would rather kill you than let anyone else have you.” 

“Then kill me.” You pull his hands up to wrap around your throat, wanting him to squeeze. “Because I'd rather die than know one day, you'll leave me for someone else. For another pretty girl who caught your eye. I'd rather die than witness someone else having you after I've gotten a taste.”

“Then why did you push me towards Pepper?”

“That was before I knew you felt the same way about me that I do about you.” 

You can't help yourself. You lean in and kiss him again, just so you can remember the feeling of his lips on yours before you die. Those soft lips. How you yearn to feel them all over your skin. 

But the moment you do, your heart will surely shatter. 

“I don't want anyone else but you.” He says so clearly that you almost believe him. 

“Maybe for right now.” You brush your nose against his, that playfulness still shining through even in your despair. “But you should be honest with yourself. You don't want a relationship with me. I know you don't.” 

You don't know how to explain it. But you're sure Titus doesn't want you to be his girlfriend. Or his wife. 

He just wants you to be his. 

And you can do that. 

You can be his. 

But it will hurt you tremendously in the process. 

Is he willing to do that to you? 

Titus moves his hands off of your neck and then gets up from the bed, straightening himself out. Then, he goes to the phone at the desk, dialing the front desk. 

“I need another room.” He says to the receptionist, who is fully aware of all the rooms he has booked. “Either one that connects or a suite with two bedrooms. Just pick one and send the keycards here.” 

“Right away, Mr. Danforth.” They hang up and before you have time to process what's happening, there's a knock on the door.

Titus grabs the new keycards and goes to pack your things up back into your suitcase and then he does his own. You're sitting there, stunned. 

Because you realize he wanted to sleep next to you. That's why he booked this room in particular. There were rooms available. But he wanted to share a bed with you, so he convinced you there weren't.

And now, he doesn't anymore. 

Because hurting you is something he can't do, for some reason. 

He liked seeing you shy and flustered but hurt…that didn't spark what he thought it would inside of him. What it usually does inside of him. 

When he gathers everything, he tells you, “come on, let's go to our new rooms.”

“Titus…” You're speechless for once. You normally have a quip of some kind but…you don't right now. 

“You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. You can't mean anything to me and I would be a fucking idiot to think you could. I was just thinking with my cock. It won't happen again.” Titus gestures for you to take your bags. “Now come on, we have a resort to check out. Let's get to work.” 

And that's all it is. 

Work. 

Because that's all it will ever be, right?

“A little birdie told me something interesting.” Ursula smiles that wicked grin of hers at Titus, while they're having brunch at the Danforth Resort together. “You haven't fucked your personal assistant yet. It's been over a year. I find that impressive, Titus.” 

“Who the fuck would tell you something like that?” He rolls his eyes at her. 

She's telling the truth, though. He hasn't fucked you. He hasn't even kissed you since that time. 

“Your housekeepers will do anything for a little extra cash.” She only had to add a bit more to their checks to get them to spill the details about you and Titus. “From what I hear, your personal assistant is more like a roommate you pay. And you don't even fuck her. That's just weird.” 

“It's weird that you give a fuck about who I'm fucking.” 

Ursula shrugs. “I give more of a fuck that you've been acting like an asshole because you're all pent up. Just go fuck one of the people you have on speed dial and get it over with already.”

“Okay, I will.” He leaves the table then, done with this brunch.

But he doesn't go to one of the many fuckbuddies he has.

He just goes straight home to you. 

Because he doesn't want to fuck anyone. 

It's like there's something wrong with him. If he isn't thinking about you, he can't get hard. His body won't let him fuck anyone else. 

But maybe that's his heart getting in the way. 

You and him have found that rhythm from before again, albeit with a slight change. You do get flustered whenever he touches you now. And you don't touch him as casually as you used to anymore. He likes that you're finally seeing him as a man. But he hates that you no longer feel relaxed around him. 

You apologize a lot more now. You aren't as playful because you're nervous you'll say something you shouldn't. 

It's killing him inside. 

Especially on days like today, where you seem like you're back to the way you were before, smiling at him when he gets home, “welcome back! How was brunch?” 

“Horrible.” He pulls off his dress shirt, tossing it into the hamper. 

You hand him one of the softer shirts he wears at home and he slips it on. He catches the way your eyes linger on his body for a second before you shake your head, like you're trying to shake away the thoughts you were having. 

You distract yourself by asking, “did you bring me that pastry?”

“Fuck, I forgot.” He was in a rush to leave. 

Usually when he goes to brunch with Ursula at the Danforth Resort, you would beg him to get this one pastry for you since it's a specialty dessert there. He always got it for you, so he could watch you happily devour it. 

“Oh it's okay!” You wave him off. “No big deal. I will just dream about it until next time.” 

“We can go right now.” 

You look at him like he's gone crazy. “You just drove back. It's alright. I don't mind waiting.” 

Waiting. Titus hates that fucking word. 

He hates waiting. He hates it so much. He hates that he has to wait and wait and wait until everything falls into place so that he can have even the slightest chance of being with you. Of making you his, forever. 

You seem content to wait but he doesn't know for how long. 

He knows you've been looking for another job.

He knows you've been talking with other men. 

Sure, they're "just friends” of yours but…he can't stand it. 

He can't take another day of waiting for you to be his.

He needs this to work. 

Titus cannot live without you. 

So, he waits for everything to align exactly the way he needs it to. 

Then, he will make you his. 

But plans never do go the way he thinks.

Because you've caught the eye of a certain member of the High Council. 

“Ignacio?” You see him at one of the events Titus brings you to and he comes rushing up to you, giving you a big hug. 

Something that makes Titus's jaw tighten. 

“Now where have you been, mi cielito?” He swings you around, making you giggle. “I have missed having you serve me. Opulence has declined since you left.” 

“I got fired.” You tell him as he sets you down. 

“They fired you? But doesn't Titus—” 

When Ignacio meets Titus's deadly glare, he doesn't say another word. 

Instead, he clears his throat and goes, “well, regardless, they were sorely mistaken in choosing to let you go.”

“If I knew you'd be here, I would've brought you something.” You used to bring him cute little charms for his guns. 

“What are you doing here? I heard Titus had a personal assistant but I had no idea it would be you. How did you two meet?” 

“It's a funny story.” You say with that soft giggle of yours. 

Titus is learning right now that you show that side of yourself to others. Not just him. Ignacio seems well versed in how precious you can be, his eyes roaming your body. He must like how gorgeous you look in the designer dress Titus picked out for you for this event. 

“Would you like a drink? I'd love to hear about it.” As much as Ignacio wouldn't want to light any fury in Titus, he has missed the chats you two used to have so he is willing to risk it. 

Titus opens his mouth to answer for you but then you go, “oh sure! Titus, you don't mind right? I'll be right back!”

Of course he minds. Of course he fucking minds. You're not supposed to want to spend time with anyone except for him. 

And yet you're choosing Ignacio? Over him? 

He can't stop you from walking away. He can't stop you from smiling at Ignacio as you hook your arm in his, doing that affectionate cheek rub against his shoulder, making Ignacio pinch your nose in response. You laugh so beautifully as the two of you chat about something Titus is too far away to hear.

Ignacio touches you so casually, like the two of you have a deeper relationship. But you told Titus you never dated before. 

But you never told him if you ever fucked someone before. 

From the way Ignacio is holding your hip with one hand and his drink in the other, Titus can't help but imagine that you aren't the innocent girl he thought you were. Especially when you smile all bashfully before placing your hand against Ignacio's chest, using your finger to draw little circles over where his heart is. 

“I think your boss wants me dead.” Ignacio whispers to you. “You shouldn't glance over there. You'll see quite the death glare.” 

“He won't do anything to you, don't worry.” You know Titus won't. 

“I heard a rumor about you.” He has been meaning to ask, since now he knows you're Titus's personal assistant. “You haven't slept with him. Is that true?” 

“Is that…surprising?” 

Ignacio shrugs. “He is quite fond of the help, from what I hear. Fond of firing them too, when he's done with them.”

That you are well aware of. You've seen it before. Titus fired all of his housekeeping staff recently and hired brand new ones, who only come when you and him aren't at the apartment at all. You still don't know why he did that but you don't ask. It isn't your place to. 

“If you need a job, I have many places you can work. Just give me a call anytime.” Ignacio puts his hand out and you give him your phone, letting him add his personal number to it. “I should let you go back to your boss now. Adiós, mi cielito.” 

Ignacio kisses you on the temple before heading over to say hello to another set of patrons at the event. You make your way back to Titus, who has maintained his glare this whole time.

The question he asks you when you're back by his side startles you. “Have you fucked him?”

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at Titus, shocked he'd ask you something like that. 

“I said, have you fucked Ignacio?” His tone grows harsher. “Answer me.”

“I have not fucked anyone.” You scoff, setting your drink down. You haven't even taken a sip and now you definitely don't want to. 

Because you know the moment your inhibitions drop, you'll say something you really don't want to. 

But then Titus goes, “I bet you want to fuck him.” 

And you can't hold it in anymore. “Why do you care? I'm just the help. Though apparently you always fuck the help so maybe I'm not even that to you.” 

You have never snapped at Titus like this before. That's why he has no idea what to say. He didn't think you had it in you to feel any kind of jealousy. You normally are so chill, even when he talks to other people. 

Have you been harboring envy this whole time? 

You hate to admit that. You hate when your mind trails to the fact that he has been with other people and that he will be with other people after you. That you aren't anything but this weird pastime of his for right now. 

But that ends today. 

You can't keep doing this.

You can't keep pretending like you can stay by his side and nothing has changed. 

“I'm going to work for Ignacio.” You tell him straight up, even though you haven't formally agreed to anything. “So, you can go and hire some other person and fuck them because I do not want to be here when you inevitably do. I'm leaving to pack my things.” 

But he doesn't let you leave. Not without him.

Titus grabs you by the arm and drags you out to the underground parking lot, where he has his car parked for the event. 

“Let go of me!” You tug at him but he won't budge. “Titus!”

“Shut the fuck up!” He yells right in your face and you're so taken back that you can't speak. He has never yelled at you like that before. 

It makes your heart race in ways you've never felt before. 

He opens the backseat of his car and tosses you inside. Then, he gets in and shuts the door behind him, climbing on top of you. 

You should've guessed what would happen next but you're still shocked when his lips come crashing down onto yours as his hands slide up your legs, hiking up your skirt. You gasp against his lips when he rips off your underwear, tossing it aside.

“Wait, wait—” Your pleas are silenced by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth to hold it hostage. You can't breathe. You're getting lightheaded. 

It only gets worse when you feel his thumb trail down your bare pussy, a feeling you've never felt before. You squirm, shoving at him, trying to close your legs but he has your thighs pinned down with his knees. 

You're trapped beneath him. 

You're at his mercy. 

You can't let him do this. 

You'll never be able to leave if you do. 

You pull his face off of you and he snarls like a rabid animal in response but you have to get your words out, “please don't do this. You don't want this. You don't want me. You know you don't.”

He lets out the most menacing laugh you've ever heard before he responds, “that's where you're wrong. All I have ever wanted was you. All I want is to do this with you. How dare you try to leave me. Don't fucking try to stop me now because you're never getting away from me.” 

“For how long, though?” Your words freeze him in place. “Titus, I don't want to do this if you're just going to fuck someone else later. Let me go, please.” 

“What will it take for you to believe that I only want you?” Because he can't let you go. He can't.

You're everything to him. 

He'd rather die than ever let you go. 

What will it take, though? 

Horrible, sinful, ugly things cross your mind. Thoughts of you caging him as much as he wants to cage you. 

You both falling into the trap that is one another. 

“Stop right now and wait until I'm ready.” You lean up, pressing your forehead against his. “Because I will be ready. But I don't want our first time together to be in a car after a fight. Please, sir.” 

You're playing dirty, pulling that out now. But it satisfies Titus enough to nod. 

“I want to kiss and touch you whenever I want.” That is his only ask as part of this deal. “I will wait to fuck you as long as you promise you won't go.”

“Okay.” You press a kiss against his lips, one that he immediately leans into, savoring. You smile then breathe out, your warm breath like heaven on his lips, “I'm not going anywhere. I promise, sir.” 

“No talking to other men. No looking for other jobs. You sleep in my bed from now on. You aren't allowed to think of leaving me.” He nips at your bottom lip, his teeth sinking in hard enough to make it bleed. “Got it?”

You lick your lips, tasting the iron, then you lean in, biting his lip until he bleeds, before you kiss him, mixing yours with his. Then, you tell him with a little brush of your nose against his, “as long as you do the same. You're mine, Titus.” 

He lets out that dark chuckle of his, the one that he has been keeping in, the sinister laugh that is flooding his system with the darkness he has been dying to let out. 

“I am going to fuck you up.” His devilish grin sends such a thrill through you. 

“Only me, okay?” You don't want him to look at anyone else like this. 

“Only you. You're my obsession.” His gaze trails down the length of your body and he groans at the sight of your pussy, his cock wanting to sink inside of you right now. 

Titus settles for burying his face between your legs. You try to push him away, “Titus! What are you—”

“Keep your voice down.” He instructs, his hot breath tickling your clit. “Unless you want people to know I'm eating you out in my car right now.” 

“Can't we wait until we're home?” Your words make him smile. 

So, you consider his apartment home. 

He likes that a lot. 

“I'm done waiting.” He says right as he drags the length of his tongue along your folds, making your whole body shudder. His hand slides down to knead his cock through his pants, which is getting terribly hard at the sight of you trembling from his touch. “You taste exactly how I thought you would.” 

“I've never done this before.” You're scared. It feels so intense, his tongue swirling around your clit, the stimulation shooting sparks straight to your core. 

Tension is building inside of you, coiling in your lower stomach, threatening to burst. 

“You've never cum before?” Titus grip his cock harder when you nod in response. 

He will have to lock you up in the apartment from now on. 

Because if you have never tasted pleasure before, if he is your first everything, how is he supposed to ever let you out of his sight? 

He needs to corrupt you. He needs you begging for him to make you cum once you've grown addicted to it. 

But first, he needs to show you how good it feels. 

“Put your hands in my hair.” He commands and you listen, lacing your fingers through his curls. “Now listen carefully. Whenever I do something you like, you tug or I won't know, okay?” 

“I don't want to hurt you.” You let out in a quiet little murmur that he finds so precious. 

Because he wants to fuck you up even more now. 

His sweet little innocent girl. 

“That's not how you answer me.” He takes a bite out of your thigh as punishment, making you yelp from the sudden sting. “Do it right. Are you going to pull my hair when you feel good? 

“Yes, sir.” You immediately tug when he dives back in, thrusting his tongue deep inside of you. You've never felt anything like this before. “Oh my—”

You can't breathe when his hand slides between your legs, his thumb swiping over your clit as his tongue ravishes your insides. You're pulling so hard on his hair, holding him there, the pleasure building so quickly that you're feeling like you're going to explode. 

“Wait, wait, Titus, I'm going to—” You squirm when his fingers start playing with your clit, which is getting firmer from his touch, easier for him to rub methodically. 

The tip of his tongue presses up against that spot right beneath your clit inside of you, teasing it back and forth, and your body gushes. 

You bite down on your lip as hard as possible when your orgasm crashes through you, flooding every inch of your skin with an unfamiliar heat. It's like your core has been set ablaze, warmth pooling between your legs that Titus is lapping up with his tongue. 

“Good job.” He praises you, seeing how hard you came for your first time. “You even squirted a little.”

“Sorry.” You feel so embarrassed. 

“I hate it when you say sorry.” Titus leans back in, sealing his lips around your clit then starts sucking on it, pulling a scream from your lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

“Titus! Stop, I just came, you can't—” You cum again before you can get any more words out, your vision going blurry. 

“Your clit is throbbing.” He flicks it with his tongue, your body convulsing in response. “That was your punishment for saying sorry. All I want to hear is “thank you for making me cum, sir”.” 

He waits for you to say it. Your heart is pounding so hard in your ears right now that you're unsure if you heard him correctly. 

But you say it perfectly, “thank you for making me cum, sir.” 

“Good girl.” He pulls you towards him, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He pokes your nose with his before telling you, “now we're going to go home and I'm going to do that again. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” You nod. Then, you don't stop yourself from giving him a peck on the lips. 

And Titus knows, in that moment, that he wants to see this look on your face everyday.

With that heat in your gaze that will only ever be for him.

The drive home is unbelievably uncomfortable because you're so wet between your legs and every bump in the road tortures your swollen clit. Not having any underwear on makes it way worse. 

Then there's the traffic. So much traffic. 

It's going to take forever to get home.

Titus glances over at you and he can't help the smile that forms when he sees you squirming. He really likes seeing you all hot and bothered. 

That's why he decides to have a little more fun. So he turns to you and says, “hold up your skirt.” 

“What?” You don't know if you heard him right. 

“I said hold up your skirt. Do it now.” 

“Titus…” You glance around. 

You know the windows of the car are tinted but you both are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic right now. There's cars on all sides of you. Someone is bound to see your bare pussy if they happen to look in. 

“I'll punish you with something worse if you don't listen.” He makes his threat and you swallow. You're unsure if you can handle another one of his punishments… 

“Okay, okay.” You grab the hem of your dress with both hands and lift it past your hips. 

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” He asks, his eyes darting between the highway and your pussy, one hand still on the wheel, the other hand unzipping his pants. His cock is going to burst out if he doesn't give it some relief soon. 

You confess. “Not really. I've never really been interested in sex until…now.” 

If Titus could pull over right here and fuck you, he would. You gulp when he turns to look at you, his gaze more intense than you've ever seen it. 

“Why don't you try right now?” He pulls his cock out of his pants and you see it for the first time. 

Technically, you have seen the outline of his cock many times before, since Titus likes to, on occasion, walk around in just his boxer briefs at the apartment. There was one day that you saw the tip of his cock peeking out but you tore your eyes away before they lingered too long. 

Now, your eyes are locked on it, on the way his large hand barely wraps around it as he strokes it up and down. Your mind is going fuzzy at the thought that he's this hard because of you. That his cock is leaking pre-cum because of you. That he's touching himself to the sight of you touching yourself, your fingers teasing your clit like he had earlier. 

“Dip your fingers inside of your pussy then rub your clit. It'll feel better.” He instructs.

You do as he says, gathering some of your slick onto the pads of your fingers and sliding back up to your clit. You let out a moan when you start to swirl those methodical circles like Titus had. It does feel much better. 

“Thank you, sir.” You tell him and he groans in response, gripping his cock harder. His other hand is gripping the steering wheel so hard that you can see the whites of his knuckles. 

“Cum with me.” He's getting close. 

And he cums when you reply, “yes, sir.” 

His release hits the dashboard and the steering wheel. He hasn't cum that hard in months. He could cum again from the sight of his leather seats slick with your release. He wishes he was between your legs instead of stuck in traffic right now. 

You quickly open the glove box, pulling out the car wipes you keep in there, since you occasionally clean Titus's car as one of your work tasks. You quickly clean up for him. 

Then, when you're done, you look down at his throbbing cock and Titus catches you licking your lips. 

Before he can say anything, you ask him, “can I clean you up?” 

“What if someone sees?” He says playfully, smirking. 

You feel a rush of heat spread through you. You don't know what you would do if someone saw you with him in your mouth while he's driving. But you definitely want to do it. 

“It's okay.” You decide you don't care because, “you wouldn't let them live if they saw.”

Titus lets out that sinister laugh of his, amused by your words. “I always knew you were a smart girl.” 

You unbuckles your seatbelt and proceed to bend over until your face is right above his cock. 

“Come closer.” He urges you to get on your knees on the seat, pulling your body closer to him. Then, you jolt when his hand slides down the length of your back, pulling up your dress until your ass is exposed. Then, he sinks two fingers into your pussy from this angle without warning.

“Wait, Titus—” Now, if anyone looks through the passenger side window, they have a clear view of him fingering you.

“It's okay.” He smiles mischievously. “I'll kill anyone who dares to look, remember? Just focus on cleaning me up.” 

You turn your attention back to his cock, which is surprisingly still hard. You don't know what to do, especially when his fingers are thrusting inside of you, spreading you open in ways you didn't know possible. They're terribly distracting, pushing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. 

You drag your tongue along the tip of his cock, licking up any leftover cum that's still leaking out. He rewards you by curling his fingers inside of you, making your hips buck. 

“Put me in your mouth and I'll make you cum real hard.” He teases that spot inside of you, your body trembling in response. 

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock then sink down, letting him fill your mouth. You can't fit him all the way in. You barely make it halfway. But that's enough for him to reward you. 

“Suck and lick me clean while you cum.” He then starts to move his fingers side to side rapidly, sending you into a frenzy from the sudden roughness. 

You cum uncontrollably, drenching your legs as you suck his cock, your tongue swirling around while you do. You moan with your full mouth when Titus pops his fingers out of you. You pull off of him and help settle him back inside his pants.

“Come here and kiss me.” He gestures for you to kiss him, since he needs to focus on the road still.

You press a kiss against his lips then sit back down, buckling in again. Then you turn to look at him, watching him lick his wet fingers clean. That makes heat pool at core again. 

“Did that feel good?” He has both hands on the wheel again, now that the bumper to bumper traffic has stopped. 

“Yes, sir.” You say bashfully, your cheeks growing warm. 

You've never felt anything like this before. But you want to do it again. The pleasure is incredible. The thrill is addictive. 

But a strange pain pricks you inside. 

You try to ignore it but it picks at you the entire rest of the ride home. 

Titus is so eager to kiss you the moment the two of you are home alone but when he goes to do so, you do not seem to match his energy. You kiss him back, sure, but not with the passion he had hoped. 

“What's wrong?” He cups your face with his hands, feeling how fast your pulse is. 

“I don't know.” You can't quite put words to what's bothering you. 

Maybe you're just overwhelmed. So much has happened. It's going to take a while to adjust to the new rhythm of things. 

But you have a feeling that isn't what's lingering in your heart. 

“Titus.” You say his name when your eyes meet his. 

He likes the sound of his name from your lips, but not when you sound so sad. It makes him feel something in the pit of his stomach he'd like not to feel. 

“Have you done that with anyone before?” You know then what is tainting your heart.

It is that ugly envy again. The fear that you are just another one of his playthings. Or worse, a hole for him to fuck and throw away. 

At least before, you were like a companion. Like a glorified pet. You didn't mind that because you knew no one else had ever been that for him before. 

This, whatever relationship you are in now, is something else entirely and you are afraid you've just fallen into a position that can be filled by anyone. 

You yearn to feel special but you don't know if Titus wants to make you feel special. 

You're about to learn the truth. 

When he picks you up and carries you into his bedroom, tossing you onto his bed. His sheets smell like him. Like the expensive soap in his shower and the cologne he likes to wear. It makes your heart ache. 

Like his words do, “do you think I'd do that for anyone?”

Your throat is so dry all of a sudden. Swallowing your saliva brings no relief. You're so choked up from the fear. 

You just mumble out, “I don't know.” 

“I have never waited to fuck anyone in my life.” He climbs over you, trapping you beneath him. “If you were just a hole to me, I would've sunk my cock into you on your first day.”

“Then what am I to you?” You ask even though you know he can't give you an answer. 

How can he? Titus could never marry you. Not with the kind of fucked up family he has. 

So, what are you to him? 

“Does it matter?” He doesn't want to put a label on this. 

“I don't know.” You don't like answering like that but it's the truth. You don't know if or why it matters to you. 

“You're mine. I'm yours. Isn't that enough?” He owns you and you own him. Mutual destruction. 

“What if…” You whisper the next part because the nerves make your stomach twist, “I get greedy?” 

“How greedy?” Titus likes this. This sudden turn. 

