That’s when you felt it: warms hands sliding up underneath your oversized shirt, feeling up the smooth expanse of your stomach that stopped right underneath the swole of your breasts

"Morning to you to," you murmured, stifling a moan as lips accompanied by a stubbled chin made its way to your exposed neck. The hands underneath your shirt continued its journey before finding its target, hands fondling and squeezing your breasts while a very obvious hard on was pressed on your backside, your assailant humming against you

"G'Morning sweetheart"

You tried to focus, you really did.

But the hands that were now pulling at your hardened nipples were making it very difficult to do so.

"Rob, y-you're going to make me burn the damn bacon" you tried to reason with him, but his hands and hips did not falter. Rather he gripped your tits with purpose, sucking a mark into your skin as you held onto the spatula and the edge of the counter for dear life

"Breakfast can wait, need you first"

Fuck

With quick hands, Robert turned down the heat on the stove top, the spatula long forgotten and placed elsewhere, as he moved you to the edge the counter that wasn't near the stove. Maneuvering to one side, his left arm wrapped around your front as his cock pressed against the exposed part of your thigh, his right hand caressing the exposed skins before bending you over

"Be a good girl f'me, yeah?" he whispered against your ear, fingers delicately moving down towards your lacy (color) thong, rubbing the wet spot that had formed on what little fabric covered your hole. Your words seemed to have failed you as you moaned softly in agreement

With swift hands, he moved your thong to the side and groaned at how wet you already were. "All this from me touching these perfect tits and a lil’ bit of grinding? Fuckin' naughty girl”

His fingers rubbed your slick folds, moving them in a motion that had you reeling when just the tip of his figers grazed over your throbbing clit.

He took his teasing further by spreading your pussy apart and even taking a finger to prod at your tight hole. Just on the edge of entering you—but not quite

"P-please"

"Please what babe? I can't give you want you want without the right words" You could practically hear his shit-eating grin the bastard.

"Please.. I need your fingers"

"Where?"

“A-gh! I-in me! please, need your fingers in my naughty pussy”

“Good fuckin’ girl”

Finally, a slim finger entered you. You threw your head back in pleasure releasing a breath of relief you didn’t even realize you were holding. He let a breath out himself, the warmth of your walls squeezing him so good he practically felt his cock jump in excitement

His hand was firm against your pussy, moving it in and out, and even bending his finger against the soft spot in that had you moaning and moving your hips for more

Soon, one finger become two, and two became three. The squelches of your cunt reverberating in the kitchen overtook the soft sizzling of the bacon as your saccharine moans filled the room

“Fuck, your pussy is taking my fingers so well”

Your right hand gripped onto the counter tightly as your other held onto his arm that was now wrapped around your neck, your well manicured nails creating small crescent moon shapes into his skin.

His pace had increased, his hand & wrist covered in your pussy juices, and the feeling of being full had become very apparent as you neared your impending orgasm

"F-fuck! Robert, please, please, I'm- agh- I'm close baby. Can I cum?"

He chuckled, smooshing a kiss into your cheek

"Since you asked sooo nicely… go ahead baby"

Your moans grew in pitch and finally, with legs shaking violently, you came. Your chest rising and falling in an attempt to calm yourself

Robert’s fingers left your hole with a soft pop!

Strings of white pearlescent fluid stuck to his fingers, some dripping onto the cool tile of the kitchen floor before he brought his fingers back to your folds, rubbing circles on your soaked pussy lips whilst whispering praises into your hair, claiming what a good girl you were.

You leaned your head against his cheek, breathing in his scent that faintly reminded you of the office coffee and burnt bacon—

wait

ssssss

FUCK— THE BACON!

—

fic was inspired by this on twitter. forewarning it is a NSFW post so beware :P

bzzt!

bzzt!

— The faint buzzing in your purse caused you to perk up ever so slightly, hands reaching into your small purse to dig out your phone.

The buzzing seemed to catch the attention of your teammate, and “date”, Victor. His large bat ears twitching as he glanced over at you for just a moment before returning to the back of the drivers head.

“Robert?” Victor questioned, his gaze still locked forward. He was fully aware of whatever weird HR violation you and Robert had going on, often being subjected to hear you ramble about it after work every day…hence why he’s even your date tonight in the first place. You want Robert’s attention, his jealousy. So of course he would help you, like any good friend.

And dammit, if Victor wasn’t ecstatic at the opportunity to piss off Robert. Two birds with one stone.

“God, i hope so.” You grin, biting your glossed up lip as you open your phone, the bright glow causing you to squint for a moment as it illuminated your face in the dark car, all the while you pointedly ignoring the small head shake and snicker Victor gives you. Though the moment your eyes land on your message notifications, they practically light up.

Robert : 8:38pm —

“ Hey.”

“On your way yet?”

You scan over the text quickly before your fingers are flying over the keyboard, typing up a response so uniquely you that you’re sure Robert rolls his eyes when you send it.

You : 8:39pm —

“Why? Do you wanna see me that badly?”

You wait impatiently for his reply as you watch the 3 bubbles pop up in the corner of your text, heeled foot tapping against the floor of your Uber. Meanwhile Victor’s getting invested now, his blinded gaze finally leaving the back of the drivers head as it makes its way to you. “What’d he say?—Actually, what did you say?” He questioned as his eyes narrowed for a moment.

“Just wait…he’s typing.” You huff in response, to which Victor holds his hand up in mock surrender.

Robert : 8:41pm —

“Maybe. Is that an issue?”

You nearly squealed like a school girl. You were an absolute sucker for your ridiculously hot ( and miserable ) boss-of-sorts. The way he seemed to handle your attitude and teasing so easily…the idea of it made you dizzy and fuzzy in the legs. You quickly shook off the thoughts—you had to reply; and fast.

You : 8:43pm —

“Mmm…no.”

“Just wanted to hear you say it.”

You grinned at your own reply, but before you could even think at what he would say, his reply was sent.

Robert : 8:43pm —

“Thought so. Let me know when you get here.”

It's like he nearly predicted your text.

What he couldn't predict? The fact that you wouldn't listen.

You've arrived at the banquet with not as much as a text to Robert about your arrival, your arm was snuggly wrapped around Victors as the two of you walk inside, allowing yourself to admire the large ballroom.

A gorgeous high painted ceiling with dangling chandeliers, your eyes darting around the circular ballroom to the velvet-floored hallways, each leading to a guest's suite, your rooms keycard now snug in your purse.

"Hey...i'm gonna leave you alone for just a sec, alright?" Victor suddenly speaks up, his tone suspiciously sheepish.

"Victor-?" You spoke up, only to see a small white baggy peak from his pocket as he walked off, his arm untangling from yours. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"I'll meet you at the table!" He calls over his shoulder, giving a small wave before he disappeared into the crowd.

"Asshole.." You muttered, letting your gaze scan the room, eyes lingering for an extra second on familiar faces...and when the eyes you felt burning into the back of your skull became almost unbearable, you finally crane your neck, looking over your shoulder to meet the gaze of familiar-dark and serious, eyes.

Just as a grin began to form on your lips, you were suddenly tugged forward when a familiar Australian accent rang out in your ears.

"Late, as always," Malevola teased, pulling you along to dance. "Y'know, Robert's been looking for you since he got here,” She snickers, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as the two of you swayed.

"I know, he texted me." You replied with a grin, taking the moment to glance back over your shoulder.

And you couldn't hide the shiver you felt when you realized he was still looking right at you.

You decide to play it off, flashing him a smile before turning back to Malevola, your conversation inaudible to Robert from across the room as he narrowed his gaze in your direction, almost desperately trying to read your lips.

"If he keeps this up, he'll burn two holes into your head at this rate," Malevola spoke up over the music, almost sighing as she shakes her head.

"You think so? We've played longer games of whatever this is, believe it or not." You replied, nearly grinning to yourself as you swirled the wine in your glass--which you had swiftly taken from a waiters tray when he breezed by with the quick offer.

"Maybe you should give him a break? Actually speak to him?" Malevola questions, almost, just almost, feeling bad for Robert with your obvious teasing.

"Probably...I was hoping he'd decide to come up to me..but I guess he's being patient," you huffed, cheeks puffing for just a moment before looking back at Robert. only to find him seated at a table. Alone.

"...But I've never been patient, honestly." You shrugged, giving Malevola a swift wave before turning on your heel and making a beeline for Robert, eyeing his black satin button up and the way it fit him in a way that was almost sinful.

When you finally made your way over to Robert, you sat down beside him, your chair facing his as you leaned an elbow onto the table.

"You never texted me," Robert spoke up the moment you sat down, forcing himself to keep his gazed locked on his drink. "Was it on purpose? Or do you just enjoy fucking with me—?" He questioned, his tone laced with sarcasm as usual, but a hint of something else was in his voice. restraint, maybe?

"Maybe. Is that an issue?" You mocked, quoting his text from earlier with a shit eating grin on your face.

His gaze immediately narrowed, biting back whatever slick comment was on his tongue. "Don't even start being like that. You—.." He cut himself off, whatever he was planning to say dying on his tongue almost immediately when he felt your heel graze the inside of his calf.

He nearly gave a sigh.

"Don't what?" You spoke, honeying your tone as you played oblivious, heel running up and down his leg slowly.

"Don't...just don't be an ass, yea?" He suddenly spoke up, rough hand grabbing your ankle under the table to stop you—and to give himself a moment to think about anything but the way you look in that dress. "Quit it, will you?" He mutters, keeping your ankle firm in his grasp.

But you didn't miss the way his thumb ran across your skin for just a moment.

Before you could speak, he sighed, pressing his forehead against his own glass of wine, his eyes shutting for a moment before they opened to find your gaze. "By the way, you...you look—" He began, his eyes trailing down your form before he was cut off by a voice behind him.

"Well! You've finally Arrived, Phenomenal!" Katon speaks up, his chest puffed out and confident as usual. Meanwhile Roberts eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the interruption.

But It was Katon, Phenomaman of all people. You wouldn't choose him over Robert, that much Robert knew. You knew it too.

So when you agreed to his invitation to dance, you didn't miss the way Robert nearly shattered his glass in his hand at being blown off for the umpteenth time tonight. He was seething.

Dammit, he was needy. And you in that god forsaken dress wasn't helping him at all right now.

You spared him a singular glance over your shoulder, giving him a look and a wave before you blended into the crowd with Katon to dance.

But to Robert, you did the exact opposite. You stood out in the crowd to him like a sore thumb. Your figure swaying along with Katon--and it was pissing him off immensely. You should be dancing with him, you knew that.

So why were you so insistent on being difficult?

He saw you. Saw the way you kept glancing back over in his direction. The way you swayed a little more when your back faced him. He saw it all.

So when you excused yourself from Katon to the ballrooms balcony, he was on his feet following you.

