I saw that requests are open. I was hoping if you could please write a Robert Robertson going down on a afab reader as a way to wake them up. Like reader is dreaming like normal, then suddenly they feel a tongue going to work between their thighs. Thank you if you read this and take the time to do this. ☮️
Breakfast in Bed.
👽: ouiii I gotchuuu!!
🖇️:Robert Robertson x gn!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SMUT/AFAB Reader/drunk hookup aftermath/Pussy eating/cunnilingus/finger fucking/uhhh he doesnt expect anything in return/it’s a quickie/enjoyy :3
★ You’re at the bar again, the counter sticky beneath your fingers, the music too loud to think. Coupé’s voice cuts through it all, low and teasing, she’s plastered. Hand brushing yours when she reaches for her drink. You say something clever, something you probably shouldn’t, and her grin lingers long enough that your chest goes a little warm.
★ Then the lights blur. Someone’s spinning you around, There’s a hand at your waist, a whisper against your ear—and for a second, you feel the words catch fire between you.
★ Everything shimmers, slows. The song shifts, dissolvin into a hum that feels almost like a heartbeat beneath your ribs. His eyes flash in the dark, intense and knowing, and he says your name like a secret. Then—
★ Your eyes shot open, you were damp—in a cold sweat. Head buzzing heart racing and—
★ “Mmm, morning.” You throw the blankets off of you, and see Robert Robertson between your fucking legs. There’s no way you brought him home from the bar last night…(you for sure did.)
★ His eyes lock onto yours, a smirk curling his lips as he hovers just inches from your core. his warm breath ghosts over your folds, already slick from whatever subconscious heat the night stirred up. Fuuuck.
★ You blink, trying to piece together the blur of shots and stolen touches at the bar, but Robert doesn’t give you time to overthink. His hands slide up your thighs, firm and unhurried, parting them wider as he dips his head lower.
★ “Shh, stay still,” he murmurs, voice tired and playful. His tongue flicks out, tracing a slow, deliberate line along your slit, tasting the wetness that’s equal parts dream residue and building arousal.
★ You gasp, fingers twisting into the sheets, your body arching instinctively toward him. He chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your clit, and then he’s lapping at you in earnest—broad, flat strokes that cover every inch, savoring you like you’re the first meal of the day.
★ Roberts grip tightens on your hips, pulling you closer until your ass lifts slightly off the mattress, your pussy pressed flush against his mouth. He devours you with lazy confidence, tongue circling your entrance before pushing inside, fucking you shallowly with it while his nose nudges your swollen clit.
★ The sensation is overwhelming, his stubble scraping lightly against your inner thighs. You whimper, one hand flying to his hair, threading through the dark strands as he works you over.
★ He pulls back just enough to tease, lips glistening as he looks up at you again. “Taste even better than I remember from last night,” he says, voice low and teasing, before sucking your clit between his lips. He rolls it gently at first, then harder, alternating with flicks of his tongue that make your toes curl.
★ Your hips buck, chasing the pressure, and he obliges by sliding one hand free to join the fun. His fingers—two of them—press against your cunt, easing in alongside the wet slide of his tongue.
★ They curl upward immediately, finding that spot inside you that makes fireworks burst behind your eyelids. He pumps them steadily, twisting juust right, while his mouth stays latched onto your clit, humming softly and making you buzz.
★ The room fills with the obscene sounds of it—your essence coating his fingers, the wet smacks of his lips, your breathy moans mixing with his muffled groans of approval. He adds a third finger, stretching you fuller, thrusting deeper as his tongue laps relentlessly, pushing you higher with every flick.
★ Your thighs tremble around his head, the tension coiling tight in your belly. “Robert—fuck, please,” you manage, voice breaking on the plea. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, instead, he sucks harder, fingers crooking faster, hitting that ridge over and over until your walls clench around him.
★ The orgasm crashes through you like a wave, hot and aggressive—your pussy pulses, gushing juices over his hand as you cry out, back bowing off the bed. He rides it out with you, tongue lapping softer, fingers slowing to milk every last shudder from your body.
★ When you finally collapse, boneless and panting, Robert withdraws his fingers with a final, teasing curl. He licks them clean, eyes never leaving yours, that knowing smirk back in place. Then he straightens up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like it’s no big deal.
★ “Thanks for breakfast in bed, sweetheart. But shit, I’m late for work.” He stands, grabbing his shirt from the floor, casual as if he didn’t just wreck you. “Catch you later?”he’s out the door, leaving you absolutely sated and warm in the rumpled sheets. Holy shit. That was amazing…
i was just wondering if there's a reason you hc Stan as trans? a lot of people do this with characters
it's fine if it's just a hc and no specific reason
anyways love your art btw ^^
HII!!! FIRST AND FOREMOST THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I’m very glad so many of you enjoy my art!❤️🩹❤️🩹
But I don’t think there’s a very SPECIFIC reason as to why I hc stan as trans,, the trans part is mostly just a self projection as I am trans and want my favs to be the same way ahhh :’))) But I do think Stan is definitely not cis as his struggle with gender and sexual orientation is shown slightly in the show!!!
In The Cissy episode towards the middle of it, he stands outside of the bathrooms and the new gender neutral one struggling to decide which one he belongs in.. which to in itself is veryyy telling to me personally esp since he did end up choosing the gender neutral! He explains that people close to him have gender identity issues and he’s confused with himself as well.. even though it probably wasn’t the actual intention, I think it’s straight forward evidence Stan struggles with it regardless 🥲🥲
But thats mostly it!!! Stan is def not cis to me in anyway and struggles a lot with his own being all in all regardless of self orientation,, as seen with his depression + hoarding issues too… him being trans in specific is just self indulgence but it ties in well with most of the hcs I have for him :)))
please do anything with Royd. He’s so big and strong and handsome and sexy and I knowwwww he talks you through it I knowwwwww he’s just the absolute best at giving aftercare PLEASE RAINY I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO SO VERY MUCH!!! (We are very low on the royd fics and I know you’re one to bring light to his amazingness.)
~☎️
Big Lover//Royd Boyfriend Head Canons
👽: I’m honored! lol. I hope I did his character justiceee
🖇️: Royd x gn!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SEXUAL THEMES/Just a bunch of head canons on how Roy would be as a lover Tehehe/I need a hug from him/Need him to hold me, cradle me, bend me over and—ENJOYYYY :3
SFW
★ Every time Roy puts on those reading glasses to tinker with some circuit board or manual, you catch him peeking over the frames at you. “What?” he’ll say, grinning. “Jus’ making sure you still there.” Like you’d ever leave when he looks at you like that.