At first, he was worried you'd try to run from this again and shove him away. But right now, you are pulling him in and not wanting to let him go. 

“Have you…ever had a baby with anyone?” You ask because you're unsure. He could have children out there he has no clue about. 

The chuckle that leaks from his lips sends shivers down your spine. “Are you planning to baby trap me?” 

“You asked me how greedy…so I told you.” You may not be able to be his in any kind of official capacity but being the mother of his only child would put you on a pedestal that you can never be removed from. 

“I've never fucked anyone without protection.” He refuses to stick his cock into anyone raw. There's too much risk. 

There's no risk with you, his beautiful virgin who has never had anyone but him touch you. 

“Are you going to wear a condom with me?” His answer to this question will tell you everything you need to know. 

“The moment I get to sink my cock into your pussy, it's going in raw.” He smiles at how your expression shifts from that worry to delight. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes, sir.” You pull him in for a kiss, sealing your words. “I would like that very much.” 

“How much longer are you going to make me wait?” He's already raring to go again right now, his cock aching to be buried inside of you. 

It's your turn to chuckle, letting him hear that laugh that is like music to his ears. “I didn't realize Mister Almost Trillionaire can't keep it in his pants. You want to fuck me that bad?” 

“Desperately.” He finally allows himself to admit out loud. 

“I don't want it to hurt.” You heard the first time always hurts. 

“It won't.” Titus will prepare you well. 

“Then, whenever you want, we can.” You press a little kiss on his cheek. “Just not tonight.” 

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “What the fuck? Such a tease.” 

“I want to sleep with you tonight. Just sleep. Tomorrow, we can do whatever you want. But tonight, I want to just lay and cuddle. Is that okay, sir?” You bat your eyelashes at him and he lets out a laugh in response. 

“You know just how to push me.” He picks you back up into his arms. “You're getting in the shower with me. We're going to cuddle naked.”

“I'm okay with that.” You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his nice cologne. “As long as we get to cuddle. I've always wanted to cuddle.” 

“Is that the greed spilling out?” He asks as he opens the door to his lavish bathroom. 

“Can I be more greedy?” You rub your cheek against his shoulder like you used to once he sets you back on your feet. “Please, sir?” 

“What do you want?” He should not let you influence him so easily but it's hard when you're acting so cute. 

“A hug.” You open your arms, since you and Titus have never hugged before. 

He doesn't even think he has ever hugged anyone. Not like actually. He doesn't like casual touching after all. You've never tried to hug him.

But you want to now. 

Titus steps forward, wrapping his arms around you and you smile all giddy, rubbing your face against his chest as you squeeze him with your arms. His heart is racing in his chest. He didn't know it was possible to find someone so adorable before. 

“Now pick me up.” You beam a big smile at him as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Come on, please!” 

He glares at you. You are getting bold. But he listens, picking you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. You giggle so beautifully, laying your head against his shoulder. 

“I've always wanted to do this.” You pepper his neck with kisses before trailing up to his lips, giving him a little affectionate peck there. “Thank you, Titus.” 

Oh, he's fucked. He's actually so fucked. Because he thought he would be the one fucking you up. 

But here you are, being the brightest ball of sunshine he has ever experienced, melting his icy soul with a warmth he has never ever thought possible. 

He might just fall in love with you…

Much to your surprise, Titus does not fuck you the next day. Actually, he doesn't even touch you, at least not sexually. He grabs a hold of your hand to tug you towards him for a hug. He kisses you. He cuddles you in bed or on the couch. But nothing more than that. 

You don't ask why. You like these more intimate moments. But it's making it harder and harder not to fall in love with him. 

You know it's silly, though, to think you could ever be his love. Everyone around Titus believes he's incapable of love. 

Do you believe that? 

You're…unsure about that. 

If anything, you think he is very capable of love but he would never admit it. He would never tell anyone that he has all your favorite things memorized. He would never let anyone find out that he knows everything there is to know about you, like what makes you laugh or how much he loves your laugh. 

Or how much he loves you. 

He loves you. 

He does. 

He realizes that on the private jet ride to another resort, this time tucked away in the mountains, with a private hot spring in each of the luxury cabins. 

You're going over the itinerary you put together, since you're very excited to go on a little vacation now that you and Titus are being more affectionate. Since it's in a more secluded place with little to no reception, he feels safe about just being himself. It's a resort meant for relaxation and restoration so no phone use allowed anyways. 

And he knows he loves you because he's excited to spend quality time focused solely on you. 

Because that must be what love is, right? 

To want someone all the time, to want to be with them all the time. 

“What are you most excited about, Titus?” You ask him once you finish reading off your list. 

He can't really tell you that he's excited to fuck you every night this week until you're unable to walk so he just says, “it'll be nice to soak in the hot spring.” 

You giggle, nodding in agreement. “Me too. I like that it's private so we can cuddle out in the open.” 

Or fuck. He really needs to fuck you. 

He can't wait any longer. 

Titus hasn't touched you since that day. He doesn't really know why. He just figured he wanted to enjoy being affectionate with you for a bit. The kisses, the hugs, the cuddling, they all have been better than he thought. He never realizes it could be like this with someone. He feels so at ease around you. You make it easy to be himself.

You aren't afraid of his darker tendencies at all. You don't mind that he glares at the concierge for staring at you for a little too long. You aren't repulsed by his need to keep you close to him now that he is allowed to keep an arm around you at all times. 

You quite enjoy being the object of his obsession. You have never felt so special before. 

You wish this could last forever. 

So, you have a little gift for Titus. One that took a lot of maneuvering to hide from him, since he hasn't let you out of his sight for very long these last few days. 

You aren't sure when you want to give it to him but when the two of you step into the beautiful hotel room, you decide the sooner the better. You want to see him wear it right away. 

“Titus, I have something for you.” You open your suitcase and pull out a flat velvet box you had been hiding from him. 

He stares at it, not knowing how the hell you managed to buy something without him knowing. You are a sneaky girl, aren't you? 

“What the fuck? Who did you bribe to buy that for you?” That must've been it.

“I'm not telling!” You knew he'd think that. “Just open it!” 

You hand him the box and he scoffs. He can't believe you got him a gift. He should've gotten you something. He definitely will now. He can't have you get the last laugh. 

But he hears your beautiful giggle when he opens it and shock colors his features. 

Inside the box is a necklace delicately woven with thick black thread. In the center is a cute note attached that says: to the threads that bind us ♡

Then, you show him the matching necklace you're wearing around your neck. 

And he has never kissed you so quickly before. 

You smile against his lips, saying in between kisses, “I assume you like it.” 

“Did you make this?” You must've. That's the only way you could've snuck it by him.

You nod. “It's a super high quality thread, waterproof, last longing, the works. You saw me order it. You probably thought it was just for my sewing stuff.” 

Titus definitely remembers you ordering it but he assumed it was just a restock of whatever threads you already had. He had no clue you were making something in secret. 

“Sneaky.” He chuckles, and he finds it strange how authentic it is. 

He hasn't laughed like that in a long time. Without fear of being seen as weak. It's a real, deep from the soul kind of laugh. One of happiness. 

Maybe that's why the words leave his lips, “I love you.” 

Because maybe, deep down, he wants to sabotage this. He wants you to rip out his heart and stomp on it so that he can never trust anyone ever again enough to show weakness. Because that would make him a Danforth. 

But you blink back tears of joy and say to him, “I love you too, Titus.” 

And in that moment, he realizes he isn't a Danforth. 

He's just Titus. 

And Titus is in love with you. 

“I want to marry you.” His words catch you by surprise. 

“What?” You never thought he'd ever say that. “Your father would…” 

“I know.” He knows it's not possible, but not for the reasons you think. 

Titus loves you too much to subject you to the trials of what it means to become a part of his family. The dirty, dark, fucked up secret he's keeping. The one he will tell you about one day, but not today. 

Today, he wants to tell you, “I just wanted you to know that I want to. And I hope that's enough.” 

You smile that lovely smile that has his heart racing. “More than enough. I want to marry you too.” 

You untie the necklace and Titus holds still while you secure the knot around his neck. The two of you may never wear rings, but you will always be bound together. 

“Now, can I please fuck you?” Titus cannot hold back anymore. 

You giggle and then playfully say, “what would you do if I said no?” 

“I might just pin you down and take you anyways.” It's a real threat because he is done with waiting. 

“Can you wait just a little longer?” You bat your eyelashes at him, making him groan. “Just until we've unpacked and soaked in the hot spring once. Then, I'm all yours. But I know if we dive right in, we're not leaving that bed and I'd like to enjoy the amenities a bit before the love of my life fucks me silly.” 

“The love of your life.” Titus grabs you and kisses you right then and there, the hunger in his kisses very apparent. “How the fuck do you expect me to keep it together?” 

“I don't know, sir.” You giggle, brushing your nose against his cutely. “I guess you just have to figure it out.” 

He growls, low, angry, menacingly. “You're on thin ice, love.” 

“I can't wait to fall in then.” You say with a big smile before pulling him in for another kiss that he instantly melts into. 

Titus hates that you take your sweet ass time unpacking. He knows you're doing it on purpose too. Like you're just sitting there, sorting your toiletries. You've never done that before. 

He knows you're just doing it to stall because you like riling him up. You will grow to regret testing him like this. 

But he is patient. He is waiting so patiently because he knows the moment you're in bed with him, his cock is not leaving your pussy for the next week. 

Maybe the next month.

Maybe the next year. 

He could reserve this place for that long if he wanted to.

Maybe he will. Why not? 

He's one of the richest men in the world.

He can spend his money however he wants. 

“Are you coming in or not?” You call out to Titus, who is obviously lost in his own thoughts. You know you've teased him to the breaking point now. 

Which is why you pull off all your clothes while he's watching before getting into the hot spring. 

Titus practically rips his clothes off to join you and you laugh so hard when he grabs you and pulls you onto his lap the moment he gets into the water. He is desperate to touch your skin to his skin like this, his cock throbbing against your lower stomach. 

“I could fuck you right now.” He whispers into your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “You're making it very difficult not to.” 

“You promised me you would make sure it wouldn't hurt.” You don't want him to rush this. 

“It won't hurt.” He's going to make you cum plenty before his cock does. 

You hug him and then say into the crook of his neck, “I am a little scared…”

And, for some reason, Titus holds onto you a little tighter when you say that. 

“What are you scared of?” He starts rubbing small circles on your back, trying to comfort you.

He has never comforted someone before. But he wants to for you. 

“You might be too big.” You feel a little flustered saying that out loud. “Like, are you really going to fit?” 

He groans then slaps your ass, making you shriek. “You scared the fuck out of me! That's what you're worried about?” 

“It's a valid worry.” You squint at him. “Have you ever taken a cock that big?” 

“I never take it.” He says with a smirk and you chuckle then smack his chest.

“See! You don't get it. It's intimidating…” You glance downwards, highly aware of how deep his cock would go inside of you when it does. 

“It will be fine.” He leans in, kissing you on the cheek. “I promise, love.”

“I trust you, sir.” You lay your head back on his shoulder. 

“You'll end up enjoying how big I am.” He'll get you to crave being filled up with his cock.

“I hope so.” Your words make his cock twitch. “It felt really good to cum. I bet it'll be even better to cum together.”

“You're killing me.” He grunts against your skin, digging his teeth into your shoulder because he needs some kind of relief. “I want to fuck you so badly.” 

“Hopefully it's worth the wait.” You are a tad bit worried about being boring in bed. You're sure Titus has preferences you can't quite live up to yet. 

“You are worth the wait.” Titus pulls you in closer, kissing you softly. It's the softest kiss he has ever done. So gentle, so sweet. “I don't want to be anywhere but right here with you.” 

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” You giggle, hugging him tighter. “I love you so much, Titus.” 

Now, he is officially done waiting. 

Titus lifts you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hauls the two of you out of the hot spring and back inside. He doesn't care how dripping wet he is. 

He just needs you sprawled out on the bed in front of him as soon as possible. 

He drops you onto the bed, climbing on top of you. You look up at him, and he knows that look in your eye is full of love. 

“You have no fucking clue how much I've wanted you under me like this.” Titus stares down at your naked body beneath him, reveling in the sight of how shy and flustered you are. “You're so pretty.” 

“Have you always been a flirt?” You giggle and he starts plastering your body with kisses, trying to draw more of that lovely sound from you. “That tickles!”

“Have you always been this cute?” His words warm your heart so much. 

“I love you like this.” You tell him, seeing how relaxed he looks, the tension gone from his features. You brush your fingertips along his jaw until you cup his face. “Can we stay like this forever?” 

Titus nods, pressing a kiss into your palm to seal his promise. Then, he starts to kiss down the length of your arm, until he reaches your shoulder. From there, he trails lower, to your chest. You bite back a sound when he drags his tongue over each of your nipples, which have perked up already. 

“I've been waiting to do that and this.” He says before he takes one of them between his teeth, nibbling just enough to send shivers all over you. “Feel good?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“It'll feel better with my fingers inside of you.” He nudges you to lay on your side, facing him. He spreads your legs, his hand slipping between them, groaning when he feels how wet you are for him already. “Is this for me?” 

“Only for you, sir.” You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers into his hair, tugging it when he slowly thrusts a finger inside of you. That encourages him to add another, spreading you wide, helping you adjust to the size. 

He latches back onto your breasts, playing with your sensitive nipples, swirling around the hard peaks as his fingers curl inside of you, looking for just the right spot to thrust against. You tug his hair when he finds it and moan when he starts to tease it, making you grind your hips against his hand. 

“You better do that on my cock.” Titus is barely keeping it together. He wants to be inside of you already. But he promised he wouldn't let it hurt. 

So, he needs to make you cum a few times. 

You're getting close to your first orgasm already, the dual stimulation inching you closer and closer. Then, when Titus starts to palm your clit, you let go completely, letting the first wave of pleasure take over you.

He keeps his fingers buried inside of you, but starts to kiss down the length of your body. You know what's about to happen next, your hands still in his hair, ready to tug when his lips seal over your clit. 

The burst of pleasure distracts you from him adding in another finger, the pressure building inside of you. You're clamping down on his fingers so hard. He wishes it was his cock instead. But he needs you to loosen up a bit more. You won't be able to take him if you're this tight. 

“Relax, love.” His hand rests on your lower stomach, rubbing it gently. “You can take it. Just breathe. Focus on your clit.” 

Easy for him to say. He isn't the one being pried open. But you close your eyes, tuning your attention to the softness of his tongue and the warmth of his hand on your skin. He eases his fingers deeper inside of you, until he's brushing up against a spot so deep, you start to squirm, tugging at his hair. 

“Right here?” He curls his fingers and you squirt in response, finally loosening up, gasping for air. 

That was more intense than the last orgasm. And Titus is tempted to tease you more, to thrust his fingers relentlessly right there, to see you convulsing and screaming. But then he sees that adorably flustered look on your face. He wants to enjoy that a little bit longer. 

“Now imagine the tip of my cock grinding right here.” He pushes against that spot again, making your lower body shake so much that he has to hold you still with his other hand pinning you down by your stomach. “You'll be cumming like crazy.” 

“I don't know if I can handle that.” You feel like you could pass out right now. 

“You can. You will. Just enjoy it.” Titus starts to thrust his fingers in and out at a slow pace, letting you get used to the motion. 

It feels better than you thought it would, the friction growing more and more intoxicating. You're going to burst at the seams again the moment he curls his fingers. He knows you will. 

So, he doesn't. And you don't know how to react to the edging. You've never experienced it before, to be taken so close to the edge but then not all the way. He slows before you can cum then once you've rested enough, picks back up until you're close again. 

“Titus, please.” You want to cum, your hips desperately grinding against his fingers but he won't let you. 

“Ask properly.” He finally lets out that sadistic smile he has been dying to let free. 

He loves seeing you like this. Your skin hot, your breaths heavy, your pussy aching to cum. 

“Please make me cum, sir.” You plead exactly the way you figure he'd want you to. 

And Titus rewards you well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

You're screaming his name when his fingers starts to fuck you without any care for how hard you're cumming on them. You try to pull away from him, to run from the sudden onslaught of pleasure but he's holding you steady, not letting you go. 

Instead, Titus leans down, his lips sealing over your clit again, and when he lightly sucks on it, you're seeing stars in your vision, the orgasms compounding exponentially. 

You don't know if you ever stop cumming. You definitely have soaked the sheets, along with his face. He licks it up happily, like it's his reward for making you cum so much. 

You feel a little empty when he pulls his fingers out of you. You feel even more empty when he gets up from bed. 

“Where are you going?” You try not to sound too sad but you can't control it. 

“Just grabbing some water.” He cracks open one of the water bottles the place provides and brings it back to you, climbing back into bed. “I wasn't going to leave you.” 

You didn't think he was but it definitely feels strange, coming down from the high of an orgasm. It's like it sinks all your other feelings down too. 

“Come here, love.” He sits up in bed, patting his lap. 

You straddle his lap, taking the water bottle he hands you and sipping it. You definitely needed to quench your thirst. Titus wraps his arms around you, pulling you right up against his chest. 

Then, he goes, “help me with the water. My hands are full.”

You chuckle, finding this a little silly but you lift the water bottle to his lips and help him drink. You set the empty bottle aside so you can wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head against his chest, just hugging him for a bit. 

He rubs your back, trying to soothe any worries you may have had. Thoughts you shouldn't be having cross your mind and he catches the light sigh you breathe into his skin. 

“We don't have to have sex tonight.” Titus might actually fucking die if he has to wait any longer but he doesn't want you to be scared. 

He wants you to fully enjoy it with him. 

But can you, when you keep thinking about…

“Does it bother you that I'm inexperienced?” A part of you is afraid that taking things so slow is a burden. It is, but that's not because of you. That's only because Titus wants to fuck you so badly that taking things slow is killing him. 

But he's okay with the slow death. 

Because he knows the pay off will be well worth it. “I like that you are.” 

“Really?” You don't think Titus would lie to you. At least not right now. 

“I like knowing that I'm going to be the only person who ever gets to touch you.” You truly are his in that sense. 

“I wish I could say the same about you.” You feel selfish saying that, but you let it out anyways. “I feel strange when I think about you touching other people like you have to me.” 

“I haven't touched them like I have with you.” That's the truth. 

“What do you mean?” You can't imagine that's right. 

“Do you really think I'd go down on just anyone?” 

“Well…yeah…” 

He glares at you. “And here I thought you didn't judge me.” 

“I'm not judging you! I just figured you must like doing it since you're so good at it.” He had to learn from somewhere, right? 

“You think I'm good at it?” He pulls you in closer. “Did I make you feel good?” 

“Obviously.” You are not going to stroke his ego any more than this. “That's why I feel like…if you made someone else feel like that too, I…” 

“If they came on my cock, then they came on my cock. I wasn't fucking them to make them cum. I was fucking them to make myself cum.” Which is fucked up to say out loud but Titus is fucked up and you know that so there's no point in pretending he isn't. “But with you, I want to make you cum. A lot. Especially with my cock.” 

“So, that was all for me? You've never done that with anyone else before?” You hate asking but you want the confirmation. 

“You're the only one I've ever wanted to touch. You're the only one I've held naked.” 

“What?” That surprises you. 

“I despise being touched, especially skin on skin.” His words seem a bit ridiculous considering the fact that you're naked, pressed up against him right now while he's completely naked too. “But I like touching you. Only you, love.” 

“Is it bad that I like that?” You want things that are for you and you only. 

“Is it bad that I really wanted to make you beg to cum?” He refers to earlier.

“Yes.” You take a bite out of his neck as punishment for that. “That was mean.” 

“You liked it.” He smirks, pulling you in for a kiss. 

You smile against his lips. You can't help it. You love kissing Titus so you deepen the kiss, your tongue tangling with his, enjoying his lips on yours for a bit longer. 

He lays you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he settles himself between your legs. You can feel his cock throbbing against your stomach. 

“We don't have to.” He breathes out onto your lips. “If you're scared.” 

You look down, contemplating how daunting the thought of fitting him inside of you will ultimately be. But you want to have sex with him. You want to feel that close with him. 

But you need him to promise first. “The moment you fuck me, you aren't allowed to fuck anyone else ever again. I'll kill you if you do.”

“My sunshine has a dark side.” He likes this version of you. The possessive you. 

“You're a bad influence.” You say with a big smile. 

“Definitely.” He nods firmly. “Because if you even think about fucking anyone else, you're never leaving my bed.”

“I like being in your bed.” You confess. These last few days sleeping beside him have been so wonderful. “Can I stay there forever anyways?” 

“You don't have to ask. You're obligated to because there won't be a day that goes by where I'm not going to be fucking you.” Titus has waited long enough. 

From this moment forward, your pussy will keep his cock warm forever. 

And you can't wait anymore either. “Then I'm ready.” 

You expect to feel Titus's cock but he slips three fingers back inside of you, just to make sure. You wriggle a bit when he thrusts them in deep again and before you can say another word about how he's curling them, his lips press against yours. 

You've never cum while kissing him before, the rush making you all lightheaded from the breathlessness. His fingers don't stop moving, fucking you through your orgasm, making another one build all too quickly. But he pulls out before you can cum again. 

And this time, he lines up his cock, the tip of it pushing against your entrance. 

“Now you're ready.” He says with a smile against your lips. “Deep breath for me, love.”

You listen, taking in a deep breath as he sinks the tip of his cock inside of you. Titus lays his forehead against yours, groaning at the feeling of how warm and wet you are wrapped up around him. He isn't even fully inside of you yet but he knows there's nowhere else he wants to be from now on. 

You were expecting some pain but it's mostly that pressure that Titus has familiarized you with using his fingers. He helps keep your mind off the increasing pressure with his lips on yours and his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples as he sinks another inch of himself inside of you. You tug at his hair, wanting him to keep going, basking in the grin he gives you in response. 

He's about halfway seated inside of you when he pulls off your lips to say, “I'm going to start moving now. You know what to do if something feels good.”

“Yes, sir.” You nudge him playfully with your nose and he nips at it with his teeth, his cock throbbing inside of you at your words. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Titus is so madly in love with you. 

Because that's the only reason he's going so slow. If he had his way, he'd be pounding into you, forcing your pussy to take him instead of easing it into things. One day, he'll have his fun. 

But today, he'll make love. He has always, secretly, wanted to fall in love. Maybe that's why when the opportunity presented itself, it wasn't difficult for him to dive right into you. 

You're everything he isn't. The light in his darkness. 

The love of his life, looking so beautiful as he slowly starts to move, finding a rhythm that adds a bit more of himself inside of you with each thrust. You tug at his hair when the tip of his cock teases the swallower spot closer to your entrance, so he makes sure to spend some time there before thrusting as far in as he can go. 

“I'm going to cum if you keep doing that.” Your words don't dissuade him. 

Actually, it encourages him to pull his cock completely out of you, the sudden pop pushing you over the edge, your orgasm overwhelming you instantly. He likes the sight of your body shivering all over from the pleasure. He likes it even better knowing it's because of his cock. 

He goes to sink back in but you shake your head, saying, “wait, wait, I need a second.” 

“No, you don't.” He knows you're just afraid to cum again so soon. 

You are, because you cum the moment he thrusts back inside and then pulls completely out again, wetness pooling between your legs. That makes it much easier for Titus to slide back inside all the way, filling you deeper than he has before. 

“I'm right here.” He presses down against your lower stomach, kneading where your womb is, the tip of his cock pushing right up against it. “How does it feel?” 

“Too good.” You admit, feeling so shy at how easily he's making you unravel. “I'm going to cum again if you move.” 

“You're very sensitive.” He's happy you are. He's going to drown you in pleasure. 

