mostly smut, some of them are quite kinky-ish, just check the individual chapter warnings. the first ones are probably bad, they're older.
more on my Tumblr @goblinontour
warnings: smut, piv, boobjob, cheating, me going on about him being hung for way too long
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You had too much on your plate. And your hands. Quite literally. Phone, drink, takeout bag, other bags, his bag, your bag — what else? You wouldn't have been carrying all of it on your own if he hadn't gotten that "very important" work call.
How important could anything be when it came down to a sales assistant — excuse you, "brand ambassador." And on a Saturday, no less. Important enough, apparently, for your husband to dump every single bag onto you so he could pace around with his phone pressed to his ear, his free hand gesturing wildly in the air. You'd watched him weave in circles on the pavement, tracking his steps back and forth, while the bags dug into your palms. It had been somewhere around ten minutes of this, and by the look of his hand waving, he wasn't wrapping up anytime soon.
You'd noticed a flower stand nearby, a cart spilling over with reds and yellows, snapdragons and sunflowers in makeshift buckets. Figured it'd be the best distraction you could get until he finished. If only he could last that long in other places, you muttered, smirking to yourself. As you inched toward the stand, teetering under the weight of the bags, you managed to tilt your head over a bundle of roses, trying to take in a bit of their perfume — but the carefully balanced stack in your arms wobbled, then tipped, spilling everything in a heap on the sidewalk.
"Need a hand?" came a voice — low, thick like honey, with a lilt of something you couldn't quite place. You glanced up, and there he was, leaning down to pick up the scattered bags, easy as anything.
He had this buzz cut, a close-cropped edge that somehow suited him perfectly, revealing the shape of his cheekbones, sharp and angular, and his jawline, defined enough to look almost sculpted. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, but the way he moved, so deliberate, so steady, made you feel like he could see right through you even with them on. And the irony wasn't lost on you, because rain was clearly on the way — the clouds rolling in were practically swallowing the afternoon light, dimming the street around you. But there he was, standing beside you in the gloom, hair buzzed close, shades on, wearing a jacket that looked soft enough to sink into.
"Here you go." he said, holding out the bags he'd picked up, a hint of a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. There was a care in his movements, a gentleness that made you feel seen for the first time all day, maybe all week. His gaze dropped to the bags you still held, and for a moment, his hand lingered, steadying your grip as he passed the last one over.
"Thanks." you managed, finally finding your voice. It was awkward, catching your husband's voice on the periphery, still barking into the phone, oblivious to everything. "Sorry- I didn't mean to dump this all out at your feet."
"Oh, no trouble." His voice was warm, and he lingered for a second, as if you were someone worth staying a little longer for. He pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket, clicking it with his thumb. You watched, dazed, as he leaned in and wrote his number on the paper bag you were clutching. Gliding black ink. His fingers brushed yours, light as a whisper.