★ He doesn’t just call you “baby.” It’s “baby girl,(boy/honey)” “sunshine,” “my sweet thing,” sometimes all three in one sentence when he’s feeling particularly soft. And when he’s working? You hear him muttering to his tech, “C’mon now, don’t be like that—” in the same gentle tone he uses with you.
★ After you kept stealing his hoodie (the worn one that smells like coconut oil and motor grease), he bought five more. Different colors. Left them everywhere. “So you always got one,” he explains, scratching the back of his neck, “even when I’m wearing one too, yeah?”
★ You have ritualistic market visits. Roy insists on going every Saturday, your hand tucked in his much larger one, that tattoo on full display. He knows all the vendors by name. Buys you fresh flowers weekly. “Orchids today? Or you like da plumeria?” And he carries everything, won’t let you touch a single bag.
★ When he passes you in the kitchen, the hallway, anywhere really—his hand finds your head automatically. Sometimes it’s a kiss pressed to your crown, sometimes just his palm resting there for a heartbeat. Grounding himself. Reminding himself you’re real.
★ You’ll find him at 2 am, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, fixing some gadget with a focus that’s almost reverent. When you pad in sleepy eyed, he pulls you into his lap without looking away from his work. Keeps one arm locked around your waist. “Go back sleep if you like,” he murmurs. “I gotchu.”
★ This man’s camera roll is seventy percent you. Candid shots mostly, you reading, laughing, sleeping in his shirt. When caught, he’s unapologetic. “What? You pretty. I like lookin’ at pretty things.”
★ He’s so fun and whimsy with you. First time thunder rolled through, he built you a blanket fort without being asked. Fairy lights he’d been “meaning to install” suddenly appeared. He crawled in beside you, this giant man folding himself small, and distracted you from the hectic storm outside with banter and stories from his past.
★ You get a monthly allowance. And it’s fatttt. He insists even if you make your own money. And still insists on buying you things, having you save your money for you. He’ll pay for your nails. (If that’s what you like.) Take you out to expensive restaurants and eat with amazing views. If you wanna have a fun night and go clubbing he’s basically your personal body guard. He’s great at extravagant. It’s easy. But he’s also sentimental.
★ He’ll buy the book you mentioned once. The specific tea or coffee you like but can’t always find. A weighted blanket because he noticed you sleep better when he’s holding you. (It’s especially nice when he’s out working.)
★ When you talk, everything stops. Phone down. Tools down. Eyes fixed on you like you’re reciting scripture. And he remembers everything—your best friends promotion, that song you hummed Tuesday, the outfit you glanced at while out. All the small things really matter.
•••
NSFW
★ Those huge, rough hands that can manipulate the smallest wires, the most delicate circuits? They know exactly how much pressure, where to press, when to be gentle and when to grip hard enough to leave memory shaped shadows on your hips. “Tell me if too much, yeah?” Even when you both know you’ll never say stop.
★ His accent deffo gets thicker. Especially when he’s inside you, words spilling against your throat. “So good fo’ me—das it, das my baby—”
★ Roy doesn’t just compliment, he worships aloud. A running commentary of “Look how perfect you stay,” “You know how beautiful? Nah, you don’t even know,” “Gonna take care of you so good, baby, I promise—” until you’re dizzy with it.
★ Cockwarming. Elaboration? Sometimes after, he just… stays. Keeps you connected, pulls you onto his chest, idly plays with your hair. “Not lettin’ go yet.” Like the separation physically hurts. And when you clench around him—involuntary, aftershocks—his breath hitches, “Shoots, baby, tryin’ kill me?”
★ He’s strong as fuck. He knows this. And enjoys it. There’s something about being able to maneuver you exactly where he wants you that makes him almost feral.
★ Lifting you against walls or holding you suspended, one arm banded across your waist, back against his chest while he shoves his free hand down your pants, thick fingers fucking into you. “So light, baby, like nothing. Can do this all night, yeah? You like?”
★ He joins you in the shower “just to help.” Runs soap slick hands over every inch of you. Presses you against cool tile, water pourinh over both of you. “Gotta make sure you all nice and clean” You’re the cleanest person alive by the time he’s done.
★ One time, he took you down to the shore after dark. Blanket. Stars. His hands under your shirt while waves crashed nearby. “Nobody around but us, baby.” The ocean was loud enough to swallow your sounds. He took full advantage.
★ Roy leaves marks. Thoughtful about placement, where only he’ll see them, where they’ll peek out just enough to remind you. Sucks bruises into your inner thighs with the same focused patience he uses on his tech. “Jus’ one more, promise.” (It’s never just one more.)
★ Aftercare Isn’t Optional. The man who takes you apart so thoroughly is meticulous about putting you back together. Always. Warm cloth, cold water, gentle hands checking in.
★ “You good? Need anything? Tell me true now.” Wraps you in his arms like a shield after, nose buried in your hair, “Did so good fo’ me. Always so good.”
Meeting Sonar at a bar and hes there with the Z team, and you think he's hot. and suddely a big demon woman Malevola comes along.
and you get to bottom along with Sonar for the hot demon
I LOVE Malevola and Sonar as a duo
A Bat and a Demon Walk Into a Bar
👽: oh pookie this prompt is so HOTTT UGHHH!!!
🖇️: Sonar x gn!reader x Malevola
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SMUT/EXPLICIT AF/AFAB reader/kinda long oh well/it’s your first threesome/two bottoms one top/pussy eating/blowjob/finger fucking/dick riding/face riding/threesome activities frfr/ya’ll break the bed/sorry if I left anything out/enjoyyyy :3
★ The bar’s louuud. Too loud, maybe, but in that good way where you can pretend the bass is your second heartbeat and no one will notice if you stare a little too long at the guy leaning against the counter.
★ You weren’t planning to fall into someone’s orbit tonight. But then again, you never really plan these things, do you? They just happen—like tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, except instead of concrete, it’s a six foot bat.
★ He’s tall—really tall if you count the ears. And yeah, you’re counting the ears. Because why not. Dark fur, sleek build, dressed like he walked out of a magazine that knows exactly how hot he is. His posture’s relaxed. His eyes already on you. Have been for the last fifteen minutes.
★ You look away. Look back. He’s still watching.
★ Shit.
★ You take a sip of your drink like that’ll somehow save you from whatever’s about to happen, but it’s too late because he’s already pushing off the bar, weaving through the crowd with the kind of confidence that makes your stomach do something stupid.
★ When he stops in front of you, he doesn’t smile. Doesn’t need to.
★ “You’ve been staring,” he says. Flat. Blunt. Like he’s reading the weather forecast. Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “I—ha—no, I wasn’t—”
★ “You were.” He tilts his head, ears twitching just slightly. “It’s fine. I get it.”