“It's because of you, sir.” You pull him down to kiss you then you place a kiss against his cheek with such much affection. “Thank you for waiting for me.” 

“You're going to make me cum if you keep acting so cute, love.” He peppers your face with lovely kisses, making you giggle. 

“Cum with me?” You really want him to. 

“Always.” He wants to cum feeling you clenching tightly around him from your orgasm. 

So, he slides his hands down, grabbing a hold of your hips, and then starts to finally fuck you. You're not expecting to feel so much but his cock is rubbing up against every inch of your pussy with every stroke. It's going to be hard to hold your orgasm. 

He feels the same. Now that he's wrapped so perfectly inside of you, he's getting close. He'll have to pace himself better next time. 

But for right now, he is content to cum if it means you will too. 

Your whole body tenses when he starts thrusting into you a bit faster, the sound of him slamming his cock inside of you filling the air. You tug him down so you can crash your lips against his, wanting to be kissing him when you both cum. His tongue slips inside your mouth, stealing your breath away, making you dizzy from how good everything feels all together. 

You cum the moment warmth spills inside of you, unfamiliar but so very nice. Because you know Titus has never done this before. 

And he desperately wants to do it again. 

“Can I flip you over?” He asks, his cock still hard and throbbing inside of you. 

“Don't you need a break?” You figured at his age, also being a man, don't they need time between?

“I need this. I need you. Please, love.” He just wants to pound you into the next oblivion. 

You nod, letting him slip out of you before you flip over, getting on your hands and knees. Titus kisses a line down your spine, the sight of you like this better than when he would fantasize about it.

“My beautiful love.” He groans seeing the sight of your swollen pussy from him fucking you. “I'm going to fuck you up now. I'm not stopping, no matter what.” 

Your toes curl at the thrill that sparks through you. “Go ahead, sir. I'm all yours.”

He growls, unable to keep the animalistic side of him any longer. “You are all mine. The very object of my obsession. I'm going to enjoy this.” 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when he thrusts into you from this angle, fitting so much more of himself than before. You're cumming already, your legs growing weak from the shivers. He smacks your ass, adding to the shakes. 

“You won't last long if you cum that easily.” He makes it very difficult not to cum, though. 

Titus doesn't ease you in this time. He pulls completely out of you then rams the entire length of his cock deep inside of you. Over and over, until you're squirting on his cock with every forceful thrust. You're digging your nails into the sheets, leaning your upper body down against the soft pillows to cushion how hard he's fucking you all of a sudden. 

“Titus, it's too much, I can't—” He answers your pleads by sliding his hand between your legs and rubbing your clit with the same intensity as he's fucking you, pulling gasp after gasp from your lips. 

You're going to pass out from the orgasms, your mind going hazing from the constant release. 

“You're going to kill me.” You can't possibly keep cumming like this. You'll lose your mind if you do. “You need to stop—”

“It's okay, love. You can take it.” He feels you drench his fingertips when he says that, still abusing your clit. “Just let it happen. Cum your brains out.” 

You opt then to just bite the pillow beneath you, muffling your screams as he pounds into you ruthlessly, his fingers rubbing your swollen clit raw. The pleasure is endless, sweeping over you in intense waves. 

There's nothing in your mind except for Titus. He's consumed you completely. You call out his name as you cum again and again. 

This is everything he has been dreaming about. You, lost in the euphoria, giving into him. You'll never leave him now that you've had a taste of what he can do for you. 

“I love you.” He loops on repeat as his thrusts get quicker, his orgasm inching closer. 

Your words in response are completely incoherent, just cute little mumbles. You're so far gone, which pulls the most evil laugh out of Titus. 

You're an absolute mess by the time he finally cums inside of you, your body unable to hold yourself up anymore. He pulls out of you, letting you collapse onto your side and then he plops down behind you, wrapping his arms around you, spooning you. He places warm kisses along your shoulder blades, rubbing your lower belly as you come down from your intense high. You moan a little when his fingers press in, making you well aware of how full you are inside. 

“Maybe we should get you some birth control.” He says, nipping at your earlobe. “I want to enjoy fucking you a bit longer before I put a baby inside of you.” 

“I have the arm implant.” Your words make him still. 

“What?” 

You chuckle, flipping over to look at him, “you didn't think I'd let you fuck me that raw the first time, did you?”

“You sneaky little girl.” He takes a bite out of your neck in protest, marking you quite obviously. “How dare you hide that from me.”

“I didn't hide it. I just…omitted the truth?” You smirk, showing him that you aren't just a bundle of sunshine. 

You trapped him just as much as he trapped you.

Truly his equal, in every way. 

“You know I'm going to have to punish you for that, love.” He will have to think up something good. Maybe tying you down and edging you until you're crying and begging to be fucked. 

“I look forward to it, sir.” You say with a big smile before pulling him in for a kiss. Then, you breathe out with all the warmth in your afterglow, “I love you, Titus.” 

“You're lucky I love you, or I would be very fucking pissed right now.” He can't believe you hid that from him. 

“Mmm, maybe I like you angry.” You nuzzle his nose with yours. “You're never angry with me. It's a nice change of pace.”

He glares at you. “You might be the only person in the world who wants to piss me off.” 

“And you love it!” You wrap your arms around him, hugging him. 

“Yes. I do love it.” He lets out a sigh of defeat, smiling as he hugs you back, loving that the two of you can cuddle like this. 

He has truly met his match. 

Because you're as obsessed with him as he is with you. 

A/N: Are y’all impressed at my willpower? I wanted to challenge myself and not have them fuck right away and oh my goodness was that a challenge! I love writing smut so much (so of course I had to still add lots of naughty smut haha) but I was craving a lovey dovey, cutesy, fucked up slow burn after my last fic so I hope you all enjoyed this read! ♡ 

[pope-codys]

Jack Abbot & his wife are on their babymoon (she’s pregnant so Jack took them out on a vacation to relax). It’s somewhere nice and warm, she gets to be by the water and soak up some nice sun and catch a tan before the baby comes. So maybe a combination of beach/vacation abroad. Some fluff. And let’s add some humor & celebration (obvi) in there! If anything, feel free to use the element of surprise!

Happy 1 year Addie!! Very happy to have you here. 🥰💕

hi nic!! i love writing jack and humor, this was so fun!!!

Jack had gone all out for this babymoon. A private villa, room service, impressive meals, and a private stretch of beach just for the two of you. You'd never been more relaxed, Jack had planned everything and every detail was flexible if you weren't feeling up for it. He booked a dinner reservation but you wanted to stay in? No problem. He booked a boat ride but you'd rather stay on the beach today? Whatever you want is what you'd get.

The two of you had spent the past week soaking up the sun and floating weightlessly in the water and taking advantage of the king sized bed in your villa. Jack always prepped the set up on the beach with chairs and umbrellas before having you come down to relax and read. He also timed the visits by the resort staff perfectly for whenever you needed a new mocktail or snack.

Jack was also immaculate at guessing your needs. Every food craving was met, every type of clothing needed for the day had been packed, and right when you were feeling a little run down, he had a surprise for you.

"A spa day?" You asked, excitement threaded through your question. Jack nodded, a knowing smile pulling on his lips. He led you further into the spa space at the resort with a gentle hand on your back.

"I've paid ahead for the inclusive package, you can pick whichever massage or treatment you want. They have some massages and soaks that are specifically for pregnant people, I think you'll like the one that focuses on your back." Your eyes scanned the services list that was posted at the reception desk and you stomach fluttered in excitement at all the possibilities.

Being seven months pregnant meant your body was sore and achy from the added weight of your baby. Jack gave you foot rubs and shoulder massages whenever you asked but you knew that a massage from a professional was really going to hit the spot.

"Oh Jack Abbot I wanna have your babies." You sighed dreamily. Jack laughed and kissed your temple.

"I did good?" He asked, although he already knew he'd been spot on. You nodded, lip bitten between your teeth as you turned to him and extended your neck up towards him with your lips puckered. Jack gave you a kiss as his hands caressed your waist lovingly.

"I'm gonna be a puddle once this spa trip is over." You mentioned against Jacks lips. He shrugged.

"Have the staff call me, I'll carry you back to the villa." Your husbands comment made you groan eagerly and you gave him another quick kiss.

"I'm gonna have so many babies with you Dr. Abbot."

[writingjourney]

Friday Nights at the Cinema Club | Vampire!Primo x gn!Reader

Summary: The handsome old gentleman who attends the late night showings is certainly the best part about your small town weekend job. But as the gentle attraction between you slowly begins to bloom, you realise that there’s more to him than meets the eye – and promptly find yourself chased into the woods by an unexpected monster.

Content: 14k words, vampire!primo, gn!reader, horror, violence, being hunted, harassment, men being assholes, smut (18+ MDNI, biting, blood kink/blood drinking, oral sex r!receiving, penetration, coming inside, unprotected sex)

This was originally intended to fill the “hunted” prompt for the @petrifyingpapas challenge. I am a little late but I hope you enjoy it anyway and give Primo his chance to shine! ♡

Masterlist – Ao3 link – Part 2 | Secondo's story – Series Masterlist

“This life of earth, whatever my attire, Would pain me in its wonted fashion. Too old am I to play with passion; Too young, to be without desire.”

― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust: Part 1

Now

He’s been following you for weeks.

Primo just can’t stop himself, no matter how many times he tells himself that he’s overstepping. As he watches the hurried pace you set, carrying you home in the early hours of a cool spring morning, he smells your distress like an overly strong perfume. Jacket tightly wrapped around your tense shoulders, your steps quicken whenever you leave the safe light of a streetlamp. You’re always nervous walking home alone, even more so since the incident at work. 

This is the very thought that calms his conscience – his concern is rightful, necessary even. He has to protect you because you have no one else who will. Not that you cannot protect yourself, he knows you can, you hold your own quite nicely, but why take any unnecessary risks? Four eyes see more than two, especially if two of those have preternatural vision.

Suddenly you stop, glancing around with searching eyes. “Hello?”

Primo stops as well. It’s impossible that you heard him, he didn’t make any sounds that a human ear could process. Your eyes dart in a different direction and he’s on alert immediately. A few rapid beats of your heart pass. You seem to decide that you’re alright because you continue on your journey even if your legs move that extra bit quicker, walking as fast as possible without actually running.

No, Primo knows you don’t need him. You never ask him to walk you home and when he offers, you politely decline every single time. You don’t need him. You don’t need him how he needs you, and yet it feels good to imagine that you do. That anyone does. The thought he will not entertain, however, is that his motive is a selfish one. He’s been lonely for so long that he pours all that he has into this… whatever this is. And why should he not? In all the centuries that passed since he was cast upon this earth you’re the most wonderful thing he ever had the pleasure to behold and his time with you is so tragically limited, no matter what happens. 

“Fuck,” he hears you mutter then, effectively distracting him. Again, you stop very suddenly, glancing vaguely into the direction he’s hiding in but without any real focus. “Who the fuck is there?”

Primo doesn’t sense anyone else. Possibly, you just heard a strange noise which wouldn’t be the first time since the incident. You’ve been on edge ever since and understandably so. Of course you don’t know that there is no danger of the same thing ever repeating. Which doesn’t mean you’re safe from other perils. Primo dares to stalk closer, foolishly so, because he’s too close now and you must have spotted his movements in the dark because you start to run like your life depended on it.

To his utter terror, you don’t follow your usual route home but take the shortcut through the woods. With breakneck speed, you run along the mud path that meanders through thick pine trees and mossy hills. Primo has no issue keeping up with you of course but he worries about protruding roots and sharp stones you may not see with your human eyes. 

His fear is misdirected. He’s so distracted, watching your every step, that he doesn’t notice the odd smell at first, the second strong, comparatively slow heartbeat amongst all the quiet and rapid ones of the forest animals. But this is no rabbit, no deer, no boar. When he finally notices the presence of the strange entity, the spike of panic is clouding every other rational thought.

He is after you – and he’s fast.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Four weeks ago

The man has been attending the late night showings for weeks now, every Friday and Saturday. Every week, he shows up exactly fifteen minutes before the screening starts, even though there are practically no waiting times in the small club cinema you’re working at. His attire was what drew your attention to him that first night, even before you’d seen his face, and his choice of clothing seems deliberate. Most evenings, he wears simple black slacks over expensive-looking Italian leather brogues. Tonight, he combined them with a loose white shirt with frills and an open collar that peeks out of a burgundy tailcoat with black lapels and gold embroideries. It looks old-fashioned but not out of place in the similarly dated establishment.

As he approaches you behind the counter, you’re struck yet again, despite being familiar with his almost ethereal looks by now. He must be close to eighty but his deep wrinkles only add to his effortless beauty. His most notable feature, however, is the skull paint adorning his stern face with two uncanny, mismatched eyes – one iris in green and one impossibly white. With his face framed by long blond hair spilling over his shoulders, silky and curled at the ends, he looks like a man who knows exactly how to present himself. An air of easy sophistication surrounds him as he takes deliberate steps in your direction. You’re not surprised that he shows up on weekends when your boss screens his beloved classics. At least that’s what he calls any movie that came out before the year 2000.

“So, Dracula today, yes?” It’s not a question as much as a statement, dripping with distaste. “And the 1992 one at that.”

“Do you not enjoy vampires, sir?” you ask, taking the money for his ticket. Every single bill looks pristine, like it’s been freshly printed, and again, he won’t accept the change you hold out to him, waving off with a gentle smile. Buy yourself a drink on my behalf, tesoro, he’d said once, and you aren’t questioning him anymore, you just pocket the money since there is no one you could split it with.

He regards you with interest. “I enjoy them, sì, though I never found their portrayal in cinema quite believable.”

You chuckle. “Well, perhaps that is because they’re not real.”

“Perhaps, yes,” he says unfazed. “Or perhaps it is the clichés, no?”

“I really like the movie,” you admit. “Though I wish she would just get with the vampire. I certainly wouldn’t hesitate.”

He cocks a curious eyebrow. “Davvero?”

His thick Italian accent makes you blush on any given day, even more so when he speaks plain Italian. There is something about the timbre of his voice that changes, like gold melting in the heat of a forge, the syllables fused together with a flick of his tongue.

“Mhm,” is all you can answer.

“Will you watch it as well, little flower?” he asks and you smile at the nickname he chose for you weeks ago when he caught you arranging a bouquet in the foyer.

“Oh, no, I’m not allowed to leave the register unattended. Or… well, watch movies while I’m supposed to work.”

“I see.” He smiles again, the black lines over his lips shifting so that he looks almost gentle, the severity of the paint watered down by the kindness in his eyes. “That is a pity.”

Is he flirting with you? You can’t tell. Surely, he is just being nice, a polite older gentleman. Would you want him to be flirting with you, though? No, of course not. You couldn’t even flirt back. Your boss might fire you if he found out that you even so much as looked at him the wrong way.

“Can I offer you a snack or a drink, sir?” you ask, remembering your actual job.

“You know, I will take a whisky today,” he says. “If you have it.”

“Of course we do, sir, you can choose your seat and I will serve it in a second.”

The stranger heads off towards the screening room with its soft, polished leather armchairs and moody lighting, jazz tunes wafting from the speakers. You look after him, his long hair gently swaying with every step, and the door to the backroom springs open. It’s your boss, Max, a man in his mid-forties, so unremarkable with his shaggy black hair and his blatant misogyny that he could be any man you ever met. Only that he practically owns you by way of paying for your every bill while you finish your degree. Jobs in small towns are hard to come by, decent men even harder.

“Go serve our customer, come on,” he urges. “I heard him ask for something”

“The register…”

“I take it. Move your pretty ass over, perhaps wiggle a bit when you do, the old pervert is going to love it.” 

You make to leave without wiggling, heading towards the small serving station in the hallway. “Oh, hey,” Max calls after you. “I need you to clean up tonight. Cleaning lady called in sick. Feeling faint or whatever, broke down in the supermarket if you can believe it. They say she’s anemic, that’s their excuse for everything women have these days.”

“Okay,” you reply, hoping he chokes on his tongue one of these days. “Of course, Max. I’ll clean up. No problem.”

“Be a good little thing, don’t forget to check under the seats, always tons of junk down there after the evening showings.”

You nod and try not to run into the screening room and away from him. By now, all anger towards him has been numbed by the sheer amount of obnoxious remarks but you’re never sure if he’s above trying to actually touch you one day. So far, he’s all bark and no bite, but with men like him you never know. Being the only employee who works the night shifts doesn’t help but there is just not enough demand to bring in the others.

You find the stranger in one of the top rows, comfortably seated in what is your favourite spot as well. A smile creeps onto your face. “Here is your whiskey, sir.”

The man peers up at you in what looks like ingenuine surprise, his white eye showing a glimmer of sympathy. He must have heard you and Max but is clearly trying not to show it. You wonder how – you can’t even hear Max outside right now over the jazz music. 

“Grazie mille,” he says as he takes the glass from you.

“Of course, sir. Enjoy your movie.”

“Thank you, fiore.” He smiles, always such a kind smile. “You are a wonderful host.”

You can’t help but smile back, looking at him for just a little longer than is appropriate. But Max must have started the film because the lights dim suddenly until it’s fully dark and you hurry back outside right as the title music starts playing.

Your stranger is the only guest tonight.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now 

You run. You run so fast that your lungs are burning in the cold night air. There is no palpable explanation for why you feel so panicked. For most of your way home you’ve felt almost paranoid in your constant fear of being followed. You felt like someone was watching you right from the start but when you came close to the woods your instincts just told you to run. By now, your legs carry you almost automatically despite the fatigue in your limbs. There is a tiny voice in your head that tells you you’re in danger. Big danger.

Halfway through the forest, the track gets steeper. Less feet have trampled it flat as the usual walking path ends and you struggle to keep up your pace. Unsettling noises grow louder to your right – panting, hurried steps, moans and whimpers. Two seconds later you suddenly hear an echoing growl that puts any wolf to shame. Your head whips around but before you can make out anything in the pitch dark your foot gets caught on a root. The impact is suffocating. Your lungs empty out and you think you’re choking on nothing. Only after a long moment in which you struggle for breath do you feel the sharp pain in your arm where it hit a rock, warm blood seeping into your sleeve until its wet and sticky.

Meanwhile, the steps hurry closer and even in the full moon light it’s hard to tell where you are right now. But then you see the trees swaying at the edge of the path and all you know is that you need to keep going. Everything hurts but you manage to get to your feet. As the world sways around you, you leave the safety of the trail in favour of the cover of the trees, their canopy shielding you from the moonlight and hopefully any following eyes.

But of course the creature chasing you doesn’t rely on their vision to find you. Before you walk another mile you can hear rapid footsteps and panting breaths behind you. Too scared to look around and risk another fall, you just run and jump and run even faster. The woods grow thicker, harder to navigate. You try to fish for your phone but when you finally pull it out, it slips from your grasp. “Fuck fuck fuck,” you mutter but you keep running. You can’t stop. 

A familiar boulder appears somewhere in your peripheral vision and you wonder if you’re running in circles. You’re so lost. Even if the creature doesn’t get you, you’re doomed. But the thought is distant as a branch strikes you in the face like a whip. You run but more fallen branches block your path and as you try to jump, you get caught. 

A shriek tears from your throat, so loud and drawn-out that your voice gives out before it ends. The steps are so close now that you know you’re going to get caught any second now. Cowering, trying to get as small as possible, you slowly shift around, ready to beg for mercy. An enormous shadow sprints towards you and suddenly, a bright streak of moonlight falls through the trees. You cry out again as your eyes take in the sight: Spit-coated fangs, claws, thick rough fur on what you can only describe as a giant made of muscles and the horrors of the night. Its facial features look familiar, shaggy hair falling into its cruel eyes. Whatever it is has no merciful bone in its body, that much you can tell. This is your death, you realise. This is it. 

But before you feel the fangs sink into your skin or the claws tear you open, the monster loses balance. All you can see is a vague human-like figure pushing it aside into the shadows with a strength that is impossible to comprehend, two tall silhouettes wrestling for a moment before the huge hairy creature lets out a bone-chilling scream. The giant body slumps in on itself, lifeless, silent. You breathe in gasps, swallowing air that does nothing to calm you down. You fall over, sobbing silently in short-lived relief.

The monster is dead. But you’re not alone.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Three weeks ago

“So, are you a big movie fan?” the stranger had asked you today when you served him his whiskey. He always orders something now, almost like knowing you serve him permanently changed his ’no thank you’-attitude. Whenever you bring him his order he asks you questions and you end up chatting with him for longer than you should.

“Oh, I like them, yes, but the reason I work here, if that’s why you’re asking, is that it’s one of the few jobs I can do on weekends that pays extra for night shifts.”

“So do you have a day job as well?” he asks, taking his first sip. He’s wearing all black today, black leather gloves, a black shirt and black tailcoat. The only pop of colour is a red rose that he has tugged into a buttonhole of his open jacket.

“Finishing off my degree,” you explain. “I don’t think I’ll work here after that.”

His brow furrows in surprise. “No?”

You chuckle. “No, it doesn’t pay that well. It doesn’t pay well at all, actually.”

“I see.” He turns the tumbler in his hand, the amber liquid twirling inside. “I have to say I am glad. I do not think he treats you well.”

You glance towards the door but Max seems to be busy behind the counter still. “He’s… okay.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “No, è un stronzo.”

The smirk that tugs at your lips is hard to shake off, especially with the way he rolls the R in the word. “Yeah, he is. But I have to pay rent and get groceries, so...”

“I understand.” Another sip, slow, barely coating his lips. “Fiore, I do wonder… what is it that you truly burn for? What would you do if no restrictive invention like money mattered?”

You take a deep breath and then you start to tell him about your real interests, your passions. He listens with the avid attention of someone who genuinely cares, who doesn’t just ask out of mere politeness. It’s addicting, the way his intense eyes are glued to your lips, how his whole body is angled into your direction. You get so lost in his gaze, in your explanation, that you forget yourself for a moment.

“Eh!” Max suddenly calls out from the doorway and you jump at the sound of his voice. “Come over for a second, will you?”

You reluctantly leave the stranger in his armchair with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. Enjoy your movie, sir.”

“I will,” he says. “Thank you, fiorellino.”

Max watches you with a scowl, roughly pulling you aside as soon as you’re within reach. “Do I pay you for chitchat?”

“No, Max, I’m sorry. I just…”

“You just what?” he snaps, clenching his jaw. “Flirting with the old men won’t get you higher tips, it only screams pathetic whore. You think he can still get it up?”

You stay silent, waiting for him to calm down enough to notice the impropriety of his words and actions. The urge to kick him is so hard to fight that you have to actively push your feet harder into the ground. Your fists ache with how hard you’re clenching them.

Eventually he simmers down, smoothing out his shirt as he clears his throat. “Anyway, you need to clean up again today. The cleaner still hasn’t shown up.”

“What happened?” you ask.

He shrugs but it’s an ingenuine, uncaring gesture. “Apparently she ran away or something. She’s been missing for a while.”

Missing? Wasn’t she anemic? Before you can ask any more questions he leaves you standing right there to start the movie. You head back to the register even though you know no other guests are going to be coming in tonight. For the whole duration of the movie, all you do is wait, scrolling on your phone from where you’re hiding it underneath the desk. No local news site is able to tell you anything about the missing cleaner other than the fact that she just left over night exactly a week ago and hasn’t been found ever since.

“Oh, did we miss the movie?”

You look up to see two men strolling into the lobby. They sway slightly, probably drunk, and smoke despite the big no-smoking sign at the entrance that’s impossible to miss. They look familiar in how unremarkable they appear, one is blond, the other one dark-haired, jeans and crumpled t-shirts betraying their status even though they move with the confident audacity only mediocre white men have.