You gave a deep sigh as you leaned on the balcony's railing, the air refreshing on your lungs and the breeze cooling down your skin, until you were suddenly warm again, looking down only to find two arms on either side of you, the familiar black satin rolled up to the elbows to reveal the even more familiar scars.

"Robert,—"

'"What the fuck are you playing at? Huh?" He suddenly snapped, his voice warm against your ear. "You've been acting up all night, the hell's your problem, huh?" He adds, grabbing you firmly by the waist as he spins you around, his gaze burning into yours.

"...Been driving me crazy all god damn night, care to explain why that is?" His voice just barley above a whisper as he speaks, his gaze dropping down to your lips for just a moment before returning to yours, quietly waiting for your response.

You had to fight for your damn life to fight back the smirk that threatened to form on your lips. You had been driving him crazy all night...and you loved the way it was turning out. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about Robert, I've been socializing, who says ive got time to be worrying about you?—"

Roberts grip tightened on your waist, tugging you closer till your noses nearly touched. "Don't give me that bullshit right now. I've been keeping my eye on you. you know I have." He spoke, the end of his sentence sounding almost breathless as his hair gently blew with the wind. His gaze locked on yours.

"I know," You whispered in return. Your own gaze unwavering, stone hard against his own as your hand moved to caress his shoulder, pulling him closer ever so slightly.

"God dammit," He sighed, pulling away as he stepped back, running a hand through his hair then down his face as he turned away from you for a moment, taking in a deep breath--like he was trying to control himself, undoing the top button of his shirt before finally turning back to you. "you—"

"What're you two doing out here? Party's inside, bitches," Alice's voice suddenly rang out, her half pink and half blue bob seeming brighter under the balcony lights, causing a grin to fall onto your lips at Roberts frustration. he looked like he was about to snap.

"Yea...we—" You began before Robert spoke over you, his gaze still locked on you as he spoke over his shoulder. It seems no one could finish their sentences right about now.

"We..were just about to head back inside." He spoke, his tone suspiciously measured as he raised his brows at you in silent warning.

Only when Alice walked back inside did Robert Practically pounce on you, leading you back inside by the wrist as he kept his gaze cool and measured as you both weaved through the crowd and upstairs--to the suites.

"Thought you were all calm and collected Robert, what happened to 'not in a business setting'?—" You snickered as he practically shoved you into his suite. Your purse sliding off your arm onto the small dining table.

Though, before you had the chance to admire the absurdly large Suite SDN gave him, you were being spun around, stumbling until your lower back hit the back of the suites gray couch. One of Roberts hands landing firmly beside you on the couch, the other on your waist as he pulled you in, his lips finally crashing onto yours.

It wasn't soft, it was needy, desperate. Like he had been aching for this moment and was finally letting It all out. His tongue swiped against your lips before slipping past, giving a soft groan as he pressed closer to you.

The kiss was dizzying. He barley gave you a moment to breath, leaving you gasping against his lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling breathlessly when he picked you up by the thighs, staggering to sit on the couch with you perched on his lap.

His hands were greedy, exploring every inch of your body they could reach as his lips stayed on yours.

"Never knew you were so needy," You teased against your mingling breaths, only for him to wrap his hand around the nape of your neck and pull you back into the kiss.

"Shut it." He muttered in reply between kisses, nipping at your bottom lip enough to make you gasp before slipping his tongue back past your lips. His free hand finding purchase on your hip, holding you down firmly on his lap.

You couldn't help the moan that slipped past your lips as he held you down against his lap, feeling something—him, between your legs. You felt a rush of pride as you rolled your hips against his own, pulling a gasp from him before he held your hips still.

"You keep pushing your luck," Robert muttered, pulling back from the kiss as his hands rested on your hips, his thumb running over the skin of your dress as he tightened his grasp periodically.

He fought back a grin when you followed his lips for a moment when he pulled away, scoffing at the small, almost unnoticeable frown that formed on your lips.

You wanted to make a sly remark—anything, just for the sake of being difficult. Yet you only found yourself staring at him, not quite catching whatever look he gave you before Robert—to what you could only name, manhandled you over his lap, one hand holding you down while the other rested on the back of your thigh.

“Maybe.., I should fix that.” He spoke with a quick raise of his brows, tone cool and measured as he began pulling your dress up, the fabric scrunching up right on your hips to reveal your panties underneath.

Your gaze widened at the sudden predicament you found yourself in, collecting your thoughts before looking over your shoulder at Robert as your hands held the side of his thigh tightly.

“You wanna spank me?” You nearly laughed. Robert was the most vanilla looking man you’ve ever seen in your life. No way in hell was this man kinky—let alone into spanking. “You wouldn’t, no, you couldn’t! You’re the same guy who looked at sonar weird for liking cuffs—shit!”

Your ridicule towards him was cut short by a your gasp, followed by a sudden stinging and loud ‘clap—!’ as his hand landed down against your skin, the area slowly beginning to feel warm.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He questions with feigned curiosity, his hand rubbing the reddening skin of your ass as the other held your back down.

Your hands squeezed the cotton fabric of his slacks as you took a moment to recover from the sting, your gaze firm on the carpet floor of the suites living room. "Hah—you are fucking unbelievable, Robert..” You breathed out, a grin forming on your lips.

“If you wanted to touch my ass that bad, could’ve just asked, y’know.” You teased, before you felt his hand land once—then twice, each hit on a different cheek as you kicked your legs up with a small squeal.

“Oh yeah, sweetheart?..you make it sound so easy,” He spoke, his voice lower then before as he gave a sigh through his nose.

Smack—!

“As if you wouldn’t tease and tease, like you already have been all night.” He continues, his hand rubbing the tender skin as he chooses not to comment on the way your thighs squeeze together, only moving his hand to hold them apart.

“Robert—“ You huffed out, trying not to sound as breathless as you actually were. “I thought you’d hit harder than that,” you murmured, grinning at your own comment.

“jesus, you just don’t know when to quit it, do you?” He muttered, suddenly yanking you up so your back was pressed hard against his back, his knees keeping your legs pried open. Before you even had the chance to comment he landed another smack onto you, except this time right between your legs.

“Shit—!” You jolted, your thighs tensing as they tried to close, but his legs kept you open—vulnerable. Your hand reached back to tangle itself in his hair behind you, taking a moment to tug on his brunette locks, the other bracing itself on his thigh.

Robert’s hand slid down from your knee, his fingers grazing over the dampening patch on your panties. “You love this shit, don’t you?” He mutters quietly against your ear, almost like a realization.

He doesn’t flinch when you tug at his hair, only letting his fingers lightly brush over your panties once more before slowly moving to pull them aside, 2 of his rough fingers trailing up and down between your slit. “Fucking soaked. You get off from driving me god damn crazy, pretty? Being all rough with you cause’ you pissed me off?” He spoke, and he nearly scoffed when you gave a soft sigh.

“Mhm…pissed off is a damn good look on you,” You breathed out with a smile as you felt his finger circle your clit, hands tightening in his hair again for just a moment. Your back arched against his touch as he pressed down a little harder, his free hand rubbing up and down your waist.

“you’re annoying as all hell, i hope you know that.” He mutters quietly agaisnt the skin of your neck, his lips brushing your pulse as he nips at the warm skin before soothing the sting with a lick.

“You love it,” You teased, and all he gave in response was a small hum against your neck before his hand on your waist slid down, slipping in 2 fingers, letting them curl agaisnt your gummy walls. His other hand remaining focused on your clit, teasing with feather light circles.

“Mmn—God..” You moaned softly, biting down on your bottom lip as your hips rocked against his fingers, leaning your head back onto his shoulder as he continued peppering kissing and leaving bruising marks along the column of your throat. He gently groaned when you tugged on his hair again, his hips bucking up instinctively before relaxing.

His fingers continued their ministrations, scissoring you open as he kept his face buried in your neck. Your moans and whines made it increasingly difficult not to just fuck you stupid on the couch. When he pulled away from your neck, His hand slipped away from your clit, slowly dragging up your body, grazing your hardened nipples before wrapping around your throat.

Not enough to make it hard to breathe, but enough to let you know he could—and would, if he was tempted.

You whined at the loss of his hand, but it was quickly forgotten when his fingers brushed against that soft spot inside you, starring your vision for a moment as you squirmed, your breathing becoming labored.

“Look at you now, what happened to all that talk, hm? Haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re all whiny.” He couldn’t help but snicker, tightening his grip for a moment when you didn’t reply. “I asked you a question, pretty girl. Answer it.”

You bit at your bottom lip, your hand coming down from his hair to cup your boob, toying with your hardened nipple as your hips squirmed, letting your clit grinding against his palm.

“Keep going,” You breathed—begged. You could be difficult later, right now all you wanted was for the knot forming in your stomach to be satiated.

Robert gave a half-hearted scoff as a small smile fell onto his lips. “Thought so,”

His forearm flexed as he began to quicken the pace of his wrist, your cunt squelching with each thrust of his fingers. Meanwhile your back arched, hands toying with your breast as you moaned you pleas of ‘being so close.’

"Ngh, fuck! Robert, m'comingm'coming—!" You gasped out, vision nearly blurring as one of your hands grasped his wrist, feeling the knot in your stomach come undone as you tried to catch your breath, your thighs shaking as he kept them pried open.

When he finally felt you squeeze around his fingers, his grasp on your throat loosened slightly, letting you ride out your high as his continued to pump his fingers until you began to whin that it was 'too much'.

"Oh, so now you wanna complain?" Robert mocked, his hands rubbing the inside of your thighs before maneuvering you—slightly gentler than before, as he puts you on the floor, the soft carpet grazing your knees as you knelt infant of his man-spread form.

You finally caught your breath, hands resting on Roberts knees are you gazed up at him, eyes glossed over with need. "What? You want me to suck your dick?" You questioned between deep breaths, a grin forming on your lips as you gazed up at him.

"And if I do? You gonna do it, or you going to whine that it's 'too much' again?" He snickered, only for his smile to falter slightly as you reached for his slacks, hurriedly tugging down the waist band along with his boxers, his cock suddenly springing free.

You took a moment to admire him, his cock long and veiny, twitching with need as a drop of precum dripped down the side from his reddened tip. You took him into your hand, gently stroking him as you leaned forward, your gaze never leaving his as you licked your lips.

“You think I can't take it? You've really gotta cool your ego, Rob–” You began, continuing to be difficult as always until Robert took ahold of his cock from you, swiftly leading your head closer by your jaw and squishing your cheeks to open your mouth.

“Open up. Tongue out.” He ordered, his tone not leaving room to argue.

You didn't hesitate to stick out your tongue, feeling the weight of his tip against it as he slowly began sliding himself deeper into your mouth–inch by inch, every bob of your head taking him deeper.

“You wanna act like you can take it? Then take it, and stop fucking talking for once,” He nearly groaned. His head tilted back as his hand found purchase in your hair, guiding your head across his length. Meanwhile you gave a small moan around his cock as he guided your head, gagging around his length.