★ “Oh, do you now?”
★ “Yeah.” He leans one elbow on the bar beside you, close enough that you can smell whatever cologne he’s wearing—something dark and woody that should be illegal. “I’m very stare-able.”
★ You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Stare-able?”
★ “It’s a word.”
★ “It’s really not.”
★ “Harvard would disagree.”
★ “Oh, Harvard,” you repeat, biting back a grin. “Well, excuse me, professor. Didn’t realize I was in the presence of academia.”
★ His expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in his eyes—amusement, maybe. Or interest. Hard to tell with the monotone. “Sonar,” he says, offering a hand.
★ You take it. His grip is warm, firm, and lingers just a second longer than it should. Long enough for your pulse to forget what rhythm it’s supposed to follow.
★ “Nice to meet you, Sonar.”
★ “Likewise.” He flags down the bartender with two fingers, orders another drink without asking what you want, and somehow gets it exactly right when it arrives. “So. You come here often, or is tonight just lucky for me?”
★ “Wow.” You take the drink, shaking your head. “Did you actually just use that line?”
★ “Did it work?”
★ “…A little.”
★ “Then yeah. I used it.” He takes a sip of his own drink,something amber and strong, and leans back just enough to look you over. Not sleazy. Just… thorough. “You’re fun.”
★ “You don’t even know me.”
★ “Don’t need to. I can tell.”
★ “Oh, can you?”
★ “Yeah. It’s the way you’re sitting. All relaxed n’ shit—but you’re ready. Like you’re waiting for something interesting to happen.” He pauses, tilts his head. “You think I’m interesting?” He asks.
★ You meet his gaze head on, and there it is again, that pull, that thing you can’t name but can definitely feel. “Jury’s still out.”
★ “Fair.”
★ The conversation spills out easy after that. Too easy, maybe, like you’ve known him longer than ten minutes. He’s got this way of talking that’s dry as hell but somehow makes everything sound like an inside joke you’re both in on. You learn he’s part of some team—the Z Team, he calls it, and yeah, they do save the world sometimes, but mostly they help people, just try not to die and occasionally succeed.
★ You look over his shoulder, see a very, very short man down a pint while a woman in silver claps excitedly. Surrounded by several others you assume to be apart of that team.
★ “Sounds glamorous,” you say, eyes flicking back to him.
★ “It’s really not. Lot of running. Lot of yelling. Someone’s always bleeding.”
★ “Sexy.”
★ “Right?” He deadpans it so perfectly you almost choke on your drink.
★ You’re mid laugh when a shadow falls over both of you.
★ A big shadow.
★ You look up.
★ And up.
★ And—Oh. She’s… tall. Like, absurdly tall. Noticeably taller than Sonar. with horns that curl up from her head like a crown and a tail that moves behind her like it has a mind of its own. Muscles that could probably crack a building in half. Skin that shimmers somewhere between crimson and ruby in the bar light.
★ And she’s smiling.
★ “There you are, you little shit,” she says, voice thick with an Australian accent that somehow makes the insult sound affectionate. She claps a hand on Sonar’s shoulder hard enough that he doesn’t even flinch, just rolls his eyes.
★ “Malevola.”
★ “Don’t Malevola me. You said you’d wait for me at the table, and instead, I find you over here chatting up—” She stops, gaze sliding to you, and her grin widens. “Well, hello.”
★ Your brain short circuits.
★ Is this his girlfriend? Did you just flirt with someone’s—
★ “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, already half standing. “I didn’t know he was—”
★ Malevola ignores him, sticking out a hand that could probably bench-press you without breaking a sweat. “Malevola. And you are?”
★ You give your name, still a little dazed, and she shakes your hand with surprising gentleness.
★ “Lovely. First round’s on me.” She flags down the bartender, orders three shots of something that sounds vaguely illegal, and slides onto the stool on your other side like she’s been here the whole time.
★ Suddenly, you’re sandwiched between a bat and a demon, and the air feels about ten degrees warmer.
★ “So,” Malevola says, leaning an elbow on the bar and propping her chin in her hand. “Sonar here borin’ ya to death yet?”
★ “Not yet.” You smile lightheartedly.
★ “Miracle.” She grins. “He’s got, like, two jokes. Both of them are about tits.”
★ “Three,” Sonar corrects.
★ “Oh, sorry. Three.”
★ You laugh despite yourself, and Malevola winks at you. There’s something disarming about her, like she’s the kind of person who’d fight god and then buy him a beer after. The shots arrive. You take one. They take the others.
★ “To new friends,” Malevola says, raising hers.
★ “Cute new friends,” Sonar adds.
★ You clink glasses, and the liquor burns all the way down.
★ The conversation shifts after that, looser, warmer, like the three of you have been friends for years instead of minutes. Malevola tells a story about a mission gone wrong that involved a helicopter, a very angry dispatcher, and Sonar’s inability to keep his mouth shut. Sonar counters with something about Malevola punching through a wall because he offended her by commenting on her cooking. Unseriously, might we add.
★ “It was a good meal,” she insists. “It was fine.” Sonar tests.
★ “You ate three plates.”
★ “I was hungry.” (He knows that shit was bussin.)
★ You’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt, and somewhere in the middle of it, you realize you’ve stopped keeping track of where you end and they begin. Sonar’s arm brushes yours when he reaches for his drink. Malevola’s tail curls lazily near your ankle, not touching but close.
★ “Good.” She exchanges a look with Sonar. It’s quick. Loaded.
★ Your pulse kicks up.
★ “Why’s that good?” you ask, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
★ Sonar sets his drink down, finally cracking the faintest smirk. “Because we’re about to make your night a hell of a lot more interesting.”
★ “Or your year,” Malevola adds. “Depends how you look at it.”
★ You glance between them, heart doing something Olympic level in your chest. “What are you—”
★ “Threesome,” Sonar says. Blunt as ever.
★ Malevola laughs at your expression, reaching over to pat your knee. “Subtle, isn’t he?”
★ “I—” Your brain’s still catching up. “Wait, are you two—?”
★ “Best friends, practically.” Malevola says easily. “With benefits. Very good benefits.”
★ “Very good,” Sonar agrees.
★ “And we were wondering,” Malevola continues, leaning in just enough that you can see your own reflection in her eyes. “if you’d like to join us tonight.”
★ The world narrows to three points—her hand on your knee, Sonar’s gaze locked on yours, and the wild, reckless yes clawing its way up your throat.
★ You should say no. You should probably think about this, huh? But thinking’s overrated when a demon’s smiling at you like you’re the best thing she’s seen all week and a bat’s looking at you like he already knows your answer.