“Yes, I’m sorry. The movie is almost over,” you say. “By the way, you’re not allowed to smoke in here, sir.”

“Are you off soon, then, sweetheart?” the blond one asks, taking another drag of his cigarette

“No, I have to clean up.”

“Ah, cleaning up… whatever, can’t be that dirty in there, huh?” He grins. “Unless… we make it dirty.”

“Fuck you.”

“Oh, a feisty one!” the dark-haired man says. “That’s how you treat your customers?”

“You haven’t bought anything.”

They whistle almost in unison, though their tunes are slightly off-key. This is not the first time this happens, it’s not even the first time these exact men show up here and try to harass you.

“Come on, maybe you can show us where you keep the liquor?” the blond man asks. “Have a drink with us?”

“I don’t think so, sir. If you don’t want to buy anything, I have to ask you to leave.” You try to stay polite, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “Please.”

He chuckles, tries to round the counter to touch you but there is a sudden shift in atmosphere. It’s almost like all of the warmth is sucked from the room, like the charged air of a thunderstorm is crackling inside its walls. The men seem to feel it too because they suddenly stop in their movements, giving each other nervous glances.

“You were asked to leave, signori, no?”

You look up to find your stranger entering the lobby. The movie must have ended because the lights are on again and he looks so menacing that even you feel a chill running down your spine. His white eye glimmers dangerously, the other one shimmering almost red now but it could be a trick of lighting. They’re narrowed, the skull paint and severity of his features giving him the air of a predator. When the blond man takes another step into your direction, out of spite or stupidity you’re not quite sure, the stranger is on him in a second. You’re surprised by how agile he appears in his age, wondering briefly if he just looks older than he is or if you’re just prejudiced. But the man backs away immediately, joining his buddy by the door. A second later Max enters as well from the backroom, looking mildly irritated but unbothered by the weird atmosphere as he slams the door shut.

“Any issues here?” he asks, taking in the two loiterers. 

The men slowly backtrack, holding up their arms in pretend innocence. While the dark-haired one slips out the door, the blond man lingers. “No issue, no. Just had a question about your schedule.”

Max gives a dismissive wave of his hand and when the man is finally gone, he turns to you. “Were you rude to our customers?”

“They weren’t customers,” you say defensively, angry that he’d even assume something like that. “They were drunks.”

“Hmpf.” He gives the stranger another glance, still unimpressed, then grabs his bag from under the counter. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow. And hey, don’t forget to clean and lock up.”

“Yeah, see you,” you say, trying to swallow the lump of anger in your throat.

As soon as Max is gone, the stranger’s whole demeanour changes. His expression softens and he reaches out, his hand hovering right by your arm. 

“You are alright, little flower?” he asks.

You nod but it’s hard to fight off the tears. Situations like that make you feel helpless and you hate it. Being at the mercy of these men is frustrating, especially with a boss who just lets it slide instead of protecting his employees. You could have handled the situation, you tell yourself, you’ve had to handle so many similar ones before, but it just feels so incredibly good that someone cares.

“I think so,” you finally choke out. “I just… This is not uncommon and I’m so fed up.”

“I understand,” he says. “Did these men bother you before?”

“Yeah, but other people as well. Even Max treats me like a piece of meat just because I’m young.”

There is a hidden anger in his face, a barely noticeable clench of his jaw, his brow slightly pulled together. You’re not scared anymore, though. The menacing energy he exudes is directed at something else, not you, and you can’t bring yourself to wonder how he manages to command a room like that.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asks.

You nod and he reaches out, running a gloved hand up and down your arm in silent comfort. You take a step closer and he lifts his other hand as well, gently cradling your cheek. When a fat tear of anger falls from your eye he catches it, telling you it’s okay if you need to let it out. But you don’t cry, you don’t want to feel weak or fall into his arms like a sobbing child. Nevertheless, his comfort feels like a gentle hug, calming you so easily.

For a moment, he lets you breathe in the same air, a leather-clad thumb swiping over your cheekbone with a calming steadiness. You smile at him and he smiles back, so softly that not even the skull paint can hide the gentleness of his features.

“I have to clean up now,” you say. “Thank you for being here.”

He simply nods, slowly pulling away from you. Only when he’s gone and you smell a faint flowery scent do you notice that he’s tugged the rose from his jacket into your hair. You press it to your chest, right above your fluttering heart, and pray that he never stops coming back.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Their blood tastes like shit. 

Not literally but it’s by far the worst he’s had in a while, certainly worse than that of the cleaning lady he’s been feeding on last month. Admittedly, he did not consider that losing her would prompt your boss to just make you work longer. At the time she was just an easy victim on his way home, sweet young blood that was easy to obtain, the blue veins shining through her pale skin like they were begging to be used. But as he cleans his jaw with a handkerchief, Primo thinks that perhaps he can linger after the movies now. Any more time with you, however long, is of immeasurable value to him.

A groan. Primo looks down at the man, the blond stronzo who tried to touch you. He feels no sympathy, no reluctance. Full moon rolls around in three weeks and if they happen to die before then… well, bad luck for his partner. Though he can’t say he’s very tempted to drink from them again with all the junk in their blood – cheap alcohol, so much nicotine and other poisons. Perhaps he should just end it now, they’re at his mercy in any case. But no, they deserve to be punished for what they did and he knows bleeding out is not a very painful death.

Primo is not a cruel man, he likes to think. The nature of his being prompts him to act cruelly sometimes for self-preservation but unlike some of his fellows he finds no enjoyment in the kill. Not anymore, not after his initial lust for blood was quenched centuries ago. Nevertheless, he has to admit that his obsession with you is testing those limits in ways he’s never felt before. For you, he thinks, he could turn into a killer.

A gurgle. The second man is starting to wake up and Primo decides to leave. He placed the wounds in unobtrusive spots, never using both fangs to puncture their skin, too obvious. They’re going to think they’re hungover and move on but he’s going to find them again, slowly drain them until the next full moon is here and they’ll find their demise in a different way.

Primo is not a killer, no, but he chooses the killer’s victims.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

You’re frozen in your spot amongst the thicket, branches and rocks digging into your body, the throbbing pain in your arm slowly spreading out. The sight before you is absurd. A giant dead body, a monster, a… a werewolf? You can’t bring yourself to properly think the word and yet you know that’s what it is. Not that it matters anymore. The smell of death mixes in with the earthy scent of the woods and spreads out in the air around you. The second figure hovers above the body for as long as it takes you to gather your thoughts. Why, you cannot tell. Are they shocked by their actions? Making sure the creature is really dead? There seems to be a hesitation in their every movement as they slowly back away and move into your direction, their frame blurring with the surrounding darkness.

“Stand back,” you yell. “Don’t come closer!”

Your voice is high-pitched, unrecognisable in its trembling state, hoarse from screaming into the emptiness around you. Your fear has your senses heightened and every snap of a twig, every howl of the wind makes you flinch. The being before you now is smaller than the one before, human-shaped if your eyes don’t betray you. The canopy is so thick here, the trees surrounding you so close to one another that you struggle to see anything. And yet you can feel them moving.

“Stop,” you yell again. “Fucking stop!”

A sudden sliver of light catches their face and you can see two glowing eyes, the one that you know as a deep green shimmering red like it did in the lobby of the theatre the night the two men harassed you and the other one is still as white as bone. “It’s okay, fiore mio. You’re safe now,” he says and you immediately recognize the Italian accent, the nickname. “I’m here to help you.” 

You slump in on yourself, not quite relieved but still a little calmer.

It’s him. It’s your stranger.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Two weeks ago

“It’s nothing personal,” Max says. “But I’m losing money here.”

You nod like you understand. You do understand, just not why it has to be now of all times, so close to when you would have been done anyway. A few more months.

“Just not enough people coming in,” he continues. “And the old guy doesn’t pay that much no matter how often you flirt him up.”

Again, all you can do is nod. Your boss wants to cancel the night showings and lay you off. Supposedly, no other shifts are in need of any more people and he can’t keep you on. It’s a cheap excuse, you know it is.

“So, I’m off then,” he says. “You can manage on your own one last time, right?”

You nod at him once again, watching him whistling a merry tune and twirling his keys on a finger on his way out. The tears come only after you hear his car driving off. You have no idea how to find another weekend job for the next few months and the sheer surprise of his decision has your stomach in knots. If he’d at least given you some time to prepare…

“Buonasera, fiore. Can I… uhm…” You look up into the stranger’s eyes, trying to wipe at your tears but it’s too late, his expression has already changed into what you can only assume is pity. “Scusi, is this a bad time? Can I help you, perhaps?”

“I’m so sorry… I just… Ugh, Max wants to cancel the late night screenings,” you explain, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “I guess this is our last night here.”

“Cancel?”

You sniffle, your voice scratchy when you speak next. “Well, as you may have noticed, you’re kind of our only guest.”

The stranger takes your hand, soft leather pulling you from the desk and towards one of the run-down couches in the waiting area. He’s so gentle when he beckons you to his side, never letting go of your hand.

“He wants to fire you, sì?” 

You nod, staring at your intertwined hands against the velvet upholstering of the couch. His thumb draws lazy circles into your skin, his hand so big it almost swallows yours. You want him to swallow you as well, his whole body wrapped around yours, engulfing you with his safety – but you’re not sure that you could ask him for a hug.

“I’m sorry, it’s really not your problem. I mean, you’ll lose your weekend activities but I’m sure you can just get Netflix or something.”

“Netflix?”

You look up with a smile. “Or… I don’t know, buy a DVD.”

The stranger smiles back, squeezing your hand just a little bit tighter. “Now, my little flower, do you really think I am just here for the movies?”

When your eyes meet it’s like you’re sucked into a vacuum. You don’t know whether to focus on his white iris or the burning need that’s visible in his green eye. The decision is taken from you when he leans in and captures your mouth in a kiss. You reciprocate without hesitation and yet he’s holding back, a suppressed moan bubbling in his throat, despite the tenderness of his lips. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. You press against him, opening your lips for him, and then the moan finally spills out as his tongue vibrates against yours. His free hand pushes into your hair and settles at the back of your head, angling your face in whichever way he wants to taste you. His lips feel surprisingly cold just like his cheek as you bring a hand up to touch him. The makeup smears under your fingers, at your jaw, mingling with your spit.

And yet it’s not enough, not until you’re half in his lap, until his hands roam your body with reverent desperation, searching, exploring. The kiss never loses momentum. He sucks in a breath and you push your tongue into his mouth, running it along his upper lip until you can feel his teeth. You frown into the kiss when you feel something pointy, pulling your tongue back, but there is no time to think before he sucks at your bottom lip. A sharp sting as he punctures your flesh with his teeth. He moans as the taste of your blood settles between your joined lips, sucking whatever he can into his mouth. You allow him to drink you in, offering yourself up in a way you haven’t done with anyone else before.

There is a moment in which you think, hope, that it never ends. But then he pulls away and you gasp for air. You stare at him, traces of red blood fuzing into the grey smears around his mouth. He’s a mess, equal to how you feel, but his eyes are focused, his gaze sharp.

“Do you want to see the movie?” you ask, hoping he’ll say no, hoping he’ll just take you away.

But he just chuckles, his hands slowly disappearing from your body until you slump into the soft cushions on the couch.

“Actually, I think I have to leave early tonight,” he says. “I will see you next week, fiore mio. Please, per favore, do not worry about your job, I will set things right.”

You want to ask what he means, if he’s going to talk to Max for you, but before you realise that he’s leaving, before you even finish blinking, he’s already gone. Furrowing your brow, you walk outside and enter a clear moonless night. Your flushed face soaks up the cool air and you look around, searching feverishly, but there is no sign of your stranger. You expect to see him along the sidewalk, perhaps he’s in one of the cars getting ready, but even after a few more minutes none of them roar to life. Nothing disrupts the soft silence of your sleeping small town and you shake your head in wonder as you make your way back inside, the metallic taste of your blood still lingering on your tongue.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Primo is livid, furious in a way that he hasn’t felt in close to a hundred years. You are not part of their deal and yet this feels like a violation of conduct. Making you cry should be a criminal offense and he wants him to pay for it, in what currency Primo is not sure yet. He knows he can’t let his anger win but when he smells the creature from two streets away, even in his human form, he’s ready to sink his teeth into his throat. And of course he finds him in a nearby bar, nursing a beer while he watches football videos on his phone without a care in the world.

“You won’t fire them,” Primo spits out.

Max looks up in pretend confusion. “Huh?”

“You heard me, stronzo.”

“Your little flower?” He pouts, mocking him, then huffs out a laugh. “It’s business, man.”

“The job is important,” Primo says calmly, trying not to get too riled up. “A few more months.”

“Cry me a river. Just do with them what you want, fuck them, suck them dry. Whatever gets your blood pumping, Count Dracula.” A sardonic smirk. “Oh oops, I forgot.”

Primo won’t be provoked, not from the likes of him. “You’ll give them time,” he says calmly. “Or I have to rethink this… agreement.”

Max sighs in annoyance. “Fine. A little longer. And don’t think I haven’t smelled you on those two assholes yet. I only get to feast once a month and I expect the vampire to have better taste, that’s why I agreed to this in the first place.”

“I do have taste,” Primo says. “And we both know that’s not the reason or why are you sitting here all alone, lupetto, eh?”

Max snarls but says nothing to this painful reminder. Primo doesn’t feel bad. Their agreement serves the sole purpose of attracting less attention and would not work if Max wasn’t an outcast. Their solitariness saves them and keeps their peace intact. For now.

Primo leaves with an aching heart, hoping the werewolf stays true to his word. He comes back to the cinema only to see that you got done in the meantime and left. It’s not like he actually planned to continue what you started earlier but he really wants to catch another glimpse of you, see how you’re feeling after what happened.

He finds you two streets away, hurrying home even faster than usual. You’re scared, he can tell immediately as he hears your rapid heartbeat, the blood rushing through your body like a raging river. Since the two men tried to corner you you’ve been especially on edge. He knows it’s because you expect them to try again and he wishes he could tell you that they won’t, that he’s watching over you, that he’s been slowly draining them ever since despite the awful taste of their blood. He can handle it, he can handle anything if it’s for you. 

Only for you. 

Primo relaxes after he sees you closing the door to your apartment and your heartbeat slows down. That’s when he leaves – always. He’s promised himself that he never lingers, that he doesn’t stalk or overstep, only makes sure you get home safely after your shifts. Tonight, it’s harder to leave. He can still taste you on his tongue and what a taste it is. Never before has he savoured blood quite so sweet, quite so rich in aroma, and the violent hunger inside of him tries to keep him by your house for more. 

But the kiss was a mistake to begin with and he’s not sure yet how to proceed because he never expected you to respond quite so enthusiastically to his advances. Of course he could immediately tell that you wanted him, the smell and taste of your excitement so overpowering that it cut off any reasonable thought while it happened. He hasn’t lost control of himself like that in over two hundred years and now he set things in motion that may cost him this precious connection that he has with you if he’s not careful.

For now, however, he allows himself this small pleasure and lets the happy, giddy feeling settle in his hollow chest. If he wasn’t aware that he was a few centuries old he would promptly assume that he’s a lovestruck teenager. And he could get used to it, he realises, because with you he’s quite ready to start this empty life all over again and fill it with everything that he’s been missing.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

“You’re a vampire,” you state, twigs and stones digging into your butt but you feel to weak to stand up.

The stranger approaches you slowly like you’re a wild animal he’s trying to tame, the roles reversed now in your agitation and his calmness. “I am, sì.”

The urge to back away, to run for your life, continues to simmer in your belly but you fight it because you know there is no escape now. You want to trust him but you feel like you’re in a fever dream. It has to be a hallucination, maybe you were drugged at work today, maybe you inhaled the fume of some rare mushroom when you fell.

Your eyes meet the dead creature again. “Is he-”

“Yes, Max is dead.”

“Max?” Your shrill voice betrays your shock. “My boss?”

“Yes.” He sounds oddly calm, not like he just killed a werewolf. “Please, allow me to take you home with me.”

“Home? Your home?”

“Yes, my little flower. I want to look at your scrapes and cuts. Allow me, please.”

You hesitate, even as you see the shape of his outstretched hand, the same black leather gloves now ripped and torn, revealing slivers of his pale skin.

“I understand you don’t… trust me,” he says. “But I promise, I will explain everything to you in as much detail as you want and then you can decide for yourself. I just want to make sure you are okay first.”

You swallow, your throat still painfully sore from screaming. “Are you going to… I don’t know, drink from me? Eat me?”

“I will not eat you. And I will not drink from you either,” he says. “All I want is to look after you.”

You suck in a deep breath, ready to collapse on the forest floor. He could lure you into a trap, he could have been plotting this for weeks now, and yet you still feel the butterflies in your belly stirring at the sound of his voice, your body aching to be with his, even now in its weak state. Reluctantly, you place your mud-smeared hand in his and when he lifts you up with ease, his arms wrap around you tightly. You have no strength to lift your arms but you let him hug you anyway, slumping against his frame.

And perhaps you’ve lost your mind. Perhaps you should use the opportunity to kick him, to fight, but instead you start to sob into his shoulder. The world you thought you knew comes crashing down around you and he holds you through it, whispering that it’s going to be alright.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

One week ago

You can’t stop thinking about him.

The week passes slowly but you do get a text message from Max telling you he’s extending your employment for as long as it takes you to find a new job. You have no idea how your stranger convinced him but you never wanted to get back to work so urgently before – to thank him, to ask if there is a chance that you could see him outside of this place. 

Any thought you can spare is spent thinking back to your kiss, extending it in your mind for hours and hours, exploring the fantasy alone in your bed at night with your hand between your legs. You ignore any of the worries that this intimate moment conjured up. So what if the stranger has a bit of a blood kink and conveniently sharp teeth? You certainly don’t mind doing it again. He can bite you wherever he wants, you realise, and you’d gladly let him suck on the wound.

He’s back Friday night and you can’t help but feel relieved that he’s not ghosting you after his sudden disappearance last week. Maybe it’s because of your intense crush on him but you swear he looks more beautiful tonight than ever before. His long blond hair is shiny and smooth as it falls into his face, the paint more pristine than usual. He’s wearing his usual black slacks but today he paired it with a deep red shirt under a black tailcoat with a red pattern of embroidered roses. His tall, slender frame leans against the counter as he regards you with a smile.

“So, what am I watching tonight?” he asks.

“Hitchcock,” you say. “The Birds. Max is a big fan.”

“Hm, I haven’t watched that one since it premiered,” he says and then he removes his gloves. You watch as he slides his now bare hand over the counter until it touches yours. 

“Well, I’m afraid I wasn’t born yet back then.”

“No, fiore.” He runs his thumb over the back of your hand. His skin is cold and pale and wrinkly, the lines and bumps revealing a map of his life that you can’t wait to explore. His long fingers slide under yours, surprisingly sharp black nails raking over your palm until he holds you comfortably. They look almost manicured, his hand dwarfing yours as he closes it. “You’re such a young thing and yet our souls have found such a deep connection, no?”

You gaze into his mismatched eyes, a fondness in them that makes your heart beat faster. As if he can feel it, the corners of his painted mouth curl upwards into a smirk until you can see the crow’s feet under his eyes deepen despite the dark paint. 

“Yes,” you finally say. “Actually, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to–”

You’re interrupted by the door to the backroom opening. You jump, pulling your hand from his as you see Max casting you a curious glance. He’s been in a bad mood all evening so you’re not taking any risks tonight.

You cough. “Ugh, here’s your ticket, sir. Enjoy the movie.”

The stranger doesn’t seem offended by your reaction. Instead he smiles at you, accepting the ticket from your shaky hand. “Grazie, fiore. I will let you know if I enjoyed it.”

As he leaves for the screening room he doesn’t even look at Max. You remain frozen behind the counter, watching his elegant form with a rapidly beating heart. Mindlessly clenching the hand he just held in his, you desperately hope you get to ask your question later.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

The werewolf won’t leave earlier tonight. As he lets the movie run in the background, only vaguely paying attention, Primo listens for any signs. It looks like he has to sit it out today, though, even as his patience slowly wears thin. One more week until full moon, so Max must be getting antsy, and Primo made sure to keep the prey alive despite his protests in the bar. Every time he feeds from them, he is tempted to bite into an artery instead of a vein, watch them bleed out, not even drinking their blood. But having Max go hungry will piss him off and since he is already aware of you, Primo can’t risk not providing him with any easier targets.

After the movie concludes, Primo lingers but he doesn’t spot you in the foyer. When Max finally heads out he sees no reason not to look for you and conveniently, the only place you could be at is especially private.

The backroom houses a tiny kitchenette and two desks for computers with displays that are already black. You’re standing in front of the open door of a supply closet to gather your cleaning materials when he approaches soundlessly.

“Don’t be scared,” he says from a safe distance. “It is just me, fiore.”

You spin around, your beautiful face lighting up at the sight of him. “Oh, hello.”

“I owe you the money for the ticket,” he says. “You never gave me a chance to pay.”

“Oh. Yes. Sorry… It’s not… I’m not embarrassed or anything, it’s just that Max…”

“Oh, it is quite alright, fiore mio, I know.”

A grateful smile. You don’t flinch when he steps in front of you, taking your hand in his to press a soft kiss to your palm. How lovely you are, Primo thinks, a pure, honest sort of beauty that he doesn’t deserve but wants with every fibre of his ancient being. He could show you a whole new world of pleasure and he knows it’s always the quiet ones who are so proficient in the art of sin. 

“I was hoping I would have some more time with you,” you say and he perks up.

“Were you?”

“The kiss…” A hint of red dusting your cheeks as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt. “I really enjoyed it.”

Primo can’t help but smile. “Me too, my little flower. Perhaps we should try it again?”

He can hear your heartbeat quickening at his words, can feel your skin heating up with the rush of your blood. Even now he is surprised by the evidence of your returned affections, struck by how perfect you are for him, your trust just another sign of hope that you can find it in you to love him back if he allows you to.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he says and then he effortlessly pulls you into his arms. To his surprise, you kiss him first, standing on your tiptoes and melting into his body. Your mouth is insistent, soft and sweet and so eager for him. Primo’s hands explore the shape of your body, memorising your curves for eternity. Impatient now, he pulls you over to the kitchenette that consists of nothing but a mirror over a sink with a few cupboards housing a coffee machine and snacks. There is enough space for what he’s planning to do, though, and he grabs you tightly before he removes his tongue from your mouth.

He can’t see his own image in the old silvered mirror as he hoists you up but he can see the dips of his fingers in your ass as it hits the counter. You hold onto his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw and chin. He skips your neck, skips the temptation, and drags his mouth down your chest instead, ripping the button of your shirt open as he goes. No complaint leaves your lips, only soft gasps and tiny whimpers. Primo pauses to pull at his gloves and then at your pants and then at your underwear, impatient, urgent, until he can finally feel your hot skin burning against his fingertips. Goosebumps form where his cold hands touch you and you shiver against his palms.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please.”

He knows what you’re begging for and under different circumstances he might make you beg  until your voice gives out but with the smell of your arousal in his nose there is really no way he can hold back now. His hands on your hips pull you to the edge of the counter and he kneels between your thighs, placing two open-mouthed kisses that leave blotchy grey marks. Your eyes are half-lidded, hazy with lust as he gazes up at you and that’s enough to break his resolve. As he wraps his lips around your most sensitive spot, sucking gently, your head lolls back in pleasure. You’re so hot, so sensitive, reacting to even the softest of stimulations, and it’s addicting in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

You cling to the edge of the counter as his mouth works on you with violent passion, urging you higher and higher with his lips and his tongue, carefully avoiding his teeth. The taste of your arousal is so intoxicating that he can’t stop himself from moaning and he can feel a shudder tearing through your body. Primo increases his pace and you move your hips as well, following his rhythm and chasing your pleasure without shame.