“Fuck, youre so pretty like this..should keep this bratty mouth stuffed more often, hmn?” He mocked, pushing your head down til your nose brushed against his pubes, leaving you there gagging. Robert moaned your name quietly under his breath, his breathing becoming ragged and deep as he ran his free head over his face.

He kept you there till he felt your nails dig into his thigh, only then did he finally pull you back, giving you a moment to breathe as you gasped and coughed. When you finally calmed down, he guided your mouth back onto his cock, watching as your thighs squeezed and rubbed together before your hand slowly drifted down.

“Hands off.” He spoke up, and when you didn't listen, he pushed your head deeper. He only eased up when we watched your hands fly away from in between your legs.

“Mmnf–” You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him twitch in your mouth as his eyes rolled back, his chest beginning to rise and fall harshly.

“Shit, sweetheart, m’almost there. Keep going for me, alright?” He breathed out, his hips instinctively bucking into your mouth as you continued to gag around his length. The moment he felt your tongue trace a vein on the underside of his cock, he swore he saw stars. His whole body tensed as he came undone, his hand holding you down as he came down your throat, the feeling of you swallowing around him prolonging his high.

He let go of your hair, letting you pull back as you coughed, your voice hoarse and scratchy as you spoke with a hand coming up to fix your now tousled hair. “That's all you got?” You scoffed, keeping up that same attitude as you looked up at him, but it was obvious you were starting to crack.

Robert couldn't control the breathy laugh that left him, sitting up as he met your gaze. “Listen, if you wanted me to fuck that attitude out of you, y’couldve just said that.”

You couldn't even think of a response before he was picking you up and tossing you over his shoulder. arm wrapped firmly over your back as he made a beeline for the bedroom.

“I can walk by myself, Robert. Put me down–fuck!” You spoke, squirming in his grasp until he landed another firm smack onto your ass, causing you to tense up as you looked back, only to find him already looking back at you.

“No. Quit the squirming already.” He replied before looking forward and opening the room door.

The moment he tossed you onto the bed, you were surrounded by a plush blanket, looking up at the curtains that surrounded the circular canopy bed. Yet you only had a moment to take in the room before Robert began to undo the ties, letting the curtains fall around the bed, effectively hiding you two from the rest of the world.

“What’re you–” You began to ask, keeping that smug look on your face as you looked in Robert's direction, knelt in front of your laid out figure.

“Strip, pretty.” He interrupted suddenly, fully taking off his belt that had already been undone in the living room and tossing it beside you. “Because as much as I love you in that damn dress, I need it off. Now.” He admitted, his eyes trailing up and down your form.

“Cant even ask nicely?” You snickered, taking your time as you sat up on your knees, keeping your gaze locked on his before you slowly–teasingly, began to take off your dress, finally letting it fall off your body as it pooled around your knees, laying back down to fully pull it off.

And he smirked to find that, to his pleasant surprise, you wore no bra. Better for him.

Without another word, he leaned forward, one hand resting beside you while the other squeezed your waist, pulling you up to meet him as he kissed you just as greedily as before. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling around one another as you moaned into the kiss.

He removed his hand from your waist, moving to undo the buttons of his own shirt as he kept his lips on yours. The moment he got to the last button, he pulled the satin fabric off, prying it from his arms behind him before tossing it god knows where, his hands rushing back to find your skin–you. He breathed deeply as his hand tangled in your hair, his hardening cock pressing against your thigh before he began moving down, trailing hot opened-mouth kisses down your hickey adorned neck and sternum until he reached the lacey hem of your panties,

He gave a huff before tearing them without a second thought, his low gaze immediately landing on your blushing clit, not hesitating when he leaned down to kiss and suck on it as you tossed your head back, thighs squeezing around his head before he pulled back.

“Turn around for me.” He whispered, placing one last chaste kiss against your clit before taking your hips to guide you as you turned onto all fours. You felt his hand push your head down against the plush pillow before trailing firmly down your back, leaving you arched downwards.

“Do you do this often with your sex dolls at home?” You spoke over your shoulder, words laced with your usual teasing and honeyed tone as you stretched your arms out in front of you before relaxing.

‘Yes, actually. All the time. I bend them over just like this, and fuck them for hours while i pretend theyre you.” He replied–way too casually. His hand kneaded the skin of your ass before he let his thumb run down the puffy lips of your cunt, marveling at the way your hips squirmed and pushed back against his thumb.

“Are you always this desperate?” He suddenly fired back, raising a brow as he let his thumb circle your clit, watching you clench around nothing.

“Im never desperate, Robert.” You breathed out, but the way you shivered told a different story.

“Right…and I'm the president.” He snickered while pulling his hand away, pulling your hips back to feel his cock resting between your plush ass, heavy and hard.

He reached over you to grab both your wrist with one hand, his other reached beside you to grab his belt, not even blinking once before he began to tie your wrist behind you, letting your binded wrist rest on your back. He watched you squirm and tug on the new restraints with a huff.

“Wow…look at you, huh? How many times have you played out having me bent over in a suite?” You spoke up, giving a breathy giggle.

“Oh, I don't think you wanna know.” He chuckled quietly, before moving his cock to your cunt as he guided the tip up and down your folds, using your cum as a make-shift lube.

“Don’t scream, sweetheart.” He warned with a grin before he slammed his hips against your ass, filling you to the brim in one thrust as one hand rested on your hip, the other holding your bound wrist.

“Oh—!” You gasped, the side of your face nuzzling against the pillow as your back arched deeper, biting down on your bottom lip to muffle a whine that left your lips.

You felt your eyes roll back as Robert began pumping in and out of you, soft pants leaving his lips as he pressed his palm against the back of your head, fucking you into the mattress at a teasingly slow pace.

“How’re you doing down there, pretty? Hm?” He teased, punctuating his words with a particularly harsh thrust.

You gave a gasp as you felt his tip push against your cervix, your nails digging into your palm as you tried to catch the breath he continuously kept knocking out of your lungs.

The way he was talking wasn't helping either, every comment that left his lips only seeming to make you needier.

“Mhmmn. That feels so good, doesn’t it, pretty girl?” He panted against your ear as his hand on your head moved to wrap around your throat once more, his hips quickening their pace. “See how good I can make you feel when you just lose the attitude and behave?”

All you could give was a nod and whine out a pathetic “Mhm!, Yes—God, yes—“ , letting him marvel at just how easily he broke you down. He was so deep couldn't decipher where he’d end and you began.

You felt your vision begin to blur, your breaths labored as you blabbered absolute nonsense about wanting more and wanting it hard.

“Shit, you’re so pretty, sweetheart—Don’t even know what you do to me, do you?” He gasped against your shoulder, his breath hot and heavy. A groan slipped past his lips as he kept his pace quick, the force of his hips jolting you forward with each thrust just for his hand on your throat to keep you in place.

His hand on your throat only egged you on further, a dizzy, fucked-out giggle slipping past your lips before it bled into a moan, wrist still tugging on the tight leather around them.

He gave a shuddered breath when he felt your gummy walls squeeze around his cock like a vice, the faint ‘shlick’ echoing throughout the room as his hips rammed forward against your ass. Each of his thrust added onto the ring of white that’s already gathered on the base of his cock.

You could feel his chest rising and falling against your back as the muscles in your thighs tensed, the waves of hot pleasure shooting up your spine every time be brushed against that gummy spot inside you leaving you at its mercy. Leaving you to just feel.

The smell of sex filled your nostrils, your breath catching in your throat with every pulse and twitch roberts cock gave inside your weeping cunt. You tried to speak, to beg or mock–but your tongue felt fuzzy and heavy against your lips.

You felt that familiar knot of pressure forming in your lower tummy, your whole body tensing as your arms writhed behind you. The feeling of Roberts tongue dragging up and down your neck only pushed you further to the edge, your legs beginning to shake as you felt a wave of pleasure crashing over you.

“You close, baby? Gonna let that pretty pussy finish all over my cock with me?” Robert spoke, his voice low as a moan slipped past his lips, his abdomen tensing as he felt himself get closer with each pump in and out of your dripping cunt. All you could muster was a nod,feeling him twitch inside you like he was trying not to fill you to the brim right then and there,

“Cmon sweetheart, finish for me. And let me see that pretty face while you do.” Robert urged teasingly, watching as your glossy eyes focused back onto his. “Oh, and say thank you.” He whispered against your ear.

The moment your gaze met his, he was a goner. Your fucked out expression was enough to tip him over the edge as he kept his gaze locked on yours. His eyes fluttering as he spilled his seed into you, the sudden feeling sending you crashing over the edge with him.

“Robert, fuck, thank you–!” You managed to blabber out between your muffled moans into the pillow. Your arms and thighs tensing as your vision went white before you blinked all the stars away.

Robert continued to fuck you through the aftershocks, his hips stuttering for just a moment as he groaned against your shoulder blade.

The two of you took a moment to catch your breath, roberts hand leaving your throat as he undid the belt around your wrist before tossing it aside just as before.

Robert quickly flipped you around, the tip of his half-hard cock still inside you as his hands caressed the underside of your thighs before he slowly began pressing them further, and further, until he had you folded into a mean mating press with your calves dangling off his shoulders.

You gave a small groan as you adjusted to the sudden change in position, the hunger in Robert's eyes still visible as you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting your eyes trail down his scarred torso.

Suddenly without warning, Robert bottomed himself out inside you once again, groaning at the way your gummy and overstimulated walls practically hugged his cock like they were made for each other.

Your hands immediately began scrambling, one tugging and tightening in his hair while the other found purchase on his back, nails digging into the already scarred skin as you tilted your head back, mouth hung open as you let out a string of moans, every pump of his cock inside your greedy cunt quickening his pace.

Robert swore it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

His hands held your waist tight, leaving you arching up as he kept pulling you back to meet his thrust, his cock pulling out of the tip before slamming back in, kissing your cervix enough times to make your body jump.

“Shiiit–s’too much, Robert–mmn!” you whined out, head still tilted back as he fucked you stupid, your attitude lost somewhere deep in the depths of your brain that refused to function right now.

“Eyes on me baby. Look at who’s making you feel this good, yea? Who’s using you like you’ve practically been beggin’ him to.” He spoke firmly amidst your gasps, one hand moving up from your waist to grasp your chin, leaning your head forward as he made sure your eyes were locked on him.

His head moved down to let his lips graze your tits, his tongue swirling around your perky nipple as his mouth closed around it, watching your back arch before switching to give the other the same attention, all the while his eyes remained locked on your hazy ones.

The way his chest pressed against your inner thighs left you folded like a lawn chair, his cock pumping deeper at the welcoming angle. You couldn't even think, mustering up a slurred “Please–”

You were a writhing mess, Roberts hands back on your waist as he made your back arch up towards him. You nearly squealed when you felt his hand pressing down on your lower stomach, a curse slipping past his own lips as his brow furrowed at the feeling.