★ “I…” You swallow. “I’ve never—”
★ “We’ll take care of you,” Malevola says, and it’s not a promise. It’s a guarantee.
★ Sonar finishes his drink, stands, and offers you his hand.
★ “You coming?”
★ You’re following behind, almost tripping over your own feet.
•••
★ The hotel room door closes behind you with a soft click, and suddenly the air’s different. Thicker. Charged. Malevola’s tail flicks behind her as she kicks off her boots, grinning over her shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable, darl. We don’t bite.”
★ “Much,” Sonar adds, already shrugging out of his jacket.
★ You stand there, heart hammering, trying to remember how your lungs work. Malevola notices. Of course she does. She crosses the room in three strides, stopping just in front of you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet her eyes.
★ “Hey,” she says softly. “You good?”
★ You nod. “Yeah. Just—”
★ “Nervous?”
★ “Maybe.” You flush. Embarrassed.
★ “That’s okay.” Her hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “We’ve got you.” And then she kisses you.
★ It’s not what you expected, not rough or demanding. It’s slow. Warm. Like she’s got all the time in the world and she’s choosing to spend it on you.
★ When she pulls back, you’re breathless. “Still good?” she murmurs. “Yeah.” You answer
★ “alright then.”
★ Sonar’s behind you now, you didn’t even hear him move, and his hands settle on your hips, light but steady.
★ “This okay?” he asks, voice low near your ear.
★ You lean back into him, and that’s all the answer he needs. His breath is warm against your neck as his fingers trace the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to skim the skin of your stomach. Goosebumps prickle up, you’re caught between Malevola’s steady gaze and the solid press of Sonar behind you. Her tail curls around just to trace along your thigh, caressing. Up. Down.
★ She leans in again, capturing your lips in another slow kiss, her tongue sliding against yours with lazy confidence. You melt into it, hands finding her waist, feeling the heat radiating from her red skin.
★ She tastes like smoke and spice, her hand sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck, holding you steady as she deepens it. Sonar’s breath ghosts your ear, his fingers digging just a bit into your hips, pulling you back against the hard line of his cock pressing through his pants.
★ You break the kiss with a gasp, and Malevola chuckles, low and rumbling. “See? Not so scary.” Her eyes flick to Sonar, and she reaches past you, grabbing his shirt collar to yank him in for his turn. Their mouths meet over your shoulder, rougher than yours was, Sonar’s snout brushing her cheek as he groans into it. You watch, heart pounding.
★ Sonar pulls back first, his white eyes meeting yours, an almost shy grin splitting his face. “Your turn to watch?” he teases.
★ You laugh, breathless, shaking your head. “S-sorry.” You awkwardly shift between them, trying hard not to be a third wheel…Malevola’s grin widens, her tail curling around your thigh, the tip brushing upward teasingly.
★ “Bi panic hittin’ ya already?” she murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll ease you into it.”
★ She guides you both toward the bed, her hands firm but gentle, stripping off your shirt first. Cool air hits your skin, but Sonar’s warmth is right there, his mouth finding your shoulder, kissing softly as Malevola strips you completely. You arch into it, fingers fumbling with Sonar’s belt while she works your jeans down your legs. Laughter bubbles up when you nearly trip, Sonar steadying you with a snort.
★ “Smooth,” he says as he kicks off his pants, cock springing free—thick, veined, already leaking at the tip.
★ Malevola sheds her clothes last, revealing her red skin stretched over toned muscle, horns curving up from her forehead, tail swishing. Your eyes widen at the sight. Holy shit she’s ripped…and she catches it, your admiration. “Like what you see?” She smirks.
★ “Fuck, yeah,” you whisper, and Sonar echoes it, his hand wrapping around his own length, stroking slowly as he stares.
★ She pushes you both onto the bed, the mattress dipping under your weight. “On your backs, darls. Let me take care of you.”
★ You comply, heart pounding, as she climbs between you. Her tail wraps around Sonar’s ankle, pulling his legs apart while her hands roam your body, pinching your nipples until you whimper. Sonar watches, his chest heaving, and when Malevola’s mouth descends on your breasts/chest, sucking hard, he reaches out—hesitant at first—his fingers brushing your arm.
★ “Can I...?” he asks, voice cracking a little.
★ You nod, grabbing his hand, interlacing your fingers. The touch grounds you, but then Malevola shifts, her tail flicking up to tease Sonar’s inner thigh, and he jolts, laughing in surprise. “Holy shit, that’s—“
★ “Sensitive?” she finishes, grinning against your skin. “Good. Means I can make you squirm.”
★ She works you both with deliberate slowness, kissing down your stomach while her hand pumps Sonar’s cock, thumb circling the head. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but the nerves quickly melt away when Malevola fucks her tongue deeper into your cunt. And when she pulls Sonar closer, guiding his hand, freeing it from yours to trace your thigh, encouraging him to touch, you invite it.
★ His fingers tremble as they slide toward your pussy, dipping in alongside her tongue, the position slightly awkward as you shift close to him, the both of you still on your backs for her. You moan, hips bucking, and he freezes. “Like that?”
★ “Yes—fuck,” you gasp. Malevola lifts her head, lips glistening. “That’s right.” She says encouragingly, moving to Sonar. Her hands are on him before he can settle, She wraps her lips around the head of his cock, sucking hard and deep, her tongue swirling along the underside as she bobs her head. Sonar groans, but Malevola shoots him a glare. “Finger them, mate. Make em’ wet for me.”
★ His hand continues with doubled effort. You gasp as he pumps two fingers in and out, curling them against your inner walls. The rhythm matches Malevola’s mouth on his cock—wet, messy sounds filling the room as she takes him deeper, her cheeks hollowing with each pull. Your hips buck against his hand, pleasure building as you watch her devour him, her golden eyes locked on yours.
★ But suddenly, Malevola pulls off with a pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening cock. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smirking. “Enough of that. Sonar, pull em’ over your lap.” She stands suddenly, moving to the side of the bed and crawling over Sonar’s face.
★ Sonar doesn’t hesitate. His arms wrap around your waist, hauling you across his body until you’re draped over his lap, nearly straddling him. He makes sure you hover just above his cock, not dropping you onto it just yet. You’re dripping onto him. Literally out of anticipation.
★ Malevola climbs on, straddling his face, looking right at you, she grips his shaft, lining it up with your soaked entrance, and that’s when he lets you sink down. hard. “Fuck, yes,” she moans while watching, her hands moving along his stomach, dragging her nails and leaving red lines. she starts to grind against his face, and you start to bounce on his cock.