You cum with a scream. Your hand digs into his hair, tugging, holding on with surprising force and it’s the most delicious pain he’s ever felt. He runs his fingers through your cum, licking them clean with a soft hum as he tastes you once again. But he needs more, he needs so much more–

“Do you want to come home with me?” you ask breathlessly as he gets up from his knees, the pain in his joints distracting him momentarily. “Spend the rest of the night?”

He looks at you in surprise but then a soft smile forms on his face. You’re so eager, so fearless. “You should be careful who you invite into your home,” he says. “You may find yourself hosting guests other’s would not deem welcome.”

You huff out a laugh. “What, like the devil?”

A chuckle and he presses a kiss to your forehead, longing to feel your warm skin on his cool lips again. “I wish I could, fiorellino, but I’m afraid my schedule is a little different from yours.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have to do this another time,” he explains, despite the painful tightness in his pants. “Preferably, I want to invite you to dinner. I don’t like that we did this in here, it is not very… classy. Maybe next Saturday?”

“Oh, okay sure,” you say, a hint of confusion crossing your face. “Of course.”

He stands to his full height, his frame towering above yours and it takes him every ounce of self-control not to just take you right here. You’re pliant, needy for him in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, and while it tempts him to no end he suddenly becomes painfully aware of his responsibility. He needs to get your full consent before he gives in to a possible relationship with you. But right now is not the moment to tell you what he is.

“This… this is not you turning me down, right?” you ask with wide, hopeful eyes.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Oh no, tesorino, this is just the start of what I want to do with you and now that I got a taste, I don’t think I will ever get enough.”

You smile, the bliss of your high still evident on your face, and he rubs your thighs in small circles for a moment, the softness of your skin a gentle reminder of how fragile you are. Primo leans in to kiss you and fights a grin when you lick into his mouth to taste yourself. Maybe not so fragile, he thinks, maybe your hunger matches his after all.

“I will see you next Saturday, fiore mio,” he says. “I’ll be here to pick you up and we can dine at my home.”

You nod tiredly and he feels bad for leaving you like this after what just transpired. He can smell your cum on his fingers even as he waits for you to finish work and probably will for the next few days. But Primo needs to collect his thoughts. This is the start of something big, something messy, and now that he tampered with the forces there is no going back. The regret that comes with it is excruciating. He can invite you to dinner, treat you like you’re the stars in the night sky, make love to you until you both pass out in exhausted bliss – but it won’t change what he is. And what he is might scare you off. The thought pains him but he tries to cling to the small shimmering light of hope inside his heart that perhaps you can accept him.

Until he figures out the logistics of having you over for dinner without giving you the scare of a lifetime, he decides to keep away from you. The temptation is too strong now, his need, his hunger, a quickly expanding black-hole inside of him that might eat you alive if he’s not careful. 

His resolve is strong, he tells himself, and it remains strong all week. Well, that is until he sees you running into the woods a mere day before your date, chased by a starving werewolf.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

Now

He lives in the old castle at the edge of town.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise but as he carries you through candle-lit hallways and multiple small chambers, old is the last thing that comes to your mind. Everything looks well-kept, orderly, the old-fashioned style of his attire translating to the interior as well. You never stay in any room for too long, the castle so big that you have to climb several staircases until you reach another long hallway. Several men in black hooded robes that look like monk’s habits pass you on your way. They don’t turn into your direction as you pass, some of them carry books, some carry laundry.

“Who are these men?” you ask.

“They’re my ghouls.”

“Ghouls?”

“Mhm.”

You don’t ask any further questions but cling to your stranger’s neck even though there is no need to. You’re safe in his arms, his strength limitless, and he does not seem tired even as you finally enter a chamber that appears to be his bedroom. Big arched windows make up one whole wall of the room and a double glass door that seems to lead to a balcony. The only light source is the full moon outside, casting milky white rays through the old windows. A huge wooden bed with silky white sheets dominates the room from the centre, most of the old hardwood flooring covered by a burgundy rug with a floral pattern, two chests of drawers lining the opposite wall as well as a desk covered in what seems to be his correspondence.

“You’re safe here, my flower,” he says as he sets you down on the bed. “I promise.”

You sit, watch him as he kneels down beside you. His face is nothing but kind, so full of concern and affection, but you can’t help but feel out of place. Knowing what he is now, while it doesn’t change the core of your feelings, still circles in your mind and you have to fight your disbelief.

“You still hesitate?” he asks.

“Are you reading my mind?”

“No, fiore, I do no such thing.” He takes your hand, covering it with his broad ones. “I would not abuse your trust, even if I could. And we have trust, no?”

“I feel like I can trust you,” you admit, tears of overwhelm pricking your eyes. “But I don’t really know anything about you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Primo.”

You exhale and let the word roll off your tongue. “Primo.”

He smiles at the sound of it, a soft, recognising smile, as if he hasn’t been called by that name in a long time. “All I ask is that you let me look after you right now, sì? I will explain and we can talk in depth later, amore.”

“Amore?”

His brow softens, giving his smile a sad quality. “My affections for you have not changed. Though I do fear that yours might have.”

You shake your head at him but before you can say anything profound, two of the black hooded ghouls enter the room. Another one joins right after, rolling a big copper bathtub inside, and you don’t even question their magic when they lift their arms and the tub fills with water. One of the other ghouls lifts his hands as well and suddenly the water starts to steam. The third ghoul places a piece of soap and a washcloth on a nearby stool, then hangs a soft-looking cotton bathrobe over the edge before they all leave without uttering a single word.

Primo helps you out of your shirt and you gasp when you see the blood covering your forearm. The bleeding has stopped but the scrape is still burning, the pain a distant throb. When he sees it, his gaze hardens but he just leads you to stand without any commentary, helping you undress, radiating tension and concern.

“It is okay that I am here?” he asks when he sees you unbutton your pants.

You nod in reply. After everything that happened you can’t say that you feel very embarrassed being naked in front of him and you feel safer in his presence, safer when he helps you. 

The water is scalding and you have to take a moment to get used to it before you can fully let the heat ease the tension you hadn’t even noticed before. Primo pulls up a chair, sitting right by your head, and picks up the cloth. You watch his brow furrow in concentration when he cleans your cuts and scrapes and his eyes meet yours a few times throughout, gazing at you with barely hidden hope. You want to tell him that your feelings are the same, if not stronger, but you can’t find it in you to disturb the silence with anything other than the occasional hiss when he touches a painful spot. It feels too fresh still, too many uncertainties plaguing your mind.

Once you’re clean and the water has cooled significantly, Primo helps you out and immediately wraps the soft cotton robe around you. As you sit back down on the bed, he walks over to his desk and fetches a small brown leather bag. Inside, you find multiple small vials in different colours and an antiseptic that looks just like any modern ones. He uses a cotton pad to clean out your wound before he grabs one of the small bottles, holding it out for you to see.

“Let me apply this to your cut,” he says. “It’s a tonic, it will help you heal.”

You roll up your sleeve to grant him access. “So, are you a healer of some sort?”

“Well, I am more of a pharmacist.” He chuckles and lets a small amount of the white liquid drop onto your arm. “Not a doctor.”

“It feels good,” you admit, the cool tincture sticks to your wound, easing the pain.

Primo smiles and wraps a bandage around your arm, tight but not too tight, like he’s done it a hundred times before. You can’t help but stare at him, his eyes and his whole face so beautiful and mesmerising, barely hiding his emotions in the depths of his features. When he catches your gaze, he tugs his hair behind his ear like he’s flustered and you spot a small cut above his left brow.

“He got you as well,” you say, grabbing a new cotton pad and reaching out for his face.

“It’s nothing, it will be gone within the hour,” he replies but he still lets you clean the scratch with careful dabs. “I suppose that I am not as powerful as I need to be to truly protect you.”

“What do you mean? You seemed very powerful to me earlier.”

“I am not ugh… how do you say? In my best years.”

You furrow your brow. “I always thought vampires stayed young forever.”

“Well, you see, I was turned well into my old age. I am not as strong and agile as someone who is born with it or turned earlier in their life,” he explains. “Usually, vampires do not like old blood, they prefer the young and healthy. But mine was… very hungry and very cruel.”

You lean over and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Is it painful to talk about this?”

“No, fiore mio, this was many centuries ago.” He regards you with caution, letting his eyes roam your body for a moment. “Do you feel better?”

“I do.” You reach out for his hand again, fiddling with his long, spindly fingers. “So are we… I mean, do you want me to stay here?”

“Yes, I do.” 

“But we won’t…”

“No, I will not touch you intimately again before we speak,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “But perhaps you need some rest before we do. You can sleep in my bed, amore. The sheets are fresh.”

The exhaustion is too strong to fight for much longer, he’s right in that, and you crawl under the sheets, careful not to strain your arm. The silky material feels cool and soft against your skin but you keep the robe on for some warmth. Primo sits by your side, watching you with the fascination of a scientist observing the bacteria in his petri dish. You wonder when he last spent time with a human like this, if he was ever intimate with a human before, but that is a question for another time.

Instead you smile at him. “Do you want to join me? Or do vampires not rest?”

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I would really like you to hold me,” you admit.

He visibly fights off a happy smile as he rounds the bed, shedding his clothes until he’s only in his pants and his white frilly shirt. Hesitating at the edge of the bed he pulls off the shirt as well and you can’t help but stare as he reveals his pale chest to you, speckled with light grey hair that runs all the way down to his waistband. He’s slender, bony around his ribs but with muscular shoulders and a soft belly, his slightly saggy skin the only real sign of his body’s physical age. You wonder how long he has now looked exactly like that. Centuries he’d said but that is a surreal thought you don’t quite grasp.

When he finally joins you in bed, you sink into his embrace, feeling his cool skin against your cheek as you rest your head on his chest. It’s odd, the quiet, the lack of a heartbeat, but with his fingers running along your spine, his nails scratching softly against your skin, you’re lulled to sleep in no time.

⛧ ✦ ⛧

You wake up in cold sweat – and alone. The bed is empty but you immediately spot Primo with a glance through the wide arched windows. He’s right outside the now open double doors you saw earlier, wearing a heavy, dark red robe, his blond hair softly swaying in the wind. You rise from the silken sheets and grab his wide shirt that lies as a puddle on the floor. The frills cover your hands when you slip it on and it’s long enough to cover you, his smell still clinging to the fabric and tickling your nose as you breathe in the fresh night air. 

The doors don’t lead to a balcony like you initially assumed but to a small garden, surrounded by the castle walls and illuminated by the full moon. You have no idea how long you slept but it seems to be the middle of the night. You don’t take the time to fully admire the garden, instead wrapping your arms around Primo and burying your face in his back.

“Oh fiore, did I wake you?” he asks, covering your hands with his.

“No,” you whisper. “I’m not tired anymore.”

“Come here.”

He wraps you up in his robe, pressing you tightly to his chest. You feel his lips ghosting over your forehead, then he presses them more firmly to your temple. His skin feels smooth and you turn your head enough to take in the surrounding area.

“What were you admiring?” you ask, your eyes caught on a plant that’s blooming despite the lack of daylight, long white blossoms opening themselves towards the night sky.

“Datura,” Primo explains. “They call it the devil’s trumpet. Highly poisonous. Many night-blooming plants are but of course they offer more to see to me than others.”

You smile. “The rose you gave me, was it from your garden as well?”

“Yes.”

He hugs you tighter and the pressure on your arm brings back enough pain to make you hiss in surprise. Primo tenses and you look up, only to find him staring at you with his brows drawn together. His anger isn’t directed at you and yet you feel a hint of anxiety. You know you won’t like the conversation you’re stearing towards.

“It’s my fault,” he says. “You’re hurt because of me.”

You raise a hand to his cheek. “No, no, it’s not. He attacked me.”

“But he attacked you because of my carelessness,” Primo says, leaning into your touch but avoiding your gaze. “I marked you. When we first kissed, I bit your lip and marked you.”

“Marked me for what?”

He swallows as his eyes finally meet yours. “We had an agreement.”

“An agreement? To… to kill people?”

“No, I don’t do the killing,” Primo says. “It is not my style. I am too old for carnage, amore. Or at least I thought I was.”

You furrow your brow, his explanation not helping you understand what he means. “So what is the whole deal with Max?”

“He was a werewolf,” Primo explains. “We ugh… we had this pact, I want to say. My victims, I don’t kill them, I just drink what I need and he… he gets the rest. He can smell me on them, so he knows who to target once he turns and loses most of his rational thinking. When I bit your lip, I must have marked you without my intent.”

You feel your blood rushing through your body now. “So what, he kills your victims?”

“He eats them, sì.”

“So the guys who…” You swallow hard, balling your hands to fists against his chest. “The guys who harassed me who never came back, the cleaner who disappeared… did you…”

“I never said I am innocent. But I did not kill them.” He takes your hand, softly uncurls your fingers before he looks at you with so much sadness that your heart shatters in your chest. “I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me anymore now. I know it is a lifestyle you have to condemn but it is the only way I survive.”

You feel tears welling in your eyes, uncertain whether you can accept the man you love harming other people like this. Of course it keeps him alive but handing them over to be killed is not very different from actually killing them. There has to be a different way, a way without murder.

“If we… if we were together… could you just drink from me instead?” you ask. “No more innocent people?”

“Have you ever donated blood, fiore? They will not let you give it too often, half a litre every three months.” He pauses, smiling sadly as he squeezes your hand. “That is to say… you do not produce blood fast enough. I would either starve or kill you.”

“But you could drink from me? And perhaps a bit from someone else and no one has to die?”

He nods. “I can but you might not like it, you might regret agreeing to this.”

“Try me.”

Primo furrows his brow. “Try you?”

“Show me what it’s like. How does it work? You bite my neck and suck?”

He shakes his head. “I will puncture your vein and drink until the bleeding stops.”

“You won’t suck?”

“Not when it’s you. I will just drink what spills out,” he explains. “Sucking would make the wound very bad, it would hurt you more, even though it is faster and gives me more of you.”

“It’s… it’s okay if you want to suck,” you say. “I want you to do it to satisfy you.”

“No, not this time, but thank you, amore.” A deep sigh as he relents to your request. “Va bene, but if we try this we have to go inside.”

Primo calls one of the ghouls as you settle back in bed and tells him to get you some fruit and a sweet drink for later. You’re buzzing, partly with anxiety but partly with sheer excitement. You remember the intense pleasure you felt when he bit your lip and wonder if this is going to be a similar experience.

As soon as the ghoul is gone again, Primo settles in bed behind you, ridding you of your robe and pulling you between his legs as soon as you are naked. You hold onto his thighs, the fabric of his black slacks rough against your palms.

“I will stop if you tell me to,” he whispers against your ear. “We go easy, I will not drink too much, yes?”

“Yes.” 

You sink against his solid chest, unclenching your muscles. His fingers run along your neck, brushing any stray hairs aside and gently positioning your head how he wants it. A moment passes before you feel his lips trailing over the exposed skin, pressing soft kisses to the tendon at your neck that make you shiver.

“Relax,” he mumbles. “No sudden movements, amore.”

You try your best to follow. Primo positions his mouth so very carefully that you almost anticipate the bite. His fangs poke at your skin and he gently increases the pressure until you can feel them puncturing it. The pain is not unexpected but you’re still surprised by the impact, moaning softly. His hands grab at your thighs, a deep groan leaving his throat that vibrates against your skin. You can hardly feel the blood leaving you with how tightly his mouth is attached to the violated skin. At some point, you can feel his tongue swiping along the curve and his grip tightens, long fingers digging into your flesh.

The more he drinks, the more he’s stirring behind you and then he’s suddenly rutting against you in his chase for more friction. You can feel his hard cock against your lower back and you can’t help but grind back against him. Primo stops to moan, his hands roaming your form all the way over your hips and up to your chest. His cold fingers feel heavenly against your heated skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says breathlessly. “Drinking from your… from your love can be a very intense, intimate feeling.”

You hum in agreement and his tongue laps at your neck again, leaving a wet trail all the way from your shoulder to your ear before he attaches his mouth to the wound. He doesn’t drink for long before his hips buck again. Subconsciously, you follow the movements, gripping his thighs so tightly that your fingertips dig into the firm muscles.

“Can you feel it, fiore? Can you feel how our bodies long to become one?”

You only whimper in reply, your head lolling back onto his shoulder as a sick sort of pleasure tears through you, a throbbing need settling in your core.

“I want you,” he says, his voice resonating deep inside of you. “I want you, my love. Will you let me have you?”

“Please,” you whine.

His mouth leaves you altogether. The bleedings has mostly stopped, his spit and your blood cooling against your skin in the still brisk air. Primo slips out from beneath you, urgently pushing the red robe off his shoulders and his pants from his legs before his weight pushes you into the mattress. He settles between your legs, his now bare cock digging into your thigh, and you moan when his bare skin touches yours. He feels warmer now, not hot but definitely more… alive. 

“You are the most wonderful thing I have ever seen,” he says and it’s beautifully grotesque, those pretty words leaving such a feral creature after he just drank from you, his face still showing the evidence of his attack. 

Your heart clenches with unspoken love for him.

You lift your hand to his jaw, dark red blood dripping from his open mouth and onto your chest. He’s breathing heavily with his fangs bared to you, staring at you in wonder as you cradle his cheek and run your thumb over his skin. His eyes close and there is something so heartbreakingly intimate about the way he’s melting into your touch. A predator, a being who spent centuries on this earth, who hurt and fought and killed for you softens at the mere touch of your fingertips. You’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him in this moment and you already know that you won’t hesitate to do whatever it takes to be his.

Primo shifts sideways, moving one of his hands between your legs. He probes at your entrance, slowly stretching you open until he can slide two of his fingers into you, careful not to hurt you with his sharp nails. You can see how hard he’s trying to hold back, every muscle in his face clenching. But he holds your gaze, watching your lips part as he curls his fingers, fucking into you until you’re whimpering with every thrust.

“Primo,” you whine.

He nods like understands your need for more but he doesn’t stop yet. Running your hand over his jaw you collect all the blood and spit around his mouth that you can get and reach down to find his hard cock. He gasps at the contact, more blood spilling from his lips and pooling between your bodies. You pump a few times, spreading the wetness, and he unravels, hips bucking into your hand as he moans.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please don’t hold back.”

His pupils dilate and he removes his fingers from you, gathering more blood from your chest to spread on his cock. He aligns himself and slowly pushes in, watching as he his length disappears inside of you. The stretch is incredible. You keen when he bottoms out, one of your hands fisting his hair and then he finally kisses you. The metallic taste of your blood startles you at first but then you can’t help but want more of it, pushing your tongue into his mouth. Primo won’t indulge you for long before you can feel him losing his restraint, battling for dominance over your mouth. He sucks at your tongue as his hips start to move, slow thrusts at first but he quickly loses patience. 

His mouth slips from yours as he speeds up, leaving a mess of drool, face paint and cooling blood behind. He drives himself into you without holding back, just like you wanted, his gasps and moans filling your ears over the sound of his wet skin meeting yours. You tug at his hair, wrapping your legs tightly around him to get even closer, spreading the blood all over your bodies. Primo nibbles at your jaw, not breaking the skin but running his teeth along the edge before they settle at your neck again.

“I want more,” he growls against your skin. “I need more, amore mio, please. J-just a little bit.”

In reply, you angle your head to expose your neck to him. He immediately latches on, sucking the wound back open. He was right, it hurts more this time and perhaps it’s a figment of your imagination but you can feel your blood rushing out of you in a way that is dizzying, intoxicating. Everything feels more intense now, the deep thrusts, his sharp nails digging into your flesh, the throaty moans in your ear as he drinks.

You clench around him and the orgasm hits you without warning. You cry out in pleasure, raking your nails down his back as you ride out your high with a few rolls of your hips. Primo falters, his hips stuttering into yours as he approaches his own release. His mouth leaves your neck with a pop and he pants desperately. You’re overcome with emotion when you hear his needy sounds, when you feel him twitching inside of you, so close to letting go. The last few drops of your warm blood run down your clavicle as the wound slowly closes, stopping right at your heart.

“I love you,” you breathe. “I love you, Primo.”

He shudders, his cock jumping wildly inside of you before he freezes, spilling his seed with a deep, drawn-out groan. You hold him through his high, stroking his hair and back. He gives two more slow pumps, drawing out your pleasure until he collapses on top of you.

“I love you, fiore,” he mumbles, then he props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. “I love you.”

A surprisingly gentle kiss. A hand caressing your wet cheeks. Primo rolls you onto your sides and you can feel your mingled cum, blood and sweat glueing your bodies together. It’s messy and sticky but you’re not ready to let him go either. His gaze falls to your bruised neck and he frowns, grazing the skin with his thumb until you groan in pain.

Primo shakes his head in displeasure. “I am sorry, amore. I made it worse.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I wanted it, my love, and I have no regrets.”

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You want all this, fiore? You want this old man?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, your lungs burning and your head still dizzy, but there is not a hint of doubt in your mind. “I want you and all that comes with it. I’m not scared, Primo.”

“No, you’re quite fearless,” he agrees with a smile. “We will have to take care of your wound, clean up this mess, sì? But maybe we can wait a few more minutes, I am quite exhausted.”

You hum in agreement and pull him closer. He doesn’t object as his head comes to rest on your chest this time. The blood loss seems to register now because your vision starts to swim, and so you close your eyes for a moment to let the wave of dizziness pass. Your thoughts are jumbled, so many questions, so many things to consider.

“Primo?” you ask after a moment.

He hums. “Yes, fiore mio?”

“Will you ever turn me?” 

A scoff, bitter and sharp, like it’s the absurdest thing he’s ever heard. “No, amore, I will do no such thing.”

“But if I wanted you to?”

“No.”

You open your eyes to find him looking up at you and lift a hand to smooth out the stern crease on his brow. “We’ll have to talk about this.”

“No,” he says again, then buries his face in your neck with a deep hum, wrapping his arms around you tightly. A moment passes. Then another one and he seems to mull the thought over in his head. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“We will talk about it but not soon. We have many years to come before this ever matters.”

You’re satisfied with that for now, giggle when he presses a plethora of bloody kisses all over your neck and chest, and you can feel his smirk against your skin. You know he’s trying to distract you and it works. Your feelings for him flutter to live inside of you like a colony of bats and you breathe a kiss to his soft blond hair. As he falls asleep, he slowly exhales with his lips against your windpipe. You close your eyes and savour the feeling of his body wrapped around yours, thinking that if you’re lucky, this is a moment you’re going to remember for all of eternity.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed vampire primo – kudos, comments, rbs etc are as always much appreciated ♡

Read now Part 2: Friday Nights at the Vinothek | Vampire!Secondo x gn!reader

Masterlist – My Ao3

[catchymemes]

[wadigrove]

being chased by your fave in the woods… that rush of adrenaline, your heart in your throat, knowing he’s right behind you and knowing he’s going to fuck you so good once he catches you >>>>

[sheriff-bodecker]

Bucky “i know baby i know” barnes

i know, baby, i know

warnings: 18+ MDNI, congressman!bucky, office sex, unprotected pinv, riding, BDB (bigdickbuck), softdom!bucky, petnames. (if i miss anything pls tell me), no beta (sorry)

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG !! i have a series i'm writing, i apologise !! this felt so congressman barnes, and that fucking photoshoot is KILLING ME STILL

dt: @buckyfmd @umbreoni @herejustforbuckybarnes

masterlist || navigation

the leather chair at his desk creaked under your combined weight. the fabric stuck to your knees uncomfortably as you shuffled to accommodate Bucky's thick thighs as you lower yourself down his flushed cock. a pitched whine leaving your slacked jaw as you inch lower and lower. your pussy throbbing in time with your quickening heartbeat with each inch you take, until the heat becomes unbearable.

pausing yourself, you breathe. hands clutching at the congressman's shoulders, fingertips memorising the sleek fabric of his expensive blazer. but the strain stung like cracks of fire beneath your hips.