“You take me so good, gorgeous...I've got you.” Robert whispered, leaning forward as his free hand raised up to your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before sliding it past, groaning as he felt you bite down and run your tongue over it.

You two were both a panting and sweaty mess, curses and murmurs slipping past both your lips before you suddenly heard a door slam, and what followed after was a stuttering and nervous voice.

Seems Waterboy was still on janitor duty for tonight…even though Robert swears blazer said he could take off.

“Any…Anyone here–In here?” Herman spoke up, his cleaning supplies in his bag as his voice rang out.

The two of you were hidden from the poor man's view by the curtain around the bed, yet you still froze in place, his cock stilling as it remained stuffed inside your cunt. He wouldn't move, christ, he wouldn't even breathe.

Until he felt you clench around him, a small sigh leaving him as he kept his face in the crook of your neck.

And then he dragged his hips back and forth, slow and deep. Once, and then twice, until he found a pace that was enough to make you tense and squirm while keeping the sound of your weeping cunt muted.

“You can be quiet for me, can’t you pretty girl?” He whispered against your shoulder, a hand still pressing down on your lower tummy while his other moved to push his middle and index finger into your mouth, letting you bite down on them as you gave a shaky sigh and a nod.

He smiled at your obvious attempts to stay silent, placing a kiss onto your shoulder.

faint footsteps trail into the room, the sound of fabric on fabric ringing through the quiet room as Herman cleaned up the discarded clothes on the floor. All while Robert continued to bury his cock deep into you. He pulled his fingers from your mouth a shit-eating grin on his lips as he leaned up to kiss you, his movements teasingly slow and hard.

But you could feel how tense he was, your nails digging into his biceps as you kissed him back. He was teasing himself just as much as you by doing this, yet he maintained his semblance of control.

The moment you heard the suite doors shut for a second time, you let out a moan against Robert's lip, one you’d been holding back ever since Herman entered to clean.

Roberts' pace immediately quickened as he panted against your lips–harder, faster. His breaths were harsh as he moved his hand from your lower tummy down to your clit, rubbing and pinching the sensitive bud. “Look at you, pretty, all dumb and desperate for my cock like you need it to live.” He spoke, his own voice beginning to sound needy.

He was close, stupidly close, and he wanted to finish with you.

You felt tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer fucked-out bliss you felt, gasping and whining out half-prayers, half pleas for more.

Robert's thrust grew sloppy and uneven as he felt you clenching around him, your cunt sucking him in so tight he’d think you didn't want him to leave. His rhythm grew completely off–all because of you, and what you didn't even realize you did to him.

His free hand flew to your waist, his grip bruising as he kept you close to him, moans spilling from both your lips like some erotic harmony as you both chased your release. He's muttering breathlessly against your shoulder, as your nails dragged down his back.

“Fuck-s’good–Robert, m’close..” You whimpered against his lips as he went to kiss you, tongue and teeth clashing with pure need.

“Thats it, sweetheart–cmon.” He grunted, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside of you, a shudder running through your wrecked body when you cried out a moan due to him continuing to fuck you through your undoing.

“Too much, please–” You nearly sobbed from the sudden overstimulation, catching your breath with a sniffle as he slowly pulled out with a groan, letting your legs fall onto the bed on either side of him, aching.

Robert quietly mourned the loss of your warm cunt before hands found your face, pulling you into a kiss.

Except this time it was soft–gentle. Like he was conveying every deep-seated feeling he had harbored for you into it.

“Dont ever fucking make me chase you around like that again, pretty.” He whispered against your lips, nearly pleading between laboured breaths as he rested his forehead against your own.

“Youre mine, alright?” He added quietly before kissing you again softly.

You gave him a lazy nod, your body too tired to muster up the energy to speak, simply finding yourself melting into the comfort of the bed, your eyelids beginning to feel heavy.

“Hey…let me get you cleaned up, sweetheart..then you can sleep.” He murmured softly as he got off from above you, placing one last kiss onto your tummy.

You gave a soft grumble in protest, reluctantly opening your eyes as you watched him pull back the curtains, revealing the before messy room to now be organized.

“Huh. Guess Herman did a pretty good job,” Robert spoke with a small chuckle before heading towards the suite's bathroom.

You laid there, eyes quietly roaming your surroundings before a small chuckle left your lips, causing Robert to come back with a damp rag and confused look on his face.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” He spoke, not being able to help the chuckle that followed after watching you.

“Just…” You spoke up, voice hoarse. “i always thought you were a vanilla kinda guy,” you whispered with a small snicker, jolting when the cool rag gently brushed against your sensitive cunt.

“Well,” Robert shrugged, gently cleaning you up. “Now you know I'm not.” He murmured, taking a shirt he grabbed from his suitcase and gently helping you put it on.

“Now, quit questioning how kinky I am and get some sleep.” He spoke, laying down beside you as he tugged the blanket over both of you.

“The banquet isn’t that important anyways.” He whispered against your hair as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close as he let himself relax.

You all but melted into Robert’s arms, cuddling up close to him as you found yourself dulling into sleep almost immediately

And as you drifted off, you found yourself thinking you could really get used to this.

Sonar : 11:28pm —

"Ma'am, you won a fucking award, where are you??"

"..You guys still fucking or what?"

blonde blazer was the first person you bumped into while trying to find your way around. but.. was it normal you got to bump into each other so often during work hours?

...

was she dodging her hours to eat strawberry shortcakes with you?

...

maybe...

"oh my gosh, this one is made with french dough! it tastes amazing... don't you think?" you were delighted as you lifted a spoonful into your mouth, strawberries, cream, and all. you were eyes closed humming in happiness, but where was mandy looking? you of course.

her mouth was slightly agape, watching how ecstatic you were discussing the different flavors you could taste in each dessert made her feel all warm inside.

she couldn't help that feeling grow, even whenever she dropped by your office with a 'severe injury' (a few scratches and a bruise made by the boxes she had to carry) from her oh-so hard labor job... of course she needs the very nice cute cool and great doctor of the workplace....

"you've been getting hurt a lot recently, are you sure that you're getting enough rest?" you shook your head in disapproval while wrapping her arm in white thin cloth. hopefully covering up anything that might cause her too much trouble to rest for the moment. "huh? oh... yeah got it."

you arched a brow, listing 'spacing out more than usual' as a note to your in-the-progress diagnosis due to suspicion she was coming down with something mental.

well, she kind of was. i mea, her eyes were under hypnosis whenever a certain somebody passed by, you just never noticed who...

but lovesick wasn't an illness you've studied before.

invisigal tended to hang around people she 'disliked' more than the ones she was on okay terms with. and one of those she didn't have her taste accustomed to was you; you never bothered with her, but still made time to keep an eye on her own injuries, small and big. what is with you, are you weird?

"you.. don't have to do that or whatever you know." her eyes rolled as you tugged her arm near, letting a hiss out at your grasp. "fuck! not too hard, doc!" exclaiming with anger in her tone, laced with sincerity... you knew your knowledge well enough she was just putting a strong output to keep her input together.

"you are injured, please realize that, courtney." - "it's invisigal, bitch!"

rolling you eyes, you could care less about 'formality' in terms of calling heroes by their hero names, you were used to calling patients by their actual names, and the higher ups gave you said sobriquets- make use of it why don't you!

"..." "..." the silence between you was extremely awkward, at least for her, with tension building as you go. her voice comes out as hostile when you apply ointment onto the open wound. your fingers were gentle, she chatted in malice. was it even a conversation if you didn't reply?

"there, all better." you blow on the bondaged part of her arm, sighing of relief. "i didn't... i didn't need your help." "well it's my job to."

and that's what she liked about this, about you. about this chase... it's the fact you weren't afraid to give back the same energy, is that what made her dream about you all the more than she already did by default?

sonar's words always lingered for a little while longer than usual, especially since he never even hung around people enough for them to last a good amount of time to process what he does speak.

"hey, doc. you mind?" he was simply taking a sip of coffee, unlocking the door with ease as he took a seat on the couch in front of your desk. your head tilts to peer over your desktop computer— ah, it was sonar.

"hello, victor. is it the wounds on your back?" you questioned like it was the simplest thing in the world, and although in pain; he nodded to confirm, trying to play it off as just nothing (even if you saw right through it).

maybe that's what made him magnetize towards you, your presence in it as itself... you were one to keep up, and he liked that. he wanted that.

badly.

"hey, doc. again—" "new ones? my god, maybe I should tell them to assign you less dangerous acts." your concern was genuine, like it was for everyone else, but come on, who doesn't feel a little fuzzy inside when someone shows care for another.

and the chance you both get alone time..? it's all for your nerdy yap about all that science-y shit he learned back at harvard... do note that he is aware how to fix all his wounds easily, maybe even better than you—but he chooses to not.

maybe you know why now.

you weren't even sure how he had gotten hurt, royd is not an easy man to scratch, especially with all the muscle built around his own frame. biceps enough to crush your average human, and probably could've become a great hero if given the chance..

"aye, doc. is it alright if ya know.." he nudges your arm as he slides over his palm, a large scratch that extends from below his index finger over to the very edge of his wrist.

"now how did this happen?" — "well ah, you se-" — "again. you better be careful around those fax machines, royd, otherwise you'll be here for the rest of week. or worse: at home."

you had a slight tease in your tone as he shook his head, playing into the whole ordeal—"you believe so? I guess I must stay on bedrest, since doc says.." he laughs loudly, while you return his chuckles all the same. you felt a smile naturally grow around him, he could say the same about you.

he knows he was pretty social, but he never got the chance to nerd out this much to anybody... and maybe that was the first thing that made him start to slip, and fall (into your arms).

you listened, you always listened. not to mention how you made sure to take care of everyone else all while keeping everything in check for every heroes' health.

it was just in his nature to fall for someone who cared. even if it was in their job description to.

flambae made often trips to your office, I mean, he started finished fights that just magically happened inside the bars he went to, catching on fire was normal, whether or not it was him or the other person in the heat.

usually it was him BUT he did not do anything to trigger anyone! (or so he claims).

"chad... you cannot keep getting into fights." you simply stated, not a question, not a suggestion, it was you setting out rules for him disappointedly like a parent to a child.

"says who? fighting is in my blood, aziza." — "if you burn your eyebrow hair off one more time you won't grow them back anymore." — "are you serious?!"

the utmost seriousness left your throat before snorting into a series of laughs. shrugging it off as no, "no, but please reduce your quarrels. it adds onto my work... when it could be easily avoided."