★ His hands grip your hips to steady you, letting Malevola absolutely suffocate him. his dick hits that sweet spot inside you with every single thrust. the bed creaking under the motion. Malevola reaches forward, her fingers finding your nipple, pinching it sharply. You yelp, the sting shooting straight to your core, grinding down harder against Sonar.. “That’s it, love,” she growls, leaning over you to capture your mouth in a harsh kiss. Her tongue invades, biting your lower lip as she grinds down on Sonar’s face even harder.
★ She breaks the kiss, her breath hot against your ear. “Now, spell my name on his cock love.” You twist slightly, obeying—M, then A, tracing the letters wetly while she watches, her free hand reaching between her thighs to rub her clit. Sonar moans beneath you two, his cock throbbing inside you as the bed frame groans louder.
★ Malevola suddenly lifts off him, barely, his snout slick and shining. Giving him a second of air. Before dropping back down. He laps at her folds hungrily as she rocks her hips. One hand slaps onto her thigh while his other still holds you in place. Her hands roam to your chest again, pinching both nipples this time, rolling them between her fingers until you whimper.
★ She pulls you up by the hair, crashing her lips against yours in another brutal kiss, teeth clashing, tongues battling as she rides his face. Her juices smear across his furry cheeks, his muffled groans vibrating through her. “Spell it again,” she demands between kisses, lightly laughing, guiding your mouth back to her own chest. “With your tongue this time.” with flicks and swirls, you eagerly listen. the humiliation mixing with heat as she watches, her own climax nearly over the edge.
★ The bed shakes violently now, the headboard banging against the wall. Malevola’s moans turn to cries, her body shuddering as she cums hard on Sonar’s face, her tail curling around his ear and tugging mindlessly while flooding his mouth. He bucks his hips uselessly, finally coming undone. Whimpering between her legs.
★ You cum immediately after, soaking his thighs in a messy fashion. And in the frenzy, you all collapse in a tangle of limbs, panting and sweaty.
★ Then—a sharp crack—the bed frame splinters beneath you, the mattress dipping suddenly into the broken supports. You all tumble into the sag, laughing breathlessly.
★ Malevola pulls you both closer, sandwiching herself between you two. her tone playful. “Well, bugger me, we broke the bloody bed. Best threesome ever, eh?” Sonar chuckles, nuzzling your neck, and you can’t help but grin, the three of you cuddling in the wreckage like it’s the coziest nest in the world. (They definitely made your entire year.)
Could you pretty pretty please with a VERY BIG CHERRY ON TOP write NFSW of waterboy/hermy x fem!reader..? (๑❛ᴗ❛๑)
I NEED TO DOMINATE HIMMM
Sopping Wet Mess.
👽: yess!! Here you go!
🖇️: Waterboy (Herm) x fem!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SMUT/afab reader/he’s a begging (low key self deprecating) pathetic, stammering mess/you top him/he cries/enjoyyy :3
★ You straddle Herms hips, his body slick and glistening under you. He’s always like this, always a sopping wet mess for you, clothes clinging to his skin, and with no clothes? he just soaks everything through anyways. it’s his curse and his gift, truly. but right now, it’s just making everything messier, hotter as you position yourself over his hard cock, pulling his shirt off of him and flinging it to the floor carelessly.
★ He looks up at you with wide, desperate eyes, his chest heaving. “P-please,” he stutters, his voice breaking already. “I-I need you. So bad.” His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to touch but knowing better than to without your permission. Water beads on his forehead, trickling down his temples.
★ You smirk, gripping the base of his cock—thick and throbbing, slick not just from his powers but from the precum leaking steadily. You lower yourself slowly, teasing the head against your slit, feeling him buck weakly beneath you. “Beg properly,” you command, your voice firm.
★ “I’m—am begging~” he whimpers, his words tumbling out in a pathetic rush. “F-fuck—fuck me, please. Use me.” His face flushes red, a mix of shame and arousal, as more water slicks his skin, making him glisten.
★ Satisfied, you sink down onto him, taking his cock inch by inch into your cunt. He gasps, a choked stutter escaping his lips, “Oh fuh—god, y-you’re so—s-so, mmf—f-fuck.” His hands clench the sheets, knuckles white, as you bottom out. The wetness from his body makes every slide smooth as you start to rock your hips.
★ You ride him hard, grinding down to feel him hit that spot inside you, your hands pressing against his wet chest for leverage. He thrashes beneath you, incoherent babble spilling from his mouth. “Please, har—harder.” He hiccups. “I-I’m sorry, I-I’m such a m-mess. D-don’t stop.” Tears well in his eyes already, not from pain but from the overwhelming need, his body trembling as you bounce on his cock.
★ His stuttering grows worse with each thrust, his pathetic whines music to your ears. He bites his lip, trying to hold back, but you clench around him deliberately, drawing a sob from his throat. Water drips from his hair onto the pillow, his skin slippery under your palms as you pin him down.
★ “Not yet,” you sing song, slowing your pace to torture him, rolling your hips in circles that make his cock twitch inside you. He cries out, a broken stutter. “Mmf—please, I n-need to—to cum. I’m—I can’t—can’t~” His eyes squeeze shut, tears spilling over now, tracking down his cheeks to mix with the water on his dewy face.
★ You pick up the speed again, riding him relentlessly, squeezing him as you chase your own release. He unravels completely beneath you, an absolute wreck. “use my cock, I-I’m pathetic, please jus’let me—
★ His words dissolve into sobs, trying everything he knows in the book that would usually grant him permission to cum. his body arching up as you feel him swell inside you. You grant mercy. And finally, you give the order, “okay baby, okay.” He breaks with a wail, his cock pulsing as he shoots thick ropes of cum deep inside you. Tears stream freely down his face, his whole body shaking in sobs of ecstasy. he chokes out between cries.
★ You keep riding through his orgasm, milking every last drop, until you’re clenching around him in your own climax, waves of pleasure crashing over you both.
★ The buzz fades, you slow your movements, gently lifting yourself off him with a soft, wet sound. Cum dripping from you, mixing with the slick water on his skin, but you don’t care—you lean down to kiss his tear streaked face.
★ “Shh, my sweet boy,” you murmur against his cheek, your voice soft now. You slide off him completely and gather him into your arms, pulling his trembling body against your chest. He’s still sobbing quietly, his face buried in your neck, wet hair sticking to your skin as you stroke his back in slow, soothing circles.
★ “You did sooo good.” you whisper, pressing kisses to his forehead, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. “So perfect for me. so proud of you.” Your fingers comb through his damp hair, untangling the strands gently while he clings to you, his breaths hitching as the cries taper off into sniffles. You reach for a nearby towel, soft and absorbent, and start patting him dry, starting with his face, wiping away the tears and water with careful strokes. Cupping his face and kissing his forehead more firmly this time. He manages a pathetic smile before nuzzling against you.