"i know, baby, i know," he cooed into your ear. your head laid lazily against his shoulder as you sat on his length, barely halfway there. the stretch was immense, already stealing all the breath within your lung after three whole minutes of trying to accommodate his cock inside you.

his vibranium hand finds your hip, keeping his palm plastered to the skin, not moving your but keeping you there — a soft ease to tell you it's okay. his flesh one strokes your hair in easy, languid strokes, shushing you like you're a scared child as you wobble your way down.

"it's okay sweetheart, take it easy," Bucky eases your head off his shoulder, making you look up at him with your fucked out glossy eyes, parted whiny lips and hair that fell in strands messily over your cheeks. he smiled as he tucked a lock behind your ear, handsome and sweet. "y'dont gotta get it right away. just sit on my cock for a little, yeah? easy, babygirl — that's it."

breathlessly, he lets you move again. softly pumping yourself up and down the length you've already discovered, all the while letting your cunt explore the expanse of the undiscovered as you ease lower and lower. "just like that, babygirl, you got it."

the praise only spurrs you on, taking every new stretch of territory in small bounces. letting the stretch slowly ease into pleasure as you work yourself on him.

Bucky's hands grip your hips, fingers spreading wide on your ass everytime you thrust yourself lower on his lap, holding you open for his size. with every pull of his hands, you felt yourself clutch around him tight — and with every new pulse you delivered, he knew he wouldnt last long. Barnes relished in the sweet flutters of your pussy, willing himself to thrust up into you and take initiative. He wants to give so bad, but he promised to let you take the wheel this time, and as impatient the man was, he couldn't lie, you were doing a damn good job at finishing him off.

Your squeezes begin to frenzy, clutching around him in irregular increments. holding him in a tight vice, before pulsating around his aching girth, before holding him again. The shit he would do to stay in your warm embrace. He bucks up, just a couple new inches before he catches himself. "Fu-huck, sweetheart… I'm — hm — not gonna last much longer."

his voice gruff and low, keeping his voice down for the unconventional setting, as well as the nearing edge. groping at your tits through the fabric of your blouse, you knew you weren't going to last much longer either. "Buck… touch me, please!"

his vibranium hand snaked its way around you, thumb immediately taking home on your clit, circling in time with your rough hops. You clench hard on instinct, your orgasm wiping over all your senses like a white cloak, seizing all motions until the bolt of pleasure fades. But Bucky held you upright, his hips driving into you, finally bottoming out with one final stretch as you whine at the intrusion.

three harsh bucks up and he holds himself close inside you, balls tightening as he spills. rutting softly in time with each spurt over your walls, he holds you out to look at him. one hand on your back, the other tucking lose strands of hair behind your ear with a kind of reverence you've only seen in period romances.

"Atta girl," he whispers as his thumb strokes your cheek. he smiles so gentle, it hold a kind of warmth similar to a square of sun from the window on a summers day. it holds in your stomach. "Y'did so good… so well, baby, you did so well."

taglist: @devililithh @buckyfmd @umbreoni @bckyslover @nikkitabarnes @miraclediviner

bucky taglist: @dolcesaints @wildflowersandvibranium @colettebarnes @ssop-hiee @the-once-and-future-bitch @metal-armed-muse @bucklesby-barnes @herejustforbuckybarnes @overwintering-soldier

© 2025 sheriff-bodecker

[rr-after-dark]

"Just the Way It Is" - Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Reader

Summary: When a new HR assistant director introduces a hospital-wide weight loss program, the last person you expect to be your ally is Park the Shark, an ortho jock you've never really gotten to know.

Tags: fat!reader (mentioned as being over 200 pounds but no other physical description given), pediatric emergency attending!reader, i made kingdon her residents and donnie her nurse bc why not they felt the most pediatrics-oriented to me, kingdon crumbs, pining brendon, protective brendon, slow burn, flirting, first date, SMUT, face sitting, piv (unprotected)

Content Warnings: both direct and indirect fatphobia, discussion of orthorexia, diet/intentional weight loss culture

Author's Note: this beast of a fic has been finished for @genevievedarcygranger as part of my birthday fundraiser, which will continue taking donations through july 31st; thank you so so much for your contribution!!

Word Count: 11.6k

You’re suspicious of the new HR assistant director the moment you meet her.

It’s not that she’s skinny. Not really. Obviously, in health care, you mainly work with thin people; the field is fatphobic as hell, even the doctors who are doing their best not to be. You have maybe two other plus-size coworkers you know, but none in the Pitt. People question your presence all the time in silent moments (and sometimes verbal ones). So it’s not that she’s skinny. But the green smoothie clutched in her manicured hand, the office siren aesthetic designed to show off her itty-bitty waist, the expensive blonde highlights, and the bleached smile raise alarm bells in your brain. And, let’s be honest: Her name is Candice, but she goes by Candi. It’s difficult for you to imagine a more ironic, biting choice than that.

Your initial suspicion turns to straight-up disdain – maybe even hate on your less charitable days – when she announces her very first hospital-wide initiative. She gathers all the attendings and charge nurses into the largest conference room at shift change and launches into a slide show. The very first slide, there’s a photo of a bashful, adorable fat girl, maybe twelve years old, wearing a sparkly pink dress as she holds hands with her dad.

“That was me right before my first father-daughter dance. You might not believe it looking at the woman standing before you today, but I was heavyset most of my life.” Candi goes on, “With a lot of hard work, I was able to lose the weight and keep it off. Now, working in HR, I know that a thinner workplace is a healthier one, which means lower insurance rates for everyone. To promote health and wellness for our staff, we’ll be ringing in the New Year with a Corporate Weight Loss Journey! We can all accomplish our New Year’s Goals together and get some benefits for our teams.”

You shrink in your seat. Objectively, you know that nobody’s staring at you, but it feels like it. In a room where almost everyone’s below 200 pounds, you’re naked and Candi’s just grown devil horns to shine a spotlight on your stretch marks and rolls.

While you yearn for a total building collapse, for the next half hour, she goes over the rules. “The hospital will offer complimentary fitness classes twice a week and a healthier slate of meal options in the cafeteria to encourage the program, but those perks are far from the best part. For every percent of weight lost, individuals will receive tiered rewards. And, if your entire department achieves 10% weight loss on average, there’s a big prize in store to reward everyone for their hard work.” Then she flips to a slide with lots of happy before-and-after photos where all the ‘before’ sides look a lot like you. With that magazine-ready smile, she announces, “Lastly, to incentivize our staff members who need it most, whoever loses the most total pounds will win an all-expense-paid three-day vacation to a US-based resort of their choosing! Isn’t that incredible?”

There’s a light smattering of claps, most of the attendings bored but prepared to accept whatever initiatives HR wants to foist upon them. You definitely notice a handful of more excited claps and whoops, though, and you work to quickly memorize who they come from as a shorthand ‘to avoid’ list.

Candi gives a stomach-turning false squeal and finishes, “Of course, we can’t make this program mandatory, but I’m personally asking all of you as our PTMC leaders to encourage your teams to participate. Any questions?”

Then someone else’s voice rises from the silence. No raised hand. Clear and strong, a man you don’t recognize in dark scrubs and a surgical cap barks out, “This is a terrible program and you should can the whole concept before it crashes and burns.”

Candi’s face falls for a second before it twists up into scorn. “Excuse me, Dr. Park?”

“Do you have any idea how damaging programs like this are to the actual wellness of your employees?” His steady voice barely conceals rage. You sit up straighter to look at him, surprised to see a buff tall guy on the same page as you. “Let’s start with the obvious: You have no idea how many staff members may have eating disorder histories or are currently struggling with body dysmorphia or the countless conditions that make weight loss impossible or damaging. That alone should be enough to stop this.”

She scoffs, “Like I said, nobody is required to participate.”

“That doesn’t change how you’re creating an outright dangerous environment for them,” he argues. No hesitation or wavering in his voice. “Then let’s talk about how hard it is for overweight patients – who make up the large majority of Americans, let’s keep in mind – to trust their doctors in the first place. They already put off care out of fear and receive worse care because of their doctors’ biases; how much worse do you think it’s gonna be if we have management reinforcing those biases? It’s disgusting and I’m not going to endorse it.”

“Dr. Park,” she replies, all soft and condescending, “just give it a chance. I promise we have the best intentions here.”

“Nope, absolutely not. My practice will not be participating,” he cuts back without any sympathy in his voice. Is that a wet patch in your panties? “In fact, I’m gonna personally buy them all prizes for not doing this and for using their brain power to provide the quality patient care they’re paid to focus on instead of wasting their time with vain competitions that value the hospital’s bottom line over the important work we actually do. Maybe we’ll finish with a pizza party.” Standing up and collecting his things, he concludes by telling her, “My subordinates’ bodies aren’t my business; their skills are. Let’s not pretend this is about anything other than lowering the hospital’s insurance costs so the board can maximize profits.”

Next to you, Robby mutters under his breath, “Classic Park.”

When Dr. Park storms out of the meeting, you’re too stunned to move, speak, or breathe.

A few minutes after the meeting ends, the elevator down with Robby and Abbot is the longest of your entire life. They’re your friends, yes, but there’s always been a level of distance between you. They’re the ER Cowboys, the big bad attendings who’ve worked together since the dark ages, and you’re the new attending who campaigned hard to start a pediatric sub-specialty unit in the ED. They both like you plenty, but you also run your own little world that orbits theirs, a bite-sized version neither of them has to mess with often.

You’re trying not to listen to their back-and-forth – Robby talking about his ‘beer gut,’ Jack mentioning his ‘dad bod’ – when Robby nudges you with his elbow and asks, “You gonna get your residents and nurses involved with this thing? I mean, it should be especially important to you, right? Childhood obesity rates rising and everything.”

“Which is something I’m not particularly concerned about working in emergency medicine,” you reply, voice shorter than you’d meant. “Last time I checked, being fat doesn’t make kids break their arms, smack their heads, or develop infections.”

His eyebrows go up, a little surprised at your hard pushback. You’re usually soft and sweet and chatty, exactly the doctor you want helping your baby get better, but he’s clearly hit a sore spot. “I guess that would be a hard no.”

As the elevator doors slide blessedly open, you tell him, “There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to spend any of them thinking about Frank Langdon’s BMI.”

Robby replies, “I think the point is focusing on our own.”

You can tell he doesn’t do it on purpose, but the way his eyes flick down to your hips tells you everything you need to know about what he’s thinking. Spending your life in this body, you can tell what people mean beneath what they’re saying. So you give a tight smile and say, “Well, I’m perfectly fine with mine the way it is. Hope you have fun hating yours.”

As you push past them and beeline toward the lockers so you can escape to your car as soon as possible, you hear Robby turn to Abbot and ask, “What the hell was that? Did I say something?”

Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, “Brother, she’s the only bigger girl on our whole floor. Maybe try being more sensitive than an estranged father at custody trade-off next time.”

“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Because you’re bad with women,” Jack says with a clap to Robby’s shoulder. Just as you start to think he might be a safe space for you in all of this, he play-boxes Robby’s chest and says, “Anyway, night shift’s absolutely gonna crush day shift on this thing. Shen’s been asking me to show him the ropes at the gym for months and Ellis used to box. We can cut weight no problem.”

Robby chuckles and shakes his head. “You bastard.”

That night, you eat your dinner in front of your work computer. You give a few nervous parents messages in their portals, sign off on some resident charts, and sort through a few transfers and AMA notices. The whole time, though, your mind keeps drifting back to that doctor from the meeting, and soon enough you find yourself sorting through the hospital directory. Of course, the massive city hospital employs about fifteen Dr. Parks, three of which are attendings, and there are no pictures because the website is behind the times.

Which means you have to use the tools at your disposal.

Pretty soon after coming into the Pitt Jr. the next morning (as your department has come to be called), you take advantage of a lull in the flow to interrogate two of your residents. You find Mel and Langdon at the nurse’s station, making heart-eyes at each other, while they go over a chart. You come up to them like you’re about to commit espionage and ask under your breath, “Do you guys know a Dr. Park who works in the hospital? Big buff dude?”

“Park the Shark?” Frank takes a deep breath like even the thought is harrowing. “Yeah, of course we know him. Everyone in the ED does.”

Your brows wrinkle. “Why haven’t I met him? I’ve been here a year now.”

He scoffs and offers, “Because you’re insanely lucky?”

Mel, always generous, adds in Park’s defense, “It’s because you’re a pediatric specialist. Shark’s head of orthopedic surgery and he has his own private practice, so he’s picky about the cases he’ll take from the Pitt.”

“Thank god we have Robbins,” you say of the incredible pediatric surgeon who’s always coming down to the Pitt Jr. Then, pretending it’s more of a passing interest than a burning one, you press, “Sounds like you two aren’t crazy about him.”

“He’s a huge dick,” Langdon says at the same time Mel explains, “He can be kind of intense.”

They make the kind of conspiratorial eye contact that always makes you roll your eyes, tempted to tell them to just fuck it out of their systems already. “Details, people.”

Frank raises his hands innocently and defers to Mel, who sums it up, “He just…only cares about the medicine, I guess.”

You narrow your eyes at them. “And that’s a bad thing?

“She means that he very actively doesn’t care about anything else.” Frank clarifies, “Like, hates everything. And everyone. Especially emergency room doctors, because we can’t magically control what happens to a patient’s bones before they show up to the hospital.”

You nod slowly but ask, “Okay, so he’s an ortho jock, but what about, like, as a person?”

“I’m not sure he even is one,” Frank replies, his expression completely serious. “The only thing I know about him is that he can squat and bench 450.”

From behind him, revealing that he’s been listening, Donnie adds, “Don’t forget the 550 deadlift.”

Frank groans, “Right, how could I forget the 550 deadlift?”

At your confused look, Donnie explains, “Dr. Park took part in this powerlifting charity competition a couple of years ago.” He takes out his phone and rapidly pulls up a video. “The organization would match every pound lifted with $100 for the top three competitors. He got second – I guess the national record-holder lives in Pennsylvania – but he still donated $145,000 to Operation Rainbow. They do free orthopedic surgeries for kids in developing countries.”

“Jesus.” Trying to actually conceptualize lifting that amount of weight as Donnie scrubs through the competition video until Dr. Park’s on screen, you give Frank a pointed look. “Doesn’t sound like too bad of a guy to me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the attention he was swimming in after had nothing to do with it,” Frank replies, all cynical. “They put it on the hospital’s Twitter and it went kind of viral. That was a tough season for any of us guys trying to date coworkers.”

Mel nudges him on the shoulder. “You’re just as handsome as Dr. Park.”

“But I definitely can’t lift the girls I date over my head.”

She protests, “That’s not what girls want!”

Watching the video of Park’s deadlift on Donnie’s outstretched phone, sweat dripping down his chest and a driven expression on his face, you muse breathily, “It’s not not what girls want.” You lean in closer to the video and observe, “Wow, those are tiny shorts.”

Mel looks over your shoulder and her eyes widen. Almost mesmerized by Dr. Park’s pumped muscles, she agrees, “Not much left to the imagination.”

Frank snatches Donnie’s phone, pushes it back at him, and huffs while grabbing a chart, “Don’t we have work to do, people?”

Donnie snickers, “Jealous little spoil sport.”

It’s not long before the day picks back up, lots of feverish crying babies and vomiting kindergarteners and skatepark preteens with broken arms that need tending. Robbins comes down to set a few bones and schedule a couple surgeries. You fall into the flow of the work you love, comforting parents and supporting students. It’s all going fairly easily until Langdon mentions the weight loss challenge; he goes back and forth between your and Robby’s service, especially for teenage patients, so he catches wind of it first. And then he manages to get Donnie into the idea in a ‘get rid of our dad bods’ way, which has you suppressing groans, and then Donnie ropes in another nurse, and Frank ropes in Mel (who has absolutely no weight to lose) because he can rope her into anything, and then you have to be the bad guy.

All in all, by the time of your last break around three, you’re fed up. You just need to vent to someone who you know agrees with you. So you stomp into the elevator and punch the button that you know leads to orthopedics, trying not to let the storm swirling in your throat control you. At reception, you flash your badge and get waved back toward the offices, where you easily identify Dr. Park’s as the biggest one all the way toward the back with the near floor-to-ceiling window views over the city on one side.

When you knock on the door, you hear an annoyed-sounding, “Yeah?”

But you’re not a shrinking violet who’s turned off by the thought of being an inconvenience. You slip into his office and close the door behind you as he turns to face you. You’re talking before he even has a chance to: “Hi, Dr. Park, I know you don’t know who I am, but-”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts bluntly. You get the sense that he does that a lot. “You started that new pediatric wing in the emergency department. I hired Robbins to my team so you’d have a pediatric specialist to call for all your tiny bone breaks.”

Taken aback for a second, your lips part into a smile. “I figured the board was in charge of that.”

“Please, the hospital doesn’t have the cash to hire a double-board-certified surgeon on short notice,” he scoffs. “I run my private practice out of this suite. I hired her personally; she has hospital privileges just like I do. Pediatric orthopedic surgery’s way harder; I figured if the Pitt’s gonna be bringing in more kids, I’m not gonna have my surgical residents butchering their little bodies in the name of education.”

Leaning against the door, you laugh and tease, “You’re kind of a bleeding heart, Dr. Park. I never would’ve guessed.”

He looks up at you properly. His eyes rake over your body and he smirks. “Don’t rat me out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good. What brings you all the way up to the penthouse?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” you start, dropping your eyes from his for the first time in the conversation, “but I just wanted to thank you for saying something during that stupid meeting yesterday. About the weight loss thing. It was nice hearing someone, um, not think my body is inherently bad. So. Yeah. Wanted to introduce myself officially and let you know it mattered to me.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” he replies with a furrowed brow. Like he really can’t fathom it. “You have the right to feel safe in the workplace just like anyone else does. Any administrative program that makes my coworkers, my nurses, or my students uncomfortable isn’t welcome in my department.”

“I wish that was the attitude in the Pitt,” you sigh, flopping down on the loveseat opposite his desk like you own the place. He definitely doesn’t hate the way you look all sprawled out or the way you unapologetically take up the space. You groan, “The other attendings are so committed to it that my students are asking if we can participate.”

“What’d you say?”

Expression tight and unforgiving, you reply stiffly, “That they’re welcome to work toward the individual prizes on their own time, but, as a department leader, I’m not going to encourage it.”

“Very tactful.”

You shrug and admit, “I may not have phrased it that well in context.”

Amused now, actually enjoying your company, Park presses, “What did it sound like in context?”

Giving him a conspiratorial little smile that he can’t deny is heart-poundingly cute, you tell him, “Something along the lines of ‘that prissy HR bitch can’t force me to starve myself to save the hospital money and you shouldn’t be sheep’ if I’m remembering correctly.” He barks out a laugh as you quickly cover it with, “Okay, okay, I know, but, in my defense, they covered the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge with these ‘motivational’ posters that make me wanna puke. How am I supposed to enjoy my sandwich with ‘weight loss starts in the kitchen!’ staring down at me? I’m here eating in my car like I did my senior year of high school when girls like Candi fucking Cassidy called me Piggysburgh. Not even that funny.”

“Come up here and eat with me, then,” he suggests with a shrug. Like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t make your head spin from the easy, casual selflessness of the offer. “You can use the ortho lounge whenever you need a break, too. I’ll get you a badge for our floor. We’ve got bean bag chairs,” he says with waggling eyebrows like that’s the holy grail of accomplishments. “I always make sure the place is stocked with good snacks since our vending machine blows. Plus, we’ve got Roku. And foosball.”

You meet his smile with one of your own. “Sounds very luxurious.”

“It is. Private practice is magical.” After a beat of charged silence, Park looks you up and down again like you’re his dinner plans and says, “I take my lunches at one. Consider yourself invited.”

The next day, you slip away from the emergency room floor with your lunchbox and into the elevator toward ortho without a word, ditching the unspoken, usual routine of eating lunch alongside Robby and Abbot. It’s the time of day when the three of you have a sort of informal meeting about the different cases you’re dealing with, what needs to fill in the broader emergency department, which students need more support – and the results of the latest Pens game. You know perfectly well that they’ll immediately notice your absence, but, you figure, if they really want your time, they can actually schedule something instead of taking it for granted.

When you gently tap on Dr. Park’s door, you’re met with a sort-of-teasing-but-mostly-not bark, “That better be the cute Pitt Jr. doctor and not your ugly ass here again to ruin my lunch with another last-minute emergency, Peterson!”

You nudge the door open, bite your lower lip, and reply, “Cute Pitt Jr. doctor checking in.”

His eyes shoot up to his hairline and he nearly jumps out of his seat. Swallowing hard to conceal his embarrassment, he course corrects, “I didn’t think you’d actually come. Ah, hi. Hi, doctor. It’s good to see you again.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘doctor,” you laugh as he stands up and grabs his own lunchbox from one of the countless drawers behind his desk. “We can be on a first-name basis since you’re saving me from the hell of lunch with my coworkers.”

Park scoffs, reaching around you to open up his door. “I’m your coworker.”

“Yeah, but you’re cool.”

He chuckles, “I’m cool?”

“You don’t hate fat people,” you amend with a shrug. “That’s a good start for me.”

“Fair enough.” He shakes his head in annoyance at the reminder of what you’re having to deal with downstairs. Then he nods down a hall and says, “C’mon, I’ve got a spot where I like to eat.”

“It’s not the roof, is it?” Your nose wrinkles when you frown and Park catches himself memorizing it. “Jack and Robby are always trying to get me to hang out with them on the roof.”

Park cringes at the thought, leading you decidedly away from the stairs. “Yeah, I’ve had nightmares about being the poor bastard who has to put Robinavitch back together again if he ever actually jumps.”

You snicker even though you probably shouldn’t. “He won’t; it’d be too much of an inconvenience for everyone else.”

“Hey, whatever gets the job done.” He replies with a suspiciously knowing sort of sigh, “No bad reason to stay alive.” He opens up an ‘authorized personnel only’ door with his badge key. You step into a room with a warm skylight at the center of the ceiling, the sun raining down onto a small square garden beneath it, ringed by a few plush armchairs. It’s like a miniature oasis, the walls soundproof, the space insulated from the chaos of the hospital. Park explains, “They were supposed to turn this room into a whole zen meditation space thing for families waiting for their loved ones to get out of surgery, but I very kindly explained to the board that I had patients who needed care and couldn’t afford it, so that money should probably be used to start a surgical angel fund and, of course, they agreed with me.”

Sitting down in one of the inviting chairs, you give him a mischievous sideways glance. “I have a feeling it didn’t sound like that in context.”

“It may have sounded a bit more like ‘you greedy fuckers’ and ‘this disgusts me so much that I’ll move my practice to another hospital,’” he admits with a warm laugh as he opens up his lunchbox, which is an oversized borderline military thing with lots of organization. As he unpacks about a thousand containers, he glances at you doing the same and remarks, “Cute lunchbox.”

You show off the pastel bento-style compartments, arranged perfectly with fresh fruit, your favorite snacks, and a pesto pasta salad you’ve been yearning for all day. “Lunch is the only time of day I get off my feet for a solid half hour. I take it very seriously.”

“I can see that.”

You don’t miss his soft, affectionate smile as he takes in your matching containers and floral-patterned napkins. As you look at his own spread, similar in intentions but different in execution, you muse, “Looks like you’re the same way.”

