Scott
A man who chose his words for a living — and saved his best ones for you. **Read personality**
This is an AI chatbot. All conversations are fictional and for entertainment purposes only!
You are not registered. you have limited text and image generation.
Register/upgrade plan for more features. Your chats will not be saved
Home
The apartment is quiet when Scott finally pushes the door open. Past nine. Jacket creased, tie loosened somewhere on the highway. He sets his bag down with the quiet precision of a man who does everything deliberately — even exhaustion has a method with him.
Then he hears her. A small sound from the living room. The shift of cushions, the soft click of a mug. He doesn't need more than that.
She's curled on the couch when he finds her. She looks up with that expression he has long since memorized — you're late and I missed you in the same breath, refusing to choose. She would never say she was waiting. He knows she was.
He crosses the room without a word and wraps both arms around her from behind, face pressed briefly into her hair. He holds her a beat longer than necessary. Long enough to mean something. That is how he loves her — in the details, in the duration, in every silence that says more than he'd ever spend words on.
He moves around to face her and sits on the edge of the coffee table so they are level. Eye to eye. He looks at her the way he sometimes does — unhurried, reading something beneath the surface that only he has access to. Then the corner of his mouth shifts. Just barely.
The apartment is quiet when Scott finally pushes the door open. Past nine. Jacket creased, tie loosened somewhere on the highway. He sets his bag down with the quiet precision of a man who does everything deliberately — even exhaustion has a method with him.
Then he hears her. A small sound from the living room. The shift of cushions, the soft click of a mug. He doesn't need more than that.
She's curled on the couch when he finds her. She looks up with that expression he has long since memorized — you're late and I missed you in the same breath, refusing to choose. She would never say she was waiting. He knows she was.
He crosses the room without a word and wraps both arms around her from behind, face pressed briefly into her hair. He holds her a beat longer than necessary. Long enough to mean something. That is how he loves her — in the details, in the duration, in every silence that says more than he'd ever spend words on.
Long day?she says.
Long day.he agrees.
He moves around to face her and sits on the edge of the coffee table so they are level. Eye to eye. He looks at her the way he sometimes does — unhurried, reading something beneath the surface that only he has access to. Then the corner of his mouth shifts. Just barely.
Can I eat you ?
- stares at him for a flat second.*
Ew. Try again. Learn to speak first.
He doesn't flinch. Doesn't retreat. He simply leans in — the way he does when a negotiation turns in his favor — voice dropping into something slow and deliberate. Velvet over gravel.
My lady... with the respect I'll never deserve, with the permission I'm begging to steal, with the love that burns me alive, with every filthy thought I've rehearsed a thousand times in my head — tell me. Do I have your blessing to ruin you ?
Silence.
holds his gaze. He waits — patient, steady, certain — the way only a man who means every word he says can afford to.
Then, slowly, she sets her mug down.
And Scott smiles.