Dispatch request! Flambae getting flustered over oblivious masc!Reader and everyone in the team is making fun of it!
Stupid, Hot Idiot…
👽: god he’s so cuntyyyy. here you go :3 I made you a dispatcher because it just kinda felt rightttt💞
🖇️: Flambae x masc!Reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: SFW/repressed emotions/clueless crush/he totally “hates” you/romantic tension disguised as hatred/ego bruising?/probably second hand embarrassment/but it’s COOL ITS CUTE!! Nice little ending. I think. RAHHH.
Break Room//Tuesday, 11:47 AM
★ The coffee machine is gurgling like it’s dying. Again. “Man, think this things on its last leg…” You mumble. Flambae doesn’t look up when you speak—just keeps scrolling through his phone with that expression he always wears. The one that says I’m better than this place, better than this job, better than you.
★ “Morning,” you say, because you always do.
★ His jaw tightens. “It’s almost noon.”
★ “Fair point.” You grab a mug from the cabinet, the one with the faded SDN logo. “Coffee?”
★ “Do I look like I need your charity?”
★ You blink. Glance at the empty cup in front of him. “I mean, I was making some anyway, so—”
★ “I don’t want your fucking coffee.”
★ “Cool, cool.” You pour yourself a cup. Steam curls between you. Then—because the silence feels too sharp—you pour a second mug and slide it across the counter toward him. “Just in case you change your mind.” He stares at the mug like it personally offended him.
★ From the doorway, Sonars voice cuts in, smooth and amused. “Wow. Riveting. Is this what foreplay looks like now?”
★ You nearly choke on your coffee.
★ Flambae’s hand ignites, just a flicker of flame licking across his knuckles before he snuffs it out. “Shut the fuck up, Sonar.”
★ “Touchy.” Sonar grins, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “You know, most people just say ‘thanks.’”
★ “Most people aren’t insufferable.”
★ “And yet,” Sonar says, eyes flicking meaningfully between you and Flambae, “here we are.”
★ You’re not sure what he means by that. You sip your coffee. It tastes like burnt rubber and regret, which is to say—normal. Flambae grabs the mug you poured for him and storms out. Sonar watches him go, then looks at you. “You’re killing him, you know.”
★ “Huh?”
★ “Nothing. Forget it.” He’s laughing as he leaves. You finish your coffee alone, wondering if maybe you should’ve used the good creamer.
•••
Report Massacre//Wednesday, 12:15 PM
★ You find your incident report on your desk. Shredded.
★ Not just torn—shredded. Confetti style. Cute. Someone took time with this. Artistic, almost. Flambae’s watching from across the room, arms crossed, chin up. Waiting.
★ You blink at the paper snow. “Oh man.”
★ “Yeah. Oh man.” His voice drips satisfaction.
★ “I must’ve printed the wrong draft.” You’re already pulling up the file on your computer. “Good catch. The final version had way better formatting anyway.”
★ Silence.
★ “You—” Flambae’s walking toward you now, and there’s something dangerous in the way he moves. All leashed energy and sharp fucking edges. “You think I did you a favor?”
★ “I mean, kinda?” You hit print. “I was gonna reprint it anyway. Saved me the trouble of recycling.” His hands flex. Smoke curls from his palms—thin, gray, the color of a promise about to break.
★ “You’re fucking with me.”
★ “What? No.” You look up, genuinely concerned. “Are you okay? You seem, like, really tense lately.”
★ Flambae stares at you. Through you. Past you into some dimension where things make sense and people react like they’re supposed to. Then he turns. Walks away. A trash can bursts into flame as he passes. You grab the extinguisher before Herm gets involved. “I got it!”
★ Visi leans over to Robert, who were both passing by. “This is the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
★ “He’s going to actually explode,” Robert whispers back.
★ “I know.” She snorts.
•••
Error that probably didn’t need correcting in the first place//Friday, 9:03 AM
★ Finding an error in the system logs before the morning briefing—you saw it had Flambae’s response time wrong on yesterday’s warehouse call. Made him look slower than he was. You knew for a fact it was incorrect. It’s a small thing. Probably just a typo. Not a big deal what so ever…would be pointless to even bother. A whole thing…
★ You fix it anyway. With permission (not from Flambae.) with a process, taking accountability for the error, proving the mistake, and just like that? Its correct. Good. By lunch, Flambae corners you in the hallway on the trip to the break room. It’s not a coincidence—he’s waiting there, arms crossed, expression thunderous. Stopping you in your tracks.
★ “Did you fucking edit my stats?”
★ “Uh.” You’re holding a sandwich. It feels inadequate as a shield. “Yeah? Well—within protocol of course. There was a timestamp error, so I just—”
★ “I don’t need you covering for me.”
★ “I wasn’t covering. I was correcting.” You say honestly.
★ “Same thing.” He glares.
★ “It’s really not.”
★ His jaw works. The air between you feels hot—like standing too close to a space heater, or something. Like it might explode if you say the wrong thing.
★ “Why do you even care?” he asks, and the question sounds like an accusation. You blink. “Because…. it’s my job?”
★ “That’s not—” He cuts himself off. Drags a hand over his face. “You’re actually exhausting.”
★ “Sorry?”
★ “Don’t apologize. Jesus fucking Christ.” He pushes past you, shoulder brushing yours, and you catch that smell again—smoke and something warmer, something that lingers even after he’s gone. You like it. The scent. It’s nice. You eat your sandwich standing there. It’s quiet. And you wonder if maybe you should’ve just left the error alone.
•••
Break Room (again lol)//Monday, 12:04 PM
★ You’re not there. Which is the only reason they’re talking. Flambae’s reheating last night’s Chinese food in the microwave when Mandy walks in, spots him, and grins.
★ “Oh good. You’re alone.”
★ “Don’t even.”
★ “So when are you gonna ask ‘em out?” Visi’s oice comes from nowhere just as she appears—she’s sitting in a chair at the table. The microwave beeps. Flambae doesn’t move. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
★ “Right.” Sonar leans in from the hall. “And I don’t prefer boobies over ass. Guess we’re both liars.” He enters, leans against the wall.
★ “I’m not—” Flambae attempts…
★ “Ha.” Prism walks in past Sonar, leaning against the counter where the coffee machine was. “You’re not subtle. Like, at all.”
★ “I’m going to incinerate all of you.”
★ “See?” Mandy points at him triumphantly. “Classic misdirection. He’s blushing.”