“I try to be intentional when I eat,” he replies simply, pouring a homemade dressing on a colorful salad made from ingredients in his different small jars. You have to respect a man who maintains the structural integrity of a salad by mixing it at lunchtime instead of in advance.

“You must be a ‘food is fuel’ kind of guy,” you guess, gesturing to his general musculature, “given the whole ‘550 deadlift’ thing.”

He makes eye contact that strikes you as very cheeky and self-satisfied. Cute, even. “That old video still circling around downstairs?”

You nod and confirm, “They were pretty eager to have me ogle you.”

He waggles his eyebrows; you wonder if any of your coworkers have ever seen him so playful or if you’re already special to him for some reason. “Like what you saw?”

Rolling your eyes, you point your fork at him. “Don’t fish for compliments when you know you’re hot; it’s unbecoming.”

Only half-jokingly flexing his biceps for you, he snickers, “Clearly I didn’t have to fish very much.”

You reach across and smack his arm, definitely not giving his muscles a squeeze on the way. He just laughs and shakes his head and goes back to eating. The two of you are comfortable and quiet for a few minutes as you eat. Usually, you’re uncomfortable eating around others, expecting comments on your choices, whether ‘healthy’ or not. But Brendon puts you at ease, not even glancing at what you’re having as he eats.

After a few lunches together, you gather up the courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to since the HR meeting. “Why do you care so much about the weight loss campaign thing, anyway? You’re kind of, like, the exact beauty standard for men.”

“Am I?”

“We already covered fishing for compliments, remember?”

“Touché.” He laughs and shrugs and stabs into his food. “How much honesty do you want?”

“Enough to satiate my curiosity without making you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about it as long as you won’t be uncomfortable hearing it.”

Getting something of a sense of where this might be going, you nod and tell him slightly more seriously, “I won’t be. I wanna know, especially if you’re gonna be my regular lunch date.”

The word ‘date’ makes him straighten up and preen a bit. “Well, I think I’d like that.” So he takes a slow breath, debates his phrasing a minute, and ultimately barrels into it, talking fast in a way that seems maybe half nervous: “I had an eating disorder when I was younger. Orthorexia. Back then, it was diagnosed as OCD and ARFID. With the education I have now, I can recognize it for what it was.”

The honesty hits you hard. You know without it needing to be said that Park isn’t honest like this with most people. He’s decided, in the same way that you have, that the two of you are allies in some kind of way. The two people vocally against this stupid HR thing, yes, but something that matters more, too. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.

With you giving him space, no judgment, just presence, he goes on, following the train of thought and memory and letting you join him like it isn’t the big deal it is, “I was a scrawny kid. Wanted to bulk up some in med school to get girls – I know, I know – and then when I went for ortho, one of my mentors mentioned it was good to build extra strength. In this field, you need endurance, grip strength, upper body strength, core stability.” He chews on the thought alongside his lunch for a moment before clarifying, “But I went about it all wrong. Crash diets with brutal full-body gym days. Cutting out anything that ‘sounded’ bad – first it was fats, then carbs, then just about everything bodies actually need. I stopped caring about how my body functioned and got obsessed with how it looked to everyone else.”

His voice goes far away for the first time, fork wavering in the air, and you watch him carefully, waiting with held breath.

Finally, he sighs sharply, “My residency took two extra years because of it. I needed serious help. If the hospital I worked at had some program that incentivized that behavior? I’d probably be fucking dead. That’s not happening in my department.” Finally, his eyes lift up to yours. You’ve never realized just how blue they are, brilliant and light. “I’m sorry it’s happening in yours. You ever need me down there, just call.”

It takes you a minute to speak, so many emotions tangled up in your gut. You start with a simple, “thank you,” but then it quickly spirals out into, “for telling me about your history, trusting me, I guess and for standing up like that in the meeting, and for being so nice to me during all this when you don’t have to, for- for-”

“Hey, stop,” he stops you as your voice speeds up and shakes. He reaches over and gives your hand one quick, firm pulse with his own. The touch lingers. His thumb on your wrist. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. After a beat, he murmurs, “You deserve better than saying thank you for the bare minimum. Everyone does. I know that I get listened to here when most people don’t. If I don’t say something, nobody will.”

And, god, is that sexy.

You just nod kind of stupidly, trying not to get lost in his eyes like some lovestruck tween.

Thankfully, Brendon’s pager goes off, shocking you both out of the intense eye contact that’s begging to end in a kiss or a confession. He drops his gaze first and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the countless feelings that tumble around in his stomach whenever you look at him because Brendon Park does not get ‘crushes’ on coworkers.

After he closes up his lunch box, Brendon stands, touches your cheek with his thumb so casually it makes you want to scream, and offers, “Lunch is on me tomorrow, alright? Let’s grab something fun instead of moping around in the hospital.”

You’re still finding it a bit hard to breathe, but you manage to reply, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

And that’s how it goes for you and Brendon.

You eat lunch together.

You talk.

You don’t tell anyone in the Emergency Department.

It’s not like you’re hiding your friendship with him since there’s nothing to be ashamed of, not really, but he’s sort of your personal oasis. Your escape from the annoying, unendingly frustrating reality of posters that read things like ‘you can have results or excuses; not both!’ and ‘the body achieves what the mind believes,’ which feels particularly insulting given the emergency room of the whole thing. Every time you top off your coffee, you have to passively wonder if Mrs. Thomas in bed eight can eat, exercise, and think her way out of the pressure sores she’s getting from overnight understaffing or Hannah in the Pitt Jr. can stop making excuses to get the result of fixing her respiratory infection.

Hannah’s parents, of course, are the kind of people who very clearly buy into the ideologies now running rampant in your hospital. You can tell in the way her father looks at you like you’re not a doctor. It’s hard to explain. That look. But you know it well. First, the assumption that you’re a nurse; you’re used to that in your colorful scrubs and being a woman in general. There are worse things than being mistaken for the most competent segment of the hospital. But this is beyond that. It’s the obvious implication that you can’t know what you’re doing because you’re fat. That you must’ve made it through med school on something besides merit because your body is proof that you can’t take care of them.

He makes it patently clear when you suggest a course of treatment that he disagrees with. You’re the one with the education, the expertise, the fellowship, the brain, but he’s the one who gets to say, “Why should we listen to some ‘doctor’ who’s going to die of a heart attack before 40? This is fucking ridiculous.”

Keeping your voice tight and professional as your eyes and cheeks begin to burn, you manage to get out, “I’ll send in another doctor for a second opinion,” before turning around and busting out of the patient’s room. You rush a few steps forward, tap Mel on the shoulder because ‘skinny’ seems to be the necessary qualification, nod back toward the room, and then escape to your office while the tears fight for dominance. Thank god you’re an attending now; crying on shift was so much more annoying before you had a door to call your own. You don’t even know for sure what you’re doing until your fingers are already on your pager.

Exactly two minutes later – one walk down the hall and a slow elevator ride – there’s a knock. He doesn’t wait for your response. Slipping inside the door like it’s a secret, Brendon takes in your tears. You’re leaning against your desk with your arms crossed over your chest.  With a soft anger in his voice, he asks quietly, “What happened?”

His voice snaps you out of it. It’s a losing battle to stop the tears, but you’re still swiping them away with your palms as you tell him, “I’m sorry; I know it’s- it’s so immature to page you during the workday for something personal when-”

Brendon’s shaking his head and closing the space between you in an instant. His arms wrap around you like they were always meant to fit there. And you finally lose it, blubbering out the whole story to him in sniffly, pathetic half-sentences. How much this whole contest is getting in your head and what your patient’s dad said and how it’s all swirling together into something ugly in your mind. Eventually you whimper into his broad chest, “Maybe I should just cave and play along. If I lost some weight, then everyone would-”

“Don’t do that,” he interrupts. Stern. Like it’s deathly serious to him. “Definitely don’t do that.”

You eye him carefully, eyes wide and shiny. The tears stop when you realize he’s looking at you with nothing but adoration on his features. “Why not?”

His cheeks go pink. You’ve never seen him blush before – not like this, not a deep, neon pink that’s blotchy on his neck above his collar. It’s almost cute, if that were a word Brendon Park was capable of embodying. Eyes trained firmly on what’s in front of him, he says, plain and simple, “Your body is perfect. Just the way it is.”

That makes your lips stop wobbling, instead curling up at the corners. You let loose a tiny, sweet giggle, press your hand to the center of his chest, and tease, “Are you hitting on me in my time of need?”

“Stating a fact,” he clarifies with a hard swallow. Unable to meet your eyes because of just how caught he feels, he goes on, “Don’t let this shit get in your head. It’s not worth it. You’re smart, you’re capable, you’re gorgeous; that big sexy brain of yours doesn’t have room for that garbage.”

You bury your forehead against his shoulder and laugh, “My big sexy brain, huh?”

“Damn straight.” He pulls away from you – reluctant – and sighs, “I should get back upstairs; I’ve got to scrub in ten.”

“Sorry again for-”

“No. Don’t apologize. I, ah, I like being there for you. Glad you caught me when I had a minute.”

“Then thanks.”

“Any time.” He does that thing where he cups your cheek again. It takes everything in you not to nuzzle into his palm. “I mean that.”

“I can tell.”

As Brendon leaves your office, you take a minute to catch your breath behind the door, knowing you need to refocus yourself.

That’s when the rage kicks into his gut.

It’s no secret that Brendon has a bit of an anger problem. Not the kind that has him flying off the handle throwing punches, but enough that he’ll call a doctor a dumbass if they compromise a patient’s care or suggest something particularly asinine. Enough that he can’t stop himself from shoving into the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge, where Robby and Jack are both on break, laughing over coffee like they aren’t part of the reason you’re in your office crying when you should be saving kids from polio or whatever's wrong with them.

The moment Brendon’s in the lounge, all eyes turn to him. He’s out of place. Hulking and determined and mean. Without saying a word, he goes around the tables and rips down the first poster he sees related to weight loss or food off the wall, ripping and crumpling it in his hand. As Robby stands to intervene or at least ask anything, Park shakes his head hard and snarls, “Violation of hospital policy. Section 241. Content of materials posted in common areas must be professional and inoffensive.”

Robby scoffs, on the verge of laughing because of how ridiculous it seems to him, “I wouldn’t exactly consider a poster for an HR campaign inoffensive.”

“Then why was I offended by it, Mike?” He goes for the next poster and gives it an equally ruthless treatment, shredding it and trashing it. “Get all this shit down. Other side of the Pitt, too, the pediatric side. People are complaining” 

Watching in shock as Brendon continues to tear down every piece of weight loss promotional content he can find, Robby warns, “Shark, you can’t just come down into my department and-”

Park whips around, pushes a balled-up poster into Robby’s chest, and interrupts, “File a complaint.”

Robby raises his eyebrows to the sky and watches Park stalk out of the lounge, continuing his reign of terror on the bulletin boards that line his way to the elevator. “Ooookay, then.”

Jack releases a harsh laugh. “Who pissed in his coffee this morning?”

When you walk past the lounge, still sniffly and puffy, Robby tilts his head to the side. “I have a feeling it’s about someone else.”

The next morning, you’re lingering near HR’s doors, taking your first break early because Donnie had sent you a text: looks like your boyfriend’s in trouble…

When you’d looked up, you saw Candi Cassidy dragging Brendon toward the administrative section of the hospital, having caught him right after the two of you shared your morning coffee and bitch session in your office. Trying and failing to be subtle, you glared in Donnie’s direction and then high-tailed it over to Human Resources, one hall’s length behind them so you wouldn’t get caught.

You can half-hear the argument behind the door. Candi’s throwing around staff intimidation, employee morale, non-compliance while Brendon’s tossing back hostile work environment, discrimination, bias. HR buzzwords fly back and forth. Voices are clipped and high. Tense. Brendon sounds firm and sure of himself, giving orders, and your brain can’t do anything useful because you’re just imagining what it would sound like to be on the receiving end of that tone in very different circumstances.

After a minute of total silence, Brendon barrels out of the door, clearly still pissed, and nearly knocks right into you. Before he can curse out whatever dumbass doctor got in his way, he realizes it’s you. And his entire being softens – his expression, his tense shoulders, his damn lungs. He lets out a long breath and mumbles, “Shit, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

You nod toward the nearest empty corner, lower your voice, and ask him seriously, “Are you in trouble for your little fit in the ED yesterday? Everyone was gossiping about you all afternoon.”

He snorts like it really is a laughable thought. “No. She doesn’t have any power over me unless I really step in it. Taking down a couple posters isn’t going to do that.”

“So what was all the yelling for?”

Brendon shrugs and averts his eyes, not sure if you’re going to be upset with him or not. “She said I can’t make a scene in front of junior doctors over a new policy I don’t agree with. I said I’d be much happier to make a scene elsewhere if that’s better.”

A smirk flicks at the edge of your cheek; Brendon’s obsessed with the way your skin wrinkles ever so slightly next to your smile. “And how exactly did you phrase that, Shark?”

Almost bashful, he admits, “I threatened to pull my hospital privileges if she doesn’t nix the program. Said I’ll move my practice; UPMC’s been trying to poach me for a decade.”

All choked up out of nowhere, you whisper, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs and searches your face. Like it’s an answer, he says, soft and sweet, “Well, you were crying yesterday.”

With your heart pounding out of your chest, you try on a half smile. “Technically that was because of a patient’s parent, not the weight loss competition.”

“It’s the whole fucking culture,” he sighs. When he runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, it loosens some of his waves. You wonder how he looks without the product in, morning-tousled and sleepy-eyed. “Candi’s all ‘it is what it is’ about this whole thing, about the ‘side effect’ of making people feel like shit. She thinks it’s worth it. For the greater good. Whatever. My practice doesn’t bring in twenty fucking percent of this place’s annual surgical revenue for the hospital to treat its doctors and nurses like they’re just another expense to lower. Makes me fucking sick.”

Your head spins at the idea, running some quick numbers from the figures that get presented every quarter. “Jesus, your practice is worth that much?”

“220 million last year across all my surgeons,” he huffs as though it’s a footnote. Then he touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing you to look at him. To focus on him. Your knees are weak under the intensity of his gaze. “That’s not the point. I want you to go on a date with me.”

“That’s the point?” You laugh. Honestly laugh. Placing your hand at the center of his chest, you chuckle, “You threatened to cost the hospital two hundred million dollars to get me to date you?”

“No, no, not- not like that,” he’s quick to assure. “I really do think this whole thing is bullshit. You know it matters to me, too. A lot. And I speak up. Always have. But you- Getting to know you has made it matter a lot more, okay? Don’t make me defend myself. Just go out with me.”

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I’m begging you.”

You let out a sharp laugh that you stifle with your hand, checking around to see if anybody’s noticed how stupid the two of you are, talking about all this out in the open. Sure that you have a moment of privacy, just to drive him crazy, you corner him and lower your gaze and press, “Tell me honestly: Do you have a fat fetish, Brendon?”

For some reason not taken aback by the question, he debates his answer for a minute, tilting his head slightly as he chews on the words. Ultimately, he decides to be honest: “I don’t think it’s a fetish to prefer big girls. And I don’t think fetishes are inherently a bad thing. I have plenty of fetishes.”

That makes your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“Go out with me,” he presses, leaning in much closer than is work appropriate, “and I’ll tell you.”

A little breathless, you insist, “But you do usually pursue plus-size girls?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I get that you’re suspicious – it makes total sense, seriously, I swear I get where you’re coming from – but it’s not any different than wanting a tall boyfriend or something, right?” It makes sense to you when Brendon reasons, “We all have our things we like about someone else’s looks when we get a crush. I think you’re hot as fuck, I’m attracted to your body, and you have a great personality in addition to that. Smarter than me by a mile, sensitive like I can never manage. You’re fucking perfect. I’d be an idiot not to ask you out when you check all my boxes.”

“Pause.” Actually, truly smiling now – flirtatious and adorable enough to make Brendon swoon at the view – you needle, “Did you just say you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, I absolutely did,” he murmurs with cheeks rapidly turning pink. “And that’s mortifying for a guy like me, don’t you think? The kind of thing that at least earns a pity date?”

Dragging out your words, doing a terrible job at pretending you aren’t going to say yes, you lilt gently, all sweet and feminine, “Give me a really good reason and I’ll think about it.”

Brendon’s rich blue eyes absolutely sparkle when he realizes he’s got you. “I’ll give you two. First of all, there’s a special art exhibit downtown this month and a little birdie told me through the grapevine that you love museums.”

You curse under your breath. “Mel, you useless romantic.”

“Secondly,” he goes on, lowering his voice. He steps toward you so that you have to back up. Into the wall. Now it’s his turn to check if you’re alone. With one hand on either side of your head, he presses you against the sheetrock, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that has your resolve to play coy evaporating. “If I like fat girls, and I’ve mostly been with them, you know what that means?”

It’s nearly a gasp as you reply, “What?”

“It means I’ll know exactly how to worship you,” he murmurs. Right against your ear. Your toes curl in your sneakers. Toying with you by dragging his finger along the base of your neck, just a slow back and forth, he muses, “Doesn’t that sound nice? A guy who isn’t a coward about grabbing your stomach? A guy who knows he wants to wear your thighs like earmuffs? A guy strong enough to throw you around the way you’ve always craved?” Hands on your waist now, not overtly sexual but already overwhelming in the most delicious way, he purrs, “Gimme a chance, gorgeous, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Biting your lip and shaking your head because you have to get rid of the absolute ache to kiss his smirk right off him in order to practice medicine for the rest of the day, you ask, “When’s your next day off?”

“I have the whole weekend.”

Your eyes brighten up. “Me too.”

“How early do you wake up on Saturdays?”

“How early is your fancy art exhibit open?”

“Ten.”

“Pick me up at 9:30.”

“I could take you to breakfast first.”

“I refuse to go out with you first thing in the morning; I’ll look like a zombie.”

“Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re such a suck-up.” When your watch buzzes, signaling that your break’s over, you kiss his cheek softly and say, “9:30 on Saturday. Don’t be late.”

“Never have been; don’t plan on starting now.”

Getting ready for your date with Brendon is actually fun. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten ready for a date and felt uncomplicated excitement about it. No nerves about your body because you already know Brendon is beyond into it. So you slip into something that highlights every curve instead of disguising any of them, a maroon silky thing with a long lace hem to show off your legs, low square neck that frames out your cleavage, and straps just thick enough to cover your nude bra. The fabric is thin enough to show the delicate line of your thong in exactly the right lighting, which you’re sure Brendon will manage to find at some point during the day.

He rings your doorbell at 9:28. Doesn’t text to say he’s outside, doesn’t honk the horn for your attention. Walks all the way up to your porch to greet you like an adult. And when you open the door, his absolutely floored expression has you rocketing up to cloud nine on a dopamine rush. Brendon reaches out and touches your waist as he steps just inside the doorway. He revels in every inch of you. You become acutely aware that the two of you aren’t at the hospital anymore with the way his eyes are slow, greedy, savoring. He’s checked you out at PTMC before, for sure, but now he’s basically feeling you up with those baby blues as he whistles low, “Wow. Seriously, wow.”

You smack him on the chest as your cheeks heat up, not used to the obvious desire written all over him. When your hand hits the luxurious fabric, you actually notice his outfit instead of the way he’s devouring yours. In a camel-colored knit polo – you definitely don’t miss the subtle sheen of the Versace logo on the pocket in nearly the same color as the fabric – tucked into slightly high light tan slacks, all under a dark brown coat, he looks modern, stylish, and absolutely positively downright edible. His hair’s moussed instead of gelled, slightly wavy and fluffy, and he’s freshly shaved instead of late-night scruffy.

Dragging your hand down the center of his chest, you shake your head and smile. “Who knew the Shark had actual style?”

He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers. With a too-charming smirk, he murmurs, “Don’t tell anybody, alright? Nobody would be scared of me at the hospital if they knew I’m the kind of guy who drops a grand on a shirt.”

Grabbing your purse and shrugging on your black leather jacket before stepping out the door after him, you reason, “You put in the time and effort to make the big bucks; you have every right to spend it however you want.”

“I’m glad you think that way,” he replies as he guides you half a block down to his parking spot, “because this is my car, and I’m really hoping you don’t think that makes me an asshole.”

“Yeah, it definitely makes you an asshole,” you breathe as you drag your finger along the freshly-shined blue GranCabrio. “This is one slutty car, Dr. Park.”

He laughs – loud and honest like he rarely can during work hours – and opens up the side door for you. “Does that mean you like it?”

“Definitely.” You grin as you slide onto the rich leather interior. “As soon as it’s warm enough, you have to put the top down and take me somewhere you can drive fast.”

“Yeah?” As he settles into the seat next to you, Brendon puts one hand firmly on your thigh as he pulls the car out into the Pittsburgh traffic. With his fingers driving you clinically insane just sitting there on your dress, he flashes you a hunky smile and teases, “Planning on keeping me around that long?”

“Maybe if you behave yourself today.”

“Oh, baby, I never behave myself when I’m off the clock.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely.”

The rest of the drive there is easy between you, and that same energy carries on as he whisks you through the museum’s entrance and straight inside. He’d already bought the tickets online and added them to his phone wallet, so you don’t even get a moment of feigning like you would’ve paid for yourself. Slick bastard. Brendon just makes every moment so easy to fall into. Not that you’d expected the date to be hard, but you’d figured there would be some kind of adjustment period going from lunches and coffee breaks to a full-on date out in the real world, no pagers or coworkers to separate you.

Instead, it’s not long before you’re instinctively threading your fingers with his and dragging him from exhibit to exhibit. You clearly know a hell of a lot more about art than he does – it’s obvious when every nod of his comes with his eyes drifting over your body – but he likes listening to you talk about literally anything you want to talk about. Just having your voice all to himself is enough to keep him over the moon among the stars.

When you reach the special exhibit – portraits by Viktor Lyapkalo – Brendon takes the time to slow down and read all the plaques and descriptions alongside listening to you talk. The way he engages with the new material makes you wonder if maybe he’s actually just been to this museum enough times that he’s got all the other areas committed to memory, preferring to treat you like the art.

“I love the way he paints women,” you sigh wistfully as you stand in front of a particularly lovely nude: Evening, from 2007. Brendon stands squarely behind you, arms casually around you. Admiring the work up close, you go on, “He notices all the things that make bodies beautiful. The light and shadow on the curves, refusing to make them smooth and pristine, like every single dimple is worth painting for the rest of time to see. They’re all so…lush. Succulent. Like you’d want to reach inside the scene and take a big bite and the juice would run down your chin like a summer plum.”

“You’re describing yourself there, gorgeous,” he murmurs in your ear from behind. Breath hot. Gravelly. Wanting. His hands roam over your waist and hips and stomach, way too slow and intimate for how profoundly in public you are. But you’ve never had a man so openly desire you like this, so you can’t help melting against his chest. Yearning for more. For half a second, he palms your ass, and then he nips your ear to say, “Never wanted to take a bite of anything so badly.”

Before he can fluster you too much, get the upper hand so you’re melting into a puddle on the museum floor, you turn around and kiss him. He makes the cutest surprised sound at the base of his throat like he hadn’t expected you to match his energy. But then you tangle your fingers in his hair. You push up onto your toes. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back. Hard. Commanding. Pieces of his control slipping away with every shared breath. His hands are on your waist and your lower back, desperate to touch more, and you can feel the restraint it’s taking him not to bend you over the bench in front of the art and ruin you.

When you accidentally moan into Brendon’s mouth, a security guard in the nearby archway clears his throat. You stifle a giggle and pull back from him. You’re about to apologize, but he’s faster. Brendon’s breath is hot against your ear as he croons, “Can I take you back to my place now or do I have to look at the rest of these paintings when all I can think about is seeing what’s under this dress?”