"I guess since doc said so, I'll try my best, yes?" he hums jokingly, nodding along before slouching more onto the couch.

he was more forward than the others, he was fine with you knowing he was a little more than just into you, and was completely fine with it. you were adorable, you cared, and you were funny. you could match him,

and fuck you couldn't just find that shit anywhere. especially in this economy!

malevola felt naturally attracted to you, like it was the easiest thing in the world. the portal opening up in your office? seems like she just got off work, in fact! most of your regulars greeted malevola as if she was apart of your clinic.

talking to you felt like honey dew, it just melted into the moment, she didn't have to pretend or try too hard to impress you or anything. god she didn't even have to be impressive, she could just be herself with you in the room, and she really liked that.

#needthat LOL

not even like she needs to get anything to wrap her wounds up―because she didn't gain any. but she did love to help you in times of supply restoration! yes she was already carrying the five boxes mentioned in the delivery truck's invoice,

"you sure you can carry that, vola?" you didn't even look up from your checkboard as you ticked off supplies she had already moved in. "all good, love, just check the shit off―i got it." confidence and softness mixed in her cheeky grin as she ran off to place it into the storage room.

"she's been at that for an hour or two now, you sure she ain't tired doc'?" colm asked with accent decored through his words, a hand on his hip as he watches the demon sprint back and forth from the truck towards the main building while alice, mandy, and colm watch nearby you.

"...i mean, her body doesn't seem to tire at all at this pace. besides, this contributes to her endurance training."

all she asks for? well, a cup of coffee or two would be nice.

prism felt at ease around you, not having to hold back her words, knowing you wouldn't judge anyways. you stayed quiet, nodded and listened, then added on a few of your own 'judgements' too.

"i mean, i just don't get it! all them people out there talk about me being too loud as if they don't do the same." — "people are just hypocrites, be as loud as you'd like here." and that? that was what caused a small, very subtle show of teeth to be seen for just a single moment. you get it, she loved that you get it!

whenever she had to rant, she always went to you, face on her knuckles as she gazed up to seeing you... wow were you always that cute?

"and then she like..." ... "—alice? hello? i'm still listening." "sorry what?"

you stared for a bit, deadpan before stating "you paused, i hope you are aware i am still avidly listening even if it is not as clear as i'd like for it to be." she... she's never been told that to be frank, and god did it feel good to know she had someone to be an ear for her.

i mean, no, she's totally normal whenever people said they loved her music, as they should—but... it was different. people always just left her on heard, or let her talk for more than ten minutes without them needing to talk as well.

yes she loves herself a good listener, thank god you were.

so, just know her next release just might, MIGHT, be titled after an inside joke you two made up about one of your clients/her coworkers :)

waterboy... well it was pretty often herman would get hurt while on the job, he was prone to it, so he ended up your regular, and THE regular who came by the most. whether it'd be from a cat scratching him, or literally his own power... yes, he gets hurt by water. no i don't know how but what happens, happens.

and no judgement in your clinic, especially when you were the one cleaning up his skin before it gets any worse. but what could be more attractive than someone who could nonstop talk about how he should be more careful when out on the job, AND can tie a tie. i mean, you were the whole package (his standards are low, he just wants to be loved).

"s-sorry, i know you're busy, i didn-" — "herman, you tried your best, do not apologize." your tone was stern, and set on allowing him to feel fine about getting damage, not everyone is immune to pain, and that was fine.

he knows its your job to, but god you looked amazing when you did. was it so bad he found someone working hard as fuck, and was damn good at it attractive? no, not at all,

"did you take the meds i prescribed yesterday?" — "yeah! y-yes! i did!" he smiled whenever you talked to him first in your clinic, yes he knows its in your job description but let a man dream!

and you know what, he did stop getting hurt so much, yet... still made the same amount of trips he usually did.

but so what, it was in your job description right!

punch up was pretty helpful around your office. especially on things that needed heavy lifting; like clients that were gravely injured- he would carry them over to you, and act as an assistant to most cases you had. like he knew every single tool... he wasn't even a doctor!

but you know what he was? a yearner.

spent a week gathering information on each tool, and spent a month helping you out to get used to it, but something he wasn't accustomed to? being the one on bedrest.

he hadn't even realized how much he cared when he saw you did.

"what is wrong with you?! you think you can just throw your life away?!" you yell as you worked onto a very open wound carefully, taking out the bullets gently out his arm—"fuck! i said i was sorry,"

"sorry won't cut it! can't you see i care? your team cares? we all care! don't you dare just leave because you feel the need to—" you went on and on about how he should not be freely giving death another soul to take, but him? he was just stuck in a trance,

stuck staring at you.

"you're amazing, doll..." "what the hell did you just say colm?!"

coupe had ended up becoming close to you while exchanging a few glaring, sarcastic insults to one another, sparking more conversations between you both all while assisting you in your office, whether it'd be arranging your things for you,

getting coffee... andddd... keeping an eye on your sleep schedule. she knew more than anything that sleep was important, one night she discovers how true her feelings were in spite of the sarcasm that followed when she spoke to your face.

"name..." nudging your shoulder using her wing as she stood a little further from you. "name..." another hushed whisper enters your ear, thinking it's just apart of your dream... "doc!" - "—whuh.. what?"

you had nodded off while making a diagnosis on one of the office workers who were looking for a reason behind the voices in their head, the coffee cup beside you had been finished over, and over, and over again.

"jan... what are you doing here so late..." — " doc, it's morning already. office hours up." — "well, shit."

her hand was already massaging your scalp as she sighs turning to a smile, a small scoff paired with it. "i know just a bit about first aid, if you'd like i could take over for a while." "i guess that'd be great."

before she knew it, you already passed out onto the desk once more, giving coupe a chance to bring you over to your couch at the very least... tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear,

eyes widening before- "what the hell am i doing."

You liked writing cute little messages or smiley faces on his cup. You scribble good luck surviving on his cup. He counters the next morning by sliding a folded receipt back across the counter with You’re doing great. Probably. Written in surprisingly neat handwriting. You keep it. You don’t know why you keep it. You just do.

Some mornings he looks better—less hollow under the eyes, shoulders not quite as tense. Other mornings he looks worse, jaw tight, knuckles white around the cup like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Those days, you draw a little smiley face anyway. Those days, he stares at it longer before leaving.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says once, nodding at the cup.

You shrug, light and easy. “Occupational hazard. Excessive cheerfulness.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “Dangerous in small cafés.”

Whenever he's talking, you can't help but focus on those big brown eyes, his freckles that you're still trying to count, man he fills out that work shirt oh so nicely, and what's that odd chunk taken out of his ear that you haven't worked up the courage to ask him about yet, and—

What is he doing to you?

Ten minutes past his usual time turns into twenty. You keep glancing at the door like it’s going to explain itself. It doesn’t. You feel stupid for the disappointment curling in your chest. He’s just a customer. A regular. A man with tired eyes and freckles and an ear that looks like it’s been through something violent.

He does come in, later than usual, hair still damp like he showered in a rush. There’s a faint bruise blooming along his collarbone, half-hidden by his shirt.

“You look like hell,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You should see the other guy.”

You laugh—too quickly—and slide his cup over. This time, instead of a smiley face, you write Be careful, okay?

His finger stills when he reads it.

.•*•.

The week after, he comes into the shop late again. 

“Hey Robert, sleep in?” 

“Yeah, shit…” He drags a hand down his face, then ruffles his hair like he’s trying to wake himself up.

“Want your usual?” 

“I'm just kinda in a rush.” 

“You know you can make instant coffee at home if you just need a fix,” you say lightly. “I won’t be offended.”

“Yeah…” He scratches the back of his head, hesitating. “I guess I wanted to stop in and see you, though.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Is that so?” You lean over the counter, resting your chin in your hands.

“I don't think I'm just coming for the coffee anymore.” 

Your heart flutters. Okay. This is it. Now’s your chance—shoot your shot. 

“Well,” you say, trying to sound casual, “my shift ends at five, handsome.” You add a wink for good measure.

His face flushes, and for a split second you’re convinced you’ve misread everything. Maybe you imagined the tone in his voice. Maybe he just sees you as a friendly barista. Oh god, you’re spiraling.

Then, to your surprise, he smiles—soft, a little shy—and nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” 

.•*•.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Time seems to drag and sprint all at once as you wait for five o’clock. Then he returns, looking a little worse for wear but happy to see you regardless.

“Hey, w-would you like anything before we leave?” 

“No no, I'm fine; I think I've got all I need right here.” 

“Robert…” You blush, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “What, um, would you like to do?” 

“I imagine you're hungry after your shift.” 

“I can make dinner!” 

Robert lifts a brow, amusement now slipping into his voice. “I think it's highly unfair that the girl I ask to dinner, who also makes my coffee, would make me dinner.” 

You laugh. “Well, what do you suggest?” 

So there you are in your living room eating Chinese food with Robert Robertson. Yeah, you had a good laugh about that one. Conversation comes easily after that: work stories and shared venting about coworkers. 

“I have some coolers in the fridge if you want,” you say after a while. “Unless you’re driving home soon.”

“I don’t live too far from here, actually,” he says. “And yeah—that’d be nice.” 

You get up to grab the drinks, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that this is happening. When you come back, he’s standing a little awkwardly, hands shoved into his pockets.

“You're, uh, free to kick me out whenever. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable.” “Oh, don't worry about that. This is nice.” 

He sits beside you, close but not touching, shoulders tense like he’s trying not to take up too much space. The TV hums softly in the background, forgotten. After a moment, he relaxes, leaning back into the cushions. Your knee brushes his. Neither of you move it away.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

You don't quite know how it happens, but sometime within the past hour he falls asleep on your lap. His breathing is soft and even, with the occasional sleepy murmur slipping past his lips. It’s… cute. You don’t move, even when your leg starts to tingle. You just let him rest. After an hour he stirs. He blinks, unfocused, then stiffens when he realizes where he is. He sits up too quickly, mortified. You smile and giggle as he apologizes profusely. 

“Oh fuck, shit—I'm sorry. This is embarrassing. Were you bored?” 

You laugh gently. “No. I dozed off for a bit too, actually.” You shrug. “I think you needed the sleep."

He groans softly. “Yeah. Probably. Did I even get coffee today?”

“Nope.”

“Fantastic,” he mutters. “Maybe I should’ve. It’s been… kind of a day. And I fell asleep on you.” He winces. “Thanks for putting up with me.”

You reach over to rub at the bags under his eyes. 

You reach out without thinking, thumb brushing the dark circles under his eyes. “It might’ve helped,” you say quietly. “Even just a little.”

Your hand lingers longer than necessary. He notices—of course he does.

“Uh,” he says, voice tentative, “something on my face?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Freckles.”

He snorts. “Not much I can do about that.”

“Good,” you say. “They’re cute.”

His face goes pink instantly, heat creeping up his neck. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, suddenly very interested in the far wall. You pull your hand back, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are. You both ultimately lose your nerve and awkwardly space out on the couch. 

Robert clears his throat. “I'm gonna head home and feed my dog.” 

“Yeah, for sure.” 

“You working Monday?” 

“Yep.” 

“Great, see you bright and early.” 