★ “I don’t fucking blush—”
★ “You do though,” Visi says, “It’s cute. In a homicidal kinda way.”
★ Flambae grabs his food from the microwave. It’s too hot. He doesn’t care. “I hate every single person in this building.”
★ “Except one,” Sonar singsongs.
★ “Especially that one.” Visi adds.
★ “Uh-huh.” Prism hums along “That’s why you fixed the coffee machine last week after he mentioned it was broken.”
★ “That wasn’t—”
★ “Or why you always try extra hard when they’re on shift and giving orders.” Mandy adds. “Never do that for Robert.”
★ “Or why—”
★ “Okay!” Flambae slams his container down. A small flame flickers to life on the counter—he puts it out with his palm. “You know what? You’re all fucking stupid, holy shit. And wrong—Jesus Christ.”
★ The room erupts in laughter. Flambae storms out, ears burning, microwave food abandoned. And of course you’re in the hallway. Of course you are. You’re juggling a tablet, two file folders, and a coffee that’s definitely not yours based on the lipstick stain on the lid.
★ “Oh hey—” You spot him, and your face does that thing. That open, genuine, stupid thing that makes his chest feel like it’s full of hornets. “There you are. I was gonna find you after—”
★ “What.” It comes out harsh. Sharper than he means.
★ You don’t even flinch. “I just wanted to say you really killed it today. That highway pileup? Your response time was insane. Probably saved like, a dozen people.”
★ The words hit him like friendly fire.
★ “And also—” You shift the folders, nearly drop one. He catches it reflexively, and your fingers brush. “—you seem stressed lately. I dunno if it’s the schedule or whatever, but… want to grab a drink after shift? There’s this new bar I’ve been passing on the way here daily, heard they got reallly good wings.”
★ His brain snuffs out.
★ “Fuck no.”
★ Your expression doesn’t change. Still open. Still stupidly kind. Damn it why were you so fucking…you? Ughhh. He hears himself before he can stop it, “Wait. Are you like…buying at least?”
★ “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.” You shrug. He considers this.
★ “…I guess.” he mutters, and your smile is—he doesn’t have words for it. “Cool. I’m off at seven. I’ll text you the spot. Meet you there?”
★ “Fine. Whatever.”
★ Without thinking, you hand him the folder he caught, fingers brushing again. And then you’re walking away, heart doing little flips while whistling something off key. Flambae stands in the hallway for a full thirty seconds, (you gotta cute ass…damn.) holding a folder he doesn’t need. From the break room, muffled laughter. He’s going to burn this whole building down.
★ But first—Seven o’clock. Fuck.
👽: The wings were actually pretty good. Chad ordered the spicy ones. You act surprised when he finishes them without flinching. He calls you an idiot. You buy him another beer. By the time you leave, his shoulder keeps bumping yours on the walk back, and neither of you mention it.
sappy male reader... kising flambaes missing fingers... please and thank you <33
love your fics btw!!
The Important Hand
🖇️: Flambae x masc!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: SFW/SAPPY/FLUFFY/CUTESY/AWWW/established relationship/you comfort your fiery boyfriend about his little nubs. LOL.
★ The TV’s murmuring something about a cooking competition—knives flashing, someone dicing onions with theatrical precision—and you feel Flambae’s hand twitch where it rests against your chest.
★ “Show off,” he mutters at the screen, but there’s something else in his voice. Something quieter.
★ You tilt your head back to look at him. He’s focused on the TV, but not really. His right hand has curled slightly, tucked between your bodies like it’s trying to hide.
★ “Babe?”
★ “It’s stupid.” He huffs a laugh that doesn’t quite land. “Just—watching that guy. Makes me think about… you know.”
★ You do know.
★ You’ve heard the story. Robert. The fight. The way everything went wrong in the space between one heartbeat and the next. How anger cost him two fingers and nearly cost him more.
★ “Hey.” You shift, turning in his arms until you’re facing him properly. “Look at me.”
★ He does, but his jaw’s tight. Self conscious in that way he gets sometimes, when the missing pieces feel louder than the ones that remain.
★ So you lean in and kiss him. Soft. Unhurried. The kind of kiss that says I’m here and you’re here and that’s enough.
★ When you pull back, you catch his right hand before he can tuck it away again. You bring it to your lips—press a kiss to his palm first, then his thumb, then each finger that’s still there. Taking your time. Making it deliberate.
★ Then you kiss the space where the others used to be. The pinky. The ring finger. Just the tender nubs remaining, the ghosts of what was two little fingies. Flambae makes a sound—somewhere between a laugh and something shakier.
★ “What are you—”
★ “Shh.” You kiss them again. “These too. All of you.”
★ His breath catches.
★ You guide his hand up, settling it against your cheek, and he cups your face like you’re something precious. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, and his eyes are doing that thing where they’re too bright, too soft, too much.
★ “You’re ridiculous,” he whispers.
★ “Yeah, but you love me.”
★ “I really do.”
★ You turn your head just enough to kiss his palm again. “Besides,” you murmur against his skin, “you’ve still got your ring finger on the left hand.”
★ He blinks. Then he gets it.
★ His laugh this time is real—surprised and warm and a little watery. “You are such a sap.”
★ “That’s what really counts, right?” You grin. “The one that matters.”
★ Flambae pulls you back against him, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His right hand stays cradled between you both, but it’s not hiding anymore. It’s just there. Part of him. Part of this. On the TV, someone’s plating a dessert with gold leaf and unnecessary flourishes. Neither of you are watching.
How about that a recap from that night at the bar with our lovely Robbie 🧐
Also, love love love your fics! Have read EVERY SINGLE ONE! You're PERFECTION 🖤🩷💜
The Night Before
👽: hehe thank you, and yesss. how about that night? hmmm… *twirls nonexistent mustache deviously*
🖇️: Robert Robertson x gn!reader
☑️: Proof Read
⚠️: NSFW/SEXUAL/SUGGESTIVE THEMES/drunk shenanigans with z team/little sprinkle of bi activity/the club goes hard//enjoyyy :3
★ The bar smells like whiskey and regret. And it’s one of those smells you’ve become familiar with. Comfortable, even. Coupé’s laugh is velvet rough against your ear, her fingers grazing yours as she reaches for her glass—accidental, maybe, but the way she lets it linger says otherwise. You’re dizzy already, and you haven’t even finished your first drink.
★ “You always this trouble?” You murmur, leaning close enough that your breath ghosts her cheek.
★ “Only on weeknights.”
★ You grin. “Good thing I like weeknights.”
★ The warmth spreads from your chest to somewhere lower, but then Colm’s voice booms across the bar—“Drinking contest! Now!”—and suddenly you’re being dragged toward a row of shot glasses that glint like tiny threats under the lights.