With a coy smile, you give him one more quick kiss and say, “Bring me back next weekend so I can finish reading everything and we can leave right now.”

His grin is wicked. “You have yourself a deal, doctor.”

You’re all over him the moment you’re in his bedroom, barely taking a second to absorb the expectedly organized and minimalist space, outfitted only with luxurious staples in cream and navy and no needless clutter. Your dress is somewhere on the staircase up to the second floor, discarded haphazardly as Brendon manhandled you through the space, strong enough to basically carry you any time you lose your footing in the dizzying intensity of his mouth on yours.

By the time you’ve pushed through the bedroom door, you’ve yanked off his (extremely soft) polo and gone for his belt next. As you move, you’re shoving him toward his bed with an eagerness that maybe borders on desperation. It’s been a long time and he’s hot as fuck; god forbid. Trying to suppress his grin as he pulls out of the kiss, Brendon orders, “Don’t rush me, baby. We have all the time in the world.”

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you teasingly groan at him, “That wasn’t your attitude half an hour ago.”

He reasons, “Half an hour ago there were several miles between you and my bedroom.”

He steps – ever so casually – out of his slacks, revealing extremely form fitting gray boxer briefs, a drop of precum darkening the front, highlighting the delicious outline of his cock. Not letting you drool too much, those precise hands of his go to your bra clasp, unhooking it with the ease of, well, a surgeon. Enjoying the gentle hitch of your breath when his eyes devour you, he kisses over your pulse point just to feel it quicken beneath his attention. When he’s satisfied with the way your toes curl into the plush rug beneath your feet, he finally loops his thumbs beneath the hips of your underwear.

“But now I’ve got you all to myself-” Brendon slides your underwear down your legs, guides you out of them, and pushes you backwards “-in my bedroom-” your knees hit the bed and you fold underneath his weight, staring up at him as he cages you between his elbows “-at my mercy. No need to rush.”

You raise up an eyebrow and chase him for a kiss that he dodges just to drive you up the wall. Dragging your first finger along his bicep, his trap, his throat, his chest, you muse, “At your mercy, huh?”

He nods with a satisfied, painfully charming smirk. “That’s right.”

Your voice drips with lust. He’s never heard it darken like that and it’s definitely becoming a problem for his patience. “Gonna do whatever you want to me?”

“Yup, absolutely.”

You huff a bit and tut, “Well, you sure are just hovering over my naked body for someone with such big plans.”

He grins and shifts his weight back so he can properly look at you. “What did I just say about rushing?”

You sit up and kiss him hard just because you’re allowed to now. You feel his resolve weaken as you palm the borderline offensive ridge of his thick, hard cock. Your ego tingles a bit at the knowledge that, even if he’s putting on a show of waiting, you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you. “God forbid I want you to make good on all that feeling me up at the museum.”

“Fine, you wanna be in charge so bad?” All dramatic, Brendon flops onto his back next to you and taps his lips. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”

You snort out a less-than-sexy laugh, but he finds it just as cute as every other sound you make. “Jesus, Bren, did you seriously just say that?”

“I’m losing my ability to form coherent sentences just thinking about it, frankly,” he teases. You’ve never noticed how much he glows when he’s happy. Then he takes your hand and tugs you toward him, on your knees. “How about ‘come sit on my face right the fuck now’? That work better for you?”

Looking down at his eager expression, nervous and not wanting to disappoint, you bite your lip and admit, “I’ve never done that before.”

It’s a personal offense to him. He props himself up on his elbows as his lips part in true surprise. “Seriously?”

You shrug modestly. “Too nervous to hurt someone.”

“Then you’ve been with weak men,” he says, deathly serious. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze and assures you, completely sincere, “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure it’s so fucking good for you. Give me two minutes of trust and I swear you’re gonna love it.”

Well, you figure, he’s never done you wrong with his promises before. So you swing one leg over his chest and hover suspiciously a few inches above his head. His mouth waters when he can finally see the hint of your pussy beyond your soft, inviting mons.

Keeping his voice so sweet and soothing, he adds, “If it doesn’t feel good or if you’re uncomfortable or anything, just tap me and get right off. You’re in charge.”.3.1 

Still skeptical of the whole affair, you say, “I know you know already, okay? But, like, I’m not small, Brendon, I could seriously break your jaw or something if I slip out of place.”

Craning his neck to try to get to your pussy, he growls, impatient and starving, “Thankfully I know a few good maxillofacial surgeons.”

“Okay, but what if I-”

Brendon rolls his eyes and yanks you down by the hips so your cunt envelopes his mouth. You let out a yelp and grab his headboard to get your balance. Finally, his eyes roll shut with pleasure as your warm, thick thighs on the side of his head muffle any sounds but your pretty moans. He mutters, dreamy and rough, into your pussy, “That’s better.”

You can’t help giggling as you put your other hand in Brendon’s hair for support, grateful to be with someone who makes you feel so comfortable and safe even at the edge of your comfort zone. With Brendon reverently holding your hips, stroking your stretch marks with his thumbs, keeping you grounded on his precise tongue, it only takes you a minute to find the pressure and rhythm that feels comfortable, where you can get out of your head and trust Brendon and your own legs.

Then it finally starts to get good.

Brendon’s cock strains against his boxer briefs when you finally let out that first real, uninhibited moan he’s been craving as long as he’s known you. It’s a high-pitched, surprised thing that rings around his ears like a bell, the sound slightly dampened by your thighs just the way he wanted. He memorizes the exact motion he did with his tongue to work that sound out and repeats. Again. Again. Your breaths get faster. Shorter.

It takes real, actual concentration for Brendon to stop himself from creaming his shorts when he realizes you’re going to cum on his face. Your thighs start to tremble as you resist it at first, reluctant to lose control in such a vulnerable position. But then Brendon’s strong fingers dig into the plump fat off your ass – hard.

Possessive.

The sudden moment of eye-rolling-good pain drops you completely into your body, all doubts and insecurities abandoned, and you snap. Your fingernails dig into Brendon’s scalp as you grip his hair to stay in the moment. Pleasure skyrockets up your spine in lightning strikes. Timed with the pulses of your cunt, begging to be filled by him. 

When it’s finished rolling through you, lungs heaving, you slowly flop off of Brendon and throw your forearm over your face to catch your breath. You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Sweat shines on your hairline and your legs still feel like jelly as Brendon turns onto his side to gaze at you with so much adoration it’s overwhelming.

Pupils blown wide and drunken on your body, Brendon sighs out happily, “Fuck, you’ve got no idea how good you taste.”

“Come here, then,” you giggle, so light and airy with delight that everything has become simple. You kiss him with a greedy tongue and let your own mild tartness linger on your tastebuds. When you pull back, he looks positively dumb. Eyes empty. Nothing but lust in his pretty blues. “Yeah, I do taste pretty good, huh? Bet your cock would like a taste.”

He shakes his head and laughs as he shifts onto his knees above you. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?”

You spread your legs and bat your eyes and savor just how devoted he looks, like a puppy sitting pretty for its favorite treats. “What is?”

“Being so fucking sexy without even thinking about it,” he breathes, sounding a little shaky as he lines up the head of his cock with your orgasm-slick pussy. “Fuck.”

You roll your eyes even as your cheeks burn. “As if you don’t have the exact same gift.”

“No, I have to think about it a lot. I try. You’re just floating around being this damn goddess like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world.”

“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Bren, you’re already about to fuck me.”

He frowns a bit and stills, not thrusting into you just yet. “You know I’m not complimenting you just to butter you up, right?” At the split second of partial disbelief on your face, he shakes his head and leans down and kisses you hard. You’ve never seen his expression so stern. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. After that first time you showed up to my office, I couldn’t stop talking about you to everyone. It was like word vomit.”

“Now that makes me feel sexy.”

“Shut up; I’m not always good with the word stuff.” He wrinkles his brows to try to come up with the right words. “Every single time I see you, my brain stops working. Everything short circuits. Because I just- I can’t even imagine deserving to be in the same room as you, much less between these perfect goddamn legs.” He shifts upward again, hands rubbing up your thighs as he shakes his head wistfully. “Grabbing these gorgeous hips and getting to play with your amazing tits.” His hands follow his words, toying with your nipples until you’re gasping and grinning. “Looking into your beautiful eyes while I get to fuck you.”

As tears sting at your eyes, you turn your head and blink hard, whimpering out nothing but an innocent, “Brendon.”

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he urges as he kisses you. Slowly, so slowly, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes his cock into you. When your lips part softly in pleasure at the way he fills you, Brendon murmurs against your pulse in between kisses to your skin? “There’s my girl. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.”

And he does.

All the while holding you and groaning sweetness into your ears, your lips, your neck, Brendon fucks you like he’s been designed for your pleasure. He takes his time. He pays attention. When he thrusts just right, making you moan his name loud and unafraid as the head of his cock crooks against your g-spot, he keeps it exactly like that and tucks the sound away in a proud little part of his brain.

With how talkative you are, he’d expected you to be vocal in bed. But you’re just loud. And that’s plenty clear for him. So he does the talking, swearing and praising in equal measure. There’s no performative dirty talk from him, nothing that sounds like it’s straight out of a cheesy porno. It’s just you feel amazing, I’m so lucky I get to have you, fuck, this is perfect. You’re melting under him and you barely notice him snaking one hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit until you’re already on the verge of cumming again, him whispering, “there you go, that’s it” right up against your ear in a way that has your toes curling, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blade and his arm, your breaths teetering on the edge of gasps.

“That’s- When you’re gripping me like that, I can’t-” Brendon’s barely able to string words together as your second orgasm threatens, taken well and truly aback by how good you feel wrapped around him when you’ve completely let go of control and fear and shame. When you’re just his and he’s yours and it really can be just that simple. His balls are already tightening up when he manages to rasp out, “Can I-”

You’re nodding into his shoulder before the question’s even finished, shuddering out a shaky and honest, “Please. Let’s- Together, please.”

And you detonate. Both of you. Locked to one another. You can’t bear to close your eyes and risk missing a single moment of Brendon Park’s soft, rapturous expression when his cum spills inside of you. His borderline angelic blue eyes meet yours – meet them, like a handshake between long-lost friends, a meeting that turns to a clasped hug, reluctant to let go – and you’re filled with his heat and he’s founded by having you.

Brendon’s lips kiss the tender sweat from your forehead as he catches his breath. There’s a tiny, secret little smile that exists only for you on his rough features. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Struggling to stifle a smile that’s yearning to split you open, you nip a quick kiss onto his lips and half-giggle, “You’ve mentioned that.”

“And I’m gonna keep mentioning it,” he replies, warm and wonderful as winter cider, “as long as you’ll have me.”

[rynwrites4fun]

Slice of Life: Baby Blue | Jack Abbot x Reader

Jack Abbott x Best Friend’s Sister!Reader

Summary: You surprise Jack in a soft baby blue number.

Words: 2780

Warning: Age Gap (Mid 30s/Early 50s), Sensual and Sexual Themes/Suggestive Tone

Authors Note: *NAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE* Buckle up because this one is steamy!!! 🤪🫣 I’ve had this written so so so long ago. When I saw the gif and saw the look he gave (THE UP DOWN STARE GAHHH), the idea came about. I've had this written and saved in the dafts since october of last year GAHHHH. Those of you wondering what was in the black paper bag from Black Friday part…here ya go LOL. Enjoy - Ryn

SOL | MASTERLIST

You catch your reflection in the mirror, cheeks warm, pulse hammering in your ears. Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover it, you’re terrified. The light baby blue babydoll lingerie feels impossibly soft against your skin, unfamiliar in a way that makes your stomach flutter. It’s Jack’s favorite color, and somehow knowing that only makes your nerves spike higher.

You’ve taken the time to doll yourself up, hair softly curled, makeup just enough to make your eyes stand out, lips slightly glossy. 

You shift slightly, tugging at the delicate fabric as if trying to make it feel more like armor than vulnerability. The reflection staring back at you is a mix of confidence and uncertainty, and you wonder, when he sees you, will he see both?

You smooth your hands down the sheer fabric, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself, “you can do this! It’s just Jack. Jack who makes you laugh. Jack who loves you. Jack who looks at you like you hung the moon.”

But your pulse won’t slow. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’ve never worn something so intimate, so revealing, so deliberately sexy. The thought of stepping out, seeing his face when he looks at you, makes your heart pound against your ribs.

You take one more breath, fingers tightening around the door handle. “Okay,” you murmur again. “Here goes nothing.”

You exhale, open the door, and pad softly down the hallway toward the garage. The faint scent of oil and metal grows stronger with each step, mixing with the steady rhythm of classic rock humming low from the radio.

Through the open door, you see Jack, bent over the hood of his truck, sleeves pushed up, forearms streaked with grease. The late afternoon Sun spills across his shoulders, catching in his hair as he works.

You hover just inside the doorway, out of sight from the street. The garage door is open, but from where you’re standing, no one passing by could see you, not with the truck angled the way it is. It’s your small bubble of privacy hidden in plain view.

He doesn’t notice you at first, too lost in the task in front of him. The clink of a wrench, the soft scrape of metal, the quiet hum under his breath. Then he hears the soft creak of the door.  

“Beautiful, can you pass me the—”

He looks, mid-sentence.

The rest of the words die on his lips as his eyes land on you. For a long, silent heartbeat, he just stares, lingering over you as if memorizing every detail.

Jack doesn’t say anything at first. He straightens slowly, eyes never leaving you, and reaches for the rag on the workbench. The movement is almost mechanical, wiping his grease-stained hands one slow drag at a time like he needs to make sure this is real before he dares to speak.

He lets out a slow breath, the kind that seems to steady him against a force he didn’t expect.

“God…” His voice is low, almost a whisper. His eyes widen, flicking down and back up in a slow, stunned sweep that makes your skin hum. His breath catches faintly, like he wasn’t prepared for you to look like that, like he’s not entirely sure he’s awake.

Jack blinks, swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as if he’s fighting the urge to say or do something he might not be able to take back.

“H-hi,” you stutter out.

“Hey,” he says quietly, still wiping his hands with the rag, his movements slower now. He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t say anything else, just watches you, waiting. It’s like he knows you need to make the first move.

You shift under his gaze, heart pounding, suddenly aware of every inch of sheer fabric clinging to your skin. The confidence you had in front of the mirror starts to crumble.

His silence only makes you second-guess yourself further, twisting your confidence into something fragile and uncertain. The quiet between you feels heavier than words, and suddenly you wonder if what seemed daring in the mirror now looks… wrong to him.

“This was a dumb idea,” you mumble, crossing your arms instinctively over your chest as heat floods your cheeks. “I feel absolutely ridiculous… in this.”

The baby-blue babydoll that had seemed flirty and playful before now feels far too revealing, thin straps slipping off your shoulders, the hem brushing high against your thighs, and the sheer fabric doing little to hide the rapid rise and fall of your breathing.

Jack’s brow furrows, just slightly. He drops the rag on the workbench and takes a slow step toward you, careful, like he’s afraid to spook you.

This was new territory for both of you. You and Jack had been intimate before, closely, physically, but lingerie had never been part of your dynamic. Never something you’d worn just for him, just the two of you. The thought of exposing this side of yourself, letting him see you like this, made your pulse spike, and yet there was a strange thrill in the vulnerability, the trust in uncharted territory.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer but not too close, like he knows you might bolt if he does. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you mutter, still avoiding his eyes, arms hugging yourself tighter.

He gestures vaguely toward you, to the way you’re folding in on yourself. “That. Acting like you’ve got something to be embarrassed about.”

He chuckles softly, a low, warm sound. “Why are you hiding? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“I… I don’t know,” you whisper, voice shaky. “It’s… different. Wearing this for you.”

He exhales softly and takes another small step, slow enough for you to stop him if you want. “Let me see you.”

Your fingers hesitate at your elbows, unsure, trembling just a little. But the way he’s looking at you steady, patient, almost aching, pulls something loose inside your chest.

You uncross your arms slowly.

His breath leaves him in a quiet, stunned rush. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even try, but his hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the instinct to reach for you.

“Jesus…” he murmurs, the word barely audible, almost reverent. His gaze sweeps over you again, slower this time, lingering on the curve of the lace, the dip of the straps, the exposed skin underneath, the parts of you you’re trying, and failing, not to shy away from.

His voice gentles even more, the teasing stripped away. “You look… incredible.”

He tilts his head, studying you like he’s memorizing every line and curve.

“When did you get this?” 

“Black Friday shopping…”

He lets out a low sound half laugh, half ache. “So this is why you told me to stay put?” His eyes flick to you, then back again, wide with disbelief and something brighter. “This is what was in that black bag?”

You nod. 

He shakes his head slowly, a breathless, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re kidding…” His eyes lift to yours and then drift back down again “You’ve had this the whole time, and now you decide to—” He breaks off, swallowing hard, his voice rough with a mix of awe and want. “—wear it?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “I just thought it might be nice. Something different. For me… and for you.”

You nod, still not looking up, heat creeping into your cheeks. “ I bought it,” you admit softly, fingers fidgeting with the fabric. “Because I wanted to feel good in my own skin.” You hesitate, then add, quieter, “But… also for you. I thought maybe it would be something you’d like.”

You shake your head, embarrassed, wishing you could disappear for a second. “It’s silly, I know.”

He swallows, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not silly,” he says softly, voice low but steady, like he’s trying to anchor you. “Not even a little.”

“I wasn’t expecting—” He stops himself, clears his throat. “I mean, damn, you knocked the wind out of me.”

He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand hovers near your arm, not quite touching, giving you just enough space to breathe while still making you acutely aware of him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, almost reverently. “For thinking of me. I appreciate it…”

Your heart hammers in your chest. “Do… Do you like it?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks, genuinely caught off guard that you’d even ask. “Do I—” He cuts himself off, a soft huff of a laugh leaving him. A faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth as his eyes drift over you again, gentler now. “Yeah. Yeah, I do…more than you can imagine.”

His voice drops, warmer, almost reverent. “And blue,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “my favorite color. You could’ve worn anything—hell, you could’ve worn one of my old shirts and I’d still be standing here thinking the same thing.”

You feel your chest tighten at that, warmth flooding through you. “What’s that?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.

“That I’m completely gone for you,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He steps a fraction closer, and the air between you seems to pulse. “That you… look incredible. Just… you. Every part of you,” he says, voice low, reverent, a quiet intensity behind every word.

Jack’s voice drops low, almost tentative. “Can I… touch you?” he asks, like he’s afraid the question itself might scare you off.

Your breath catches. You look up at him, his hand hovering midair, his expression careful, waiting. He isn’t assuming, isn’t pushing, just asking.

You nod once, slow. “Y-yes,” you whisper.

He starts to move, then hesitates, glancing down at his hands, still faintly streaked with grease despite the rag. A quiet, sheepish smile tugs at his mouth. “I should probably wash up first,” he murmurs.

You shake your head before he can step back. “N-no. It’s okay,” you say softly, your voice steady now, sure. “I don’t care.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, eyes searching, like he’s trying to decide if you really mean it. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction. His fingertips brush against your arm first, feather-light like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind. Then a little firmer, tracing down until his hand settles against your skin, grounding you both.

His thumb grazes the edge of your strap, which has slipped off your shoulder, and he fixes it gently, an excuse, maybe, or just something to do with his hands while the air hums quietly between you.

You exhale, a soft sound that feels more like release than words.

His hands find your hips, warm and steady, grounding you when everything inside feels unsteady. He pulls you a little closer, not demanding, just waiting, giving you the space to pull away if you need to.

“Okay?” he asks quietly, his breath brushing against your temple.

You nod, the word catching in your throat before it can form. “Yes,” you whisper, though your heart is beating so fast you’re sure he can feel it.

Jack studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face, making sure. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer. “You’re sure?”

You nod again, this time a little firmer. “I’m sure.”

Something in his shoulders eases at that, the faint tension melting away. He lets out a quiet breath, thumb brushing along your hip bone like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Then, without a word, he leans in closer. His lips press softly to the side of your neck, a gentle, lingering kiss that sends a shiver through you. You sigh, breathless, tilting your head slightly, caught between surprise and desire, heart hammering as the warmth of him presses closer, slow and deliberate.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. “God… you’ve got no idea what this does to me,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost a whisper. “You, here, like this…”

The words make your pulse skip, the nerves still there but dulled by the warmth in his voice, the care. You tilt your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze at last.

“Show me,” you whisper.

He exhales, a low, almost frustrated sound. “I… need to wash up first,” he says, voice rough, as if reluctant to break the moment.

“Jack,” you whine softly, tugging at his shirt, the heat and frustration coiling in your chest. “Don’t. Please… don’t.”

He groans, running a hand through his curls, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Beautiful… I’m not gonna be with you if I’m all greasy and sweaty from working on the truck” he says, voice low but teasing, the tension between you still humming in the air. His eyes softening just a fraction. “Come on… you deserve better than that.”

You pout, tugging at his shirt again, frustration and mischief in your eyes. “Jack… come on, not yet… Just for a minute? Please?”

He exhales, giving in with a slow, reluctant smirk. “Okay, fine. A minute—then we’re going inside. I’m gonna shower first… and then we’ll continue.”

Before you can react, he scoops you up effortlessly, and you squeal, the sudden movement sending a jolt straight through you. He carries you across the garage, swiping tools off the workbench in a careless clatter before setting you down gently on it, like you’re something precious despite the rough urgency in his movements.

He steps between your legs, close enough that you feel the heat of him, the air between you crackling. His hands settle at your waist, thumbs pressing in. Then his mouth is on yours fierce, hungry, unrelenting. The kiss steals your breath, leaves you dizzy, the world narrowing to nothing but him.

“Jack—” you gasp, pulling back just enough to breathe. “The garage door is open. Someone could see us—”

He pulls away just enough to grin, eyes dark and amused. “Relax. You really think anyone’s paying attention? Because I’m pretty sure the only one losing focus here is you.”

“You realize you’re sabotaging your minute of fun? You’re wasting time,” he teases, glancing exaggeratedly at his watch, clicking his tongue. “Your minute’s almost—”

You cut him off, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him again, messy and unapologetic. He laughs against your mouth, quickly turning into a low groan as his hands tighten at your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, the kiss deepening, urgent.

He breaks the kiss just for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours. His eyes roam over your face, memorizing every expression. “God… you have no idea how much I want you right now,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.

A shiver runs through you. “Then don’t… don’t stop,” you whisper.

The straps of your lingerie slip again. You reach instinctively to take it off but his hands catch your wrists gently. “No,” he breathes, a little laugh tangled with a quiet groan. “Hey… don’t. I expect this to stay on. I want continue to admire you in it more later.”

You hesitate, breath catching, then nod. “Okay,” you whisper.

“yeah,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over you, unhurried and appreciative. “You got all dressed up for me. Leave it on.”

He grins against your lips before capturing your mouth again, hands roaming gently but insistently along your sides, each touch sending sparks through you.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist. “Okay… time’s up,” he murmurs, low and teasing. “I said a minute—now we go inside. Shower first, then we’ll finish this properly.”

“Jack…” you whisper, voice trembling.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your mouth. You sigh against him, breathless, heart hammering, fingers brushing lightly along his arms.

“Inside,” you say softly, eyes daring him. “And if you take your sweet time in that shower, I’m holding it against you.”

He laughs, smirking. “Don’t worry. I know better than to keep you waiting.”

Before you can react, he grabs your hand as you hop down from the workbench. Together, you rush inside, hearts racing, hands intertwined. The tension lingers, electric and promising, as the garage door closes behind you.

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[ashoss]

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