You regret not making a move that night and beat yourself up about it all weekend. But it wasn't a big deal; Robert did the same thing, losing sleep over it even, poor guy. He asks you out again on Monday.

.•*•.

Inevitably you end up inviting him back to your place. You're braver now (and even more desperate for his touch). You're on your couch, both anticipating each other's movements. But he beats you to it. He leans in slowly, kissing you with a gentleness that ignites all your senses. Your heart soars and falls all at once, and you lean into him, blissfully thoughtless.

The next kiss is more hungry, and it steals the air from your lungs. You laugh softly against his mouth, a breathless sound, and he smiles into the kiss. When you pull back, it’s only far enough to rest your forehead against his. The room feels smaller, warmer, like the world has folded itself neatly around the two of you. 

“Wow, um, I really like you.” 

You giggle. “I really like you too, Robert.” 

“Do I need to take you out on another date, or can I ask you to go steady now?” 

“Go steady? What are you, 80?” You laugh uncontrollably. 

“Alright, alright.” 

“I wish you'd do both.” 

“Girlfriend, then another date? How does that sound?” 

“I like that.” You're still laughing till he pulls your face back to his and you melt into him. 

“I'm, uh, not the greatest at this kind of thing…” 

You blink. “I think you're a great kisser, Robert.” 

“I mean the whole dating thing. It's been a while, and I'm terrified of messing this up. I thought I ruined things with you after the first one.” 

“Well, I'm in the same boat. I'm surprised you even asked me at all…” You take his hand. “So let's take it slow, yeah?” 

He kisses you again, softer this time—like he’s sealing the promise instead of testing it. It’s slower, surer, his thumb brushing your jaw as if he’s committing the feeling to memory. When he pulls back, he exhales a quiet laugh. “Okay. Slow. I can do slow.”

“Good,” you say, smiling.

He shifts closer anyway, carefully, giving you space to stop him if you want to. You don’t. Instead, you tuck yourself against his side, your head fitting just under his chin like it’s always belonged there.

“Can I ask you something?” you say quietly.

“Anything.”

“Did you… want to kiss me the other night?” Your voice is tentative, like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.

He laughed softly. “So badly it was embarrassing.” He groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “I replayed that moment over in my head like a crime scene.”

“You fell asleep on me,” you tease.

“I felt comfortable, and I trusted you,” he says, mock-offended. Then softer: “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You turn to face him, close enough now that your noses almost brush. “You didn’t.”

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’d really like to keep doing this.”

“Me too.”

He kisses you again—carefree, affectionate, the kind of kiss that lingers even after it ends. When you finally pull away, you’re both smiling like idiots.

“So,” he says, resting his forehead against yours again. “Girlfriend?”

You grin. “Boyfriend.”

His smile is slow and stunned, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast it’ll vanish. He squeezes your hand gently.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah. I like the sound of that.”

➽──────────────❥ ₊ ݁⟡ ♡

After a few dates, Robert is sure he can trust you and opens up a bit more. When he reveals that he's Mecha Man, you are honestly more shocked that he asked you to be his girlfriend. 

“I figured something was up,” you say slowly. “Some mornings you walked into the café like you got into a bar fight.”

“Well,” Robert exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, “I probably did.”

You blink. Once. “You say that like it’s normal.”

“It’s… occupational,” he offers. “Technically.”

“Okay,” you say, holding up a finger. “Pause. Are we talking illegal underground fighting ring, or a vigilante with questionable sleep habits?”

He winces. “The second one. Definitely the second one.”

You stare at him. He stares back, jaw tight, braced like he’s waiting for impact.

“…You’re Mecha Man,” you repeat.

“Yes.”

“The one who throws cars.”

“Sometimes.”

“And punches villains.”

“Frequently.”

You sit back, processing. “Huh.”

“Huh?” he echoes, visibly confused. “That’s it?”

“What, were you expecting screaming? Tears? A dramatic exit?”

“I was prepared for pepper spray,” he admits.

You snort. “Relax. I dated a guy once who collected taxidermy squirrels. This barely cracks the top five weirdest revelations.”

That gets a laugh out of him—short, surprised, and real. Some of the tension drains from his shoulders.

“So,” you continue, tilting your head, “does this mean the ear thing?”

He instinctively touches the notch taken out of it. “Yeah. Explosion. Long story.”

“Figures,” you say. “I was guessing shark.”

He smiles, softer this time. Then it fades, seriousness creeping back in.

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted to impress you,” he says quietly. “I told you because… if this goes anywhere, you deserve to know what you’re signing up for.”

You meet his eyes. Those same big brown ones that looked half-dead over a coffee cup months ago.

“And what exactly am I signing up for?” you ask.

He swallows. “Late nights. Missed calls. Worry. Me coming home hurt and pretending I’m fine.”

You nod. “I already clocked that.”

“And danger,” he adds. “Real danger.”

You consider that for a moment, then shrug. “Robert, I work morning shifts. I live off caffeine and bad decisions. I think I’ll survive.”

That earns him a quiet laugh—but his gaze sharpens when you reach across the table and take his hand.

“I’m more concerned about something else,” you say.

“Yeah?”

“You told me you’re Mecha Man,” you say gently. “But you haven’t explained why you thought that was less scary than asking me to be your girlfriend.”

He freezes.

“…Because I’ve been punched by tanks,” he says after a beat. that was somehow still easier than risking you saying no.”

Your chest tightens.

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hand, “for the record—superhero secrets aside—that might be the bravest thing you’ve done.”

He looks at you like he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“So,” he says carefully, “you’re not… running?”

You smile. “No.”

“… You’re sure?”

“Robert,” you say, leaning in, voice soft but steady, “if I can handle you ordering boring black coffee every morning, I think I can handle you being Mecha Man.”

The first time you two have sex is a complete accident. Well… it's like your 6th date or something, and you couldn't keep your hands off each other after a heavy makeout session. His hand accidentally squeezes your boob, and he immediately retracts it. 

“Fuck, sorry. Can I?” You frantically nod. “Thank you.” He enthusiastically fondles and squeezes. “Fuck, you're so soft.” You're pawing at each other's shirts, frantically pulling them off. 

The moment he unclips your bra, his mouth latches onto your tit. Kissing, licking, sucking, and your moans only spur him on. You fall back onto the bed, and he's pulling off your pants and panties in one go. “Please let me—” 

“Yes! Anything-! P-please!” Panting, begging him desperately. 

He spreads your legs and, with a quick kiss to your inner thigh, buries his face in your pussy. He's messy and sloppy, and you don't know who's groaning louder. It doesn't matter. He eagerly licks at your sensitive bundle of nerves, coaxing out your sweetest moans. 

“R-Robert! I can't!” Your head is spinning so fast you can't keep up with the feeling growing in your core. He pushes two fingers into you, and you come immediately. He cleans you up with his tongue and slurs. “I think I just found m’new favorite treat.” He says with a kiss to your thigh.

“Roberrrt,” you squirm. “Put it in, please—” you reach down to feel the spreading wet spot on his pants. “D-did you-” 

“Oooh yeah. I—I just need a minute, please…” He sounds drunk. “Shit, I don't have a condom.” 

“Forget it, I'm on the pill. I need you now.” 

“F-fuck, ok.” He sits you up, letting you position yourself above him. You're both groaning, letting out a string of expletives as you sink onto him. His grip is bruising on your hip, but you don't care. You rock your hips, throwing back your head as you take him deeper.

Robert is babbling on about how you take him so well and look like an angel. He thrusts up into you and slams your hips down, lost in you. You're soaking his lap; you might even see some drool on the side of his mouth. 

“M'close!” You cry out before Robert lets his thumb catch your clit, rubbing in quick succession till you seize up.

“Ah! Robert!” Your orgasm crashes over you, and you milk his cock, feeling him spill his hot seed into you. You drape over him, collapsing in his embrace.

“Fuck, that's not how I wanted that to go…” “Robert, I don't care. It was hot, and I loved it.” Sloppy, messy, passionate. He pulls out of you with a loud schlorp, and you leak everywhere. You lead him to the bathroom for a quick (not so quick) shower. 

When you finally get around to going to Robert's place, you gasp audibly at the lack of well… everything.

A chair? A pillow for Beef to lay on? This boy needs some help.

You take him to the mattress store the next day and promise to help pay for it as long as you help him break it in. Suddenly, he's very enthusiastic about mattress buying and becomes a connoisseur. 

“Nah, this one's too stiff... How does this one feel on your knees, baby?” You're fully blushing from head to toe when you ask for help from the sales assistant. 

You also had to convince him to get a bed frame and slapped him silly after he said he was undeserving of one. 

“Robert Robertson, you are not putting that new bed on the floor with no springboard or frame. Your apartment is already a peak male living space.” 

“You just hate that I can live comfortably with less stuff than you.” 

“Robert!” 

He sighs. “Yes, ma'am, whatever you like, ma'am...” Beef gets treated to a bigger bed as well. And some doggy steps you occasionally push up to the bed so he can climb up while you three nap.

The room is quiet in that soft, late-night way. You’re half-draped over Robert, your hand sprawled across his chest like it belongs there. Warm skin. Solid. Familiar now. Your fingers move slowly, tracing lines you didn’t put there—raised scars, thin ones, thicker ones, and some that curve strangely like they changed direction mid-story.

You pause at one, just below his collarbone.

“Those must have hurt.”

Robert exhales, the sound more tired than pained. “Some of them did.”

Not dismissive. Just honest.

Your thumb follows the edge of another scar, lighter than the rest, almost faded. “And the others?”

He shrugs beneath you. “Adrenaline’s a hell of a thing. You don’t usually feel it until later.”

You don’t reply. Instead, you lean down and press a kiss to his chest—soft, lingering. Then another. And another. You map him with your mouth the same way you do with your hands, slow and careful, like you’re trying to memorize where he’s been.

He stiffens at first, instinctive, like he’s bracing for impact instead of affection.

“You don’t have to—” he starts.

“I know,” you murmur against his skin, kissing a scar that cuts diagonally over his ribs. “I want to.”

That quiets him.

Your fingers trail lower, tracing the story his body tells without words. Some scars are jagged, angry. Others are neat, surgical, like someone tried to put him back together after the fact. You linger on one near his side, smaller but deeper.

“This one,” you say softly. “This one scared me when I first noticed it.”

He swallows. “Yeah. That one scared me too. The cut was pretty deep, and I lost a lot of blood. It opened back up a few times and almost got infected.”

You look up at him then. His eyes are on the ceiling, jaw tight, but he doesn’t pull away. “This is me being vulnerable. Please appreciate how uncomfortable I am.”

You press your palm flat over his heart, grounding both of you.

“You’re alright, Robert. You’re still here,” you say. “That’s what matters.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks at you. There’s something unguarded there, something raw.

“No one’s ever…” He trails off, then gives a quiet huff. “No one’s ever looked at them like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like they don’t make me broken or weak.”