★ Sonar’s already two shots in, grinning like a clown. Colm cracks his knuckles like this is a sport. And you? You’re stupid enough to say yes. The first shot burns. The third one stops burning. By the fifth, you’re not sure if you’re laughing or choking, and honestly, it doesn’t matter because you’re winning.
★ “Holy shit,” Sonar wheezes, gripping the counter. “How are you still—”
★ “Built different,” you slur, slamming another glass down.“Clearly.” Sonar hiccups, watching with admiration at this point. Colm groans, head in his hands. “I’m out. I’m fuckin’ out.” You watch Coupé stifle a laugh while she tends to him, patting his head affectionately.
★ Well, shit, at least you earned some bragging rights for actually—genuinely out drinking Punch-Up. (Barely) Hell yeah.
★ Prism’s cackling from across the room, phone held high, livestream chat probably going insane. Flambae wolf whistles sharp enough to cut through the bass heavy music, his grin wicked and proud. “Damn—you’re fucking crazy, bitch!” he shouts, and you blow him a kiss that he catches—pretending to take a sassy bite out of it like an apple.
★ The night fractures after that.
•••
★ Malevola finds you near the bathroom hallway, all sharp eyeliner and sharper smile, her hands sliding up your arms like she’s got nowhere else to be. “You’re trouble, babes” she says, but she’s already pulling you closer.
★ “Everyone keeps saying that.” You hum.
★ “Because it’s true.”
★ And then she’s kissing you—quick, messy, her black lipstick smearing across your mouth like evidence. It’s almost cruel, the way she casually pulls back with a smirk, thumb swiping your bottom lip.
★ “Looks good on you.”
★ You’re still catching your breath when she disappears back into the crowd, and you’re left there, dazed, lipstick stained, wondering if that actually just happened. Do you follow? Fuck, you wanna follow. You’re already moving through the crowd, pretending not to be desperate.
★ The music swells. The lights pulse. You catch Courtney and Mandy at the bar, standing way too close, Mandy’s hand resting on Courtney’s lower back in a way that’s definitely not platonic. You knew some gay shit was happening between those two. (You make a mental note to ask about that later. Maybe. If you remember.) You keep moving, Malevola still out of sight. Damn…
★ Golem’s wedged into a corner booth—took three people and some creative maneuvering to get him through the door, but he made it. Of course only after getting him in, did they check his I.D. (They let him stay anyways. It took too much effort getting him inside…) He’s nursing something in a comically small glass, looking content as hell, and honestly? Good for him.
★ You stumble toward Phenomaman, who’s smiling at nothing in particular, just happy to be here it seemed. You were trying to say something about the music or the drinks or literally anything—maybe if he’s seen Malevola. But then the world tilts. Someone spins you around, and suddenly there’s a hand at your waist, steadying, grounding.
★ The lights blur into smears of gold and violet. The song shifts again, slower, less hectic. And when you look up. It’s Robert. His eyes catch the light, dark and intense, and he says your name like it’s the only word he knows. You flush. Stumble. He catches you, easy, like he knew you’d fall. “Robert, what are we doing…?”
★ “Dancing.” His voice is smoke and honey. “What does it look like?”
★ “Looks like you’re—”
★ “Looks like you’re trying to talk when you should be moving.”
★ His hands settle on your hips, firm, deliberate, and suddenly the crowd doesn’t exist. Just him. Just the beat thrumming through the floor, through your chest, through the space where his body presses close to yours. “You always this handsy after a few drinks?” you tease, but your voice shakes just enough to betray you.
★ “No.” He doesn’t elaborate, just pulls you closer, his movements fluid despite the alcohol humming through both your veins. His nose brushes your temple, then lower, tracing the curve of your jaw.
★ “You smell like bad decisions,” he murmurs against your neck. “You smell like worse ones.” You quip. His laugh is low, then his lips are pressed below your ear—soft, testing. When you don’t pull away, he does it again, this time with teeth. Your breath hitches.
★ “Robert—”
★ “Mm?”
★ “We’re in public.”
★ “I know.” His hands slide lower, thumbs tracing circles against your hips as he sways with you, keeping rhythm. “You didn’t seem to mind when Malevola had her tongue in your mouth over there by the bathrooms, though.”
★ You pull back just enough to glare at him, heat flooding your cheeks. “And you would?” You retort. His grin is lethal. “Oh, no. I mean—of course I wouldn’t mind, look at her.” He says honestly, “But I’d kiss you better, is what I was getting at.” His hand moves up, thumb wiping away any lingering lipstick from Malevola before resettling onto your hip, pulling you back against him.
★ It’s supposed to be banter. Supposed to be playful. But the way he says it with certainty, his hips already rolling against yours in a subconscious rhythm that’s got nothing to do with the music, makes it something else entirely. Your heart skips two beats. Because you can feel him. The heat of his body. His hand placement. The tension between you and—oh fuck.
★ He’s hard.
★ Your breath catches. Your eyes flick up to his, and he’s already watching you, jaw tight, something like apology and challenge flickering across his face all at once. But he doesn’t move away. Doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens, one hand sliding up your spine, the other still anchoring you against him like he’s daring you to say something.
★ You don’t. You just press impossibly closer. His head drops, forehead to your temple, then lower, lips brushing the shell of your ear again, and you feel the words more than hear them, “Wanna get out of here?”
★ It’s not really a question. More like a match struck in the dark. You nod before you even realize you’re doing it, throat dry, heart doing something crack head level in your chest. “My place,” you manage, and it comes out softer than you meant. Breathier. He pulls back just enough to look at you, then he grins. Slow. Dangerous. The kind of grin that makes your knees forget they have one job to do.
★ “Let’s go, then.”
•••
★ The Uber driver doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t say a word. Probably sees this kind of thing every weekend, but you’re grateful anyway because Robert’s hand is on your thigh, his mouth on your neck, your jaw…
★ You kiss him at a red light. He kisses you back like he’s been waiting all night. His hand slides higher. Your fingers twist in his shirt. The driver clears his throat, and you break apart just long enough to breathe before you’re back at it, laughing against his mouth.
★ by the time you stumble through your front door, you’re not sure who pulled who inside first. Doesn’t matter. Robert’s hands are on your waist, your back hits the wall, and his mouth finds yours again, deeper this time, hotter. (Fuck maybe he was a better kisser than Malevola…maybe. Might have to try again with her just to double check.)
★ The thought is fleeting. You tug him toward the bedroom, and he follows without hesitation, fingers tangled with yours, grinning like he’s won the lottery. And when you fall back onto the bed, him right there with you, all you can think is, fuck. yes.