You lean up and kiss him—gentle, patient. “They don’t,” you say. “They mean you survived.”

His arm tightens around you, pulling you closer, like he needs the weight of you there to believe it. You rest your head on his chest again, listening to his heartbeat, steady and real.

Robert feels safe.

You really fall in love with beef. How could you not? He's just a big, fat, affectionate lump of love. “Oh Robert… that poor dog. Let me walk him. What kind of diet do you have him on?” 

“See food diet.” 

“What?” 

“He sees food, and he eats it.” You glare at him threateningly.

Most times when you're holding Beef, you can feel the radiating glare from Robert across the room. “Are you jealous, Robertson?” 

“Well, maybe if you spent more time with me instead of Beef.” 

“Robert, come on, seriously?” 

“I'm your family too.” He huffs. 

“Of course you are.” You scruff up his hair. “I have two big babies to deal with now.” 

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄

“You remember when I would come into the cafe first thing in the morning when it opened? And I would catch you dancing around the counter?” 

“Yeah.” You raise your brow.  

“I was definitely checking out your ass. Respectfully.” 

“Oh, of course. Glad I could provide some entertainment.” 

“A good cup of joe and a good JO.” 

“Robert! You pervert!” 

“I was a little ashamed. But you look reeeally cute in your cafe uniform.” 

“Maybe I'll put it back on afterwards for some roleplay.” 

“Okay.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

“Robert!”

“What?? You offered!” 

“I'm going to punish you for being a perv.” 

“I probably deserve it. But you reeeeally have a nice ass.” 

“You can kiss it if you want.” 

“I thought you said you wanted to punish me?”  

“Fine, I'll wear a slick, sleek superhero suit instead.” 

“Again, I'm failing to see the punishment aspect.”

“I know, I can't make up my mind... I think I just want to fuck you.”

“That can be arranged.”

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.

Another horrified gasp escapes you when he tells you his “diet.” He may be going to the gym, but he's not getting any gains with ramen and Twinkies. You soon take over, becoming his personal chef. Going as far as to meal prep for the both of you and Beef too. 

“Can you make me coffee?” 

“I'm not your barista anymore, Robertson.” 

“But it tastes better when you make it.” 

“You only want like a drop of cream and sugar now.” 

“And?” 

“Ugh, give me a second.” 

“Thank you, baby.”

You cook and clean for him? What did he ever do to deserve this? To deserve you?

.•*•.

You do try and get him to taste your coffee occasionally. “Come on, Robert, try it; it's soooo sweet.” 

“I think that would be considered torture under the Geneva Convention.” 

“This is one of the most delicious things in the world! You just can't appreciate it.” 

“Aww, honey. You are really committed to being wrong. That's dedication.”

.•*•.•*•.•*•.

One thing you come to learn about Robert is that he has an off switch.

You're there scratching his back when he makes a low groan. Or a purr? “You sure you're not a cat, Robertson?” 

“Mmh, keep going, please.” 

“Careful, keep being cute like that and I'll bite a chunk out of your other ear.” 

“Please don't.” 

“You gonna stop me?” 

“Not right now; I feel like I'm melting into your cute, scratchy fingertips.”

You successfully scratch him to sleep. 

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

You also learn a few more things about Robert~

“What do you mean you never watched Star Wars?! Or Lord of the Rings?!” 

“Never really had time to.” 

You proceed to sit him down to binge both over the next week. Went as far as to dress Beef as Princess Leia with the hair buns and everything.

.•*•.•*•.

“Really, Robertson, clowns? You're scared of clowns.” 

“You cannot look at that thing and tell me it's not creepy… Staring right through me with those creepy clown eyes.” 

“Are you sure you're Mecha Man?” 

He flips you the bird, making you laugh hysterically. 

.•*•.•*•.•*•.

Robert really likes eating you out. He would go as far as to say it's his favorite foreplay. He calls you his little rockstar because he swears he gets a boost of energy every time he eats you out. Has to get you off a few with his tongue before he even thinks about sticking his dick in you. He’d stay there for hours if you'd let him. Feasting on you like the starved man he is. He's addicted to the way you taste. All of a sudden he doesn't need coffee anymore.

And it goes without saying that he loves your ass and your boobs. “Yep, I could die here.” Robert murmurs from between your breasts, sighing happily. 

“Please don't.” 

“I might.” 

"I'll ban you."

"You wouldn't!" He gasps.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You show up to SDN one day with his forgotten lunch and a kiss to his cheek; the team gawks at you. 

“So did you uh, get a deal to pay an escort monthly or yearly?” Sonar looks you up and down. 

“With this budget? Nah, Robert musta had-ta pull some strings.” Prism adds. 

“Yeah, there's no way you pulled her, Bobby boy.” Sonar takes a bite out of his apple.

“First, this is my girlfriend, y/n; second of all, fuck you guys.” He pulls you to the side. “Honey, didn't we have a long conversation about never coming into the office?” 

“Come on, Robert, we're not gonna bite her.” Malevola rolls her eyes. 

“But you will scare her away, so leave.”

You smirk. “It's alright, baby. Besides, I had to bring you your lunch. When you don't eat right, you take it out on me in the bedroom, right? And I thought we could make love tonight for once.” You pout, swirling your finger around on his chest.

“Fack me, I like her.” Punch up adds. 

“Yeah, I think she fits in just fine.” Flambae stated. 

“Does this mean his dick is bigger than we think?” Invisigal sneers.

“Yeah, you definitely don't have a thing for micro peens, right y/n?” Sonar questions. 

“Can't say I do, quite the opposite in fact.” 

The team erupts into a howl of whistles and hollers, making Robert groan. He thanks you for the meal and gets Waterboy to show you out quickly in fear of an HR violation. He wishes you had waited until he brought you to work on his own but knew he was going to get teased either way. And when he gets home, he pounds you into the mattress anyway.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

“Beef has legs y’know. He's been walking fine.” 

“I know, but he's just so cute. It's fun to carry him around. Besides, it'll be good practice if we ever have kids.” 

Robert immediately does a spit take. “Sorry dear, I didn't mean to—i-is that something you want?” 

“Well yeah sure, I think it would be nice. We’d make good parents-” 

“Put the dog down, y/n.” 

“Ooookay.” You do so, and the second you do, Robert pounces on you. Kissing you deeply. 

“Do you want to practice making a kid- like right now?” 

“Really? You'd want to?” 

“Yes.” 

“You sure you're thinking with the right head, Robertson?” 

“Nah, not at all.” 

Robert proceeds to pound you silly for the rest of the night. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

And even now he still doesn't know what he did to deserve you. Or why you'd even want him. But you do. 

Robert has an album chock full of you and Beef sleeping together in your shared bed. Little does he know you have an album too, but it is mostly him and Beef sleeping and drooling. Like father, like furry son. 

It truly doesn't get any better than this. He's thankful for you every day. You're cuddling in bed one night, going on about how he saved you. He saved you? Nah, you saved him—and that's something he tells you on your wedding day through blurry vision. 

Both of your vows are less about grand promises and more about quiet truths. He says you saved him in all the ways that mattered. Not with heroics or fists or steel, but with coffee cups and patience. With staying. With seeing him when he didn’t know how to be seen without armor on. He thanks you for choosing him on the days he felt unchoosable.

You tell them he never needed saving—just someone who showed up. Someone to teach him how to rest. Someone who let himself be loved even when it scared him. You tell him he taught you what steady feels like. What safe feels like. What home feels like.

There’s laughter through the tears. There are pauses where neither of you can speak, and no one minds. When you finally kiss, it’s soft and familiar and full—like every night you ever fell asleep tangled together, like every morning coffee shared in quiet kitchens.

Later, when the room is empty and the day has finally caught up to you, you curl into him again. Same bed. Same warmth. Same man who once stumbled into your café half-awake and unknowingly walked into the rest of his life.

“You're a good man, Robertson.” “And you're a wonderful woman, Mrs. Robertson.” He says with a kiss pressed to your temple as you watched your grandchildren play. Robert was a tired man but happy and fulfilled nonetheless.

And it's then you both realize—neither of you were saved.

You were found.

Yeah, dating you? One of the best decisions he's ever made.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Down there- beneath abandoned warehouses, shuttered arcades, places no one bothers to remember anymore- you fight under flickering lights and a crowd that smells like sweat, copper, and money changing hands. The crowd presses close, shoulder to shoulder, faces half-lit and hungry.

They don’t chant your name. They don’t know it. You’re a nickname scrawled on a betting board, a silhouette stepping into chalked circles and bloodstained concrete. A thing to be watched, measured, and spent.

Your power doesn’t announce itself with spectacle. It seeps.

Your senses sharpen first. Sound separates into layers- the scrape of boots on concrete, the flutter of breath behind clenched teeth, the nervous heartbeat of someone who’s already decided they’re going to lose. Smell follows. Adrenaline blooms sharp and sour. Fear has a thin, metallic edge. Old blood is everywhere, soaked so deep into the floor it never leaves, a permanent ghost-scent that clings to your tongue. You taste the air and know who’s injured, who’s bluffing, who’s lying to themselves, who’s one bad hit away from collapsing.

Your teeth ache when it starts. Pressure along your jaw, a familiar warning. Your canines lengthen just enough to cut your lip when you smile, and you let the blood show because it makes people hesitate. They always do.

Muscle follows instinct. Your strength isn’t flashy, it’s dense. Every movement carries more weight than it should, bones reinforced by something feral and stubborn. You crouch low without thinking, spine loose, shoulders rolling as you stalk the chalk circle. When you spring, it’s fast enough to steal breath from the room. When you land, the concrete cracks.

You fight like an animal because you learned from one.

Claws half-formed at your fingertips- never fully out, never fully hidden- catch skin, fabric, bone. You don’t slash wildly. You hook, pull, unbalance. You learned early how to use teeth without killing, where to bite to end a fight without ending a life. Shoulder. Forearm. Anywhere that makes pain scream louder than pride.

When rage spikes too high, your vision goes red at the edges. That’s when handlers shout your name- your nickname- because uncontrolled fury scares the bettors. You force it down, swallow the growl vibrating in your chest, because control keeps you fed. Control keeps you alive.

Every fight etched something into you.

How to breathe through cracked ribs while your lungs burn. How to roll with a hit so your spine doesn’t snap. How to let someone think they’ve won, just long enough to take their legs out from under them.

You learned that hesitation smells like fear. You learned mercy tastes like blood.

So when the door explodes inward- when clean air and harsh light flood the space wrong- you don’t wait to understand.

Your ears flatten instinctively. Your pupils blow wide. The crowd’s scent changes all at once- panic, confusion, money pulling back fast. Too many new smells. Too many heartbeats moving with purpose.

You bare your teeth, crouched low in the chalk circle, breath tearing in and out of your chest. You don’t know their names yet. You don’t know the uniforms mean help. All you know is that the crowd goes quiet, and quiet in the ring has only ever meant one thing: run or fight.

You choose fight.

Your power flares instinctively. You vault forward, using the wall as leverage, kicking off hard enough to crater concrete. One of them- big, loud, all muscle- goes flying when you slam into him, momentum snapping his feet out from under him. You hit him mid-chest, all weight and force, and roll on landing, already moving, already choosing the next threat.

Someone tries to flank you. You feel it before you see it- the displacement of air, the spike of intent, the subtle shift in heartbeat behind you. You spin and strike, precise and brutal, claws clipping armor, a blow placed to disable, not kill. Old habits die hard.

But they keep coming.

You draw deeper, let more of the Wolf bleed through despite the warning burn in your joints. Your breath comes faster, chest tight, vision tunneling. You take another down. Then another. Teeth flash. Claws scrape. Someone screams.

These weren’t panicked enforcers or sloppy hunters chasing a payout. Their heartbeats were steady. Their spacing deliberate. They covered each other without looking. Even when you slammed one into the wall hard enough to crater concrete, the rest adjusted instantly, closing the gap without hesitation.

That kind of coordination meant danger.

You snarl and lash out again, claws scraping armor, teeth snapping inches from a throat that should have been open. Someone- huge, unyielding- plants themselves in your path like a living wall. You slam into them and feel it immediately: they don’t budge. Stone.

Your claws screech against them uselessly, vibration rattling up your arms. The figure doesn’t strike back right away. They wait. Anchor. Let you exhaust yourself.

Fire flares to your left- not wild, not hungry, but carefully leashed. It drives you where they want you to go, away from exits, away from shadows. You leap for higher ground and nearly make it- until sound detonates around you, vibrating straight through bone and teeth, scrambling your balance midair.

You hit hard. Roll. Scramble back to your feet with a snarl tearing out of you.

Light blooms in your peripheral vision- bright, fractured, disorienting. Not pain. Confusion. Your senses, usually your greatest weapon, turn against you, overloaded by color and motion and too many inputs at once. Your hackles stand on end. Your heart pounds.

You still fight.

You always fight.

You vault again, kick off a wall, come down teeth-first toward the biggest threat in reach- and suddenly there are hands on you. Strong hands. Coordinated hands.

Manpower was never something the ring prepared you for. Down there, fights were one-on-one. Maybe two. Clean numbers. This isn’t that.

You thrash, kick, twist, crack someone in the jaw hard enough to feel bone give- but the weight piles on. You feel your strength spike- and then choke, nowhere to go, trapped under weight and coordination.

Someone pins your shoulders. Someone locks your legs. Restraints bite cold against skin. Your growl breaks into something raw, torn straight out of your chest.

A voice cuts through the chaos- calm, steady, maddeningly gentle.

“Easy. Easy. We’re not here to hurt you.”

You laugh- sharp, breathless, a sound scraped raw from your throat.

Everyone says that before they do.

As the world presses in and your power gutters low, one thought cuts through the haze, cold and certain: you were never supposed to survive this long.

And yet- here you are.

For half a second- maybe less- the noise inside you drops away. Your chest heaves. Saliva strings between bared teeth. Your senses, overstimulated and frayed, struggle to recalibrate. The ring is gone. The crowd is gone. No betting board. No handlers shouting numbers like prayers.

Stillness has always been the most dangerous moment. Stillness is when the cage locks. Stillness is when they decide you’re done being useful.

A growl rips out of you before thought can catch up.

You surge.

Your strength flares violently, Wolf crashing back to the surface in a panic-fueled spike. Restraints groan. Someone swears. Your head snaps forward, teeth flashing for a throat that jerks away just in time. Claws tear free at your fingertips, scraping sparks off armor as you thrash.

“No- no, don’t-” someone shouts.

Too late.

You kick, hard enough to throw weight off you for a heartbeat. You twist, wrenching an arm free, shoulder screaming as something strains wrong. Pain only feeds it. Pain always fed it. You learned that lesson early.

Fire flares brighter in response- not to burn you, but to keep distance. The stone braces harder, weight doubling, pinning you back down. Sound crashes again, tighter this time, compressing the space around your skull until your vision swims.

You fight anyway.

Because stopping has never kept you safe.

“Sedative,” someone says- sharp, decisive, regret threaded through it.

You don’t hear the name. You don’t hear anything clearly anymore. Your heart is pounding too loud, senses tearing at themselves, every smell and sound screaming threat.

A prick at your neck.

You snap toward it instinctively, teeth grazing fabric, breath coming out in a feral snarl. You feel the sting a half-second later- cool spreading fast beneath your skin.

“No-” you choke, body bucking. “No, no-”

Strong hands hold your head steady. Not rough. Not cruel. Unmoving.

“I know,” a voice says close to your ear. Low. Anchoring. “I know you don’t want this. But you’re hurting yourself.”

The words don’t make sense. They slide off you like rain.

Your limbs feel heavy. Too heavy. The Wolf thrashes, confused, furious, slamming against the sudden fog rolling through your veins. Your jaw clenches. Your vision blurs at the edges, colors smearing together.

You fight it.

Of course you do.

Your claws scrape uselessly now. Your kicks lose force. Your growl breaks apart into something breathless and broken. The strength drains out of you in uneven waves, leaving shaking in its wake.

Someone catches you before your head hits the floor. The last thing you register is how carefully they lower you down.

When you wake, the first thing you register is wrongness.

Not pain- though that’s there too, a low, all-over ache like your body’s been rung out and hung up to dry- but constraint. Pressure around your jaw. Something firm and unforgiving strapped over your mouth, cradling your muzzle and teeth, forcing your bite closed before you can even test it.

You snarl on instinct.

It comes out muffled. Useless.

The room smells wrong too. Clean. Antiseptic. Under it, familiar things- stone dust, sweat- but no blood. No crowd. No copper tang clinging to the air. Lights hum softly overhead, steady and unthreatening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

A low sound crawls up your throat, vibrating against the inside of the muzzle. You twist your wrists, flex your fingers, feel the bands tighten in response, reacting to strain before you can build momentum. Smart restraints. Built for people like you.

“Hey,” a voice says, gentle but loud enough to cut through the haze. “Easy there, champ.”

You turn your head sharply- and freeze.

He’s huge. Bigger than anyone in the ring ever was. Broad shoulders, thick arms, posture relaxed like he’s deliberately making himself non-threatening. He’s sitting on a chair pulled backward, forearms resting on the back, giving you space he doesn’t actually need to give.

“Good morning,” he adds. “Or… afternoon? Hard to tell with all the lights. You scared the hell outta us back there.”

Your lips curl beneath the muzzle. You bare teeth you can’t use.

He notices anyway.

“Yeah, okay, fair,” he admits, holding up his hands. “I’d be pissed too.”

Stone shifts nearby.

“You are awake,” the creature says. His voice is low, gravelly, carefully measured. “That is good.”

He looks down at you, expression carved into something permanently neutral. When he speaks, his voice is low and steady, like boulders settling.

“You’re secure,” he continues. “You’re not in danger.”

You thrash again, harder this time, rage flaring hot and immediate. The restraints flare in response, humming louder. Your muscles scream. The muzzle digs into your jaw.

Punch Up winces. “Okay, see, that’s the opposite of what he just said.”

Your glare snaps back to him.

“Name’s Punch Up,” he adds, thumbing his chest. “Big guy’s Golem. We’re with the Z Team.”

That word means nothing to you.

You jerk your head side to side, testing the muzzle, breath coming fast through your nose. 

Your senses scrape for exits, threats, angles- anything. The room is built against that. Rounded corners. Reinforced walls. No shadows deep enough to hide in.

Golem shifts slightly, just enough to block your line of sight to the door without making a show of it.

“You were sedated for your own safety,” he says. “You were pushing past structural limits. Bone density reinforcement or not, your joints were starting to fail.”

You let out a harsh, broken sound that might have been a laugh if you still remembered how.

Punch Up’s grin fades a notch. “Yeah. You kinda went full blender mode. We weren’t thrilled about dogpiling a kid, for the record.”

Kid.

The word hits harder than the restraints.

Your breathing stutters. Anger flares, sharp and humiliating, heat crawling up your spine. You strain again, not because it’ll work, but because stopping feels like death.

Golem doesn’t flinch. He does, however, lower himself slightly- bringing his face closer to your level without looming.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says, slow and deliberate. “You’re not going back to the ring.”

Your eyes burn.

Punch Up scratches at the back of his neck. 

“Look, I know that’s what everyone says,” he adds, quieter now. “But we don’t bust kids out of fighting pits just to toss them into another cage. That’d be… pretty messed up.”

You stare at them both, chest heaving, instincts screaming liar liar liar.

Still. They haven’t hit you. Haven’t threatened you. Haven’t called you by a betting name.

Golem reaches up- not toward you, but to the side of the table- and taps a control. The restraints loosen just enough to ease the pressure without giving you room to fight. The adjustment is careful. Considerate.

“You’re safe here,” he repeats.

Punch Up shifts his weight, boots scuffing softly against the floor. He glances at Golem, then back at you, reading the tension coiled tight in your shoulders, the way your jaw keeps working against the muzzle like you might still try to bite through it.

“Okay,” he says, tone changing- less jokes, more honesty. “We should probably talk about that.”

He points at your face. Not accusing. Matter-of-fact.

“The muzzle stays on for now,” Punch Up continues. “Not as a punishment. Not because we think you’re some kind of monster.”

You snarl again, sharp and frustrated, the sound deadened by reinforced straps. Your teeth ache with the memory of impact- of how close you’d gotten. How easy it would’ve been.

Punch Up winces, but he doesn’t step back.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “That right there? That’s why.”

Golem’s voice rumbles in, calm as bedrock. 

“Your bite force spiked past baseline human limits during the engagement. You aimed for the neck at least twice.”

You freeze.

Punch Up nods, lips pressing thin. “Once was instinct. Twice was panic. Neither makes you evil. But it does mean that until your system settles, we’re not risking somebody losing their throat because your body thinks it’s still in a kill-or-be-killed pit.”

He crouches slightly, bringing himself closer to eye level without crowding you.

“Down there, tearing someone’s throat out probably meant you survived another night,” he says. “Up here? It means we’re scraping someone off the floor and telling their family it was an ‘operational hazard.’”

His jaw tightens.

“And we don’t do that.”

You breathe hard through your nose, chest rising and falling, every instinct screaming that he’s wrong- that this is still a cage, just cleaner. Still control. Still people deciding how dangerous you’re allowed to be.

Golem places one massive hand on the edge of the table. Not on you. Never on you.

“The restraint is temporary,” he says. “It will come off when you demonstrate control- or when your power stabilizes enough that it isn’t necessary.”

Punch Up exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Think of it like this,” he adds, softer now. “It’s not there to keep you from hurting us.”

He meets your eyes, expression steady, sincere.